Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(85)

“Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin,” I sing, pulling my sundress over my head. I purse my lips against the nervous giggle that demands to escape. After the afternoon we’ve had, I’m probably not in much better shape than he is, frustration-wise. I won’t let him know that, though. This new game is too much fun.

Plus, there’s no way in hell I’m having sex with Cain on DEA Dan’s bathroom counter and if I open the door, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

Cain lives in luxury. I mean, top-floor, double-story, panoramic-view-of-the-water luxury. The place is sleek and modern, sparse one may say, but the second I step into it, it feels like Cain.

“Come,” he beckons, reaching out to take my hand gently. Cain has calmed down since I took my time, refreshing my makeup and fixing my hair, before finally emerging from the bathroom at Storm and Dan’s.

He leads me through the kitchen, into a gorgeous living room. My stomach is a bundle of nerves and anticipation as we climb the stairs and he leads me into a plain all-white bedroom with a king-sized bed and a spectacular view through a complete wall of windows, the city offering enough of a glow within the room that there’s no need for additional light.

I watch as Cain shuts the door, as his fingers flip the lock.

He walks over to his dresser. Without a word, he calmly unfastens his watch and places it down on the dresser’s surface. Next come the contents of his pockets—his wallet, his keys, some loose change. He places rather than tosses each item. It’s quite methodical, as if he does it every night, and though there’s nothing particularly enticing about the steps, blood begins pounding in my ears as I watch Cain do it.

Grasping the hem of his shirt, he slips it up over his head.

I’m not sure if he wants me watching him like this. Am I supposed to be doing the same? I glance at the large, neatly made bed and I wonder absently if Cain has had women standing in this very spot, watching him do this very same thing. I wonder how often.

And then I squeeze my eyes shut against the thoughts, scolding myself, knowing that it’s just my subconscious trying to sabotage my time with him. Or trying to protect me from falling any farther.

I’m beginning to believe that the depths to which a woman could fall for Cain are endless. To a deep, dark, infinite pit with no ladders to get away, no cushions to soften the impact.

No safety net.

No escape.

With a deep, calming breath, I open my eyes. Cain is standing in front of me.

Chapter twenty-seven

CAIN

I’m not afraid of anything, yet I think I’m afraid of Charlie.

Not afraid of her.

Afraid of having her.

Of losing her.

To what, I don’t know yet because she won’t talk to me. But I can’t ignore the sick feeling in my gut that Charlie is deeply conflicted and that I may lose her because of it.

She’s hiding something. Herself, maybe. Some truth, most definitely. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m seeing the real Charlie half the time. Not many people surprise me anymore and Charlie keeps surprising me. In the past forty-eight hours, she has surprised me at least a dozen different times. One second she’s shyly tensing against my touch, the next she’s stroking my c**k when there are five people at the other end of the pool. One second her lip is quivering as a silent, inexplicable battle goes on within her and the next, she’s whipping her bikini bottoms at me with a lascivious grin.

And now, here she is in my bedroom, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. And I sense her mood has shifted once again. It seems to shift with the snap of a finger.

Sometimes I feel myself getting past the superficial exterior to the person underneath, only to question whether it’s just another facade. Sometimes I wonder if I know anything about her at all. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows who she really is.

None of that scares me away. If anything, it’s just pulling me in deeper. No woman has ever thrown me off balance like this before, made me feel like I’m losing control.

She’s hiding something and I’m guessing it’s something painful. I know I told her I don’t care and I don’t, but, f**k it, I want to know what it is. I’d rather just get it all out in the open and move on. She’s clearly still afraid. I mean, if there was ever a chance for her to admit to something, wouldn’t it have been last night, during my own purging? It should have been so easy for her to explain who Ronald Sullivan is to her, why he was ready to smash her face in. But she continues to pretend that it didn’t happen.

I’m thinking of getting John here to tail that f**ker until I get answers. I’m thinking of stopping by Sullivan’s house and holding him down by the throat until I get answers, faster.

“What?” The question slips softly from her lips as her eyes slide over my chest. She hasn’t stopped doing that all night.

I reach up to smooth my knuckles over her cheek, freshly made up after being in the pool. I wish she’d just wash it all off. I wish she’d take those damn contacts off, too. My mouth opens, the demand on the tip of my tongue, when she shut her eyes and leans into my touch, her full lips parting slightly. I feel her hot breath against my skin, bringing a throb to my balls, reminding me how long today really has been.

What a single-minded ass**le I can be, sometimes.

I really can’t wait any longer.

With my help, her dress hits the ground soundlessly. She remains still, watching me as I unclasp her bra and peel her panties off without ceremony until, in less than thirty seconds, she’s naked for me again.