Surviving Ice (Burying Water, #4)(88)

Because I don’t f*cking live here!

Technically, I don’t live anywhere. Just a series of comfortable hideouts to choose from.

But standing in that shop and convincing Ivy to basically settle down made me wonder if maybe I could do the same. There’s nothing stopping me. I have no commitments, nowhere I need to be. No one to be there with.

But here, in San Francisco, I could have her.

And she wants me. She’s falling for me.

I don’t have to tell her about what I’ve been doing for the past five years. No one besides Bentley knows, and he’s not going to say a f*cking word about any of it because he’s tied to it as much as I am.

Though she’s going to wonder why I’m not working after a while. Where all my money comes from. Maybe I could get a legitimate job as a bodyguard. Alliance hires them. It also hires people to train others—police, firefighters, military—in combat. I could do that, too. The money won’t be as good, but what has all the money I’ve made gotten me so far?

Even as I convince myself of all this, that little voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that I’m a f*cking moron if I think I can hide my past from her forever. That she’ll have anything to do with me when she does find out.

“I’m getting out,” Ivy says, peering up over her shoulder at me, her soaked black hair roped around her fist. Water streams over her body in rivulets, trailing between those perfect tits, down a taut belly, down thin but toned thighs. Her skin is coated in gooseflesh. I’m guessing on account of the cooling water. We’ve spent the entire hot-water tank f*cking against the wall after a long day working on the house. I forgot both how difficult shower sex is and how much I actually enjoy showering with a woman, even if I spend most of it outside the stream of hot water.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I promise, bending down to kiss her shoulder. She turns to me, meeting my lips with her own. I watch her duck out, wrapping a towel around her curves.

Staying here is the best thing for her, I tell myself. It’s the easiest way for me to stay with her. If she takes off somewhere, I’m going to have a harder time explaining why I’m following her. And until I know that nothing can come of Detective Fields investigating Royce’s former Alliance connections, I’m going to be following her everywhere, because I’ll never forgive myself if something bad happens to her.

So that’s it. The decision has been made.

I’m staying in San Francisco.

Maybe for good.



“The f*cking guy actually knows what he’s doin’.”

I turn to find Bobby and Ivy standing side by side in the doorway, covered in plaster dust and watching me as I drill a support into the wall, readying it for the new chunk of drywall. This will be my seventeenth one, and there are plenty more. Ricky and whoever was in here with him while Scalero watched us at the club did a number on this house.

“I’m not just a pretty face.” I wink at Ivy.

“No, you certainly are not.” She chews the inside of her mouth as her eyes drift over my chest. I had to take my T-shirt off to keep from getting it dirty. It’s my last clean one. I’m not going to lie—when Ivy picked my clothes up off the floor and tossed them into the wash this morning, I sighed. Not that I expect her to do my laundry.

But, hell, it’s nice not to be alone.

Finally, she smiles, with heat in her gaze. “Do you like the tool belt?”

I look down at the leather pouch hanging from my hips that she threw into the shopping cart with a smirk when we went back to the store yesterday to buy drywall supplies. “It’s come in handy.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Bobby mutters wryly, shooting Ivy with a look. “I see what’s goin’ on here. If you need me, I’ll be fixin’ the tile in the bathroom. Shirtless.” He rubs his belly.

“No thanks,” Ivy throws back, kicking the door shut with her boot.

I know that look well.

“We’ve still got a lot to do, Ivy,” I tell her. She strolls toward me with purpose. “I could have all the holes filled by tonight if I keep going.”

“Uh-huh.” She stops in front of me, her head tilted back to keep eye contact.

“Didn’t you tell your real estate agent that you’ll have this ready to go on the market by next week?”

“I did.” Her fingers search out my belt, unfastening it, a fierce look taking over her face as her hand slips down the front of my jeans. “You feel like you could use a break, though.”

“Christ, you’re greedy,” I whisper, lifting her up to settle on the ledge of an odd-size window that’s, thankfully, just the right height. “Neighbors are going to get a show if they look up here.”

“It’ll be a good one. Have you seen yourself right now?” She trails a finger along the light sheen of sweat down the center of my abs, and then sticks it in her mouth.

That’s the end of my restraint. I grab her pants at the sides and peel them down over her hips, tugging at them until they’re at her knees and I’ve got her legs pushed out of the way, gaining me access to her.

I’m just pushing into her when my burner phone rings.

That ring is like a bucket of cold water.

“Fuck,” I hiss.

“Ignore it.”