Anticipation. JENNIFER LABRECQUE
little…well, Serena should introduce the woman to Serena’s last two boyfriends. Nick here made them look like they needed to shop in the boy’s department. Wow. He flipped the switch for the fan and then pivoted back around. Blocked by the door, he got in the shower.
Damn. She ought to smack herself. She’d been so busy ogling his package, she’d missed the perfect opportunity to check out his rear which would’ve been reflected in the mirror. Now, when she would have had the chance to slip out the door while he was in the shower, she had to wait around in the closet, hoping she’d catch a glimpse of it when he stepped out.
There was no use beating herself up about it. That had definitely been a distraction. She was pretty sure there wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t have found herself…interested in that view.
She might as well try to stretch a bit and switch positions while he had the shower going, although she didn’t dare risk sliding the closet door open. She carefully moved the empty hangers to the other end so she wouldn’t bump against them. God knows how long she was going to be stuck in here. She hoped he wasn’t a night owl. She sat on the closet floor, yoga style.
The scent of his cologne clung faintly to his clothes. Tempting. Tantalizing. Even his clothes smelled sexy. He looked good—make that great. He smelled good. He even sounded good. What a shame he was a bad guy. And what the heck was wrong with her? All she’d ever felt on any other case had been a sense of detachment and loathing for the perp. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t find that detachment now. Nick Malone, aka, Nick O’Malley, was fully deserving of her loathing. Unfortunately, she couldn’t muster it. Somehow he had slipped in under her radar. Something about him had felt intensely personal, intimate, from the time she’d met his eyes across the room, to when she’d listened to him talk to a blow-up doll about how Serena affected him, until now when she sat surrounded by his scent. Something about this man pierced the protective armor she’d always instinctively cloaked herself in and touched her, engaged her. She felt betrayed by her reaction, her attraction to him, but it was something she couldn’t seem to quell and she couldn’t deny. And in that moment she learned something important about herself and choices and mankind in general. This man was reprehensible, and against all rationale and against everything she stood for and believed in, she felt a connection, a pull to him that was totally out of her control. She could despise herself, she could berate herself, but it didn’t seem to change her instinctive response to Nick Malone. What she could control, however, was what actions she took. She’d make a positive ID and then she’d turn the case over to Worth and he could reassign it. Any of the boys should be glad to take on a case that was almost in the bag.
A sound from the shower interrupted her train of thought. There it was again. Was it a moan? Maybe she’d imagined that deep, throaty sound. She heard it again. It wasn’t her imagination. She wasn’t exactly naive, but it took a moment for her to figure it out, a few seconds before she recognized the noise of a man aroused. God. She was sitting in a closet alone and she still blushed—she could feel the heat wash over her. Obviously his hand and his imagination were both being used on that impressive erection she’d seen not too long ago.
She wet her suddenly dry lips. She’d done that. She’d heard his confession to his plastic girlfriend. The intensity and frequency of his moans increased and another type of heat fired through her. Just as she’d been helpless against the attraction she’d felt earlier, she couldn’t seem to suppress her reaction to him masturbating in the shower. She bit down on her lower lip but still her nipples tightened and her thighs grew wet in response to what she overheard. Please. She really couldn’t take much more of this. She was embarrassed and frustrated, and dammit, suddenly and incredibly turned on. It was uncanny, almost as if he shared some cosmic wavelength with her, but he came then in one long moaning release.
The water stopped. She knelt again, making sure her body wasn’t visible through the crack, and peeked out. He reached for a towel, his dark, hair-covered arm dripping water. Steam rendered the mirror useless. She couldn’t see him while he toweled off—he was too far into the room. He stepped forward, picked up the loose cotton pants and stepped into them. Talk about frustrating. Between the door angle and a streak of bad luck, she couldn’t see his butt.
While he brushed his teeth, she stared at what was a very nice butt, peering hard, hoping for a glimpse of a tattoo. If his pants had been white, or off-white, or muslin, the tattoo might have shown through, but it was a lost cause with a dark plaid print. Even though it was pointless, she watched him floss, put on deodorant and run his hand through his wet hair. Of course, it wasn’t as if she had much else to do or look at, stuck in the closet.
He grabbed another clean towel, turned off the bathroom light and the vent fan, and walked out of the bathroom, his dirty clothes still heaped on the floor. He was a slob and a pervert, but he was clean. And breath-stealingly sexy. Her breath caught in her throat. When he passed the closet, she smelled the intoxicating mixture of soap, warm skin and deodorant.
From her vantage point, she could only see about half of the bed. Nick spread the towel on the floor at the bottom corner. Oh no, now Sheila was about to get it. This guy was insatiable. Wasn’t once in the shower enough for him? Apparently not.
And at this point she wasn’t so sure she knew herself any longer. Once upon a time, she would’ve known with certainty that watching a guy with a blow-up doll would disgust her. But once upon a time, she also would’ve bet the farm she wouldn’t hide in a closet while a guy got off in the shower. She would not, however, watch him engage in sex with a blow-up doll—once she got a look at his tush. She’d study the edge of frayed carpet butting up to the metal track of the sliding closet door.
Nick stretched out on the towel and propped his feet up on the edge of the bed. Serena almost laughed out loud. Sit-ups. The guy was powering through flaming sit-ups. Which explained that body—the nice flat belly with its six-pack of rippling muscle. After about a minute, she started counting. He just kept going and going, the muscles in his shoulders and his back a fine sight to watch. Hey, she was stuck here, she might as well make the most of it.
Nick stood, picked up the towel and tossed it onto the other chair. His cell phone rang. Serena held her breath, hoping it was a call about his impending meeting.
“Hi, Ma…. No, you’re not bothering me. I’m just getting ready to go to bed. How’s Da feeling?…Yeah, make sure he takes his medicine. We need him well for his surprise birthday party, don’t we?…Yep. I mentioned it to the boys and they can all come…Right. Sure, Ma, I’ll take my vitamins…Love you too. Talk to you later. ’Night.”
He sounded like such a nice person. A good son, loving, concerned, dutiful. Did his mother have a clue what her son really did? She doubted it, if the woman was reminding her thirty-year-old son to take his vitamins. She hardened her heart. It was tough when you thought about the innocent people criminals hurt with their lifestyle, all the parents, spouses and children that lived with the consequences of those actions. Did his mother know about his tush tattoo? Did she know about his little spanking fetish?
Nick turned down the cover on the king-size bed and grabbed the remote. He flipped the TV to a sports channel. She heard him sign off the laptop and close it. He stretched out on the bed, folding his hands beneath his head.
Serena settled on the closet floor.
She was so screwed.
A HAZE OF CIGARETTE SMOKE hung in the air and a cold sweat trickled down Nick Malone’s back. Jo-Jo was not going to be pleased and Nick was about to get a taste of that displeasure. Big Al, looking every inch the thug he was in a suit that didn’t quite fit his bulging biceps and thick bull neck, walked over. “Jo-Jo’ll see you now.”
Big Al shadowed him to the door where another equally massive guard, Marcel, stood. Nick reached for the doorknob. Big Al wrapped a meaty hand around his arm. “Leave the piece with Marcel. You’ll get it back when you’re done.”
Nick pulled the 357 from the shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket and handed it to Marcel. Big Al still held on to his arm. “And don’t forget about the one on your ankle.”
It’d been worth a try. He