Page 64 of A Game of Deception
“So,” Xander said after the waitress left with our order, “what’s the plan when we get to Morrison’s place? Do we just knock on his door and say, ‘Hey, remember that fatal car crash twelve years ago? We have some questions about your investigation.’”
I grimaced. “I was thinking we’d be a bit more subtle than that. Maybe introduce ourselves as researchers working on a book about unsolved or controversial cases in Palo Alto.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And you think a retired detective won’t see through that in about two seconds?”
“You have a better idea?”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “I think honesty might be our best approach. Tell him who we are, why we’re there. Appeal to his conscience.”
I considered this. “And if he refuses to talk to us?”
“Then we know he has something to hide.” Xander’s expression was determined. “But I don’t think he will. If he took a bribe to alter his report, it’s been eating at him ever since. People like that, they’re often looking for a chance to unburden themselves.”
Our food arrived, halting the conversation. I took a bite of my burger, surprised by how hungry I was. Across the table, Xander was equally focused on his meal, though his eyes kept finding mine over the top of his milkshake glass.
“What?” I asked after the third meaningful glance.
He set down his glass, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Nothing. Just thinking about how surreal this is. You and me, on a road trip, eating burgers like a normal couple.”
A normal couple.The phrase sent a flutter through my stomach. “Is that what we are? A couple?”
His smile faltered slightly. “I don’t know what we are, Tara. I just know that right now, sitting across from you, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. And I don’t want it to end.”
The honesty in his voice made my chest ache. I reached across the table, taking his hand in mine. “I don’t want it to end either.”
Something shifted in his gaze, a heat replacing the vulnerability. His thumb traced circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “Good to know we’re on the same page.”
The air between us practically crackled. Suddenly, the burger in front of me was replaced by a different hunger. I glanced around the diner—two other tables were occupied, both by elderly couples engrossed in their own meals. The server was nowhere to be seen.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said, my voice lower than I intended. “We still have an hour’s drive ahead of us.”
Xander’s eyes darkened, and he nodded. He threw down money to cover the tab, and led me out to the parking lot with a hand at the small of my back. The touch was innocent enough, but the promise it held made my skin tingle.
The Audi was parked at the far end of the lot, partially obscured by a large delivery truck. As soon as we were around the side of the vehicle, out of sight from the diner windows, Xander pressed me against the passenger door, his body flush against mine.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above mine.
“Don’t you dare,” I breathed, pulling him down to me.
The kiss was hungry, desperate, fueled by the freedom of being away from Miami and the watchful eyes that constantly surrounded us. His hands were everywhere—in my hair, at my waist, sliding under my shirt to cup my breast through my bra.I arched into his touch, my own hands equally busy, tracing the hard planes of his chest beneath his t-shirt.
“Car,” I gasped as his lips found my neck. “Inside.”
He fumbled with the key fob, unlocking the doors without breaking contact. The back door opened, and he lifted me inside, climbing in after me and pulling the door shut. The tinted windows provided a shield from any potential onlookers, though the isolated location of the car already offered significant privacy.
“I’ve wanted to do this since we left Miami this morning,” he confessed, his voice rough as he pulled me onto his lap, my knees straddling his thighs.
“Then what are you waiting for?” I challenged, my fingers already working at his belt.
There was no slow buildup this time, no gentle exploration. This was pure need, the culmination of a morning spent in close proximity, sharing painful truths and building a new understanding between us. We undressed each other with clumsy movements, hampered by the confined space but driven by a desire that wouldn’t be denied. My elbow knocked against the window as I yanked his shirt over his head, and he let out a muffled curse when his knee banged the center console while shucking off his jeans. “Bloody hell, this car’s not built for tall guys,” he grumbled, but his grin was wicked, eyes blazing with heat as he finally freed himself, his cock springing up hard and thick, already glistening at the tip.
I laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into a moan as his hands shoved my shorts and panties down in one rough tug, my ass bumping the ceiling in the process. “Ouch—watch it,soccer star. You’re supposed to be agile.” But the teasing died on my lips when he opened a condom wrapper, equipped himself before gripping my hips, and positioning me over him. God, the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing in his world—made my core clench with anticipation.
“Agile enough for you?” he growled, thrusting up just as I sank down, sheathing him inside me in one slick, mind-blowing slide. We both groaned, the fit so tight, so perfect, but the angle in this damn backseat had me half-twisted, my head grazing the roof every time I tried to move. I bit my lip to stifle a giggle as I adjusted, rocking experimentally—only to have my foot slip off the seat and kick the door handle. The car let out a beep, the hazards flashing once before he slapped the button to kill them. “Shit, Tara, you’re going to get us arrested before we even finish.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” I demanded, but I was laughing too, the absurdity of it all mixing with the raw heat building between us. His hands dug into my thighs, guiding me as I rode him harder, the leather seats creaking under our weight like a bad soundtrack. Sweat slicked our skin, the windows fogging up faster than a teenage make-out session, and every thrust sent jolts of pleasure spiking through me. He leaned forward, capturing a nipple in his mouth through my bra—wait, no, he’d shoved that up too, exposing me to his hungry gaze. His tongue swirled, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch, which only drove him deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes.
“Fuck, you’re so wet, so tight,” he rasped, his accent thickening with lust, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit with rough, precise strokes. I ground down, chasing the friction, but the limited space turned every movement into a comedy oferrors—his elbow hit the seatback release, nearly flattening us both, and I had to brace one hand on the foggy window to steady myself, leaving a perfect handprint like some erotic crime scene. We burst out laughing mid-thrust, the sound vibrating through our joined bodies, but it only fueled the fire, making everything hotter, more urgent.
