Page 82 of Loss Aversion

“The reason I haven’t returned your calls is because I was kidnapped and forced into a coma.” She paused. “Ew, no, I’m not pulling your third leg. Jesus, Morales. I’ll see you at The Hallowed Corral in thirteen hours. Bring a paper bib.”

She pressed End. Staring at her phone with a grimace. “I know I’m going to regret this.”

* * *

Birdie staredout the window of Lucas’s hotel room while he spoke on the phone with Grant and then the mysterious Tati, who had him check the diary for hidden messages or clues behind the duct tape.

She didn’t care to listen in on the conversation. Out of the window, she watched as the Pinkie Posse made their way to Flynn’s vehicle, the rotund owner of the car following close behind.

The floodlights of the parking lot illuminated a high-handed Pinkie Wallensky, waiting at the car door for Flynn to open it, like the demanding small-town matriarch she was. The women on the other side of the subcompact Nissan Versa mimicking her.

Closing the car door after getting Pinkie settled, he jogged to the other side of the car to open the doors for the others, as well.

Flynn was a good guy.

Not at all into the superficial accoutrements of wealth like his brother and mother. He was trustworthy, resourceful with an unhealthy predilection for carbs. Lucas was smart to snatch him up before that Tati woman got ahold of him.

Turning her head, she sucked in a breath at a smoldering Lucas with his hands resting on slim hips above the waistline of the too tight rental pants. He wore the button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the jacket, bow tie, and cummerbund thrown haphazardly to the side of the room, a few of the items having landed on a chair.

With all her secrets exposed, she suddenly felt raw and vulnerable and turned back to the window, the Nissan no longer in sight.

“You know everything now.” She forced a chuckle and swallowed. “It’s a lot to take in. I’m a lot. I know that.”

She glanced back at him, but the trajectory of his gaze didn’t change. Nor the intensity. The strong jaw under the five o’clock shadow made him appear all the more dark and brooding. She wanted to take a mental picture—it was so good.

The crinkles around his eyes. The firm set of his mouth.

“I’ve lived a life filled with secrets and lies. At the time, keeping it all to myself seemed to be the best course of action. Justified. Valiant even. Now, it just seems dishonest and cowardly.”

He didn’t respond. Just stood quiet and expressionless. Basically being his ever-stoic self.

Unnerved and feeling ridiculous wearing only the silky nightgown and his sweatshirt, she said, “I’m glad Flynn gave us time alone. I’m sure you have questions. Now’s the time to ask. Before I pack it all up and bury it deep into its own little compartment in my brain. Safely hidden and forgotten until I have to unlatch it and wrench it out again. Chalk it up as one of my more mature coping mechanisms.”

She was rambling while he continued to appear expressionless, her insides detonating and her body a low-simmering flame.

And then he was crossing the room, coming toward her like the churning tide. Inevitable. Unapologetic. He stopped an inch from her. So close, she could feel the hum of awareness firing between their bodies. So close, if she took a deep enough breath, her breasts would brush against his chest and her nipples would spring to attention.

Oh, wait. They were already at full mast.

He lowered his head and inhaled her neck. She responded by languidly closing and then opening her eyes as his tongue found her pulse.

He said through gravel and pitch, “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

The familiar edge to his voice pooled in her stomach like warm honey. One hand cupped her cheek, the other tangled in her hair, staring at her as if she were a mystery. Or maybe an alien lifeform.

After what he discovered about her, she couldn’t be sure.

He was definitely mulling something over, his eyes glued to her lips. His breath becoming labored.

She chewed her bottom lip. “You look…conflicted.”

His face was red, almost as if he were having difficulty breathing.

“Not so much conflicted as experiencing excruciating pain.” He slapped his hand by her head against the wall next to the window and sucked in. “These pants are about to cut off the blood supply to some of my favorite body parts.”

She couldn’t help herself and busted out a laugh.

He leaned his forehead against hers, trying to hold back a grin. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts. All I want to do is make love to you, but I’m not sure I can manage it until the blood flow returns to all the necessary appendages.” He tried adjusting himself with no luck. “No telling the damage these rental pants have done to my prostate.”

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