Page 44 of The Criminal

“No. That is my rule. You stay out of it.”

A war raged over his face. I knew I was asking him to forget the promise he’d made to Ray. And probably compromise a boatload of personal values. But it was the only way this worked, even temporarily.

“Lee, I could make—“

I held up my hand with a fork full of cake and cut him off. “Derek, no. Nothing can change. I’m a criminal. You’re… you. I promise none of my bullshit will touch your life. But you can’t interfere.”

A tiny pinpoint of hope appeared on a far distant horizon. If we could tread water long enough and I could get free of Uncle Jimmy, then things could change. Someday.

That was a metric ton of maybes. In reality, this was a ticking time bomb. And when it had to end, I would make sure any blowback only affected me.

He looked away and cursed under his breath. “Fine. No questions asked. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

“Eat your cake.” I pushed the plate back in front of him with a bittersweet smile. “It’s champagne and nutmeg cake with strawberry buttercream. You’ll love it.”

He took a forkful of cake. The moment it touched his tongue, his eyes closed, and he moaned.

“I know strawberry is your favorite.”

Chapter 22

Derek

Ipulleduptothe guarded gate for Lee’s neighborhood. A rent-a-cop in a too-tight navy polyester uniform asked for my ID and ran it through a scanner. I clocked three cameras at the kiosk recording me and my vehicle. For a high-end development in South Florida, the security was standard.

Once I cleared security, the GPS navigated me through the neighborhood’s beautifully landscaped twists and turns. The homes were exquisite, and the cars parked in the driveways mostly cost six figures. I dried my hands on my slacks before retaking the wheel for a last turn onto Lee’s street.

Tonight was the first night I’d come to her place since we started our—relationship wasn’t quite the right word—our arrangement a few months ago.

I’d been kept late on a security detail for a foreign ambassador when his private plane was delayed by mechanical issues at Boca Raton’s small airport. Lee offered to have dinner waiting when I arrived at her place. We’d texted, but I wasn’t sure how happy she was about the change in location to her home. That was the shitty part of digital communication, no nuance. I knew the ritzy golf community a few miles from her store was fancy, but I’d never been inside the gates before tonight.

I pulled into Lee’s circular driveway. A huge date palm towered overhead, its fronds illuminated by subtle landscape lighting. It was ringed by a decorative retaining wall with Italian plaster friezes. The house sat back from the road, nestled in a dark grove of tropical trees. It was two stories and big. No, huge. Pale yellow stucco, a tile roof, and custom wrought-iron doors with scrollwork reminiscent of the entrance to Oleander.

She’d come quite a bit farther from Atoka than I could have guessed to afford something like this. I knew about the Bentley, but this was next level. My house-flipping real estate expertise was in the sub-one-million-dollar market, but I’d guess her pile of bricks could have topped out at over five.

I parked and sat in the car, taking everything in. Dozens of questions about the house were forming in my mind. But a conversation like that could slide quickly into forbidden territory. We walked a fine line, never straying close to dangerous topics.

The nebulous rules that governed our situation had stunted the relationship’s development. It was inert. And the effects were bleeding out into other parts of my life. I’d finished the renovations at my flip house but hadn’t listed it for sale. When the team at work invited me out for drinks, I made excuses not to go. And not once had I talked about Lee with any of them. Almost three months in and I was still treating this like a brand-new thing. Waiting for it to implode.

I knew how she liked every intimate part of her body touched, but I felt like I didn’t know the real Lee. I had learned a million inconsequential things, like how she was embarrassed to admit to liking store-bought ranch dressing over fancy vinaigrettes. Or that she watched Wheel of Fortune because it reminded her of her mom. But we shied away from deeper topics.

In a lot of ways, she was still Ray’s little sister, the angry teen living in the trailer park. Grown-up Lee remained shrouded in mystery.

Her inviting me to her house was a momentous development. Her house could tell me things we didn’t dare talk about. And from the outside, it screamed wealth.

I left my suit jacket and tie in the black Smith Agency SUV and strolled up to the imposing doors. Before I could ring the bell, Onyx’s barking and jumping announced my arrival. Lee wasn’t far behind him. She wore a pale blue knit thing that was like a fancy tracksuit. It left one shoulder exposed, and her bare feet with red polished toes stuck out below the wide-legged pants.

Seeing her did something to my insides. It was a peculiar combination of lust and happiness that only Lee had ever caused. It made all this treading water worth it. She opened the door, and I pulled her to me. It had been three days since I touched her. Far too long.

I smothered her words of welcome with a hungry kiss. She melted into my chest, our bodies fitting together seamlessly. I pressed into her, from chest to hip, the thin knit material hardly a barrier between my hands and her body. My tongue delved deep, and my hand tangled in her hair. I kissed her thoroughly until she moaned and her nails dug into my biceps. She gave me everything her body had to offer. Our physical connection was completely honest.

“I missed that,” I said when I released her mouth, my forehead pressed to hers. In this moment, all my concerns about what we didn’t have faded into background noise.

“Me too.” She played with the short hairs at the nape of my neck. The simple caresses sent ripples of desire down my spine.

I turned my head and kissed her palm before I let her go. Onyx sat next to us, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I gave him a good scrub down, tugged his ears, and scratched under his chin until his doggy need for attention was fed.

“Tour? Or food first?” she offered. There was a note of shyness in her voice, and her eyes slid away from my gaze. Nerves.

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