“Decker?” She backed away.
“Beautiful . . .” He urged her against the foyer wall, kissing her absolutely breathless. A girl could get used to this . . .
Too bad he wouldn’t be around.
Rachel broke the kiss. The thought that he would soon leave and she would probably never see him again bothered her way more than it should. It was a good idea to part ways soon, before she started losing her heart to Decker. Or maybe it was already too late?
“Do you want those pancakes now? I really do know how to make them. I don’t want to send you off hungry.” She tried to wink and tease and not let on that his imminent departure was breaking her heart more than it probably should.
She expected him to agree, maybe share a casual breakfast with her. Then she supposed he’d smile, offer some thanks, along with a kiss or two, then climb on that gleaming motorcycle of his and leave. The last thing Rachel had ever imagined was for his face to thunder over, for his blue eyes to penetrate her bravado, and for him to press every inch of his hard body into her possessively.
“If you want pancakes, fine. If you don’t want to send me away hungry, then let’s skip the kitchen and go back to bed. I’m famished for you.”
SEVEN
DECKER HELD RACHEL, NAKED AND WARM, CLOSE TO HIM IN postcoital bliss, and eyed Val meowing on the far side of the bed. No doubt, they were both hungry, but that wasn’t his biggest problem.
Fighting down a mild panic, he dropped a kiss on Rachel’s brow as she slept, then he covered her up. Away from the bed, he stepped into his jeans and tucked the gun into the small of his back before making his way to the kitchen. As he did, he jammed his hand in his pocket, searching for his phone. Val followed, and he kind of wanted to high-five the cat for hissing at Owen.
Rachel’s diva pet turned cheetah and ran straight for the pantry. In the cheerful white kitchen, Decker flipped on the lights and opened the door. The cat purred and rubbed up against his bag of dry food, then looked at him with a plaintive wail.
No wonder Rachel was a sucker for Val. He’d nearly perfected crying like a baby to get his way.
With a faint grin, Decker scooped some dry food into Val’s bowl. The feline immediately darted to his dish and dived in, dismissing him.
“Lucky thing.” Decker only wished he could solve his own problems that easily, but he was going to have to make a call to even start in that direction.
Peeking down the hall, glad that Rachel hadn’t stirred from bed, he called Xander, who answered just before the fourth ring, sounding distinctly pissed off. “This better be good.”
Which meant that he’d caught his boss having a little nookie with London.
“Hang up!” Javier snarled on the other end, clearly near his brother.
Which meant they were both having a little nookie with London.
Talk about bad timing . . .
“Don’t need me for a few days. I still can’t figure out who’s trying to off Rachel. She’s not safe alone.” And he hated lying to her about why he’d picked her up at that dive bar, but the truth would scare the hell out of her. He would stay for a while, protect her, make this asshole go away . . . then decide what to do with his life. He’d have to come clean with her eventually, but what they had was too new. She might not understand or believe him. If he was still seeing forever with her after the danger had passed, then he’d sit her down, spew the truth, and they’d hash it all out.
“Got it. I won’t call you unless the world is ending. If you promise from now on not to call on a Sunday morning,” Xander growled.
“No problem.”
Without another word, Xander ended the call. The man was almost as devoted to the operation of S.I. Industries, the family business he ran with Javier, as he was to London’s pleasure. Almost, but not quite . . .
With that, Decker pocketed the phone, then helped himself to Rachel’s laptop. In less than ten minutes, he figured out that Owen and Carly had flown into Lafayette on Saturday about noon, not necessarily enough time to have made it to the bar by two to solicit him to commit murder. That would explain why he might have hired a go-between. And provide Owen a great alibi if suspicion ever turned his way. They were scheduled to fly home tomorrow evening.
Another interesting tidbit jumped out at him. Owen and Carly had applied for a marriage license. They’d blown past the three-day waiting period. In fact, they hadn’t married in the sixty days since applying. The license had expired. What was that about? Had Carly gotten cold feet? Had that been the bump in their relationship Owen had alluded to?
To compound Decker’s problems, Rachel clearly expected him to leave anytime now. She’d probably wake up from their latest round of breath-stealing, eye-crossing sex, try to feed him, and assume he wanted to go. He had to put a stop to that shit now so he could fix everything else. Time was ticking, and whoever wanted Rachel dead was expecting a call to confirm completion of the job any minute now. What was he going to do once Monday morning rolled around and she wanted to go into work? Tie her to the bed?
The idea had delicious possibilities, but only with her consent. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d agree to miss school for just about any reason. Fuck.
His thoughts racing, he strode to the pantry. He was no Chef Ramsey but he got by. Pulling out a loaf of bread and retrieving some eggs from the refrigerator, Decker managed to scrape together something that looked like sustenance within ten minutes. By that time, Val was happily purring around his ankles and meowing his thanks.
Plating everything onto the first dish he found in the cabinet, he tossed on a banana from the counter, grabbed a couple of forks, and poured them each a glass of juice. As he made his way down the hall, he heard Rachel stirring. Val darted to his mistress, and by the time Decker entered the bedroom, she was cuddling with the little fur ball.
She looked up at Decker with sleepy dark eyes and rosy cheeks. A little smile played at her lips. Barely concealed by the sheet, Rachel looked a bit rumpled and a lot sated. She was probably the most beautiful woman he’d seen, not because she was perfect or belonged in a magazine. Because he had put that look on her face. Because she looked like his.
Oh fuck, he was in deep.
“Did you cook?”
“Just for you. I did my very best to make it edible, too.”
“You mean it won’t taste like something the school cafeteria sells?”
He hesitated. “I can’t promise that. It might be worse, since I don’t really cook. But I get points for effort, right?”
“Sure.” She smiled at him, looking really happy. And what did it say that seeing that expression on her face gratified him?
“Good. I can trade those points in on . . . favors, can’t I?”
“Like?” She flirted coyly from under her lashes.
He set the plate on her nightstand and bent to nuzzle her neck. “Hmm, suck your nipples like candy. Or spend lunch between your legs. Feeling your mouth all around my cock? I know, how about spending the afternoon inside you.”
“For that, I’ll give you lots of points.” Then she shifted her gaze away. “I’d love for you to spend a little more time with me if you’ve got it. And you want to.”
Decker kissed her cheek and handed her the plate. Here’s where he had to lie to Rachel again. And fuck all if he didn’t hate that. Maybe he should tell her the truth. It was her life, after all. But he hated to take away her upbeat attitude about the world. He didn’t want to be the one to make her afraid. His role was to protect her, shelter her. He might not be Mr. Happily-ever-after, but by damned, keeping her safe and unaware of the danger was a job he could do well.