The Private Serials Box Set(14)

"I don't want your money."

I halted at his words and turned to him, trying to be brave and act like I wasn't affected by him.

"I hired you to do a job, so you'll take the money. Unless you think I  should hire someone else?" My eyes found his and even in the dim light  from the streetlamps, I could still see the dark brown irises looking  back at me. I thought, for just an instant, I saw panic flash through  them, but just as quickly as the emotion flitted across them, it was  gone.

"No. You don't need to hire anyone else. I'll get you your proof."

"Okay," I whispered. I opened the door and walked in, heading into the  kitchen to find the envelope Sam had brought me with the two thousand  dollars cash inside. I grabbed it from the counter and turned to walk  back outside, only to find Preston inside my house, leaning against the  doorframe of the kitchen. "Here," I said softly as I held the envelope  out toward him.

He took the few steps toward me and when his eyes met mine, I was a  little surprised to see sadness there. He took the money and tucked it  into his back pocket. His chin tipped up in a nod that said ‘Thanks.' I  found manners winning out and I couldn't stop myself before I offered,  "Would you like something to drink? Scotch, perhaps?"

"Neat," was his short response, and it rolled through me like a wave, his dark voice deep and gravelly.

I nodded and said, "I'll be right back." When I made it to the liquor  cabinet in the formal living room, I leaned against the bar, gripping  the edge tightly, trying to rein in the heat coursing through my body.  This was ridiculous. The very last thing I needed right then was some  wild, gravitational pull to a man who wasn't my husband. I didn't even  want my husband. But what I really didn't need was some seriously sexy  man tempting me into wagering my future life away. But I'd offered him  scotch, so I'd get him scotch. Then I'd make him leave.

I set the tumbler down in front of him, noticing he'd made himself  comfortable at the head of my dining room table. I sat in the chair to  his right and sipped from my tumbler.

"You spend a lot of time in this big house all by yourself?" His  question caught me off guard, but also offended me a little. I didn't  like him insinuating that I was often alone. I could have many friends I  spent time with, or a ton of hobbies that kept me out. Zumba. Pottery.  Cooking class. Then I remembered I was the jilted wife who hired him to  tail her husband and his mistress. I wasn't the poster child for happy,  satisfied women.

"I have things I do. I jog sometimes. I see Sam often. I'm not a shut-in."

He looked at me over the rim of his glass as he sipped his scotch. After  a beat, he pulled the glass from his mouth and placed it slowly on the  tabletop. "That's not what I meant," he said, his voice low again.

"Well, then please, elaborate."

"I meant does your husband leave you here alone often?"

His question threw me again, and I didn't know how to answer it. I  suspected if I told him the truth, it might elicit a reaction from him I  didn't want to deal with. Then again, I suspected if I lied to him,  he'd know. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I thought he  already knew the answer to his question.

"Sometimes," was the answer I settled on.

"Sometimes?"

I shrugged, offering him nothing else.

"I don't like the idea of you being here alone."

His words cut right through the pretense I had been trying to build for  the last hour and a half. Sliced right through the wall I'd put up. It  had been years since a man had shown any kind of concern for me. I'd  been on my own for so long, I couldn't have anticipated what it would  feel like when a man, whom I apparently desired, showed concern for me.  For whatever reason, Preston cared.

Before, in the closet, I could have written the whole ordeal off as  physical  –  no, sexual  –  chemistry, but when he said things like that,  basically telling me he cared about my well-being, there was no going  back.

"I have an alarm," was my brilliant response.

"A man shouldn't leave his wife in a bed, alone, by herself, for any  reason." He paused, perhaps waiting for me to interject, but I had no  argument. I agreed with him. "Why do you put up with it?"

"I don't anymore."

"Hmm." His voice rumbled, even though he didn't really speak any words.  "If you were mine, you'd never get a chance to even feel the sheets  getting cold."

As if he'd reached inside, grabbed my breath, and dragged it from my body, I gasped.

"There wouldn't be a thing in this world that could keep me from my bed, were you in it."         

     



 

He'd slayed me twice. A combo hit. TKO.

"Preston," I whispered, simply unable to piece any more words together  than that. He didn't say another word, just slammed the rest of his  scotch, got up, and walked out my door. I gaped after him, not sure what  I was supposed to do. How does one recover from words like that?

Eventually I stood up, bringing both our empty glasses to the kitchen,  placing the tumblers in the dishwasher. I walked to the foyer and  punched in the passcode on the security panel, activating the alarm. I  went upstairs and decided to take a long and very hot shower.

I spent most of my time in the shower replaying the entire evening,  wondering how I'd gotten myself into such a strange situation. It might  have been the longest shower I'd ever taken, and it took all the  self-control I had not to slide my hand between my legs and replay the  words he'd said to me over and over in my mind. I wasn't stupid enough  to deny the fact my body wanted him  –  badly. But when everything else  was said and done, I was still a married woman, and I wasn't sure I was  ready to be a married woman who crossed those lines. And touching myself  while thinking about another man wasn't something I thought was right  to do, even if I desperately wanted to.

When I finally made it to bed, I pulled the covers back, bracing myself  for cold sheets, then went to the window to close the curtains. Right  before they closed all the way, I noticed the black Lotus sitting on the  street just a few houses down.





Chapter Eight

When I woke up the next morning, Preston's car was gone. I tried not to  think about him sitting in the Lotus all night keeping watch over my  house because he cared about me. Nothing good could come from the warmth  I felt in my chest when I thought about it, so I tried not to. It  wasn't easy, especially because he came back every night for the rest of  the week and kept watch over me.

Derrek hardly came home at all, and when he did, it was only for a few  moments. He'd grab something and leave again, or pick up some mail he'd  been expecting. Once or twice, he said something to me, but mostly, he  wasn't even looking for me, only speaking to me if he happened to  encounter me.

It took everything in me to not question him about Jessica, or let him  know I knew what a scumbag he was, but I knew I had to bide my time.  Eventually, I hoped I'd be able to tell him everything I wanted to.  Right before I walked out the door forever.

On Thursday, after Derrek had come home and so brazenly packed an  overnight bag, not even trying to convince me he was going away for  business, I lost a little of my self-control and decided to call Preston  for an update on the investigation. Surely, he'd have found something  by then. I dialed his number and after a few rings, he answered with his  deep voice, sending involuntary shivers up my spine.

"Reid," he said in greeting, his voice clipped but still sexy.

"It's me, Lena."

There was a pause, but then he spoke. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course. I was just wondering if you've made any progress on the  case." I heard a faint clicking in the background. "Are you in your  car? Should I call you back?"

"No, it's fine. Bluetooth."

"Oh. Well? Any news?"

"Listen, Lena, I've been working on it, but another case has been taking  up a lot of my time. It'll be a few more days before I can really get  anything to you."

"Oh," I said, with more disappointment than I intended. Surely, I  couldn't expect to be Preston's main focus. Of course he had other jobs  he was seeing to. Then I heard my phone beep and when I pulled it away, I  saw a text message from Derrek. "Can you hold on one second, Preston? I  just got a text."

"Sure."

I pulled the phone away from my ear again and activated the screen.

**We're going to a Gala tomorrow night. One of the charities the company  supports is throwing a fundraiser. Formal. I'll be there at seven to  pick you up.**

"Shit," I said as I finished reading it. I put the phone back up to my ear just as Preston started speaking.

"Lena? Is everything all right?"

I sighed. "No, not really. Derrek says we have to go to a fundraiser  tomorrow night. I hate those enough to begin with, but having to pretend  to be his happy wife for an evening really doesn't sound like my idea  of a fun time." I rubbed the little bundle of wrinkles between my  eyebrows, the skin bunching there from the tension rolling through my  body.