"I hadn't had any." The words came tumbling from my mouth and I wanted to reach out and grab each and every one before he'd had a chance to hear them. I cringed inwardly. Preston cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with my careless and inappropriate confession, and then suddenly, I realized I wasn't familiar with my surroundings any longer. "I don't think he's heading to the same house as he did the other night."
"What makes you say that?" he asked, and I couldn't help but think he was glad for the sudden change in subject.
"This isn't the same route. Last time, we left his building and made our way straight to the freeway. He's definitely heading somewhere different."
"Do you remember which freeway he took?"
"Yes. He took I-84, headed East."
Before I knew what was happening, Preston slid his souped-up Lotus around the next corner, hanging a right so sharp I was forced to lean to my left, and centrifugal force had me leaning right into Preston's shoulder. My hands reached out to the sides, trying to find purchase on any surface that would keep me upright.
"What the hell, Preston?" I shouted as the car straightened out. My heartbeat was thundering and I looked to him, searching for an explanation.
"If I get us to the freeway, can you direct me to the house again?"
"You mean his other house with his other wife and children?" My question was snide. How could I forget the house my husband shared with another woman or the path there? Both were branded into my mind.
"Yeah. Can you get me there?"
I blinked at him, my eyes narrowing, eyebrows scrunching together. Somehow, in the last thirty seconds, he'd gone from somewhat aloof, asking me pointless questions, to this high-strung man making demands and full of tension.
"Yea … yes, I think I can get you there," I stammered.
Again, we were thrust into silence as he navigated his way to the interstate. When we'd been driving for nearly thirty minutes, I recognized our exit and then proceeded to direct him back to the house.
We pulled up and drove by slowly. The house was dark and seemed empty. It was only early evening and it seemed unlikely that someone was inside, considering how dark it was. Preston kept driving, but at the next intersection, he made a U-turn and then pulled over a few houses down the road. We sat in silence and I stole glances at Preston, waiting for his next move.
"What are we doing here?" I whispered. No one could hear me but him, but it felt like a situation that warranted whispering.
"Investigating," he said slowly, his eyes still on the house.
"But no one's here," I whispered in response.
"That's where the private comes into play." This he said with a small smile, and damn it if I couldn't help a smile coming across my face as well. I let the smile settle. It caused a little bit of tension to roll away, and I relaxed into the lush seats of his fancy car. For a few more minutes we sat in the quiet car. Preston's eyes were locked on the house and then finally he reached down an unbuckled his seatbelt.
"What are you doing?"
"We're going into the house."
"Oh, no, we're not," I stated loudly, a little surprised he would even consider it.
"The proof you're so desperate for might be inside that house, Lena. Do you think he's just going to hand it to you? You think he's just going to give up and hand you half of a fortune he feels one-hundred-percent entitled to? You hired me to find you proof, and this is how we're going to get it. Now, get out of the car and follow me."
My mouth gaped open for a moment, then I snapped it shut. He was right. We wouldn't get the proof I needed sitting in his car. I unclicked my seatbelt and opened the door, shutting it softly behind me, not wanting to draw attention to us. I met Preston at the front of his car and gasped when his hand folded around mine and laced our fingers together. He tugged gently on my hand, pulling me into his side, and he pushed our clasped hands behind me, pressing them into my lower back.
The front of me was fully pressed against his side and his warm fingers were wrapped around mine. I was sure he could hear my heartbeat pounding through my body, and I instinctively pressed my free hand into his chest, trying and failing to push him away. He was too close. He felt too good. I was tugged a little closer and felt his lips on the shell of my ear.
"Don't pull away, sweetheart." His breath floated over my skin and I bit my lip to hold in a moan, still fighting my body for control, fighting the reaction I was having. "If anyone is watching us, we simply look like a couple taking an evening stroll." His mouth lingered and I relaxed. I told myself I was playing along, not wanting to draw attention. Really, I took the opportunity to feel him. My hand on his chest moved slightly, running along the valley between his pectoral muscles. His body was hard and warm, my fingers grazing along his front. His hand gently squeezed mine behind my back, silently reassuring me. My hand moved up over his shoulder, slowly cresting and ending up behind his neck, my fingers running over the softness of the close-shaved hair at the nape. He exhaled and I felt his forehead press into my temple.
"We're going to go in the house and you're going to keep watch, yeah?"
I nodded, but left my hand on his neck. I felt Preston's head tilt slightly, and then his lips were pressed against the sensitive skin just below my ear. My lungs quit working and all the synapses in my body fired at the same time, and I felt my stomach flip. His mouth was on me and it was glorious.
Then he was gone.
He kept a hold on my hand, pulling me toward the house I'd seen Derrek go into just days before. As we walked up the drive, Preston pulled something from his back pocket and when we reached the front door, he let go of my hand and crouched down. I did my duty and looked around, watching for anyone who might see us, and I heard the sound of the doorknob jiggling and metal scraping against metal. When I heard the door open, I turned and saw Preston slowly making his way inside.
My heart thundered so fiercely in my body, I wasn't sure I was going to survive. Never in my life had I done anything illegal, so breaking into someone's house was not something I was used to. When I stalled on the front porch, Preston came back for me, wrapping his hand around mine once again, and tugging me into the house, shutting the door behind me.
"Lena, breathe. Everything is going to be fine. No one is here."
I took his advice and dragged in a breath, doing my best not to pass out in the entryway. I nodded at him, but couldn't see his expression in the darkened house. He gave my hand a squeeze, but then let it go and moved away from me.
"Where are you going?" I whispered, this time the whisper totally justified.
"I'm going to investigate." I didn't have to see his face to know he was smiling. "You stay here and keep watch. If you see or hear anything suspicious, let me know."
"Okay."
He disappeared, the darkness swallowing him, but I could still hear him throughout the house. I stood at the door, peering out the windows next to it, watching for anything that might cause alarm. Minutes passed and my heart slowed and my body started to relax. A car came down the road and my breath caught, but when it slowly drove past, I relaxed again.
After a while of nothing exciting, I saw a person walking on the sidewalk across the street. They came from the right and when they were directly across from the house, they stopped and turned toward it and seemed to just stare. They were too far away for me to see clearly, but I knew the person was facing the house and not moving. When they didn't continue on their way, I panicked and went to find Preston.
"Preston," I whisper-shouted into the blackness. Not being familiar with my husband's other home, I was fumbling in the darkness, trying not to run into furniture or walls. "Preston!" I whisper-shouted again. I was walking down a hallway, peering into dim doorways, trying quietly to whisper his name.
I came to another door and noticed a figure moving inside the room.
"Preston?" I whispered.
"Yeah?" he said. I turned into the room and saw a beautiful four-poster king-sized bed. I halted just a few steps in, realizing I was in a bedroom. Most likely, their bedroom. A wave of nausea came over me, but was pulled away from it when a warm hand wrapped around my upper arm. "What is it?"
I blinked, trying to acclimate, trying to see him. "There's a person across the street watching the house."
He didn't respond right away, but his hand never left my arm.
"What did they look like?"
"I couldn't see them very well, what with the darkness and all," I said, with more snark than I probably needed. His hand ran down my arm to grasp mine and he led me to the side of the window. He pulled me next to him so our backs were both pressed against the wall and then he leaned over and peeked through the edge of the curtains. After a few seconds, he moved back next to me.