Tough Enough(13)

“Sounds good, J. Until then, watch your back.”

“Watch yours,” he warns.

“We’ll get this bastard.”

“Yes. We will.”

I hear death in his voice. I’ve heard it before. We all have. We’ve all done things we’ll probably never be able to talk about, but Jasper . . . he had demons that were riding him before we knew each other. I guess we all did, but his . . . Well, he’s the most tortured of us. The deadliest, too. But he’s my family and I’d trust him with my life. We all would. We all are. He’s the one most actively searching for the person responsible for Reid and his mother’s death. “Later, Ro.”

“Later, man.”

He hangs up with a click and I grab another beer before I head upstairs to go over tomorrow’s script and then turn in. Jasper and the traitor are very much on my mind. To distract myself, I think of Katie . . . maybe a bit too much. After an hour, I’ve looked at the same page a dozen times and retained exactly none of it. I have, however, managed to successfully recall every minute detail about the sexy-as-hell makeup artist. When I wake up just after three a.m., it’s with my hard dick in my hand and an auburn-haired beauty on my mind. That’s the first time I realize that I might damn well be in trouble.





NINE


Katie

I woke up feeling determined, determined to remain calmly unaffected by Kiefer Rogan. He’s just a man, probably a total jerk when he’s not trying so hard to be charming.

Total jerk, I say to myself over and over again as I make my way down the hall. I’m halfway to my door when I pull my mind back to the present enough to notice that my coworking cohort is missing from my walk. Mona gets in before I do and usually she is filling my ears with all manner of gossip, romantic elation or relationship heartbreak by now. Only this morning she’s not.

And when I get to my “office” I see why.

There, leaning up against my makeup table, gawking at Kiefer Rogan, is Mona. I don’t know which part of the scene shocks me more—Mona gawking or Rogan beating me to work. Again.

I pause in the doorway. “G-good morning,” I offer the room at large.

Both Rogan and Mona turn to look at me. Mona is wearing the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. I wonder if I should be concerned that her face might split right down the middle. “Kitty!” she screeches gleefully.

Rogan is wearing damp hair, a tight white shirt and a lopsided grin that makes my insides turn more somersaults than an Olympic gymnast. Holy monkeys, is he hot!

Total jerk, total jerk, total jerk, I remind myself to cool my bubbling insides.

I offer a politely unaffected smile to both occupants of the room, ignoring the fact that Mona is practically vibrating with excitement. I assume it’s because of his close (and very handsome) proximity until I see her eyes continually dart to his hand.

That’s when I start to get suspicious that something’s up and that Mona’s zeal might not be entirely due to Rogan’s nearness.

I narrow my eyes on first Mona and then Rogan. Before I can ask any questions, however, Rogan stretches out his hand. In it is a coffee cup.

“Extra hot, extra cream,” he says simply, his eyes shimmering with charm and his grin glistening with sincerity.

I feel the frown furrow my brow. “Thank you,” I mutter, reaching for the coffee.

“Aren’t you going to ask how he knew you liked it that way?”

I glance up at Mona. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her quite this . . . animated. If a person can look like a squeal sounds, then that’s what Mona looks like. “I assume he heard you announce it yesterday when you brought me some.”

She looks a little crestfallen because I guessed it, but it does little to dull her enthusiasm.

“And he remembered,” she adds.

“So he did,” I reply, at a loss as to what else to say. It shouldn’t be any big deal that the guy overheard something and was able to retain it overnight, right? I mean, why is Mona so excited?

As for me, I’m immediately suspicious. Why is Rogan being so nice to me? Why is he working so hard to hide “total jerk” from me? Because I know it’s in there. It has to be, right? He is that guy, isn’t he?

And what could he possibly gain by deceiving me? It’s not like I’m some great prize or anything.

Rogan’s gravelly drawl breaks into my introspection. “Impressed yet?”

My befuddlement overshadows his flirtatious question and I blurt what’s on my mind, which I never do. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Rogan doesn’t answer right away. We just stare at each other as his smile dies, replaced by a puzzled expression of his own. “Honestly, I don’t know. There’s just something about you that . . . I don’t know. Makes me want to see you smile, I guess.”