My Killer Vacation — Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Myles

hat am I going to do about this woman?W Taylor leans down to refill my coffee mug and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to take the pot out of her hand, set it down and pull her into my lap. In fact, I’m pretty goddamn positive it would feel like the most natural thing in the world. And the more I begin to admit things like this to myself, the more determined I am to keep my hands off of her.

When we first met, I decided she was the relationship

type, the settling down kind.

Not for me.

She wasnot for me.

Then she throws me the rough sex curveball and I think, maybe…maybe I could give in and show her how it’s done.

She proceeded to showme how it’s done, instead.

Rougher. More.

Pretend it’s you.

She’s ruining me with her mouth and her trust and her apple-scented skin. I can’t sleep or think straight, let alone focus on this case. And now…now that I overheard what she said about me on the beach, I’m exposed. I’m worrying about her feelings like it’s my fucking job. I want to be the man she thinks I am. Maybe I always have been and I hadn’t met the right woman for me yet. Maybe I’ve just been running so long I can’t see myself clearly anymore.

But when she smiles at me…I do. Or I starttrying to see him.

I don’t want to try, though. I’ve gone down the path of attempting to be good and noble and heroic and it turned out I was meant to be the villain. Being the villain has been easier than facing the past—and I never should have taken this case, either, because deep down, thereis hope germinating. Hope that I can move forward from what happened. Taylor is watering that hope, giving it sunlight.

But moving past what happened to that kid…no. No, I won’t be absolved. I won’t excuse my actions by letting go.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to have a repeat performance, too. With Taylor. I need to stay focused, protect her, figure out who killed Oscar Stanley and move on. End of story.

Unfortunately, my resolve is on seriously shaky legs.

Taylor returns to the coffee maker with the half-empty pot and I lean back to watch her walk. Because sweet Jesus, who sold her those tight pants? She might as well be naked. I can see the outline of her thong through the gray nylon. I have to grit my teeth against the urge to follow her

into the kitchen and yank those buns up into my lap. Where they belong.

“You ready to go?” she asks, looking through her purse.

Totally unaware that she’s making me hard and doing strange things inside my chest at the same time.

“Yeah.” I shove away from the table and stand. “Just the library, right, Taylor?”

She blinks at me innocently. “Yes. Just the library.”

Bullshit.

But we’re going to see how this plays out. If I don’t take her into town, she’ll simply go on her own. There’s no way I’ll get any work done if I’m worrying about her safety. “You good to take my bike?” I ask on my way to the door. When she doesn’t answer, I turn back around with my hand on

the knob. “Half pint.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

I cross my arms and lean back against the entrance.

“What has you worried?”

“Crashing.” She is wringing her purse in her hands.

“There is no hard outer shell on a motorcycle, Myles. Or

airbags.”

“I’m aware of that, Taylor.”

“But Iam trying to be braver.” She comes toward me like a woman walking a plank, seconds from plunging into alligator-infested waters. “I suppose that means chancing death once in a while, right?”

Taylor talking about her own potential death is going to bring my breakfast back up. “You are never in danger if I’m with you,” I say, caught off guard by my own confidence.

Where is that coming from? Her? Because of what she said on the beach when she didn’t know I was listening?

Now she blinks at me. “I know I’m safe with you. It’s other people on the road I’m worried about.” My pulse beats faster as she crosses the room toward me. “I trust you.”

“Hmm.” I can’t look at her. Not with warmth spreading from my throat down to my stomach. “I guess I like that.”

“Me trusting you?”

I grunt. Nod, in case the grunt didn’t make my answer

clear.

And she slips her hand into mine.

It feels so good, I almost pull away. Hand holding is not

part of the job.

None of this is part of the job.

Yet here I am, leading her to my bike by the hand like a doting boyfriend. Putting my helmet on her head gently and helping her onto the rear of the seat. She looks so fragile on the extra-large piece of machinery that sweat starts to bead on my hairline. I swear to God if another car comes within ten feet of us, I’m going to go fucking ballistic. Why did I suggest we take the bike? Is it too late to drive the car?

“I’m starting to get excited now,” she says, smiling at me through the helmet. “Should I just hold on to my purse?”

“No.” I take it out of her hands and stow it in one of the saddlebags. “You’ll be holding on to me.”

“Roger that.”

When I straddle the bike and her arms circle my waist, face pressing into the back of my shoulder, so many things

happen to my body at once. My muscles tense with purpose. Protectiveness crams into my midsection. My tongue turns thick in my mouth, skin clammy in some places, hot in others. To say nothing of my swollen cock, which has been in perpetual misery for so many consecutive days that I’m beginning to get used to the pain.

Mostly, though, it’s the organ firing in my chest. Pumping like crazy. Somehow I know I’ll never have another woman on the back of my bike besides Taylor. She’s the last.

No matter what happens.

With that uncomfortable thought hanging in the air, I squeeze the clutch lever and start the bike, slowly pulling onto the road, exhaling jaggedly at the way her thighs tighten on either side of my hips, arms cinching around me like a belt. I go slow. Slower than the speed limit. Every pothole and road sign is a potential threat.

“Faster,” she calls over the wind, squeezing me. Even though gunning the engine makes me feel like I’m going to be sick, I do it anyway, because I’m proud of her. For being brave. Facing her fear. Trusting me to do it with her. And hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the way she clings to me, her warm pussy against the small of my back. Her sexy, thong-clad butt is perched on the rumbling engine of my bike and that makes me hungry. Makes me think of hot, sweaty sex. Makes me think of us in bed, instead, while she screamsfaster in my ear. Why won’t I just beat off and get rid of some of this pressure between my legs? Just this morning, I returned to my motel room to shower and change. Could have worked out some frustration with my hand, but I couldn’t do it, despite my dick being harder

than a two-by-four. My body knows nothing is going to come close to the real thing. Taylor.

God, I want to fuck her so bad. Might as well admit that I can’t…I can’t do it because my heart is involved. Or I would have spent the night in her bed by now. In and out.

No entanglements. No sickening fear of missing something

in the case and getting her hurt.

Or worse.

My hands are starting to turn to jelly on the handlebars, so I swallow the dark direction of my thoughts and focus on getting her to town safely. When we reach downtown Falmouth, it’s packed.

“Oh, I forgot,” she calls into the dying wind. “The rally.”

I nod, slowly navigating us into one of the municipal parking lots. There isn’t a spot in sight, so I park illegally between a car and a gate, earning me a smirk from Taylor when I draw off her helmet. “So.” My voice sounds like cut glass. “What did you think?”

“I loved it,” she breathes, putting her arms around my neck. “Thank you for convincing me. And not making fun of me when I balked.”

“No one makes fun of you ever again,” I blurt.

It’s such a stupid thing to promise. I have no way of making that guarantee. But what else am I supposed to say when she’s beaming at me like I’m her hero? Are vows just going to come flying out of my mouth now? Next I’ll be promising her a house and babies and a trip to Disneyworld. Matching shirts don’t sound quite as heinous

as before.

Jesus. Listen to yourself.

I haul her off the bike and keep her up against me, on her tiptoes, her face flushed with exhilaration from the ride. And there isn’t a damn thing in this world that could stop me from kissing her. I surprise myself by locking our mouths together carefully, gently, winding her hair around one of my fists and slowly introducing my tongue, stroking it against hers, savoring her flavor. Her apple scent.

Rumbling when she whimpers, maintaining the slow pace.

Devouring her gradually from above. This kiss is different than the ones before. I’m…whatam I doing? Adoring her?

That’s what it feels like, this deliberate wind of tongues, the succulent, nibbles of her lips, my lips, in between the longer, deeper bouts of kissing. We’re making out like we have all the time in the world and fuck, fuck I like that too much. All the time in the world.

With a curse, I force myself to break the kiss.

Taylor leans into me dizzily, tightening a screw in the center of my ribcage. What the hell am I going to do with her? I distract myself by retrieving her purse and handing it over.

“I’ll go with you to the library,” I say abruptly, brushing my knuckles against the back of her hand, hoping she’ll want me to hold it again. When she places her smaller hand in mine, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was keeping prisoner. “Then you can sit in the police station during my meeting.”

“I won’t be able to browse with you looking over my shoulder. Besides, it’s broad daylight,” she says, shaking her head. “Go to your meeting. I’ll meet you afterward.”

She grins at me. “We can get ice cream.”

I snort. “Do I look like the kind of guy who goes on ice

cream dates, half pint?”

“No,” she sighs. “I guess you don’t.”

We walk in silence for a few seconds. “What flavor are

you getting?”

Her fingers squeeze mine. I’m fucked.

riends and residents of Falmouth and“F Barnstable County,” the mayor says into the microphone, her voice echoing down the town’s main shopping street. “I hear your complaints—and rest assured, I am here to help.”

Taylor and I slow to a stop outside of the police precinct, taking in the scene in front of us. The mayor is standing in the back of a truck, holding a microphone attached to a makeshift sound system. There are magnetic signs clinging to the doors of the truck reading, “Re-elect Rhonda Robinson.” Spread out in front of her appear to be hundreds of locals holding posters and wearing shirts that say, “Renters: Go Home.” They chant those words over the mayor’s speech, despite her bespectacled assistant, Kurt, making calming gestures at the crowd.

Is it my imagination or is Kurt looking at Taylor instead

of the swelling audience?

Nope, he just did it again.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, fumbles his clipboard and leans sideways to get a better look at her through the teeming mass of bodies.

I lift our joined hands to my mouth and kiss her knuckles.

The assistant quickly drops his gaze to the clipboard.

But despite the satisfaction currently swarming my belly…that is the kind of man Taylor is going to end up with, isn’t it? A clean-cut man her age with a noble profession. I can see that guy with kids, teaching them about the value of community service and bringing them to child yoga classes and nature walks or whatever the fuck.

“Oh look,” Taylor calls to me over the noise, and damn, I’m grateful for the distraction. How long can I distract myself from where this is leading, though? To a bumpy landing. An end. There’s no other option, right? “There’s Sal.”

I follow her line of vision and land on Taylor’s temporary neighbor, nestled in the audience with his matching T-shirt.

As if sensing our attention, he glances over and does a double take. There’s a snarl on his face, as if he’s mid- chant, but when I bare my teeth at him, he melts into the mass of bodies and disappears.

“If you personally have a grievance regarding a vacation rental in the vicinity of your property or you feel the owner is displaying negligence, such as renting to visitors who haven’t been thoroughly vetted or failing to enforce our community rules,” continues the mayor, “please email or call my office. My assistant, Kurt, is standing by to make a record of your issue and advise you on getting it resolved, while my office works on limiting vacation rentals in our area and keeping this neighborhood what it has always been. A peaceful place to live.”

“You campaigned on this promise four years ago!” someone shouts in the crowd.

“My kids can’t even play outside with all the drunk driving!”

“How is anyone supposed to sleep with the constant partying?”

“I can hear the renter beside me singing in the shower!

She screeches like a barn cat!”

Taylor gasps. Sputters up at me.

The chuckle builds deep inside of me, too big to contain.

And there I am, laughing in the middle of the sidewalk when I’m supposed to be investigating a murder. Can’t help it, either. It feels fucking great to laugh. I can’t even remember the last time I did with anyone but her.

Taylor wrinkles her nose at me, but there’s pleased humor in her green eyes. Eyes I can’t seem to look away from. When she lifts onto her toes to speak in my ear, I automatically lean down to meet her halfway. “You’ve already broken your promise to never let anyone make fun of me ever again. Next you’ll be calling me Shaquille.”

I drop a kiss onto her pouted lips. “How about I buy you an extra scoop of ice cream, instead?”

She avoids my next kiss. “Is that the best you can do?” A playful shove at my chest. “Go to your meeting. I’ll meet you at the ice cream place in an hour.”

I point to the sidewalk between my boots. “Come back here and kiss me.”

Those teeth sink into her bottom lip and she shakes her

head no.

Tease.

She’s teasing me. Making me want more. Making it

impossible to not take…everything.

God help me, It’s working.