Torn Hart, page 5
Her fingers picked up speed on her clit, and it swelled as she got closer to her climax.
Was Rex her boyfriend now?
They’d spent time together last night, getting to know each other, and then they held hands on the walk home, but he’d been the perfect gentleman walking her to her door and saying goodnight. A big part of her wanted him to lean in and kiss her, but he didn’t, and it spoke more of his character that he didn’t. Another part of her—the part between her legs—had wanted him to do more than just lean in and kiss her, but again, it spoke a lot about his character that he didn’t expect more from her. He was what her mother would call a keeper.
She pressed the button on the base of Marley, and he increased his vibration speed, taking her body from not-quite-there to so-close-she-could-taste-it.
Rex.
He wasn’t like any man she’d ever dated before, and maybe that was a good thing.
She tended to play it safe with the men she dated. Men who were soft-spoken, calm and collected, not much bigger or taller than her, and with safe, boring jobs.
Yeah, and Dierks was that kind of guy and look what happened. He was a mild-mannered carpenter before the accident.
That was true.
But even so, Rex didn’t have a safe or boring job. Even as a plumber, his job probably wasn’t boring. But he wasn’t just a plumber. He was … a protector.
And boy oh boy, did that turn her on.
Her fingers picked up fervor on her clit, and she worked Marley in and out of her pussy quicker until heat and tingles formed in her lower belly. What would it feel like to have Rex protecting her? To be the person he looked out for, guarded with his body, and kept free from danger?
A girl could only be so lucky.
Rex.
Rex Hart.
He had a good name.
Strong. Powerful.
Just like him.
Her fingers brushed her clit. She pushed the tip of Marley up against her G-spot, squeezed her eyes shut, and her body went off like a keg of dynamite doused in lighter fluid. Her back bowed on the bed at the same time her toes curled.
“Rex,” she breathed out as her orgasm reached its crescendo. “Oh God, Rex.”
And at that moment, Pia deemed it a good time to leap up onto the bed and crawl across her body, settling on her chest.
Her orgasm simmered away, and she removed her hands and Marley from beneath her pajamas, turning off the buzzing B.O.B. “You’ve always had impeccable timing, Pia,” she said, kissing the cat’s head when Pia sat on Lydia’s chest, bent her head and nuzzled her face. “You avoid me like I’m the plague all night, and then when I take a couple of minutes to indulge in a fantasy and do a bit of stress release, you’re right up in my business.”
Pia began to purr.
Rolling her eyes, Lydia kissed her cat once more before sliding out from beneath the covers, much to the meowing protestations of her feline. She padded barefoot to her bathroom, where she washed Marley and used the toilet.
She really should be going for a run before breakfast, but a big part of her just wasn’t up for it. What she’d rather do was spend the next hour back in bed with Marley and more thoughts of Rex.
She hadn’t had too many partners in her twenty-eight years—a few long-term boyfriends and one or two shorter-term flings—but over the few relationships that she’d had, Lydia had learned a lot about what she liked and what she didn’t like in the bedroom.
She liked to be dominated, for one thing. And not in a Dom/sub kind of way. More in an organic, he takes control and makes assertive but respectful demands and she acquiesces and has all the orgasms her body can handle.
It worked better with some partners more than others. Dierks hadn’t been super authoritative in the bedroom, but he tried. He did, however, like to use the restraints—so did she, and she had those restraints attached and tucked behind her bed now, just in case the next man she brought into her room was into tying her up and taking control.
And something told her Rex just might be.
Pia had found a new spot to occupy on the other pillow, and for a brief moment, Lydia contemplated jumping back into bed with Marley for another round of hide the salami, but the idea of masturbating next to her cat just didn’t sit right. She stowed Marley back in her nightstand, grabbed her phone and headed to the kitchen to make some coffee.
She was just dumping the beans into the grinder when her phone buzzed.
It was Rex.
On his insistence, and zero balking from her, they’d exchanged numbers before saying goodnight.
Want to go for a run. Work up an appetite for breakfast.
She could think of other ways they could work up an appetite, but seeing Rex run and get all sweaty next to her was an alluring close second.
He would probably run laps around her, though, with those long legs and thick thighs. She wasn’t exactly fast. Slow and steady won the race, right? She ran to accommodate her penchant for wine and bread, not because she enjoyed the burning sensation in her lungs like some masochist.
But her fingers did the talking—along with her unsated lady parts—and she found herself texting Sure before the kettle had even boiled.
Awesome! I’ll be by in ten to grab you, he texted back, following it up with a winky-face emoji.
She smiled like an idiot and shot him a winky face back, loving how easy all of this felt and that for the first time in a long time, she’d met a nice guy not on a dating app and he wasn’t expecting to jump into bed with her on the first date.
Maybe nice, respectful guys still did exist out there and Rex was one of them.
Was her luck finally changing?
She sure as heck hoped so.
Chapter 5
He considered himself a man of immense willpower.
Hell, he’d been tortured and never gave up the information.
And yet, Lydia running next to him, with her tight ass tucked into those running pants and her chest bouncing in her bra, was enough to make him give up every last bit of intel to the enemy just for a glimpse of creamy, soft flesh.
He’d never been a man for head games, so as they sat there at breakfast and the server rattled off the specials, including the three-dollar mimosas and four-dollar breakfast Caesar cocktails—the Canadian version of Bloody Mary, but with Clamato juice instead of tomato—he knew he had to come clean with Lydia.
Her reaction, however, had surprised him.
“I’m a gentleman,” he started. “I respect women, their consent and boundaries. No means no.”
Her brows narrowed, and she sipped her water. “Good to know.”
“But if you have a mimosa or a Caesar, I won’t be taking off your clothes today. Like I said yesterday, I want you sober when we …”
Her throat bobbed heavily, and her nostrils flared. “When we …”
“Do you want a mimosa?” he asked, glancing at the menu briefly before lifting his gaze back to Lydia. Damn, she was fucking hot. Even in the baby-blue T-shirt and soft black jersey leggings, she was a knockout. Her auburn hair was in a ponytail that swished down behind her in gentle waves, and her hazel eyes widened behind thick lashes.
“Not as much as I want other things,” she whispered, looking up at him seductively from beneath those heavy eyelashes.
Well, fuck if his dick didn’t jerk like it’d just been zapped with a Taser. He cleared his throat and grinned. “So, two orange juices then? Hold the champagne?”
She nodded. “Hold the champagne.”
He’d like to say that they took their time having breakfast and getting to know each other even more, but they didn’t. They ate like they were in a rush to catch a flight. He tossed way too many bills onto the table, probably leaving a fifty-percent tip, then they raced out the door and to his truck.
Her grin as they drove through town had his cock surging to life in his jeans and pressing uncomfortably against his zipper.
He wanted to do this right with Lydia, get to know her and be the gentleman his mother had raised. But she was making it really fucking hard when she looked at him like she wanted to sink her teeth into his neck and rake her nails down his back.
Laughing, they ran through their apartment parking lot to the door, both of them smiling like fools who knew very well what the plan was but were both playing coy to keep the game and fun alive.
Once inside, she headed for the stairs, but he snagged her hand and pulled her toward the elevator. She didn’t resist, and they stumbled through the parting door, laughing once again.
When the doors shut and the lift engaged, he tugged her against him, reached behind her and pulled out her ponytail, pushing his fingers into her hair and cupping her cheek in his palm. She allowed him to tilt her face up, her gaze hooded, pupils dilating.
They hadn’t even kissed yet.
It was kind of bizarre but also wonderful.
He’d never held such giddy anticipation about a first kiss with a woman before. Normally, he went in, the clothes came off, and they did the naked horizontal mambo like adults were known to do. He rarely knew as much about a woman as he did Lydia before he got her into bed, and yet here they were, on their second date in less than twenty-four hours, and he’d like to think he knew a fair bit about her.
He’d like to know more.
But he was off to a good start as far as relationships went.
“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked, batting long lashes at him.
One side of his mouth lifted up into a lopsided smile, and he nodded. “I will.”
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Reluctantly, he removed his hand from her face and his fingers from her hair and took her hand, pulling her along until they came to her front door.
Impatiently, he waited for her to dig her keys out of her purse and open the door.
His dick throbbed in his pants, and his balls ached, they were so full.
She put the key in the lock, turned it, but it didn’t engage or click open.
She tried it again. But that only made her lock it and then unlock it.
“Did I not lock it before I left?” she asked, more to herself than to him.
“No, I’m pretty sure I remember watching you lock it,” he said, sifting back through his memories from just over an hour ago.
They’d gone for a run, then parted ways to shower, then he came back to her place, knocked on the door, then they left. He remembered standing behind her, checking out her ass as she locked the door, her phone in her other hand, purse over her right shoulder.
She gave him a concerned look.
The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up, and he gently nudged her aside. He didn’t want to scare her, but something wasn’t right. If they both remembered her locking the door, why was it open now? Why was it unlocked?
“Get behind me,” he ordered, turning the handle slowly.
“Pia,” Lydia whispered. “I hope she’s okay. What if someone broke in and took her?”
A possibility, but he was more concerned that whoever broke in was either still there or had taken more than just Lydia’s cat.
The door opened silently, and he pushed Lydia behind him more, entering the dim entryway. All the lights in her place were off. He couldn’t hear anything, and he had exceptional hearing.
They paused just inside the apartment, and he held his breath.
Nothing.
Releasing his breath, he stepped a bit more into the unit, and he gave the air a couple of long, deep, lung-filling sniffs. Nothing but the scent of Lydia’s bodywash and just the slightest hint of litter box coming from the direction of the bathroom. But as far as litter box smells went, this one wasn’t bad. He’d been to some houses where the smell was overwhelming and made your eyes tear.
They stepped into her living room, and Lydia let out a sigh of relief behind him, stepping out and making a psst psst noise to a curious, hesitantly walking Pia. The cat approached Lydia and allowed her owner to scoop her up into her arms.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Lydia said, nuzzling the cat and kissing her head.
Rex left them in the living room and continued on through the rest of the apartment, checking for signs of disturbance.
Nothing.
“Maybe I didn’t lock it,” Lydia said when he returned to her in the living room.
No, he remembered her locking it.
He had a good memory, a keen sense of smell and almost bionic hearing. Out of all the brothers, Rex was the one most in tune with his senses. They each had their strengths. Brock was the leader, Chase the tech savant, Heath the language aficionado and Rex—along with being the guy best trained in blowing shit up—was the one who understood and could really engage with the world around him. He could hear things others couldn’t, could smell different underlying odors and scents when others smelled nothing but the bleach used to cover up the mess. He was also really good at detecting the slight physiological changes in people close by. Beads of nervous sweat on an upper lip, a quickened pulse, dilated pupils, nervous ticks, darting eyes, increased temperature or heart rate.
When he was in Joint Task Force 2, they used to call him The Lie Detector. He could often tell when someone was lying just by getting into a room with them. He rarely had to touch them, and if he did, it was no more than two fingers to the inside of their wrist.
“But maybe I didn’t,” she said again, the concern for her own sanity clear in her tone.
Nothing nefarious stood out to him. Nothing seemed out of place, but then again, he hadn’t spent much time in Lydia’s apartment to know if a knickknack was moved or a closet door was ajar.
“Take a look around,” he said, rejoining her in the living room after scoping out the whole place. “See if anything is missing or amiss.”
She didn’t let go of the cat but slowly wandered through her apartment. He could tell she was scared, the way she hugged Pia close and stepped softly and slowly through each room like the floor was covered in glass.
She went into her room and not three seconds later gasped.
Rex was in there and beside her in a flash. “What is it? What?”
Lydia shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I shut that drawer. I never leave them open like that. And why are there like four pairs of my underwear on the floor? I wouldn’t leave them out. They belong in the drawer or the laundry hamper.”
He glanced down at the carpeted floor where she was pointing, and sure enough, four pairs of brightly colored cotton briefs were in a heap. The middle drawer of her five-drawer dresser was also half open, and the neatly folded clothes appeared to have been trifled with.
“Is anything missing?” he asked. What would be someone’s motive for breaking into her apartment but not taking anything? Why wouldn’t they put everything back where they found it and lock the door?
Lydia glanced around her room. “I don’t think so. I mean, maybe a pair of my underwear, but …” Her head shook. “I don’t think so.” She shivered and clutched Pia tighter. “I’ve got the serious willies right now. Someone was in my apartment. Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said, more to himself than her as he continued to look around her room. “Did you have anything of great value in here?”
“No. My computer, my TV, maybe a hundred bucks in cash that I keep in a jar in my freezer. But …” She pointed to her computer, which was still plugged in and sitting on her desk seemingly untouched. And her television was still mounted on the wall in the living room.
“Go check the freezer,” he ordered. Maybe he should call Chase and have him bring a print kit by so they could see if whoever broke in was dumb enough to leave behind some damning information about themselves.
She did as he instructed. “Money is still here.”
Even weirder. “Come on,” he said, joining her in the kitchen. “Grab Pia and let’s go to my place. We’ll call Evelyn, the landlord, and let her know. We definitely need to change the locks and report this. Even though nothing was taken, clearly someone was in here, right?”
Her head nodded slowly. “Yeah … I mean, I think so. Unless …”
“Grab the cat. Grab what you need, and we’ll go to my place until we can get shit figured out.” He headed for the door and checked to see if it had been pried open, but there was no sign of forced entry. Had she locked the door?
Shuffling sounds deeper inside the apartment drew his attention back to Lydia. She was visibly shaken and rightfully so. She probably felt violated. Someone had been in her home, in her underwear drawer of all places.
With Pia still in her arms, Lydia gathered up what looked like a travel-style litter box, a small bag of cat litter and a travel cat crate.
At first, he wondered why she was bringing all that stuff, but then he remembered his own pet upstairs and realized Diesel had never been around a cat before—at least not indoors or in his own home. They needed a safe place of refuge for Pia just in case Diesel tried to maul her with love or drown her with drool.
“Got what you need?” he asked, taking everything but the cat from her.
She nodded.
“It was the drawer, the underwear and the unlocked door,” he asked, just needing to clarify what was touched.
She nodded again. “Yeah, I think so. I mean—” She pressed her fingers to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I mean, maybe it was me? I had a long shower after our run, and by the time I finished drying my hair, I was scrambling to get ready. Maybe I just forgot to close the drawer? Maybe I left the underwear drawer open and Pia got into it? Maybe I didn’t lock the front door?” She looked at him with hopeless confusion and mounting self-doubt. “Maybe it was all me and I’m just going crazy.”
What she said made sense.
He’d been so busy staring at her ass while she locked up, maybe she hadn’t turned the key all the way. Or maybe she didn’t lock it on purpose?
No. That didn’t make any sense. He didn’t get the crazy vibe from her, and he was usually a pretty good judge of character.
