Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) (10 page)

“. . . and all current web browsers are ready to go. My team is still working on social media software. Gaming consoles are proving the toughest to crack.”

I could believe that. Gamers—some of the most suspicious people on the planet—had their own encrypted communication via their device of choice.

“And of course each has their own proprietary method,” he continued. “But we’re making progress.”

“Does your team need additional resources?”

“Not at this time.”

Terry was matter-of-fact and professional, both qualities I appreciated. We talked through more specifics and he gave me an inch-thick packet of papers. It was the better part of an hour before we were through, then it was on to George, who was in charge of Tracking, Lana who was Testing Coordinator, and finally John with Deployment.

By the time I was finished, it was after five and my head was throbbing. I was sick of talking. And I had a stack of papers on my desk nearly a foot tall.

There was so much to process, I decided to deal with it later. I needed a break, and I had a best friend cooking a bad dinner just for me.

I called Mia on my way home.

“Hey, Aunt Chi! I got bored today, so I rearranged your closet. I hope you don’t mind.”

The car swerved and I nearly dropped my phone trying to right it.

“You did
what
?”

“I cannot believe how many T-shirts you own,” she went on. “Seriously, where do you get them all?”

“You rearranged my T-shirts?” Oh God, it was hard to breathe. “They were by fandom!”

“Well now they’re by color.”

“By color? Why? That’s a ridiculous way to arrange a closet!”

“No it’s not. It makes perfect sense. Just wait until you see it. You’re going to love it, I promise.”

I didn’t love it, but she was so pleased at having “helped” me, that I didn’t have the heart to put them back the way they had been. I invited her with me to Bonnie’s, but she said she’d met another girl her age who was coming over to watch
Pitch Perfect
with her and order pizza. That was fine with me. I’d rather pluck the hairs on my arm one by one than watch a chick flick.

“It’s about time you got here,” Bonnie said as she opened her door. “The kale’s almost ready.”

Kale. Yippee. So much for my hinting that waffles and bacon sounded really good.

Bonnie lived in a nice upper-class neighborhood in a house that was about two thousand square feet too large for one person. She had a gourmet kitchen with all the bells and whistles—gas stove with hood, double oven, copper pots and pans hanging above a granite island in the middle, and a professional knife set that had cost a small fortune.

I sat at one of the leather stools at the expansive breakfast bar, smelling the aromas that were a combination of good . . . and a hint of bad. Something was burning. I hoped it was the kale.

“So tell me about this date,” she said, stirring a steaming dish on the stove. Bonnie was tall, her skin a warm honey that perfectly matched her hair. She was also the only woman I knew aside from Giada on the Food Network who looked good in an apron. “Who’s the guy?”

“He’s my new neighbor,” I said, reaching for one of the little bites from the tray on the counter. I couldn’t tell what they were, maybe dumplings. I took a small bite and gingerly chewed . . . not bad. I stuffed the rest in my mouth and talked around it. “Name’s Clark. Looks like Superman.”

Bonnie stopped stirring to glance at me. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Wow.” She stirred some more. “That’s pretty cool. You haven’t had a date in forever. It’s about time there was a guy with a big enough set of balls to ask you out.”

I ate another dumpling. “Yeah, because
that’s
the reason why I don’t get asked out.” Bonnie was funny and smart and pretty. She had dates on a regular basis.

“You don’t get asked out because all you do is work,” she retorted. “If you’d come out with me sometime, you could meet people.”

“I don’t drink, you know that.” Which wasn’t exactly true anymore. “Though I did drink last night.”

“You drank on your date?” She removed the pan from the stove and poured the contents over chicken breasts spread out on two plates. “What happened?”

“Nothing . . . just that it probably explains why I let him kiss me in the car.” I’d hoped for a good reaction, and I got one.

“Oh my God!” she squealed, giving me a blinding smile. “That’s awesome! Good for you.”

I grinned at her like a lovesick loon.

“So?” she asked.

“So . . . what?”

She rolled her eyes. “So how was it? Was kissing Superman everything you’d thought it’d be?”

Her teasing had me blushing, but I still nodded. “Yeah. Better, actually.”

Bonnie laughed. “This calls for a celebration.” Opening a miniature wine refrigerator, she took out a bottle. “Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

So I did, adding in the news of my new houseguest as well. Combined with her questions—“Mia did
what
to your closet? Is she crazy?” because of course that was one of the first things I told her—catching her up on my life took the entire dinner. But that wasn’t a bad thing. It helped distract her from the fact that I wasn’t eating very much. The sauce was really good, but the chicken was overcooked and dry, and the kale tasted like a soggy mass of seaweed in my mouth. I’d managed to spit it into my napkin when she wasn’t looking.

“So what do you think?” she asked, motioning to my plate. “Is it a repeat?”

“The sauce was amazing,” I said. “Definitely a repeat.”

“And the kale?”

I hesitated, then just made a face. She looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry!” I blurted. “You know I’m not a greens kind of person!” Bonnie had been trying to get me to eat cooked greens forever, from spinach to collard and now to kale.

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Weeds with good PR.” Which was my line for said greens.

“So what do you think about Clark?”

“He sounds like a hottie, and that he’s got baggage if he’s had money problems. But if you’re looking to get in the dating scene, he sounds like a better prospect than most.”

“What about the kissing stuff?” I’d been honest with her about the episode in the car. Bonnie and I didn’t keep secrets from each other. “Was it . . . normal . . . for him to try for second base?”

She laughed and refilled our empty glasses of wine. “Men will try to get away with whatever you’ll let them get away with, no matter the timetable. Don’t get me wrong. You’re beautiful, and a genius, and have an awesome job, and you’re fun—”

“Stop it,” I interrupted. “You’re embarrassing me. Get to the point.” Bonnie was my biggest fan who loved me as much as I loved her, but I thought that probably biased her opinion of my fabled beauty and charm.

“I’m saying, I want you to have fun, but you should be careful. This is new to you.”

Okay. She was probably right. I should be careful. It just seemed so strange to me, given my sadly lacking love life, that this incredibly gorgeous guy I’d just met would be so smitten with me. Romance novels weren’t real life. Things like that just didn’t happen, which was of course why women read so many of them, including me.

I really needed to ship Grandma the latest stack I’d bought, even though I was right in the middle of
Forbidden Enchantment.

We chatted some more and Bonnie told me about her latest cooking mishaps in class while I made sympathetic noises.

“. . . but I may have an in on a job at a new restaurant downtown,” she said.

“What’s the in?”

She grinned. “Another guy in the class, who’s totally cute. His sister is the one with the restaurant and she’s looking to get good help cheap. It would be good for the experience in a real restaurant kitchen, you know?”

“That’s great, yes, it would,” I agreed. Bonnie definitely needed more experience if she was going to make her dream of being a chef come true.

We discussed the pros and cons for a little while as we finished the wine, then it was time to go.

“Gotta get home by bedtime, right?” Bonnie asked with a laugh. “You’re so predictable, China.”

“Yes, I know.” I gave her a hug. “It’s part of my charm. Thanks for dinner, as always.”

“Let me know about Superman.”

“Will do.”

I waved as I headed down the sidewalk to the driveway. It was a pretty dark neighborhood and I heard a dog bark somewhere nearby. My breath made puffs in the cold night air and I wrapped my arms around myself. Unlocking my car door with my remote, I slid behind the wheel, wincing as the chill from the leather seeped through my jeans.

A click by my ear startled me and I jerked, instinctively turning my head.

“Don’t.”

Hard metal pressed against my temple and I froze.
Someone was in my backseat
. The thought hit, then the fear and adrenaline. It felt like ice water had been shot into my veins, an immediate rush that I’d never felt before. Part of my mind was analyzing this physical reaction while a second part was assessing the situation and yet a third was busy having a panic attack. I went for door number two.

It was a man. He had a weapon, obviously a gun. It was pointed at my head and chances were high that it was loaded. He didn’t want me to see him. That fact plus that he hadn’t killed me yet gave me a better than even chance that he wasn’t planning on killing me. Which left the question of what did he want? Was this a carjacking?

“I’m here to deliver a message,” he said. His voice was a low rasp and sent a chill through me. “You’re involved in a project that’s very important to us.”

Wyndemere immediately came to mind. Dammit. I knew nothing good would come out of working for them.

I swallowed. “I work on a lot of important projects.”

“This is a special one, and we want it finished.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Not your concern. But you should know that Tom was a casualty. It’d be too bad if you were, too.”

Tom. Apparently not a suicide after all. My heart sank. “Why would you kill Tom?”

“Tom was having second thoughts about turning over the software to us,” he said. “We want to make sure you don’t follow the same path.”

“Why wouldn’t I give the customer the software?” I asked. “And who is ‘we’? Who do you work for?”

“You can say I work for your . . . customer. Indirectly.”

Sneaky, damn government agencies. All that crap you saw in movies about just how deadly the government could be . . . was absolutely true. So a government mercenary. Even better. “And if I don’t?”

“Do I really need to answer that question?” He paused. “Think of this gun I’m holding to your head.” He pressed it harder against my temple and I winced. “Then think of identical ones pointed at everyone you care about. Have I made myself clear?”

Tears stung my eyes, which pissed me off. Being bullied at a young age combined with my overall lack of height and strength had made me feel vulnerable for much of my life. I hated feeling that way and the tears were more from frustration than fear.

“Yes.” My reply was simple enough, but laced with
fuck you
.

“Good. Just so we’re clear. Tell no one about this. I’ll be in touch.”

He was out the door before I could retort. I whipped around to see him, but the shadows had already swallowed him up.

I gripped the steering wheel, trying to control my shaking hands. I’d never in my life had a gun pointed at me, much less had one held to my head. My immediate reaction was that I wanted to run back inside Bonnie’s house, but that wouldn’t be doing her any favors.

After taking a few more deep breaths to slow my racing heart, I started up the car and headed home, my brain already puzzling together the pieces of what I’d learned today. I was missing something big about the program, obviously. Something someone would kill for.

7

I had another surprise when I got home.

“Clark came by,” Mia said as she poured powdered cocoa mix into a steaming mug of milk. “He said he’d be up for a while if you wanted to come over.” She waggled her eyebrows at me.

I didn’t know if I was up for that, not after my unexpected non-carjacking.

“You’re going, aren’t you?” Mia asked when I didn’t reply.

“Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty tired.” And still recovering from my close encounter.

“Don’t start the hard-to-get thing so soon,” she said. “Especially when he came by. You don’t have to stay long. You should go.”

“I don’t look like I did the other night,” I said with a sigh. Plain-China was back, my hair in a ponytail, and wearing my
Driver Picks the Music & Shotgun Shuts His Cakehole
T-shirt.

She reached over and, in one quick grab, pulled out my ponytail. “That’s better,” she said, fluffing my hair with her fingers until she was satisfied. “You look great.”

I rolled my eyes as she took a careful sip of her cocoa, but I obediently headed for the door, unable to be anything less than pleased that Clark had come by, regardless of Bonnie’s warning inside my head.

Maybe romance in my life wasn’t so farfetched of an idea.

Clark answered the door right away and I stopped breathing.

He was bare chested, just wearing jeans, and had a towel slung around his neck. His dark hair was wet, the water making it black, and tiny rivulets were tracing leisurely down his neck to kiss his chest.

“Hey! It’s you! Come in.” He stepped back, which is when I realized my jaw was hanging open and I was staring.

“You look . . .”
incredibly sexy and mouthwatering
“. . . like you’re busy,” I hedged, not moving from my spot on the stoop.

“Not at all. Come in and have a seat.”

He turned away and I ogled his back, the muscles rippling as he dried his hair some more and grabbed a white T-shirt.

Wow. Even with his hair all mussed, Clark looked like a model. And his arms were much bigger and more defined than his shirt had let on. Like, only-seen-on-TV kind of defined—the trapezius muscles above his shoulders were curved and there was an actual indentation between his deltoids and biceps.

Then he turned around as he dragged the shirt over his head and I was treated to a six-pack carved abdomen, clear definition of his obliques, and a dark trail of hair that went from his navel down to disappear under the waistband of his jeans.

I was staring. Still.

Forcing my gaze away from Clark’s Man of Steel body that the thin fabric couldn’t adequately conceal, I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. Then I was immediately faced with another seating quandary.

“I was just having a glass of wine. Can I get you one, too?” he asked.

Absolutely. “Yes, please.” This had to be a record for alcoholic beverages I’d consumed in a week.

“How was work?” he asked, pouring another glass half-full of garnet-colored wine. I watched him with too much interest.

“Same stuff, different day,” I said vaguely. “You?”

“Not bad. It’s always difficult, starting a new position. I expect I’ll feel more comfortable in a few weeks.” He handed me my wine.

Keep your eyes above his neck. Keep your eyes above his neck.
I repeated the mantra inside my head.

And that exhausted my ability to chitchat. “Mia said you stopped by?”

“I did.” He sat on his couch, stretching one arm along the back. “Come sit down. You look like you’ve had a long day.”

Gee, thanks. That was right up there with
You look tired
and
Are you sick?

I gingerly sat on the couch as well, careful to leave eighteen inches of space between us.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, frowning. His blue eyes studied me. “You look really pale.”

Pale was my normal color, but I could well imagine that the panic I’d endured still showed in my eyes.

“Um, I was almost carjacked,” I said, deciding to go with a half truth. “He had a gun and . . . it was terrifying.”

“Oh my God, China.” He set down his wine and leaned forward, taking my hands in his. “Your hands are like ice. Did you go to the cops? What happened?”

“It was outside my friend’s house,” I explained. “He got in the backseat. But someone was out walking their dog and scared him off, I guess. It didn’t last long, thank God.” A lot of fibs there but at least I could tell someone I’d been traumatized tonight, and it wasn’t like I wanted to tell Mia and make her worry.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Totally. I mean, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” Not that he’d promised he wouldn’t . . . eventually. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my suddenly blurred vision. Taking off my glasses, I rubbed my eyes.

Clark cursed softly under his breath, then drew me toward him, scooting me closer like I weighed nothing before wrapping his arms around me.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m so sorry that happened to you.” His voice, low and soothing in my ear, made me lose my battle with the tears and they spilled out, trailing down my cheeks to drip onto Clark’s chest.

His arms felt amazing around me. I’d never felt anything like it. Strong and warm, holding me close. I could smell soap from his skin and feel the rasp of his whiskers against my hair as he tucked my head under his chin.

I didn’t say anything,
couldn’t
say anything. I wasn’t dumb enough to think moments like this came along every day, and I catalogued everything my senses could take in. As for my emotions . . . well, logic was taking a backseat right now to my being a girl.

“Is there anything I can do?” Clark asked. I shook my head, which had the added benefit of rubbing my cheek against his chest. I wanted to purr like a cat, but he’d probably look at me funny.

We stayed like that for a few minutes—I was loath to move, though internally I was tracking the time, wondering when it went from the Acceptable/Comforting phase to the Awkward-She-Won’t-Get-Off-Me phase. Was it three minutes? Five? Longer?

Five minutes came and went with neither of us moving apart. His hand was rubbing soothingly up and down my back, then it slowed, going from soothing to . . . something else. My breath sped up and the guy with the gun was a distant memory.

Clark moved his hand to my hair, pushing his fingers into the thick strands, up to my scalp, then down, combing through the mass as it lay in loose waves down my back. He repeated the motion over and over, slow and unhurried.

I didn’t know what to do. Should I touch him back? Was this sexual? Or just a friendly hug? I was willing to bet it wasn’t the latter, but didn’t want to just assume. What if I was wrong? What if I touched him and that was the wrong thing to do? I’d be mortified.

The question was solved for me when he tugged on my hair, pulling my head back. Our eyes met and I was transfixed. He was looking at me the way I’d only read about in books, and it took my breath away.

I wanted him to kiss me again and, as if he’d read my thoughts, he lowered his head until our lips met.

This kiss was no less thrilling than the first one had been, though my surprise was substantially less. I kissed him back with perhaps too much enthusiasm, but he didn’t seem to mind.

He suddenly pulled back. “I’m sorry. You’ve had a rough night and I’m sure this is the last thing you want right now.”

“Actually, I find it quite . . .” Arousing. Exciting. “. . . soothing,” which sounded less enthusiastic than I’d intended, but his lips twitched and he started kissing me again so who cares if I found the exact right word or not?

My fingers were itching to touch him and I twisted around so I could put my palms flat against his chest. His skin was warm, the muscles beneath were hard, and every thought flew out of my head.

His tongue stroked mine as I learned the curves and lines of his chest and shoulders, then I felt him tugging the button-up I wore down my arms. Next thing I knew, he was pulling the hem of my T-shirt up and over my head, leaving me in just my bra and jeans. There was a moment of
so glad I wore my gray and pink lace push up
, then a hit of cold reality.

Clark was kissing my neck, his hands tugging at my hips until I was on my knees, straddling him. It didn’t look like he was going to stop anytime soon so . . . was I ready to do this?

Being my age and a virgin was a real pain in the ass. I felt ridiculous, for one. And two, if it didn’t happen now, then when? Not everyone got married, so no sense holding out for that fairy tale. It might never happen. And frankly, there were a lot worse guys I could be having my first time with—at least Clark was nice and really attractive, plus he seemed to like me a lot, with an added bonus of me really liking him.

I didn’t have to worry about birth control. In a fit of optimism, I’d gotten an IUD a couple of years ago and it was good for five years. Most women my age were probably on the pill, but I didn’t like taking pills. Then there was the whole “safe sex” thing to consider, but I was sure Clark probably had condoms lying around somewhere.

So . . . decision made. Full steam ahead. Which was easier said than done because as soon as I’d flipped the switch from Possibility to Certainty inside my head, nerves struck.

Clark’s hand moved up my back to my bra strap and quicker than I could do it myself, it was unsnapped. I had just processed the slide of elastic down my arms before his hands were cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing the tips and sending a shiver through me.

My heart was beating so fast, it felt like it would burst from my chest any moment. His hands were touching me, his lips were kissing their way down my neck, and I could feel the hard length of him pressing between my thighs.

My bra was gone and he pulled me closer, until my breasts touched his chest. His skin against mine was the most amazing thing I’d ever felt. He was warm and hard against my softness, his arms around me made me feel protected—like our bodies were made to fit into each other in just this way.

Then his hands moved to the button on my jeans and I went stiff and rigid in his arms.

I couldn’t help it. I was excited but scared, too. This was all new to me and moving so fast . . . maybe this wasn’t the right decision? Should I decide something like this in the heat of the moment? But maybe this was the only “moment” I’d get and what if I let it pass me by?

“What’s wrong?” Clark whispered against my shoulder. His warm breath fanned across my skin. “Do you not want to do this? We can stop.”

“No,” I blurted. “I mean, no. Don’t stop. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”

“What are you nervous about, sweetheart?” The low murmur of his voice in my ear made my eyes slide shut. Butterflies still danced in my stomach, but it felt like they were migrating south.

“Mmmm . . .” My thoughts were jumbled the more he touched me. He’d stopped trying to undo the button on my jeans and he’d moved his hand between my legs, rubbing me through the denim. I struggled to form a coherent sentence. “I’ve just never—” His hand moved over a certain spot and I gasped.

“Never what?” he asked, his lips trailing from my collarbone down the slope of my breast. “Never had sex on the second date?” He chuckled lightly. His mouth fastened over my nipple and I pried my eyes open, looking down at the sight of his head, so dark against my pale skin. I slid my fingers into his hair, holding him to me.

It was indescribable, how he was making me feel. I felt wanton, sexy, desirable. Gone was the awkward China with two left feet and a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. In her place was a woman somehow sexy enough for a man like Clark to want. It was like being given the best Christmas present ever.

Clark pulled back slightly, his tongue caressing me in such a way that made my hands close into fists in his hair and my eyes slam shut. Wow. He was really good at this. I’d definitely made the right decision.

“Never what?” he repeated.

It took me a second to remember what I’d said. “Never had sex before,” I murmured. I pressed a little on his head, hoping he’d get the hint and do that thing with his tongue again. That wasn’t rude, was it? He’d seemed to like it, too, so surely that was okay.

And apparently I could still say the wrong thing at the wrong time because you would’ve thought I’d told him I was really a man in disguise. He sat upright, his eyes widening for a split second in surprise.

“You’re joking,” he said.

Ouch. I forced a laugh, feeling acutely exposed in more than one way. Instinct made me cross my arms over my breasts.

“Um, nope, not joking,” I said with a tentative smile. “I . . . didn’t think it would make that big of a difference. Does it?” In all my romance novels, the hero
liked
it when the heroine was a virgin. But Clark didn’t look as though he liked it. Not even a little bit. I swallowed, bitter disappointment and embarrassment curdling in my gut.

“Um, yeah, China,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t think—”

I scrambled off his lap before he could finish, my face burning, and snatched up my T-shirt. I yanked it over my head and shoved my arms through the holes.