The Distraction (2 page)

When I'd reached his floor, I made my way down to his apartment and used the key to get inside. Familiar sights greeted me; a few pictures on the wall of the beach, a cherry dining room set up ahead, a hook where I hung my keys. Things I'd put out over the last couple of months—things Alec wouldn't recognize because he'd been gone. He'd asked me to make the place a little homier. I hoped I hadn't gone too far when I bought a spice rack and a toilet seat cover.

This place was only temporary anyway, I reminded myself. Once Maxim went to jail for the rest of eternity—something I hoped would happen once Alec testified—the building would be sold, and Alec would probably have to find another place. One that was unfortunately not quite so rent-free.

I turned into the kitchen, and put down my bag and cupcake box on the counter beside the knife block. I toed off my shoes and left them on the beige tile, then opened the refrigerator. It had the basics now, but I definitely needed to restock before Alec got home. There wasn't anything good to eat for dinner, and the freezer was too packed with ice cream to fit any frozen meals.

“Pizza it is,” I said aloud, then made the call for delivery to a place in South Tampa famous for their thin crust. It probably would have been a good idea to pick something up while I'd been out, but I'd been too focused on my beautiful red velvet friend.

I opened the lid of the box and removed the pretty cupcake, feeling a surge of loneliness. I'd only known Alec a few weeks before he'd gone to jail, but sometimes I missed him so badly it hurt.

“Happy Birthday to me,” I said quietly, peeling back the dainty wrapper and taking a bite. Twenty-eight years old, and in a serious, committed relationship with a man I hadn't spoken to in eleven weeks and four days. Living in an apartment still owned by an imprisoned billionaire mogul who'd sent his nephew to kill me. And spending my birthday alone. The cream cheese icing only took a little of the sting away.

I still had an hour before the pizza was delivered, so I hauled my bag into the bedroom, now adorned with a nightstand lamp and a drawer full of my clothes, and left the cupcake on the dresser so I could shower. When I was clean, I towel-dried my long, wet hair, and laid out two outfits side by side on the bed.

One was a black teddy with thigh-highs. The other a red lace bra and panty set with a frilly little skirt. Just looking at them gave me a little thrill. For Alec's first night back I wanted to wear something special. And then I wanted to make him act out every fantasy my overactive imagination had come up with in his absence.

“Red or black?” I took another bite of the cupcake. He'd liked me in red. He'd liked me in black, too. I giggled a little. He wasn't really all that hard to please.

At least, he hadn't been.

I put the outfits back into the bag and stuffed it into the drawer. The big decisions could come later. I still had to clean and figure out what I needed to pick up at the supermarket tomorrow.

Because the next day Alec would be home.

I closed my eyes, and rubbed one hand over my breasts, remembering the way he caressed them. The way his fingers felt dipping beneath my panties. How my body became charged and ready, just from a look.

The memories were enough to make my blood heat.

If he didn't want me anymore, I didn't know what I was going to do.

I ate another bite of the cupcake.

A moment later, a knock came at the door. I checked the time, surprised to see that the pizza guy was still twenty minutes early. Throwing on some pink pajama pants and one of Alec's T-shirts, I hurried back toward the kitchen to get my purse.

“Just a second,” I called. “I'll be right there.”

Wallet in hand, I glanced at the baseball bat I left leaning against the wall—a safety precaution I'd added since Bobby had abducted me—and opened the front door. I looked up, and then up higher, into the stormy blue eyes of the man who stood in the hallway.

My heart stopped in my chest.

“Hey.” Alec's gaze lowered slowly down my body. “Nice shirt.”

F
or a second I thought I was dreaming. Before me was Alec, at least, a man who looked like Alec. The careless waves I'd run my fingers through were gone, his hair cut short. His chest seemed broader, and his arms hung loosely at his sides—arms defined by hard muscle that stretched the sleeves of his white T-shirt. But that was where the differences ceased. His eyes, piercing and blue as the deepest part of the bay, locked me in place as his trademark smirk lifted the corners of his mouth.

He was hot enough to melt the polar ice caps. Even more gorgeous than I remembered, which seemed impossible. He had a mouth made for kissing and a body made for fucking, and as he sized me up I was battered by images of both. The space between us turned electric. I could practically hear it hiss like a drop of water on a live wire. My purse fell from my hand and I grabbed the door handle just to keep my legs from buckling.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” I managed.

He was early. Two and a half days early. I hadn't cleaned up; my stuff was everywhere. There wasn't any food. I wasn't wearing any makeup, my hair wasn't combed, and my underwear wasn't even remotely sexy. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to pick him up at the police station. We were supposed to have sex in the car twice. Maybe three times. Then we'd come back here so I could make him a huge homecoming dinner wearing dirty lingerie, only to have to warm it up later because he'd been unable to keep his hands off of me.

I couldn't move.

His head tilted to the side. “I live here. At least I used to.”

I pulled the shirt away from my chest, hiding my body's immediate reaction to him. Was it weird that I was wearing his clothes? I hoped it didn't freak him out.

He still stood in the hallway, as if waiting for me to invite him in. It hit me all in a rush how rude I was being, and I quickly stepped back and pulled open the door.

“Sorry, I . . . Hi.” I stepped forward and rose on my tiptoes to give him a hug. “Welcome home.”

Touching him was like brushing against open flames. Scalding, terrifying, but also fiercely addicting. His arms surrounded me, drew me closer, until my feet were barely touching the ground. My breasts, bare beneath the soft cotton, grew tender and heavy, and my fingers grasped his broad shoulders too tightly. I inhaled, dizzy from that familiar masculine scent that I'd missed so much these last few months, and then shuddered, like I hadn't really breathed since he'd left. He had to feel my heart pounding against his hard chest.

His head turned, and his mouth found my neck. He whispered something against it that I couldn't hear, and my whole body quivered as his breath warmed my skin. The desire was still there, stronger than before. The intensity of it frightened me; I was almost afraid to set it loose. We would burn each other to the ground.

Then he was pulling back slightly, his mouth seeking mine.

And for some absolutely insane reason, I turned away.

“Chocolate,” I said, too loudly. He set me down, his hands lingering on my waist. “I just ate a cupcake, I have chocolate breath.”

No, I did not just say that.

He didn't move for a moment, as if waiting for me to tell him this was a joke. Then he scowled, and withdrew his hands from my sides. One thumb tapped his lower lip. “All right.”

“It's my birthday, that's why I had the cupcake.”
Shut. Up. Anna.

He froze, gave me a look that bordered on horrified.

“I didn't . . .”

“Oh, I know.” I waved my hand as if I wasn't disappointed. “I don't even know why I said that.”

He didn't know it was my birthday. I knew he didn't, but it still struck me how little time we'd actually been together.

He was frowning.

“It doesn't matter,” I said. “Really.”

I had clearly lost my mind. Or my nerve. Or both. Whatever the case, my sex drive was running full steam, but my brain was running interference. This wasn't supposed to be awkward, but since I'd acted so strangely, he was pulling back as well. It was as if there were a barrier between us, a wall of glass that neither of us could break.

Now inside, he took a slow look around, gaze lingering on the bat for a moment before I hurried around him to close the door. The bolt sliding home clicked loudly enough it might as well have been a prison cell.

He stepped into the kitchen, getting his bearings. Goddammit. The plates were one thing, but I'd totally overdone it with the spice rack. I knew it.

He picked up a mug beside the sink, then ran his index finger over the lipstick mark I'd left there. I bit my bottom lip, wishing he'd touch my mouth in the same way.

And now I was jealous of a ceramic cup.

“If it's too much, I can get rid of some of this stuff,” I said.

Please say something,
I willed him. The silence was unnerving. I tried to keep all my fears at bay, but they were pushing hard at the forefront of my mind. Things had changed. We had changed. I didn't belong here. I'd made myself too at home in his absence.

He had continued on to the dining room, and in the narrow computer nook between the two rooms he paused, brows lifting. While he'd been gone, I'd gotten his college degree certificate from his father, framed it, and put it up. At the time it had seemed like a nice thing to do, but as I watched his hand slide down his throat, I wasn't so sure.

“Look,” I said quietly, unable to stand it any longer. “You probably want some time to relax. I should go home. You can call me later if you feel up to it.” I didn't even know if he had the same phone number that he did before he left.

His head snapped toward me.

“You still live in the studio?”

I shook my head. “No. Didn't seem like the safest place after the whole stalker/abduction thing, you know?” I tried to laugh, but there wasn't much breath behind it. “I got a little apartment in South Tampa. I didn't want to suffocate you.”

He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaned against the wall, looking disappointed. Hope lifted my spirits, but they crashed again as the seconds wound on.

“There's a little food in the refrigerator,” I said. “I meant to stock up before you came home, but I thought you would still be a couple days.” I wiped my damp palms on my sweatpants. “I did get you ice cream.”

I turned to the freezer and opened the slender silver door. Inside were eight different cardboard cartons—exactly seven too many, I realized now. I closed my eyes, waiting for the cold air to cool me off.

“That's a lot of ice cream,” he said, a trace of humor in his voice.

I winced. “You told me once you liked vanilla. I didn't know which kind—French vanilla, or vanilla bean, or plain—so I got them all.”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“I don't want you to leave, Anna.” The quiet way he said my name made my heart hurt, and I turned around to face him. His back was against the counter, hands still fisted in his pockets. His arms were definitely bigger than before. Both of my hands together wouldn't fit around his biceps, and that realization gave me another thrill. I couldn't help but wonder what he looked like without his shirt on. If his pecs, his abs, that thin, sexy line of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband, were still the same.

“Anna,” he said again, and I shook my head, refocusing on his face. “What are you thinking?”

“Why didn't you call?” I sagged back against the cool doors of the refrigerator. There was only five feet at most between us, but it might as well have been five hundred.

He looked down at the floor, where I'd left my shoes earlier. “I wanted to. The FBI kept me pretty tied up.” He hesitated. “I got your letters.”

The air left my lungs in a whoosh. Terry Benitez had told me he wouldn't be able to talk to me, but I'd needed to hear Alec say it.

Alec reached in his back pocket and pulled out an envelope. It was a little wrinkled, but otherwise in good shape. Carefully, he opened it, revealing a stack of notes I'd sent him. As he flipped through them I could see that the paper was worn, the creases nearly torn. He'd read them. A lot. Another shimmer of hope made me stand a little taller.

“How'd you get out early?”

He gave me a small smile. “Good behavior.”

“That doesn't sound like you.”

His smile widened. “I'm a changed man, Anna.”

“I hope not too changed.”

He hesitated, and his gaze fell to my neck. The exposed skin around my collar heated. It took several heartbeats for him to find my eyes again.

“Happy Birthday.”

I shrugged. “It's not that big of a deal.”

“I'm sorry I didn't get you something.”

You.
I wanted to say.
You're here. That's all I want.
It made me sad that he would even consider I needed more.

“What?” I said. “You couldn't stamp me out a license plate or something?”

His hand twitched, and my mouth went dry. I pictured that hand coming down on my bare ass, the sting smoothed by his tongue.

“Ouch,” he said, eyes gleaming.

“Too soon for jail jokes?”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but was holding back.

“I should take a shower,” he said. There was an unspoken question at the end, but since he didn't say the words out loud, I didn't answer.

“Okay. It's just . . .” I groaned. “Sorry. It's your place, you know where the shower is.”

He pushed off the counter and entered the dining room. “It doesn't look like my place.”

I cringed. “Is it too much? Be honest.”

Without looking back at me, he said, “I didn't say I didn't like it.”

I grinned.

He made his way toward the bedroom where I had spent the majority of nights over the last three months. The door was left open, but I wasn't sure if this was an invitation to follow him or not. A second later the water turned on in the bathroom. He'd probably seen that I had left all my toiletries strewn across the counter by now. Maybe he didn't mind a spice rack or a dining room table, but most men would flip when they saw the amount of products that went into maintaining my wild hair.

“Come on, Anna,” I said quietly. “Time to pull your shit together.”

Things were going to be okay between us. So they weren't as comfortable as they'd been when we'd parted, but that didn't mean they couldn't be again. I just needed to relax, help him readjust.

I meant to go back to the kitchen and clean up, but before I could stop myself I'd taken one step, then another toward the bedroom. Each time I moved forward, the butterflies in my belly seemed to multiply, until I had to keep both hands on my stomach just to contain them.

Soon I was standing on the threshold of the bedroom, my bare toes digging into the carpet. Thirty minutes ago I'd been walking around this place like it belonged to me, now I felt like a stranger surrounded by my own things. I peeked inside, and found his clothes strewn over the plush comforter I'd brought. His jeans were crumpled, his shirt thrown across them.

I closed my eyes, imagining him naked in the shower. His soapy hands sliding over his perfect body. The water running through his short hair down his face. I wondered if he was hard, if he had touched himself and thought of me while we were apart. If he was doing it right now.

Heat crept over my skin, and soon just the thought of him, accompanied by the steady spray of the shower, had me breathing hard. My breasts were aching, the apex of my thighs becoming sensitive and damp. I pictured his hand moving up and down his thick cock. His eyes drifting closed. His head falling back. I wanted to hear him groan. I wanted my name to be on his lips as he came.

I hadn't realized I had closed my eyes until the water shut off. It took a few seconds for my brain to catch up, and when it did, I looked up and caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It froze me in place and I gasped, startled.

He stared at me unflinchingly, a dark, possessive look in his eyes. Lust tightened his features, drew his mouth into a tight line, made his jaw flex. The counter hid everything below the waist, but his chest was in full view.

He looked incredible. Just one glance at his wet, firm body and my sex contracted. My lips parted. I could almost feel how smooth his skin would be as I spread my fingers over his chest.

My shoulders were rising and falling with each breath. God, I wanted him. Around me, over me, inside me. Now.

A knock at the door rose over the static in my ears.

I blinked, unable to tear my gaze away from his until he disappeared from view behind the door and came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist.

I stared at his collarbone, the hard line disappearing beneath the swell of muscles at his shoulders. He was like a walking fantasy; he felt untouchable, too good to be true. My hands started to tremble.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked.

It was like he was speaking a different language.

“Anna,” he said more insistently. “Someone's at the door. Do you want me to get it?”

“I . . .” I looked up, then back, shaking my head. My face must have turned candy apple red as the hypnotic effect he had on me wore off.

“It's nothing,” I said, fumbling for the words. “I'll take care of it.”

I retreated before he could respond, and had already begun to search the kitchen before I remembered that I'd dropped my purse when he'd arrived. I scrambled to the entryway, finding my wallet where I'd left it, and cracked the door, releasing the chain when I saw the square cardboard box.

I paid the kid more than double what I should have and told him to keep the change. With that I shut the door and carried the pizza into the kitchen, only to find Alec already there, considerably more dressed in his jeans and a fresh button-up shirt from his closet. The collar was damp and open, and beads of water still clung to the ends of his hair—hair I'd once dreamed of running my hands through. Now all I could think was how it would feel brushing against the insides of my thighs.