Too Much to Lose (5 page)

“I’ll be back as soon as I
can.”

I long for him to brush a kiss
across my hair, which is insane. I barely know the guy. One kiss hardly constitutes
a relationship. But I want his touch nonetheless.

However, I feel him stand and
no kiss comes. I keep my eyes closed and scarcely dare to breathe. I think he
watches me for a moment before leaving. The door shuts but I can’t bring myself
to open my eyes. The pain bangs behind my eyelids. I don’t even manage to fall
asleep again while he’s gone and anticipation stirs in my veins.

I’m making a mistake here,
surely, but I’m hungry for his touch. This migraine has lowered my defences and
I’m more vulnerable than ever. It’s probably been brought on by stress—as
usual—and I can’t help feel on the edge of something. Like my life is about to
twist and buckle under the pressure once again and everything will fly out into
the open. I’ll have to pack up and start all over again. Which is precisely why
I can’t let Hunter into my life.

I grip my pillow and bury my
head further into it. I’m an idiot. I obviously haven’t learned anything from my
experience a couple of years ago. I’ll just take the pills, thank him so much
for his help and send him on his way. After all, what’s the point in going to
such lengths to separate myself from the past if I’m going to get involved with
someone who I will eventually have to reveal the truth to?

Hunter

Painkillers in hand—the
strongest ones I could buy—I press open the door to Jess’s apartment and
grimace. The place is tidy but it’s a dump. The tiny living area houses a
threadbare couch which is probably older than the one at my house with a ghastly
brown and white seventies print on it. The walls are a pale green and flaking.
A small kitchenette sits to one side with a petite fridge tucked under one of
the cabinets. They look like they belong in the seventies too.

I shake my head. I’m willing to
bet she’s renting it furnished. Is it a show? I can’t imagine the woman her uncle
described living like this. Greedy, manipulative people don’t change and they
don’t let themselves suffer. I’ve seen my fair share of criminals and con artists.
Jess goes against every stereotype.

With careful steps, I enter her
bedroom and let out a breath when she eyes me owlishly. Her voice at the end of
the phone did two things—scared the shit out of me and elated me. It gave me a
way in and saved me from giving her the crap excuse I’d come up with to talk to
her. But the panic that struck me when I heard her fragile voice was
unexpected.  

I study her and wish I could
take away the pain. She looks so damned cute—all mussed hair and sleepy eyes. I
like her without the dark make up. Jess doesn’t look like the hot vixen I want
to pin down and fuck but her pale lashes and delicate skin make me want to grab
her and protect her from everything.

I bite back a sigh. Really
don’t need to be thinking like this. It’s got to be an act. Why can’t I keep my
head together?

Maybe because just looking at
her makes me hard.

“Hey,” I say as I sit on the
bed and hand over the pills.

I glance around and realize she
doesn’t have anything to take them with so I race to the kitchen and pour her a
glass of water after fumbling around in the couple of cabinets. She owns only
two glasses. This girl is nuts.

Protectiveness burgeons in my
chest when I hand over the water. Mam used to say I had a hero complex. It was
why I wanted to be a bodyguard. I wanted to be Kevin Costner until I realized
the job was too dull for me. Even as a kid I’d take in stray animals and even
stray kids. I was bigger than most so if I saw someone being picked on, I’d be
straight in there. I chuckle to myself. It did mean I spent a lot of time
fighting.

Now that damned hero complex is
rising up again. It hit me last night and it’s what forced me to come to her
today. I can’t resist a person in need. Still, it’s given me a way back into
her life. Jess doesn’t seem averse to me playing her saviour. Hopefully she’ll
be grateful and give me the chance to find out where the money is. Then I’ll
pay my bills, save Mam’s house and my business and say goodbye to the mess that
is Jess.

Her weak mumble of thanks
strikes me in the gut.
You ain’t going to be thanking me soon, princess.
Not when I hand her over to her uncle. I’ve just got to be charming enough to
get close without getting
too
close. That way I won’t be breaking her
heart too.

Not that I care.

“Got you the strongest ones.” I
shrug. “At least the pharmacist said these are the best.”

Popping the pills, she swallows
them, drawing my attention to her fragile neck and smiles. “These are great,
thank you.” She slumps against the bright bedding—a sort of silky green fabric.
The only thing in this place that looks remotely new. Even with bags under her
eyes, she looks fantastic against the colour.

“Can I get you anything else?”

She shakes her head. “I just
need to sleep for a bit. I’ve got to work tonight.”

The temptation to skim my
fingers over her cheeks as she burrows against the pillow forces me to curl my hand.
Instead, I make a show of readjusting the bedding around her.

“Thank you, Hunter.”

My name, a mere whisper on her
lips, spirals deep inside and summons more desire than any other word has. God
knows I’ve had some girlfriends who liked to talk dirty but they never had this
kind of effect on me.

Before I can do anything
foolish, I retreat out of the room and pull the door to, leaving just enough
gap so I can check on her without disturbing her. I slump onto the creaky couch
and shove my fingers into my hair. What do I do now? Am I really going to hang
around and wait for her to wake up?

Yeah, I guess I am. I can’t
afford to lose this chance. I chuckle. I sure didn’t expect to be nursing a
sick woman when I took on this job. I fish my phone out of my pocket and catch
up on a few emails while I wait. After half an hour, I give up waiting. She’s
definitely asleep now. In her small apartment I can hear her steady breaths and
the occasional mumble. It’s far too endearing.

I glance around and stand. Can’t
miss this opportunity. The couch squeaks and I freeze. Nothing but the sound of
people in the apartment above, traffic outside and Jess sleeping. Hands on my
hips, I consider the room. I get the feeling I’m going to find fuck all but
I’ve got to try. I doubt it will be as easy as finding a bank statement but I
can always hope. Perhaps I can even leave before she wakes up and she’ll be
none the wiser. I’ll get out of her life and forget her.

The tiny T.V. sits on a
battered wooden unit and I kneel and pull open the drawers, careful to remain
quiet. I shake my head in disbelief. A T.V. remote, two DVDs—some chick flicks
with women in bonnets on or something—and a tatty set of playing cards. I take
them out of the sleeve. They appear old but tell me nothing.

On her windowsill are several
well-read paperbacks so I give up my search of the unit and pick through the
books. A Jane Austen, a spy novel I don’t recognize and an old fashioned
romance book with a painted cover of a woman with windswept hair. The Jane
Austen catches my eye. It’s leather bound and looks better cared for than the
others. Inside is a bookplate with an illustration of a fairy and her name
scrawled under the ‘This Book Belongs To’ part. The childish handwriting makes
my gut clench.

Think of the money.

I know she ran away from home
at seventeen so that explains the lack of belongings. What makes a kid want to
disappear? Her work history is sketchy which suggests she either didn’t work or
did cash in hand jobs. From then to now, she might as well have not existed.
I’ve never had a case like it.

I place back the books and move
into the kitchen area. On the side are a bunch of pink flowers. I’m no expert
but they look pricey. Jealousy boils through me, hot and deep-seated. It can’t
be a boyfriend—I would have known about one—but she’s a gorgeous girl, so there’s
nothing to say she wouldn’t have plenty of admirers. I search through the roses
and find a card buried under the buds.
I want you.
I snort. Welcome to
my world.

Sheets rustle and I shove the
card and flowers back. When I’m sure she’s not getting up, I continue my
search. I’ve never met anyone with no junk. I search her kitchen top to bottom
but come up with nothing.

A stash of paperwork catches my
eye on top of one of the mottled cream cabinets. Bingo. On tiptoes, I grab the
small pile, throwing a glance over my shoulder. From where I am, I can see her
sprawled. She’s kicked off the duvet and is lying face down. I turn away quickly
before the temptation to stand and watch her kicks in. She’s wearing some kind
of sleep shirt thing. If I’d have known there were bare legs under that green bedding,
I might not have left her to sleep so easily. Out of tights or trousers, those
legs are amazing.

The top letter is a college
acceptance for a diploma from two years ago. The info is limited. Nothing new.
It’s odd though, the idea of her investing in her education. Why bother when
you’re preparing to escape the country? Unless she’s not as smart as I’ve given
her credit for and she’s planning to stick around. Surely she’s got to know her
uncle would come after her. Why else change your image and keep such a low
profile? The next few are wage slips from the bar. She’s barely making anything.
I’m guessing she lived off tips until she started her job at the bank.

I cast aside the pay slips and
underneath is a tatty old envelope. A grin begs to break free. This looks
important. A key to her past? A creak from behind me sends my pulse racing and
I shove the papers back on top of the cabinet. By the time I’ve turned around
to face the bedroom, Jess is standing in the doorway. I take in those endless
legs and the pastel striped shirt that just touches the tops of her thighs. I’m
staring and I can’t help myself. The shirt is held on by snaps. The lightest of
tugs and the whole thing would be off. My jeans tighten and I drag my gaze up
to her face.

She’s been sick and she’s part
of a job. I shouldn’t be imagining running my tongue up and down those legs and
sucking on her tight nipples, even though I can see them pressing against the
cotton.

“You’re still here.” Surprise
lights her sleep-tinged voice.

I shove my hands in my pockets.
“Yeah, still here. Wanted to make sure you were okay. You didn’t sleep long.” I
lean back on my heels and hope she can’t see my rock hard arousal.

“I’m okay. A little fuzzy but
better. Guess the painkillers kicked in quick.”

“Good.”

Jess drags a hand through her
tangled hair. “So…”

Crap I wish I’d thought further
ahead. I still need to see that letter. I have to persuade her to let me stick
around so I glance at my watch. “It’s nearly lunchtime. You want to get
something to eat?”

I gulp as uncertainty flickers
across her face. Why does it feel like more than a job is on the line here?

“I’m not sure I’m up to it,”
Jess admits.

Of course she isn’t. Her skin
is pale and she looks exhausted still. I’m a fucking idiot. “I’ll grab
something then. You don’t have much in.” I thrust a thumb over my shoulder
toward the fridge.

Colour blossoms on her cheeks.
“Yeah, sorry. You must be hungry.”

Damn, now she’s apologizing?
What is this woman about? “I’ll run around the corner and get something.”

“Oh no, you really don’t—”

“I do.” My tone broaches no
argument and thankfully it works. She sags a little and nods. “I’ll be back in
a few.”

Before I can wonder any further
why the need to take care of this woman is so strong, I turn and head out. My
footsteps echo on the concrete stairwell as I take them two floors down. It
reeks of piss and the rust red paint is peeling from the walls. I suck in a
deep breath of cool air when I reach the street, grateful to be free of the
grim apartment block and Jess’s company. I need to get my head on straight. A
breeze ruffles my hair and I pull my jacket tight around myself.

It takes me five minutes to get
to the deli, Marco’s. I know it because I’ve seen Jess come here. I’ve even
eaten here myself while shadowing her. It’s cheap but good. Run by an Italian
family, the place looks dilapidated from the outside and the few warped plastic
chairs and chipped tile floor don’t do it any favours but it’s clearly popular
as there’s a line of people waiting. I join the queue and tap my feet in
aggravation. I need to get back to Jess—for the letter
not
for her. I
only glimpsed the writing on the front—an address of some kind, written in
careful cursive. Maybe that could be the one clue that unravels everything,
solves the mystery that is Jess.

When it’s my turn to order, I’m
cautious. I know she likes prosciutto from following her but it’s going to look
odd if I order her favourite so I get chorizo and mozzarella—close enough that
I think she’ll like it. I order myself a pulled pork sub and hurry back to her
flat.

The door is still unlocked so I
let myself in. Disappointment knifes through me when I find her in the kitchen,
making coffee. Gone are the bare legs and messy hair. She’s wearing black
jeans—her signature colour it seems—and a long sleeved purple top. It’s cut out
at the shoulders, highlighting her smooth skin. What would it be like to press
kisses to that skin? Does it taste as good as it looks?