Inside Out: Behind Closed Doors Read online

  “I could be talked into one at any time, and in any number of places,” Jason says. “It’s just a matter of us deciding the timing is right.”

  “Enlist in a few back to back,” Jack says. “We want you to be a moving target.”

  It’s not a comforting choice of words.

  But we’re protected—I think. This is the mob we’re dealing with.

  “And one last thing,” Jack says. “Stay in the rest of the day. Let my men get in place and look for trouble. Consider yourself safe to leave your apartment as of tomorrow morning, unless you hear otherwise.”

  We’re protected, but not tonight. Control is everyone else’s. How has Jason lived like this?

  There are a few more words exchanged, various instructions given to us, and then the Skype call is over. Jason immediately pulls me to my feet and walks me in front of him and against the desk. “How do you feel about everything?”

  “Better than before the call.” I cup his face. “How have you done this alone for this long?”

  “The treadmill. And I’m not joking. A lot of fucking running to clear my head.”

  “And yet you sit down at the tables and seem clear-minded.”

  “I am. I deal with things alone. Never let them see you blink.” His hands slide under my shirt, resting on my naked skin, and there’s a heat in his touch that tells me where his mind has traveled. “I don’t need the treadmill now, though. I need you naked.”

  Need. I wonder if he knows he lingers on that word, and when I cup his cheek and look into his eyes, I see the stark torment of a man carrying the world on his shoulders, a man who needs his own form of escape. And I want to give it to him. I reach up and pull my shirt off. “Now what do you need?” I ask.

  He turns me to face the desk, unhooking my bra, his hands caressing up and down my back, leaning into me, his breath warm on my neck. “Control … Trust … You on my tongue … More … Say yes.”

  This is his escape, what he needs—and I wait for red flags, for the feeling of being violated that I had too many times with an ex who took but didn’t ask. But I feel only desire and need. Only passion and hunger for this man. “Yes,” I whisper.

  He nips my shoulder, pleasure rocketing through me, and proof of just how sensitized I am with this man. His tongue follows, and then his hands. Oh, his hands. He undresses me, leaving me exposed, naked with him behind me fully dressed. And yes, this is his control, but it’s my pleasure—and my torment, because I cannot touch him. When finally he turns me to face him, he doesn’t touch me. He presses his hands to the desk, lifting his body from mine, and somehow it’s like he is touching me. And now I need. I need so very badly.

  “Jason,” I whisper.

  He leans in, his breath a warm fan on my neck, lips by my ear. “What do you need?”

  “You,” I say, no hesitation. “I really need you.”

  He pulls back, his eyes meeting mine, and there is no torment left to be found. Just passion. Heat. Desire. His hands go to my hips and he lifts me, setting me on the desk, then sitting in the chair. Slowly he eases my legs apart, then his hands are on my knees, traveling upward, until finally his thumbs rest just below my sex. They rest there until I am panting, my nipples so tight they hurt. He lifts my leg to his shoulder and I catch myself on my hands. The other leg follows, and then I’m completely at his mercy, unable to move even if I wanted to.

  And what does he do? What does he demand? The best damn orgasm of my life.

  And then what does he say? “We’re just getting started.”

  It’s a long time later when he proves that is true, when I’m lying with my back to his front, with him holding me, and I snuggle closer. I just want to be close to him. To hold on as long as life lets me.

  • • •

  JASON AND I WAKE UP to share coffee, conversation, and a growing sense of intimacy. We also have the peace of mind of knowing Jack’s men are in place, and we decide to explore Vegas. Unfortunately for me, that means wearing my last pair of faded jeans and a black tee, and Jason decides he’s taking me shopping. A plan he doesn’t share until he pulls me into a shopping mall.

  “No,” I say. “I’m not—”

  He kisses me. “I’ll have random shit delivered you may hate if you don’t shop yourself. Really expensive random shit.”

  “You are so unfair.”

  “I won a hundred grand last weekend, baby. I always invest it all. Let’s spend some, for once.”

  “For once? I’ve seen your car.”

  “Okay, twice.” He laughs. “Maybe more than twice. Whatever the case, let’s just enjoy it.”

  Hours later, bags are sent up to our room. A lot of bags, because he kept sending things to my dressing rooms. But he did buy himself a pair of boots, and some cologne I helped pick out.

  “Now you learn poker,” Jason says as we leave the mall. He points to a hotel. “My favorite spot.” He slips his arm around my shoulders. “And we walk.”

  “It just hit me that not once have I felt followed,” I say. “You think Jack’s men are here?”

  “They’re here,” he says. “And think about me, not them.”

  A task he makes easy and fun as we play cards, and then hit Jason’s favorite all-night burger joint, and have Daniel join us, our invitation to Abel declined. “He says he’s got a woman thing,” Jason says when we all sit down at the table, fries and burgers in front of us.

  “You mean a ‘me’ thing,” Daniel says. “I swear, when he gets angry, he’s like the wrong woman. Pissy for days.”

  “Wait,” I say. “This isn’t about the security checks? Because honestly, that was starting to bother me. Why would he be this against everyone being looked at?”

  “He gets like this,” Jason says. “Which is why he’s not good at the tables. His passion works for him when he’s acting as an agent, though. He gets hyped up with his clients.”

  “And if you’re worried about him in particular,” Daniel says, “he and Jason have known each other for a decade, but I still ran his check and gave it to Jason and to Jack. If this is someone close to us, it’s not as intimate as our inner circle.”

  An hour later Jason and I walk back to our hotel, and I stop in a store and buy a journal. Back in our room, we start making a suspect list. I then drill Jason for the kind of information I would need about each if I were preparing for a case. We end up with a laundry list of tidbits we scan and send to Jack.

  And we fall asleep talking, with a sense that everything is going to work out. It’s in the air: good things are coming.

  • • •

  TWO MORE DAYS PASS, and Jason and I keep that positive energy going, getting lost in each other and the ins and outs of Vegas, no doubt painting the picture of new lovers taking time out to be together. And it seems Mother Nature, and our instant chemistry, knew what she was doing. We click. We like the same things or enjoy the contrast of those we don’t. We talk. We spend lots of time naked. We make love in the hallway, though I still don’t talk about just how bad things were with my father.

  But by day four, our moods have shifted.

  Buddha’s silence is wearing on us, and Abel’s cold shoulder continues. By evening Jason sets out to solve both problems, starting with Abel. He dials him and gets voice mail. He then sends him a text message: Dinner tomorrow night, my apartment. Abel replies instantly: Can’t make it. Got a woman thing, but see you at the tournament. Hoping your greatness rubs off on me.

  Jason shows me the message and I arch a brow. “Do you believe him?”

  “Hell, no. He’s being more of a little bitch than normal.” He punches a number in his phone. “Let’s hope for better success with Buddha.” He listens a moment and then says, “Or not. It’s a generic voice mail. I’ll try a text again.”

  He keys a message: Update?

  Buddha’s reply is instant: I said a week. Did I not speak English?

  • • •

  DAY FIVE IS BRUTAL. Jason and I sit in the kitchen, drinking coffe
e, back at the journal entries. “We’re making ourselves crazy,” he says. “Buddha needs to get us answers. I’m calling him.” He punches in his number. “Voice mail, of course.” He sends him a text and we wait. “I’m going to call and text the man until he replies.”

  “I’ll try Ella,” I say, punching in her number, but it, too, goes to voice mail. I give Jason a shake of my head. “She told me she was leaving the country.” I get up to refill my cup. “And I swear, Abel has been as silent as she has. Did he leave town?”

  “No,” Jason says, “he’s here, and that little situation needs to end as well.” He punches in his number and grimaces. “Another voice mail. And another text.”

  I sit back down, and he shows me the message he sent: Get over this pissy attitude. Friday night. My apartment. Pizza, beer, and you and Daniel kissing and making up.

  Abel replies as I’m looking: I’m not pissy, man. I’ll see you at the tournament.

  Jason says, “Typical Abel. Nothing was ever wrong, when it clearly was.” His phone buzzes and he glances down. “From Buddha,” he says, shaking his head and showing me the screen that reads: I said a week. Wait.

  Jason’s jaw clenches and he turns my chair to face his. “We need to talk about what happens if we have no answers after the tournament Saturday night. And even if we do get news, I signed up for a series of games in Europe and we’re working with Davie to allow me to film my portions of the show remotely. Come with me.”

  “Jason, I—”

  “We have a good thing going on. Let’s keep it going.”

  “On your dime.”

  “Yes. But if you really can’t stomach that, I just fired the person I had tracking the stock markets for me. She did a crap job. I’ll teach you how to do it and pay you what I paid her, which I promise you is more than you’re making now.”

  “You want me to work for you?”

  “No, but I know you won’t agree to this unless I make sure you have a job. The bottom line for me: I want you to travel with me, where I know you’re safe, and we can see where this thing between us goes.”

  “Because you need me to be safe,” I say, not sure how to take that. “As in an obligation?”

  “Not mine. Yours. I officially make it your obligation to help me retire on top. And if I’m worried about you, I won’t. Come with me, Skye,” he coaxes. “It’s six weeks, and we’ll travel with security who we’ll play off as some staff member. And God willing, Jack will have solved this mess by the time we return. Say yes.”

  My heart is thundering in my chest, logic telling me it’s too soon for this. But the situation is unique, and I want to go. “My apartment has to be dealt with.”

  “I’ll get it handled for you.”

  “We just met.”

  “And we’ll have six weeks to get to know each other. If you decide you can’t stand me at some point, I’ll get you your own rooms. I’ve never done this with a woman, but life is short, baby. Let’s live it. Say yes.”

  Once again, this man is daring me, tempting me, persuading me to gamble on him. And once again, I do. “Yes.”

  His sexy, amazing grin is instant, and it tells me I’ve made the right choice with him. And no mobster or crazy groupie is going to change that.

  • • •

  THE NIGHT OF the tournament arrives, and I dress in a new pair of jeans, and I now have my own charity T-shirt to match Jason’s. We’ve confirmed that Jack’s men are in place, which seems to allow Jason to slide into his zone. And there is a zone. I can’t explain it, but it exists. It’s almost a coldness in him, a way he removes himself from the rest of the world. I, however, am nervous, and will quietly fret for both of us, without daring to share that with him and stress him out. But there’s been no note. No action. No anything. It seems like if something is going to happen, it will be tonight.

  We enter the main part of the hotel and he signs autographs, stopping several times before we reach the corridor outside the events center. Daniel and Abel are in conversation there, and even Daniel wears jeans and a charity T-shirt. Abel points at Daniel, and suddenly, their conversation is an argument. “Jesus,” Jason says. “It’s a charity event.”

  Abel spots us, his hands settling on his jean-clad hips as he awaits our approach, while Daniel gives me a look of utter exasperation.

  “Hey, man,” Abel says, greeting Jason, then offering me a nod. “Hiya, Skye.”

  “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Nothing that can’t wait until another time,” Abel says, glancing at Daniel. “And be handled by the two of us.”

  Jason glances between the two men. “Are you sure?”

  “We’ll handle it,” Daniel says.

  Abel claps his hands together. “I’m ready to play.” He eyes me. “Got yourself a shirt and everything there, lady. Looking good.”

  I’m confused by this shift in his mood, but I assume he wants to end the battle with Daniel, and I go with the flow. “I do,” I say. “And I’m ready to take on the haters, too. Jason prepped me.”

  Jason laughs. “I did. If they say you distract me, you say …” He points at me.

  “Dream on.”

  Abel laughs but Daniel doesn’t, focusing on Jason. “You’re a go for Europe, fulfilling your TV contract. The paperwork is headed to our attorney now.”

  “What’s up with the TV show?” Abel asks.

  “I’m taking Skye to see Europe, and agreed to a European tour,” Jason says. “But we had to work around my contract.”

  “Europe,” Abel says. “Those are fun tours. I need to do one again soon.”

  An announcement sounds and Jason kisses me. “Gotta go, baby. See you at break.”

  Abel salutes me and ignores Daniel.

  “What was that about?” I ask Daniel.

  “He asked how the blackmail situation was going, and I told him we had it under control.”

  “And?”

  “I usually tell him details. He’s feeling like I don’t trust him, which isn’t the case.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “I did.” He scrubs his jaw. “He’s a good friend, but I’m just doing my job. I need to go deal with Davie on one more issue before you two leave in the morning. Stay close to me, will you? I know we have people around, but I’m on edge. Maybe that’s what Abel sensed and read wrong.”

  “I’ll stay close,” I say, but as he walks away, my nerves are magnified by one thousand.

  Inhaling, I walk into the event room, and almost instantly Mandy is by my side, pulling me to a seat with “the girls,” Devon and Sheila. Somehow I manage to chat with them, tease with them, and wait for the tournament to start, relieved to find Jason and Abel chatting and laughing on the floor below. Wounds healed. Trust restored.

  Two hours later, Jason is at the final table, and Abel is with me and the girls and flirting like crazy with Devon, who’s apparently on the hunt again. Daniel and I take up residence at the barrier for the final table’s play. “He might win again,” Daniel says. “That’s going to piss someone off big time.”

  “Or make them happy,” I say. “Buddha implied they want him to keep winning.”

  “May the mob gods be with you,” Daniel says. “I guess that’s better than having them against you.” Another player falls, and it’s down to Jason and some player I don’t know. “You know what gets to me?” Daniel says.

  “What?”

  “The waiting. The knowing something else will happen.”

  “Maybe it won’t,” I say.

  “I say that every time. And then it does.”

  And then it does, I repeat in my mind, no words or actions ever making me feel as claustrophobic as those.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AND THEN IT DOES …

  Those words play in my mind for the next few hours, until finally we’re back in the press room with Jason the victor again, this time for charity. But something is subtly off about him. An edge that I’ve noticed only one other time, when he’d been given
that note.

  “I see it, too,” Daniel says, and the next fifteen minutes feels like an hour.

  Finally Jason joins us, and shows us his phone with a message from Buddha. I’m in your room. Hurry your pretty little ass up.

  None of us speak. We start walking and don’t stop until we’re in the elevator, crunched in a crowd of people. Jason grabs me and holds me when it starts moving, but I don’t even notice the sway of the car. Anxious butterflies are attacking my belly that have nothing to do with my confinement. This doesn’t have to be bad news. This could be the answer we need to end this.

  We reach the apartment and find Buddha at the window, his back to us. We’ve formed a line, me in the middle and Jason and Daniel framing me. “About fucking time,” Buddha says, turning to face us. “Charity events are such a waste of fucking money.”

  “Don’t let yourself into my apartment again,” Jason bites out. “What do you have for us?”

  “Joe was hired to clean up a mess,” Buddha says. “See, the mob doesn’t like it when people try to mess with the outcome of the betting cycles. Blackmail is frowned upon, unless they’re the ones doing it. And you, Jason, even before this insane winning streak, have been the steady performer that made everyone a good bit of money.”

  Ice slides down my spine. “What do you mean, ‘clean up a mess’?”

  “Stephanie is six feet under with concrete blocks, and so is that waitress who left you the note,” Buddha says.

  “What?” I gasp. “They’re both dead?”

  “You don’t fuck with our bets,” he says.

  “ ‘Our’ bets?” Jason asks. “Were you a part of this?”

  “I would have endorsed it, but I wasn’t a part of it.”

  “Are you telling us this is over?” Daniel asks.

  “I can’t say if it is or it is not.” Buddha looks at Jason. “But the mob is in your corner. If anyone else is involved, rest assured they’ll find out. Debt paid, as far as I’m concerned. You’re on your own.” He lifts his hands. “Stop playing charity events.”