Wicked (Dangerous Liaisons Book 1) Page 4

  The taller guy of the two suits speaks. “Name’s Officer Ramirez. How can we help you, son?”

  I’m liking the officer. He’s friendly. Professional. Unlike the one in Prescott PD’s uniform giving me the stink eye and standing too close to Harper for my comfort.

  “Harper’s my girl.” I slam the nail into that coffin and step toward her and the douchebag who isn’t getting the message to move away from Harper.

  He’s so close, his shoulder grazes hers.

  “I saw her leave with men of the law and became concerned. Wanted to make sure I was here for her.”

  Officer Ramirez nods, this slow up and down of his head. “I see.”

  He and Harper exchange a look.

  “I’ve known Harper since she was thirteen. Flew in from Chicago to deliver the news myself. Her father died in prison. Happened last night.”

  “Murdered. He was murdered, sir.” The implication behind Harper’s words is clear as day, and the rage in her tone, scalding.

  “His murderer will serve added time.”

  “What can I do?” I understand exactly what needs to be done, but if Officer Ramirez says the words, it’ll make comforting Harper okay to do.

  With her back ramrod straight and her hands clenched at her sides, there’ll be no reasoning with her.

  “Take her home, son. Let her boss know Harper is feeling under the weather.”

  “Will do. Thank you, sir, for being so kind as to deliver the news personally.” I tip my head, then hurry back inside the diner.

  I inform my friends I’ll be driving Harper home—wherever that is—before relaying Officer Ramirez’s message to Harper’s boss.

  “She’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll make certain,” I promise.

  “Tell her to call me if she needs anything.”

  “I will.” I leave the diner with Harper’s bag in my hand.

  As I make my way down the steps, I see her speaking with Officer Ramirez. The other guy in the suit is waiting in the passenger seat of the SUV. The two patrol cars are gone.

  Officer Ramirez pulls her in for a hug, and every fiber in my body tightens, ready to recoil and attack. Where is this from-left-field overprotectiveness coming from? I only met this girl a week ago.

  “Keep at it, Harper. Fight harder. Run faster. Continue to let good people in. Let in the strong ones too. They may one day save your life.”

  A premonition? Standing taller, I walk with purposeful strides. I won’t let any harm come to Harper.

  To get to her, the wicked of the world will have to go through me.

  7

  Ryker

  “Warm enough?”

  I shoot her a sideways glance. She’s staring out the passenger-side window, sitting tall with her hands clasped in her lap.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. The dash is bright. My phone is set in the cupholder, the GPS on the screen giving me directions to her place. It’s quiet, but not an awkward silence. She’s lost in thought. I am too.

  I’m sorry about your father.

  What can I do to make you feel better?

  How can I help?

  I open my mouth to tell her what’s on my mind. I don’t get the chance. Harper’s soft voice fills the silence first.

  “Thank you for volunteering to drive me and my car home. I’m fine with dropping you off first, and I can take it from your place. You have an early game tomorrow. It’s all everyone talked about today.”

  “You were just told your father was murdered, Harper. You shouldn’t be alone, babe.”

  “Babe?” she scoffs. “I’m not your girl, Ryker. What I did at the diner, telling your friends we’re in a relationship . . .” She waves her hand. “I did it because I could tell you were bothered by your friend’s question and”—she clears her throat—“I thought my answer would make you less bothered.”

  This girl is perceptive.

  “After the month is through, I’d like us to be something less.”

  “And if I want to hang around? Make certain you’re safe?” Shit, her father was murdered. In prison. How the hell does that happen?

  “Safe?” She shakes her head. “No one is safe when the wicked come for me.”

  I startle.

  To get to her, the wicked of the world will have to go through me.

  “Cut your ties now and never think twice of me. I change my mind. I don’t need you paying to stock my fridge.”

  I should listen to her warning, but her words have the opposite effect. My curiosity is stoked.

  “If you’ll have me, I’d like to stay with you tonight. You shouldn’t be alone, ba . . . You shouldn’t be alone, short stuff.”

  She sputters laughter. I puff out my chest. I made her laugh.

  “Short stuff? What does that make you?”

  “Thick and Hard?” Shit, that’s crass. “I mean, big and ripped?” Better.

  “Okay, Hulk.”

  “Hey, now. I don’t have anger management issues or a split personality.”

  She laughs some more, and I’m discovering I like when Harper laughs. The sound is carefree and straight from her core.

  “Yes or no to me staying over?”

  “As long as you let me sleep in, I’m fine with it. I don’t start my shift until eleven.”

  I take a left and park in the driveway. The house is blue, like the color of Harper’s eyes. Or it’s the way the streetlights are shining on the house. Wooden steps. White railings. Black front door. Four blocks from campus.

  “How’d you find this place?”

  “A friend of mine owns it. Gives me a discount on rent.”

  “Is this the same landlord April mentioned is a jerk? He’s the reason her dad stops by and fixes things that go broke on you?”

  Man, I’d like to have me some harsh words with this guy. Harper laughs, and I want to take credit, but can’t.

  “What?” I scowl. “What did I say?”

  “She was giving you a tough time. April’s father, Pete, owns the place. He’s the jerk landlord.”

  “Aw, shit. Are you telling me I was royally played by a twelve-year-old?”

  “Um, yes?” She wipes at her tears.

  “Damn.”

  “She can be a handful. It’s the reason Pete wants me to keep an eye on her. And, she’s the apple of his eye.”

  “So set me straight here.” I shift in my seat. “You say I’m in danger, but she isn’t?”

  “Pete is a detective. He has the entire police force of Prescott to back him up should anything happen to April. Who do you have, Ryker?”

  “You. You’ll swoop in in your Wonder Woman costume and save my fine ass.”

  She stares at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “You’re something else.”

  I collapse my hand and polish an invisible piece of lint off my shirt. “I get that a lot. Thanks for the affirmation.”

  Quiet laughter from her. “Okay, big guy. Let’s head inside. I want to get out of these clothes, get comfortable, and binge-watch a few Netflix shows, then call it a night.”

  My thoughts exactly. We climb out of her car. Inside her small place, she sets her bag on the kitchen counter and checks her phone.

  “I won’t be sleeping in after all. You’ll have to be out the door by seven.”

  “Hot date?” I look around. Charcoal-gray sofa. Onyx coffee table. Black floor lamp.

  “My friend is overprotective. He won’t like seeing a guy here when he stops by tomorrow morning.”

  “Is he your real boyfriend?”

  “A good friend.”

  “A friend with benefits?”

  “Shephard’s complicated. What we have is . . . It’s complicated too. Do you want something to drink? Water? Juice?”

  “Got anything stronger?”

  “Beer.”

  “You having some too?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “I’ll have water, thanks.”
My words are harsh to my ears.

  To hell with partaking in her boyfriend’s leftover booze. Yeah, boyfriend. I’m not buying the good friend response. And I didn’t miss the fact she didn’t clarify whether this Shephard guy is a fuck buddy.

  She cocks that damn dark brow of hers.

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what, sprout?”

  She rolls her eyes. “That’s your nickname for me? It’s lame.”

  “Okay, Wonder Woman.” I turn on the television, find Netflix, and flip through the new releases.

  Why do I give a flying care whether she’s involved with someone other than I won’t be winning the bet if she is? Which begs the question, did my buddy Brett lead me astray, sabotaging my focus on playing ball by getting my ass handed to me by a girl’s boyfriend?

  “Don’t what, Harper?” I ask again, sans nickname.

  She hands me the glass of water and takes a seat next to me on the couch. “Don’t start giving a care about who is what in my life. Eventually, you’ll realize they’re all villains in their own small way.”

  What does that mean? I guzzle my water. Set the cup on the table. This girl is speaking in riddles. But she just found out her father is dead.

  “What was your father serving time for?” I turn off the television. I’m not interested in binge-watching anything when real-life drama is far more interesting.

  “Murder.”

  My eyes widen. “Murder?”

  She shifts in her seat. “I—” Stares at her hands. “Never mind. I should shower and change. Head to bed. We both have early starts to our day.”

  She gets off the couch. I stop her with my hand on her knee. “If you want to talk, I’m here. If not, I’m okay with that too. Your personal business is no business of mine.”

  “Thanks, Ryker. That means a lot to me.”

  On her way to the bedroom, she faces me.

  “Ryker, can I ask a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Um, will you . . .”

  She clears her throat. Sets her hands on her hips. Bends at the waist. Comes up for air and blows out a breath. I’m dizzy watching her.

  “Will you spend the night with me in my bed?” Soft pink colors the arches of her cheeks.

  And here I thought I’d be kicking it on the couch.

  Shock and awe.

  I’ve spent less than a week with Harper Garrix, and one thought crosses my mind, further sealing my fate.

  Missy who?

  8

  Ryker

  I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. Swallow a few times. Shoot Harper furtive glances as she tugs down the covers.

  Short pink shorts. Satin cream tank top, the points of her nipples poking against the thin material. My dick is doing the same to the front of my jeans.

  I’ve never slept with a girl before. Yeah, I’ve banged my fair share of coeds, but to snooze with a girl and the end goal not be coitus? Doesn’t happen.

  “If you’d rather sleep on the couch, I understand. It’s just”—she shrugs—“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  “Your friend Shephard—”

  “Would get mixed messages if it were him in your place. I never want to do that to him.”

  Meaning that at some point in their “friendship,” she did.

  “Did you set the alarm on your phone? You absolutely cannot be here when he shows up at my door.”

  “Your tone is getting me highly suspicious, Harper. I won’t be the other man in this relationship,” I tease, but I’m dead serious.

  “Yet you’re into open relationships.”

  “A mutual understanding. What we have is—”

  “Temporary and not a relationship, so ‘mutual’ is not in the cards.”

  “But you’re willing to let me share your bed. Insisted.”

  “To comfort. Not to fuck.”

  Oh, hell no. Proper Harper did not say that crass word. And it turns me on for two reasons. One, I’m a douchebag. Being turned on by crassness is a given. Two, Harper isn’t the prude I pegged her to be. My dick twitches, and I don’t know if I can keep my beast in my pants.

  “You can,” she says, reading me like an open book.

  Or is it the way I’m staring at her eyes, her mouth, and her tits?

  “Harper.” I groan. Look elsewhere.

  “Behave, Ryker. Everything isn’t about the next lay, the next copulation. Show some respect.”

  This girl is quiet strength and restrained fire. I can’t decide whether I should walk away—she’s trouble, I’m certain—or jump feet first into her flames. I’m curious to know who Harper Garrix is beyond the black clothes, the kids she hangs with, and this “complicated” Shephard friend.

  I glance at the bed. Return my attention to her. I can do this. Sweet Jesus, I have restraint and can respect the boundaries Harper set forth.

  I yank my shirt over my head. Pull at the button of my jeans. Drag the zipper down. Take off my pants. Her eyes don’t widen in surprise at seeing the thick outline of my erection under my boxers.

  She doesn’t lick her lips in anticipation of taking my dick in her mouth. Doesn’t smile coyly at me or crook her finger for me to come closer. That she wants a taste of me, from my mouth to my . . . cock.

  Instead, she lifts her chin and crawls under the covers. What the? Is seeing a man’s erect junk an everyday occurrence for her? I’m on fire down there, hot with desire, and she doesn’t spare my wide shoulders, broad chest, chiseled abs, and thick thighs a robust checking out? Not to mention, she isn’t begging to touch my cock or insisting to go down on me.

  I slide under the covers, and this strange feeling settles on my chest. What the hell is it? I think hard. Finally, I put my finger on what it is. Harper’s rejection of the temptation of my body is . . . humbling.

  My randy beast not so randy, I scoot close. My chest presses up against her back. My legs nudge the back of hers. Every fiber of her body stills, and thick silence envelopes the room.

  Did I do something wrong?

  “Harper?”

  I don’t breathe or make a move.

  “Can you not?”

  “Can I not what?”

  “Get so close.”

  “But at the skating rink, you let me put my arms around you.” I’m confused as all get out.

  “I could see you. Like this, I’m vulnerable. Please, move.”

  Vulnerable. That’s a strong word.

  I edge back. If I wasn’t a douchebag, my feelings would be stomped on. But my heart is made of steel and protected by steel armor.

  “I’m sorry, Harper.”

  I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling with an arm tucked under my head. The silence stretches on. When she speaks again, her voice is soft.

  “I should be the one apologizing for giving you mixed messages. I asked you to comfort me, and when you did, I pushed you away and made you feel like crap. I’m sorry, Ryker.”

  “Hey, it’s okay. Why wouldn’t you be all sorts of mixed up after losing your father?”

  I could see you. Like this, I’m vulnerable.

  What shithead hurt her? Or was there more than one? What did they do to make her feel less than safe around a guy?

  “Ryker?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you hold me again if I can look at you?”

  I don’t hesitate. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll lose my chance to prove she can be all sorts of vulnerable when around me.

  “Anything for you, Harper.”

  I face her. Soft rustling of covers in the darkness. Small fingers burrowing in my chest hair. Floral scent from her body wash, or is it her shampoo making me heady and hot? Talking my randy beast down, I stretch one arm over her head and the other across her waist.

  “Is this okay?”

  She glances up at me through long, thick lashes. “More than okay. Thank you.”

  “Officer Ramirez is a cool guy.” I can’t sleep being this near her. “Did you grow up in Chicago?”
>
  Her fingers play with my chest hair. I bite back my groan. I won’t be one of those bastards who made her feel unsafe.

  “I grew up in Vegas, then moved to Chicago for my dad’s training. He was a mixed martial arts fighter, heavy weight division.”

  “Holy shit.”

  A small smile from her, moonlight shining in through the windows above her bed.

  “My mom was a kindergarten teacher.”

  “How did opposites meet?”

  “Through friends. My father said it was love at first sight. Mom said the same. They married two weeks later.”

  “Wow.”

  “No wow. That kind of insta-lust can lead to a crash and burn.”

  “Crash and burn?”

  “My father was a jealous man. I don’t think my mom knew that about him. I remember him going into a tailspin and punching walls and destroying things if my mom so much as looked at another guy.”

  “Did he ever hurt her or you?”

  “No. Didn’t play mind games either. My father made his expectations clear. He would be the love of my mom’s life for life, until death do them part.”

  My gut knots. Something bad is coming up in her story.

  “My mom cried a lot. Started losing weight. The school she worked for let her go. Then when my dad was gone in Europe on a tour, something in her changed. Happier. Gained back the weight. Glowing skin. Shiny hair. I didn’t realize . . .”

  Her voice trembles. She shifts. The covers fall off her pale and dainty shoulder. I pull them back over her. With what little light shines in through the windows, I see tears in her eyes.

  Oh, shit, here comes the godawful part.

  “My mother and my father’s best friend, one of the fighters, they . . .” She heaves a breath. “They fell in love and were having an affair. My father suspected. Nothing gets by him. The trip to Europe was a ruse. I knew what they were doing inside the bedroom, and I couldn’t move, Ryker. He shot them. He killed my mom and his best friend. And Colton, he was still inside my mother when they died.”

  Her tears fall, and I hold her tight, smoothing my hand over her back.

  “I’m sorry you went through that, Harper. So sorry.” Hot tears on my skin. The hell she went through. “Officer Ramirez said he’s known you since you were thirteen.”