Dangerous Lovers (143 page)

A plain four-door sedan that I wouldn’t have normally driven to save my own life. Yet it appeared I was willing to do just about anything to save Frankie. I was just about to pull out of the back of the parking lot when Storm appeared in the backseat.

“Man, you would have lost it and I never would have gotten you out of the house if I had told you that shit before you got into your body.”

“I’m still going to deck you if you ever get a body.”

“Don’t hate the playa. Hate the game.”

I glanced in the review mirror as I drove. “Did you seriously just say that?”

“Just keepin’ it real.”

I focused back on driving and trying not to speed too noticeably. Now would not be a good time to get pulled over by the cops. The drive seemed to take forever and with every passing minute, I grew more worried I would be too late.

About a block from her apartment, I pulled the hotwired car over and parked it in a parking garage. I hurried to use a napkin that was in the glove compartment to wipe down all the surfaces I touched. I knew my fingerprints weren’t in the criminal system, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I had a feeling if I managed to get out from under the G.R., this was the body I’d be keeping.

The thought drew me up short and I stood outside the car, staring down, doing nothing but thinking.

Get out from under the Reaper?
Where did that thought come from? The way I thought it just now seemed like it was something that had already been decided—like my head knew something it didn’t inform the rest of me about.

Was it even possible?

Could I somehow manage to get completely free of him?

I didn’t mean I could pull of this job, kill the Target, and use those bodies to get myself out of being Recalled. Because even if I managed to do that, G.R. would just keep assigning me impossible jobs until I failed. I would spend the rest of my existence scrambling around trying to do his bidding.

I didn’t want that.

I wanted a life. A real life. One that meant I didn’t have to kill anymore. One where I didn’t have to switch bodies and identities, one where I was the only person in charge of what I did.

It wasn’t possible. Was it?

Could I somehow trade everything I had of his for true freedom?

Frankie wouldn’t have to make peace with me killing because I wouldn’t have to kill. We could live without looking over our shoulders. I could love her the way she deserved to be loved.

I’d never had such thoughts before—such hope.

“Dude, how long you gonna stand next to the car you stole?”

I jerked up, reality crashing back in. My feet started moving; I jogged away from the car and toward Frankie’s apartment.

“Okay, yeah,” Storm called from behind. “I’ll just meet you there.”

I finally figured out what I wanted and I was going to get it. I just had to figure out how to get there. But before I did any of that, I had to see her. I had to make sure she was okay.

When her apartment building came into sight, I wanted to rush down the sidewalk and barge right in. But I couldn’t. G.R. might be watching the building. I ducked into an empty stairwell across the street and watched for signs that someone else might be out here watching or waiting.

After a few minutes of seeing nothing suspicious, I had enough and decided to just use my speed and zip inside. Just as I was preparing to run, the door to her building opened and a man stepped out.

It was G.R.

My breath hissed out between my teeth and I ducked back into the opening when what I really wanted to do was beat his ass. But then my anger dissolved and fear spiked through me. He had been upstairs, inside that apartment with her for a long time.

What if she was hurt?

What if she was dead?

His car pulled down the road and I flew across the pavement. I don’t even know if my feet touched the ground. I stopped only when I came to her door. I tried turning the handle to just barge right in, but it was locked.

I pounded on it. “Frankie!” I yelled. “Frankie, open the door.”

Storm appeared behind me.

“You need to go in there, unlock the door.”

The lock on the door slid free and the door swung wide.

“Frankie,” I said, relief making my voice weak.

“Olly?” she said, her eyes going wide as she stared at me.

I nodded. “I know I look different, but it’s me.”

“You look…” Her voice trailed away as she just stood there and stared.

I wanted to snatch her up, to crush her against me, but I wasn’t sure if she would want that. I finally knew exactly what I wanted, but I had no idea if she wanted the same.

“Can we come in?” Storm said.

Frankie stepped back, allowing us in and then closing the door. I stopped short seeing Piper was here. There were too many people here… too many eyes.

I turned my back on them and looked at Frankie. “I saw the Reaper leaving. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“Your eyes are still green,” she murmured, staring at me.

I smiled.

“He tried to kill her,” Piper announced. I spun around. “What?”

“He was going to touch her. Got a couple inches from her face.”

Bile rose up in my throat and my hands fisted at my sides.

“But he didn’t touch me. Piper stopped him.”

“How could Piper stop him?” Storm asked.

“She touched him first.”

I swung my head in the direction of her words. “Come again?”

Frankie nodded. “Piper touched the Grim Reaper and she didn’t die.”

Everyone stared at Piper. Her cheeks turned pink. “I really need to be going. I have to work.”

“You mean to tell me G.R.’s touch didn’t kill you?” Storm said.

Piper nodded. “It’s because he already promised not to kill me.”

I wasn’t sure that was entirely it, but I wasn’t about to start an hour-long discussion. I wanted to be with Frankie. Alone.

Piper grabbed up her bag off the floor and went to the door where Frankie hugged her. “Thank you. Why don’t you stay here tonight after work? You probably shouldn’t be alone.”

Instead of answering, Piper glanced at me.

I nodded. “Thank you. For saving her life.”

Her cheeks bloomed pink again and she hurried out the door.

“Is she safe?” Frankie asked when Piper was gone. “I mean, obviously the Reaper can’t kill her, but I mean… that’s kind of rare, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen this happen my entire career as an Escort,” I replied.

“Won’t that kind of make her… I don’t know… interesting to certain people?”

I had no idea what it meant. I could barely think about it with her standing so close yet so far away.

“How about I keep an eye on her while she’s at work?” Storm volunteered.

Frankie expelled a breath. “Would you?”

“Yeah.” Storm looked at me. “You got my number.”

I nodded.

He didn’t wait for someone to open the door. He just went right through it.

And then we were finally alone.

Chapter Forty-Four

“
Suspenders - fabric or leather straps worn over the shoulders to hold up trousers.”

Frankie

His eyes were green.

The same exact green they were before. The same green that matched the rolling hills of Scotland.

I didn’t know what it was going to be like the first time I saw him in his body, but it was better than I thought it would be. Seeing a body on a hanger was nothing compared to seeing it alive and breathing in front of me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern darkening the eyes I was so glad hadn’t changed.

“Yeah.”

My answer must not have been very convincing because in three great steps he was standing before me, gripping my shoulders and bending down so we were eye to eye. “Are you really okay? Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head. “No. I—” I lost my train of thought. “You’re taller.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up and he stepped away. “I’ll give you one minute to get used to this new body.”

“Only one?”

He grinned.

“What’s with the khakis?” I laughed as my eyes perused his body.

He scowled. “I didn’t dress myself today.”

I watched as he glanced down at his body, like he was just seeing it for the first time, and make a face. Then he yanked the sweater vest up over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

Holy hot suspenders.

I never ever in a million years would have dreamed that I would ever think a guy in suspenders was attractive.

Apparently, Olly was attractive in anything he wore.

They were pulled taut across his wide shoulders and hugged his body all the way down the sides of his chest until they stopped at the waistband of his pants, which encircled a narrow, trim waist. I couldn’t look away. I wanted to slide my hands beneath them, starting at that waist, and move up his solid chest until my hands wrapped around his neck and buried in his blond hair.

“I’ll find a pair of jeans later,” he muttered. I suppressed a smile.

“What about you?” I asked seriously. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He blew out a breath and sat down on the couch, leaning back against it lazily. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time for you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Come here.”

I really had no clue how he could be so calm after everything that happened. My heart was still pounding just a little bit too fast. Of course when he looked at me like that it didn’t help.

As I stood there and tried to figure him out, he crooked a finger at me and curled it toward him as if I were on a string and he could pull me closer. Maybe I was because my body obeyed the command of his finger and I found myself directly in front of him.

He moved swiftly, taking me by the waist and pulling me down onto his lap. I wrapped my legs around him, my feet sandwiched between the softness of the sofa and the solidness of his back. He rested his hands between us, his fingers playing idly with the hem of my T-shirt—
his
T-shirt.

“Whatcha got there?” he said. His voice was deep and slightly raspy. It wasn’t the smooth-talking voice he used to have. Shivers raced up my back.

“You left it on my bed.”

“You thought I left you.”

I bit my lip, looking down at his hands. “You kind of did.”

“Was it easy for you?” he asked. “Leaving my house, thinking you might not see me again?”

I glanced up. I didn’t really want to answer. It felt like he was asking me to bare my soul to him—to tell him my most secret feelings. I wasn’t sure I could trust him with those things.

He seemed to perceive my reluctance to reply, so he said, “Is that why you took my shirt? Because it made it a little less harder to leave?”

“I took your Ferrari, too. I left it at the airport.”

He smiled. It was a crooked smile and he had a dimple in his chin. I wanted to reach out and touch it. So I did.

“I didn’t like that car anyway. So pretentious.” He caught the fingers that were tracing his dimple and pressed a kiss to the palm of my hand. “What if I told you it was just as hard for me to leave as it was for you?”

“I didn’t say it was hard.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I felt like an ice cube outside on a hot summer day… slowly melting…

“There’s something I need to know,” he said, taking a fistful of my shirt and towing me closer.

“What?” I have no idea if he even heard the word because it sounded like a sigh.

His lips didn’t just touch me; they didn’t just brush against mine… They captured me. I couldn’t even be considered their hostage because even if he pulled back and offered freedom, I would have stayed. I would have begged for more.

He kissed me like he’d never kissed me before. Slow. Soft. Gentle. He was so utterly and agonizingly slow, tilting his head one way and then the other. The friction of his lips meeting mine again and again filled every part of me with something warm and liquid, until I was so overfull with longing I couldn’t sit still.

My body started to move, a slow rocking motion in his lap, like we were lost at sea and our boat just followed the waves. Too soon, he pulled back gently, dropping a kiss to the tip of my nose before leaning his head against the back of the couch to stare at me with heavy-lidded eyes.

What did you say to someone when they kissed you so good you couldn’t even remember your own name?

Nothing. You said nothing.

You sat there and prayed they would kiss you again.

The side of his mouth curved upward and a lock of blond hair fell into his eye. “That answers that.”