Ava Gray - Skin Game

The clerk came out slow, as if he thought it was some kind of wicked prank. His eyes rounded when he took in the man sprawled at her feet. “What did you . . . how . . .?”

People sure have been asking me that a lot today, Kyra thought with a sigh. This was why she preferred not to get involved, why it was better to keep moving and take only what she could carry.

“Karate lessons,” she said with a straight face. “You gonna get that tape or should I?”

“I—no . . . I will.” Finally the kid seemed to shake it off and he hurried over to the aisle next to the freezers, where he tore open a roll of electrical tape.

“You’ll want to call the sheriff,” Kyra prompted gently. “And if it’s not too much trouble, could you authorize pump four? I’ll take twenty in unleaded fuel, two hot dogs, and two slushies.”

“Are you shitting me?” The cashier, who was tall and thin, spattered with acne, raised a brow. “This is reality TV, right? People don’t do stuff like this.”

She shrugged. “I do. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention me when the cops get here. You can play hero. Put the fear in all armed robbers within a hundred miles.”

“Huh,” said the kid. “Okay, deal. I can’t comp the gas, but the dogs and slushies are on me.” He shook his head. “Damned if this hasn’t been the weirdest night.”

“You’re telling me.” Kyra stepped over the fallen robber, collected the food and drinks, and dropped a twenty on the counter for the gas.

When she stepped out into the humidity, she found mystery man waiting for her.

Reyes brooded.

The hot dog was not the worst thing he’d ever eaten, but he couldn’t imagine why anyone chose to drink a blue raspberry slushie. Still, it seemed impolite to complain, and out of character besides. A man down on his luck would be grateful for whatever he got.

He’d watched her from the front of the store. Saw how she’d waded in without regard for personal safety, and that was fine—her business if she had a death wish. But she didn’t get to die, not until he found out what he needed to know.

He’d been prepared to bail her out. He hadn’t been prepared to see her unleash his moves. Head to knee, double kick? Remembering made him feel strange and queasy, prickly from the inside out.

“We’re almost to Lake Charles.” Her voice interrupted his increasingly tangled thoughts. “Where should I drop you off?”

She thought they’d be parting ways once they hit the city. He shrugged. “Anywhere is fine. Thanks for dinner and the lift.”

More than an hour past, he’d pretended to lose interest in her. There was no surer way to disarm someone than to pretend you didn’t give a shit. Reyes realized he wished it were true, but damned if she didn’t fascinate him.

White lights sparkled ahead, dazzling proof of city and civilization, and he studied them instead of looking at her profile. Because he wanted to, he couldn’t allow himself to take pleasure in her features. Business, not pleasure, had drawn him here. Kyra had led him on a merry chase, but now he had her, and he couldn’t let himself become distracted.

“No problem.” She paused, and then went on reluctantly, “But I can’t just dump you off on the side of the road.”

“Why not?” Reyes thought it was a reasonable question.

“You didn’t want me along in the first place, and if you hadn’t gotten mixed up in trouble at the service station, you would’ve left me there.”

Aha, flash of guilt in the quick glance she cut his way. He’d use it.

“So . . .” He drew the word out and shrugged. “What does it matter? I had dinner and I got out of Eunice. I don’t feel like scuffling over the rest.”

That was a big, bold lie. Despite the hour, he felt energized. Reyes wanted to run his hand along the seat between them and curl it around her thigh, just to see how she’d react. He loved her mouth and her voice. It felt like he’d been listening to her for days instead of hours.

His muscles twitched like he’d been working out. It ran directly counter to his impression before that he wouldn’t know how to fight if he had to. Whatever she’d done to him—however little sense that made—had worn off. Christ, this woman would drive him crazy before he got the job done.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said finally. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”

“Only to somebody who’s used to being left behind.” Reyes wished the words didn’t contain so much raw honesty, candor used to cloak deception.

“Oh.” She exhaled in a little sorrowful sound that made his hands curl up into fists on his knees. “Look, I’ll get you a room tonight,” she added. “I can afford it.”

He wore this persona like a second skin, but he’d never before permitted glimpses of himself to show through. Reyes refused to let her disconcert him further. He had a job to do.

So he forced a smile. “I don’t want one, unless you’re sharing it with me.”

“That’s not going to happen.” She tried to sound firm, but he caught the faintly breathless way she pronounced the h .

“No?”

That was when he decided to indulge himself. He wouldn’t cut loose, but he could play with her a little. Reyes finally slid his hand along the seat as he’d envisioned over the past hours.

His palm settled near her knee, just above the ripped fabric of her jeans. It wasn’t a threatening touch, more of a promise. And that same chain reaction shuddered through him, like an orgasm, only smaller, quieter. He felt drained again, but this time he was ready for the feeling, and he tried to capture its nuances for later study.

Her reaction betrayed her utterly. Instead of taking one hand off the wheel to slap him away, her fingers tightened at ten and two. Her thigh went rigid and then, ever so slightly, her knees splayed outward, as if willing him to go further. Wanting him to slide his hand higher.

Was that what got her off? Risk? Danger? He didn’t move. Heat spilled from his skin to hers. Then he began to draw delicate patterns along her nerves, etching with his blunt nails.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said then.

“About what?” She didn’t look at him. Didn’t ask him to stop. A shiver coursed through her, and he didn’t think it was from the wind blowing between their cracked windows.

“Your name.” He slid his hand a little higher.

Her top clung to her breasts, damped by perspiration. No more than a scrap of lace and thin layer of cotton covered them. In the tunnels of light cast by passing cars, he saw her nipples perk. Reyes stroked her inner thigh, caressing as if he touched bare skin.

“Mmm. Kyra. I’m Kyra.”

“Pretty.” Inwardly he exulted that she hadn’t lied. “I should know it if I’m going to keep doing this. Am I, Kyra? But understand—if I take my hand away, I won’t put it back. So be sure of what you want before you give your answer.”

Her reply came hushed and husky. “Don’t stop.”

Why did that make him hard as a spike? There was a certain adolescent lust mixed into what he was doing, feeling her up as she drove. They were on the highway now, cars speeding by on either side. She couldn’t respond, only sit with the big engine vibrating the seat beneath her ass while his fingers slowly worked up her thigh.

“What’s your name?” It was the first hint of curiosity she’d evinced toward him. Considering what he was thinking about doing to her, Reyes considered it a good sign. And then she slanted him a heavy-lidded look, belying the freckled simplicity of her face. Her eyes shone in the moonlight with maddening allure, as she quoted his words back at him. “I should know it, if you’re going to keep doing this.”