Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's) Read online

  “Seemed like you wanted to do more than talk in your chats.” He leered at her. The dirtbag actually leered. Well, truthfully he was leering at her cleavage. Not much eye contact happening. She leaned forward and pressed her hands between her knees, knowing what it was doing to her boobs. He was mesmerized.

  “Well, once I had a minute to think about it, I realized things weren’t really done between us, were they?”

  He grinned in anticipation and licked his lips, eyes still on her tits. Meg suppressed a shudder. Over his shoulder, through the glass windows of the cafe, she saw David and Ken on the sidewalk with several of the other agents from this morning. It was starting. Or rather, it had already started. They’d told her that the actual arrest would be conducted by the Mexican police, which meant that if the FBI agents were out on the sidewalk now…

  Just then, a Mexican couple in the booth behind Mark silently slid out of their seats. Two large men, also Mexican, casually walked in the cafe and stopped, looking around as if deciding where to sit, but they’d effectively blocked the door as well. One man came ambling out from the direction of the restrooms and another from the kitchen. Mark hadn’t noticed yet. He was still staring at her tits. But Meg could see them closing in on him from all sides.

  “I’m glad you think so, Meg.” He licked his lips. “So why don’t we skip lunch and just head back to my place now?”

  Meg frowned and sat back in her chair. He blinked as she broke the spell. “I think you’re going to be a little busy this afternoon, Mark.”

  His pasty skin turned even whiter and his beady eyes went wide behind his glasses. “What did you call me?”

  She grinned, enjoying the horror dawning in his eyes. It must feel something like that moment when she sat across from him, slowly realizing everything she’d been building her life around had been a lie. Mark made an attempt to stand, but it was too late. While his eyes had been fixed on her cleavage, he’d been surrounded by police officers, and now two beefy hands came down on his shoulders, pinning him to his chair.

  “Mark Rubiak,” said one of the big guys from the front door. “You are under arrest.”

  As the officer kept rattling off the temporary charges that would land him in a Mexican jail until extradition, Mark looked back at Meg. “You bitch.”

  “You know, Mark, you really shouldn’t trust people you meet on the internet. They could be lying through their teeth about everything.”

  “How did you figure it out? You, of all people?”

  She bristled at that, at the implication that she was too stupid and naïve to bring him down. Well, he’d figure out in short order that was exactly what had happened. The broken little rich girl he’d duped had turned the tables on him and sent him to prison. He’d have years and years to mull that one over so she didn’t bother correcting him. Looking over his shoulder again, she saw Garrett standing on the sidewalk, watching her intently, like he wouldn’t be able to breathe until she was out of this situation. She grinned. “I got very, very lucky.”

  #

  He waited for her. After the arrest at the cafe, they went back to the FBI offices where Meg was whisked away into the supersecret areas to give testimony and go over evidence and a million other official things, and they said Garrett couldn’t be there for that stuff. It took hours. All day. She figured he must have left ages ago. David walked her out front where a car waited to take her back to Garrett’s. When they walked through the door to the lobby, Garrett was there, sitting in one of their uncomfortable plastic lobby chairs, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor.

  David smirked. “Looks like you’re okay from here. Car’s out front, just tell him where to go. And, Meg? Thank you again. Great job today.”

  She hugged him goodbye, because that’s what she always did. She’d hugged Agent Vasquez, even Ken Durkin, even though he’d looked like he might break. Once David was gone, she walked over to Garrett. When her feet came into his line of sight, his head jerked up and she could swear she saw several very encouraging emotions flash across his face at once: delight, relief, happiness.

  “Hey, you waited for me.”

  He stood up and cleared his throat. “Of course. How’d it go?”

  “Good. Long. I’ll have to testify in New York, of course, but he has to be extradited first, so it will be a while. David gave me this.” She waggled her passport in her fingers. “Technically it was seized with the rest of my luggage when they searched the house and should have stayed in evidence, but he pulled some strings.”

  Garrett frowned at the passport. “Well, that’s good,” he said, his words at odds with the expression on his face. “It’ll save you having to deal with the embassy. You can go home tomorrow.”

  Meg’s stomach bottomed out and she flushed icy cold. She willed him to look at her face and amend that statement, but he kept his eyes carefully averted. “Uh, yeah,” she stammered at last. “I guess I can. I better go get my stuff together.”

  Now he looked at her, a brief flicker of a gaze that she couldn’t quite read. Then he turned and extended an arm for her to walk ahead of him. “Sure thing. Let’s go.”

  They rode in silence back to his place. Meg watched Mexico City slide past the car windows as the driver wound through the hectic snarl of traffic. Such a vast city and she’d barely seen it. How ridiculous that just a week ago she’d thought she was moving here. That felt like a dream now, some crazy thing that happened to some other version of Meg. So much had happened. The girl who got on that plane back at JFK was gone. From the minute Garrett had sat down next to her, everything had started to change. She looked over at him. He was staring out the window, too, hand curled pensively in front of his mouth. She didn’t want to move to Mexico anymore, but she certainly didn’t want to leave yet, not when he was staying. But maybe one night was all he wanted or needed with her. Funny, she came here and was horribly betrayed by one man, but a different man was the one who was breaking her heart.

  Garrett unlocked his apartment and motioned Meg inside. She slipped past him and he closed the door, leaning back on it, watching her.

  “Well, I guess I’ll call the airline and see what I can get for tomorrow,” she said, her voice flippant.

  His gut churned. This was all happening too fast. He knew it was probably for the best, get it done quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid. But when she’d shown him that passport and he realized what it meant, panic like he’d never known gripped him. She should go home as soon as possible, start the business of putting this nightmare behind her and getting on with her life. That was absolutely for the best. But…

  “Meg…”

  She turned, face hopeful but eyes wary. “Yeah?”

  He shook his head. No, he couldn’t do this. She was so bright and young and unsullied. He needed to turn her loose to go find the brilliant life she was destined for. She took a step toward him. His fingers curled into the door handle like that inanimate object might hold him back from doing something stupid.

  “Garrett?” she murmured, taking another step toward him.

  “I…”

  Then she reached out and touched his arm.

  “Oh, hell.” He grabbed her, hauling her roughly into his arms and kissing her. Meg fell into him, body pressed against his, arms coming up to wrap around his neck. The kiss was too rough, but it was full of hours of anxiety, helplessly watching her through the window as she faced off against Rubiak, waiting as she dealt with an entire team of FBI agents alone. And it was full of fear—fear that for the first time in years, his cold, dead heart was feeling something and he was going to have to give it up.

  His mouth moved across her cheek, over her jaw, and down her throat. Her head tipped back and he wove one hand through the lush mass of her curls, cradling it.

  “I want you to stay,” he heard himself murmur against her throat.

  “Yes,” she sighed.

  With a growl of frustration, he shoved her back and squeezed his eyes shut. “No. I mean, you can’t.�
� She blinked up at him in confusion. He pushed past her, striding into the living room, dragging his hands through his hair and fisting them hard in frustration. “Meg, you should stay the hell away from me. I’m awful. Fuck. I was gonna be unselfish. You see? Nobody’s unselfish. I told you so. The one time I was going to be fucking noble and let you go, I’m being an asshole and asking you to stay.”

  Then she was behind him, slipping her arms around his waist, resting her forehead between his shoulder blades. And God, that felt good. The kind of good he never wanted to give up.

  “Maybe I want you to be a selfish asshole,” she said against his shirt.

  He spun around and gripped her shoulders, crouching until they were eye to eye. “I cannot ask you to stay here in Mexico with me.”

  She shook her head, but she was suppressing a smile. Her left cheek dimpled slightly when she did that. He wanted to kiss that little crease.

  “We just met,” he continued, arguing with himself, not her. “We’re practically strangers. After what you just went through, staying in Mexico with a guy you just met is a bad idea. It’s the king of all bad ideas.”

  Meg nodded solemnly, reaching out to toy with his shirt buttons.

  “A terrible idea,” she agreed. Then she slipped one button free. He groaned.

  “Meg, we’re talking about what a terrible idea this is.”

  She stepped forward, and somehow, even though he told himself not to do it, his arms came around her, gathering her in. She tipped her face up and kissed the underside of his jaw. His eyes closed and his head fell back.

  “Mmm, let’s go back to that part about me staying, because I liked that part.”

  “I’m terrible, Meg. Too old for you and too messed up.”

  She chuckled, a surprisingly knowing laugh coming from her. “You think I’m not messed up after this? And you don’t get to decide what’s good for me.”

  One of his hands slid up her back, between her shoulders, to grip the back of her neck. He kept telling himself to put an end to this and back away, but he couldn’t seem to stop touching her. “The last time you decided it for yourself, you picked an internationally wanted criminal.”

  She sighed, working free another button. His shirt was hanging open now. “You’re going to throw that in my face for the rest of my life, aren’t you?” Then she pressed her lips to his chest. It was surprisingly easy to imagine that. The rest of their lives. His and hers. Yeah, he’d tease her about Rubiak forever, until it stopped being something painful and became just a funny anecdote. “Hey, honey, tell them how we met, again.” He shook his head to clear it of that shockingly potent vision, but it wouldn’t stop, and Meg was still in his arms, kissing his chest, tugging his shirt back off his shoulders. Did he really think he could keep fighting this?

  “Garrett?” Her hands slid through his hair and he shuddered.

  “Yeah?” His left hand had slipped up under her shirt, his palm spread over the warm, smooth skin of her back.

  She kissed his collarbone, the hollow at the base of his throat. She swiped her tongue along the tendon of his neck, and then she kissed just below his ear. “Ask me to stay here with you,” she whispered.

  His hand tightened on her neck, angling her face up to his, and he kissed her, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, the fluid heat of it setting him on fire. “Stay,” he murmured. “Just stay.”

  “Okay,” she finally managed on a breath.

  He kissed her until the panic in his chest began to ease. She was staying. He wouldn’t have to let her go. This was madness, and a bad idea, but he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d do his damnedest to get this right and not hurt her.

  “You know this is a terrible idea,” he told her as he unbuttoned her shirt. “You should probably be alone for a while to get over things.”

  She nodded as she unbuckled his belt. “Yeah, that would be smart. David even gave me a brochure about counseling, dealing with my grief and stuff.”

  He pulled her shirt down her arms and tossed it on the couch. “David’s right. You should go back to New York and see a therapist and put this all behind you.”

  “I probably should.”

  He kissed her as he unfastened her bra, drawing it down her arms and sending it to join her shirt. She was glorious and sweet and so, so much more than he deserved. He felt humbled that he had been given a chance at something this lovely and unsullied. It was equal parts thrilling and terrifying, but the fear eased when Meg wrapped her long, bare arms around him, pressed her breasts to his chest and kissed him. He couldn’t remember to do much of anything but breathe when she did that, and then only barely. He put his hands under her arms and lifted her until her legs wrapped around his waist and he carried her to the bedroom.

  “You’re probably supposed to take things slow,” he told her as he set her down and they both went to work stripping off their jeans.

  “Yep, very slow,” she agreed, reaching for the waistband of his boxers. He took care of them for her, and then slid her underwear off, running his palms down the sleek, pale length of her legs as he did so. He gave her a tiny push and she fell back on the bed, grinning at him as he joined her. His hand trailed up her body from her hip, to her waist, up her ribcage and over her breast, across her chest, until he was cradling her face. His thumb rubbed along her lower lip and she stared up at him, eyes half-closed, lashes shadowing across her cheekbones. Some long-dormant emotion percolated through his chest, one he could scarcely believe had found root in his withered soul. But it was there, throwing down roots, pushing up fragile new tendrils. It would grow if he gave it room to, if someone encouraged it. That someone lay underneath him, smiling up at him as she traced the line of his jaw with her fingers.

  “You’re probably not supposed to fall in love with anybody else right away,” he said gruffly.

  She nodded, her expression soft and pensive. She ran her fingertip around the edge of his lips. “Right. Falling in love right now would be a crazy thing to do.”

  He kissed her, gentle and brief. “It would be. So you should definitely not fall in love with me.”

  Her legs came up to wrap around his hips and he settled himself against her. “Okay,” she agreed. “I definitely won’t fall in love with you. Because you’re a cynic who doesn’t even believe in love.”

  He grinned as he palmed her breast, drawing a satisfying little sigh out of her. “Love is for bright-eyed optimists like you.”

  She shifted her hips under him and he hissed in pleasure. “What would a jaded old misanthrope like you ever want with a reckless dreamer like me, anyway?”

  He chuckled and cupped her face, looking into her eyes, feeling something perilously close to joy for the first time in years. “We’d be a disaster together.”

  She smiled up at him. “Agreed. We can’t ever fall in love.”

  “I promise I won’t fall in love with you.”

  “And I won’t fall in love with you.”

  “At least not right away.”

  “Sure,” she giggled. “A few months, at least.”

  He nipped at her chin. “Or weeks.”

  “Weeks,” she sighed.

  “A week,” he amended.

  “A few days,” she added.

  “Tomorrow. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Okay. We’ll fall in love tomorrow.”

  “That sounds entirely sensible.”

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  Keep up with all my upcoming releases at www.amandaweavernovels.com.

 

 

 
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