So that was it.
But Raiden…
He was good at faking.
The master.
I knew this when his arm instantly sliced along my lower back. He hauled me into his hard body and his mouth opened over mine. Mine automatically opened under his and his tongue slid inside.
His tongue felt better, tasted divine, and I pressed into him, tangling mine with his.
My last chance.
He was giving it to me.
Suddenly, I didn’t care if it was fake.
Suddenly, I didn’t care if I’d never have it again.
I had it now.
I was going for it.
I tilted my head and offered him everything.
He slanted his. I heard the soft “flunf” of the afghan falling to the floor and his free hand drove into my hair, fisting. I felt pain that should have felt bad but felt oh-so-good spike across my scalp and I pressed deeper into him, giving more.
He took it.
My hands slid up his arms, his shoulders and finally, finally, I had his hair sliding through my fingers.
It was thick.
It was silky.
It was perfect.
He shuffled me back. I hit the door, the door hit the wall and he pressed in.
I pressed up, held on and kept giving.
Raiden kept taking.
It was the best kiss of my life.
It could have been the best kiss in history.
It took superhuman effort to remember it wasn’t real. To tear my mouth from his, wrench myself out of his arms and step out of reach.
Lost momentarily, I lifted my hand to touch my mouth, my breathing heavy. Then I lifted my eyes to see his head turned toward me, his eyes on me burning in a way that made me burn, everywhere.
Really, a great actor.
Tactical error, taking my last chance.
Now I had to get this done.
I rounded him, crouched where he dropped the afghan, picked it up and moved to stand at the other side of the door, holding it out to him.
“Drive safe home,” I said and he stared at me.
“Come again?” he whispered and there was something sinister in that whisper that scared the heck out of me.
But I ignored my fear, jiggled the afghan at him and repeated, “Drive safe home.”
He approached me and I felt my body stiffen from head-to-toe.
Raiden didn’t miss it. I knew it when his frame jerked to a wooden halt and his eyes bored into mine.
“Talk to me,” he ordered, his voice now low and rumbling, but also strangely rough and commanding.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow when you call. Now I really need to get some medication and lie down.”
He lifted a hand and curled it around the side of my neck, dipping his face close to mine.
“Now isn’t the time to start playing games, Hanna,” he warned quietly.
Was he serious?
He was saying that to me?
I looked him straight in the eye and declared, “No games, Raiden. It’s just a headache.” More like heartache. “With me, you get what you see, that’s it. No mystery. No nothing. Just me.”
“You aren’t you,” he told me.
“You don’t know me,” I returned.
Raiden went silent, but he didn’t move away.
Then he murmured, “Fair enough.”
Thank God.
He slid his hand to the back of my neck, pulling me close as his head lifted up and he spoke, “You kiss like that when you got a headache, honey,” he touched his lips to my forehead and they moved there as he finished, “lookin’ forward to havin’ your mouth when you don’t.”
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
I decided not to respond.
I also decided not to allow myself to think about how wonderful it felt to have Raiden Miller kiss my forehead.
His hand slid to my jaw and his chin tipped so he could catch my eyes.
“‘Night, Hanna,” he said softly.
“Good-bye, Raiden,” I replied.
His eyes flashed at my words, but his face moved in. He touched his lips to mine, moved back, took the afghan from me and sauntered out the door.
Keeping up appearances, I stood in it, and when he swung in his Jeep I waved.
Raiden did not wave back.
Then I closed the door and locked it. I switched the outside lights off and turned off the lights that I’d left on in the foyer. That done, I dashed up the stairs as best I could because I was also tugging at the buckles and straps of my sandals to get them off while I went.
I hit the bedroom, tossed my shoes on the bed and turned on the lamp on my nightstand.
Only then did I hear the Jeep pull away.
He waited until I’d made it upstairs and he knew I was settling, getting ready for bed before he drove away.
That was sweet.
God, I wished he was real.
I dashed back down the stairs and grabbed the phone in the hall. I ran through the dining room into the kitchen, snapped on the light and found the phonebook.
I flipped through it and found the number for the Sherriff’s Police.
Then I called it.
Chapter Seven
Reward
Raid
Raid walked down the sidewalk to the shiny, black SUV parked on the side of the road in town. He pulled open the door and angled in.
Blue and red lights flashed into the cab as they did the same outside, illuminating the street.
“You hear the police band?” Tucker Creed asked.
Raid kept his eyes to the three squad cars and one K-9 SUV all angled in around Bodhi’s bike shop. Then he shifted his gaze down the street where, at a distance of a little over a block, two more squads and another K-9 unit were angled outside the gift shop.
“Raid, you hear me?” Creed asked, and Raid cut his eyes to his partner.
“I heard it,” he growled.
“She called it in,” Creed told him something he already knew.
“I said I heard it,” Raid repeated.
“You know how she knew to call it in? You said she was clueless,” Creed asked, and Raid’s eyes moved back to the flashing squads.
He knew.
She’d played him.
Sweet, shy, cute, goofy Hanna Boudreaux didn’t go out for a breath of fresh air to clear her head and try to get rid of a burgeoning headache like she told him she had.
She’d been the one he heard open the ladies room door.
She’d overheard him.
She’d covered it, came back looking freaked, lied that it was a headache and then spent the next thirty minutes acting jacked because she was freaked that her friends were f**king her over.