Becoming Rain
Page 67
I inhale deeply and dare ask, “What are you doing with your uncle, Luke?”
He cups my jaw gently, pulling my face into his in a kiss much sweeter than before, his forehead pressed against mine as he whispers, “Would you leave me if I told you?”
“Maybe I’m greedy too.” I force a smile. No, I won’t leave you until I have to arrest you.
He suddenly flips me over onto my stomach and reaches for another condom on the nightstand, his tongue following the swirls of the tattoo on my shoulder.
I give in. He’s not ready to divulge everything to me. This is just the beginning.
The beginning of a true “us” in his eyes.
And the beginning of the end for Luke Boone.
I lie for hours in Luke’s arms, watching him snore softly, his face more boyish and angelic than it deserves to be. Replaying his words—his admission.
And with the eastern sky beginning to lighten beyond the window, I don’t care about any of it. All I want to do is lean forward and kiss him. Steal him away from the bad stuff, convince him to start over because I believe he isn’t beyond saving yet.
I’m so fucked.
It doesn’t take a genius to see that we’ve just reached a new level in our “relationship.” One with a steady climb of constant texting and spending time together. And sex. There’s no way I can maintain this. Not as an undercover with a federal surveillance team on me.
I need to distance myself.
Luke doesn’t stir as I pry myself from his arms and dress. I duck out of his cabin and tiptoe into mine, being sure not to make even the slightest sound as I slide into my bed. When I fake a few morning coughs, I make sure I aim them directly at the dragonfly necklace that sits exactly where I left it on the nightstand.
Chapter 33
LUKE
“Shit . . .” The second I crack my eyes to find the other side of my bed empty, panic takes over. I went too far. I told her too much.
Scrambling out of bed to pull a pair of pants on, I throw my door open, intent on begging, apologizing, denying . . . anything.
Rain, who must have been just leaving her cabin, lets out a small yelp as I surprise her in the hallway. After a delayed second, she smiles. “Hey.” Her eyes trailing over my hair remind me that it’s probably on end. I self-consciously reach up to begin taming it.
“Don’t.” She laughs and curls her hand over my bicep to stop me. “It looks good like that. How did you sleep?”
She’s impossible to read. I can’t even guess at what’s going on inside that pretty head of hers, about what I told her last night. “Never better.” My gaze drops before I can help myself, taking in the long, tight sweater and leggings that hug every curve I had my hands and mouth on last night.
She smiles secretively, her hand falling to squeeze mine. “Must have been all that fresh air.”
I pull her toward my door, ready to peel off every stitch of her clothes to prove to her that I’m not a bad guy, that I would never hurt her. “Rain, I—”
She gives me a soft, tentative kiss. “They’re serving breakfast on the top deck and I’m starving. I’ll see you up there?”
She’s halfway up the stairs before I can manage, “Yeah.”
She’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Everything’s amazing.
Chapter 34
CLARA
The sail down the Columbia River, with the sun’s rays kissing my skin and a gourmet breakfast fit for the Queen and the nattering, annoying voices of the former nanny and escort were easy. Pleasant even.
It wasn’t until I climbed into Luke’s car that the first beads of sweat began running down my back. Now, twenty-five minutes later and in front of my condo, my clothes are drenched and I’m in desperate need of a shower.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
Luke’s brow is furrowed a bit. “Well, not that I minded it at all, believe me, but . . . I’ve never heard you talk so much. You seem nervous. I just hope . . .” He stalls. “You’re not uncomfortable around me now, are you?”
Uncomfortable. That’s a good word for my agonizing.
What I did last night was so wrong, on so many levels. My wire is on again, as it has to be. I’m terrified that Luke’s going to say something that will reveal to my cover team that I wasn’t in my room last night. Because if they find out, I’m gone. On a plane back to D.C., off the case. Blacklisted in the big book of undercover officers. Probably blacklisted, period.
So, to reduce the risk of that happening, I brought up everything I could during the drive home to keep Luke’s words from wandering in that direction. Anything that came to mind—my pet rabbit when I was five; the time I broke my leg playing soccer, age seven; my first trip to Italy when I was nine; a terrible case of food poisoning when I went to Jamaica at nineteen.
It worked. Up until now.
“I’m not uncomfortable at all. But I meant it when I said I need to take things slow.” I take his hand with a smile. And I give him the excuse I mentally prepared earlier this morning, laden with lies and laced with regret. “I went on one date with my ex and then, suddenly, all of my time and focus was consumed by him, almost overnight. I don’t even know how it happened, but I stopped doing what I love to do. Being who I am.”
Luke frowns. “Like how, exactly?”
“Oh . . .” I begin spouting off the common dating atrocities all girls have committed at one point or another. “I cancelled out on a trip with my girlfriends because he was afraid I’d meet someone else. I started working out for him instead of for myself. I ignored my family, stopped responding to my friends’ messages, and when I was with them, I was glued to my phone, waiting for his texts. He liked to play golf, so I’d spend my Saturdays driving him around in the cart. I’d sit around at these pretentious lounges with his loser friends, and listen to them discuss Socrates and Confucius like the pompous, self-indulgent asses they were.” Somehow, fragments of my real dating history—Clara’s string of failed relationships—are now leaking in, creating a Frankenstein of a boyfriend. “He wouldn’t let me wear heels because I’d be looking down on him and he had a major height complex. He wouldn’t let me wear leather because of the oppression of the ‘bovine population.’ ” I cut myself off abruptly when I notice that Luke’s lips are pressed together tightly.
He cups my jaw gently, pulling my face into his in a kiss much sweeter than before, his forehead pressed against mine as he whispers, “Would you leave me if I told you?”
“Maybe I’m greedy too.” I force a smile. No, I won’t leave you until I have to arrest you.
He suddenly flips me over onto my stomach and reaches for another condom on the nightstand, his tongue following the swirls of the tattoo on my shoulder.
I give in. He’s not ready to divulge everything to me. This is just the beginning.
The beginning of a true “us” in his eyes.
And the beginning of the end for Luke Boone.
I lie for hours in Luke’s arms, watching him snore softly, his face more boyish and angelic than it deserves to be. Replaying his words—his admission.
And with the eastern sky beginning to lighten beyond the window, I don’t care about any of it. All I want to do is lean forward and kiss him. Steal him away from the bad stuff, convince him to start over because I believe he isn’t beyond saving yet.
I’m so fucked.
It doesn’t take a genius to see that we’ve just reached a new level in our “relationship.” One with a steady climb of constant texting and spending time together. And sex. There’s no way I can maintain this. Not as an undercover with a federal surveillance team on me.
I need to distance myself.
Luke doesn’t stir as I pry myself from his arms and dress. I duck out of his cabin and tiptoe into mine, being sure not to make even the slightest sound as I slide into my bed. When I fake a few morning coughs, I make sure I aim them directly at the dragonfly necklace that sits exactly where I left it on the nightstand.
Chapter 33
LUKE
“Shit . . .” The second I crack my eyes to find the other side of my bed empty, panic takes over. I went too far. I told her too much.
Scrambling out of bed to pull a pair of pants on, I throw my door open, intent on begging, apologizing, denying . . . anything.
Rain, who must have been just leaving her cabin, lets out a small yelp as I surprise her in the hallway. After a delayed second, she smiles. “Hey.” Her eyes trailing over my hair remind me that it’s probably on end. I self-consciously reach up to begin taming it.
“Don’t.” She laughs and curls her hand over my bicep to stop me. “It looks good like that. How did you sleep?”
She’s impossible to read. I can’t even guess at what’s going on inside that pretty head of hers, about what I told her last night. “Never better.” My gaze drops before I can help myself, taking in the long, tight sweater and leggings that hug every curve I had my hands and mouth on last night.
She smiles secretively, her hand falling to squeeze mine. “Must have been all that fresh air.”
I pull her toward my door, ready to peel off every stitch of her clothes to prove to her that I’m not a bad guy, that I would never hurt her. “Rain, I—”
She gives me a soft, tentative kiss. “They’re serving breakfast on the top deck and I’m starving. I’ll see you up there?”
She’s halfway up the stairs before I can manage, “Yeah.”
She’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Everything’s amazing.
Chapter 34
CLARA
The sail down the Columbia River, with the sun’s rays kissing my skin and a gourmet breakfast fit for the Queen and the nattering, annoying voices of the former nanny and escort were easy. Pleasant even.
It wasn’t until I climbed into Luke’s car that the first beads of sweat began running down my back. Now, twenty-five minutes later and in front of my condo, my clothes are drenched and I’m in desperate need of a shower.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
Luke’s brow is furrowed a bit. “Well, not that I minded it at all, believe me, but . . . I’ve never heard you talk so much. You seem nervous. I just hope . . .” He stalls. “You’re not uncomfortable around me now, are you?”
Uncomfortable. That’s a good word for my agonizing.
What I did last night was so wrong, on so many levels. My wire is on again, as it has to be. I’m terrified that Luke’s going to say something that will reveal to my cover team that I wasn’t in my room last night. Because if they find out, I’m gone. On a plane back to D.C., off the case. Blacklisted in the big book of undercover officers. Probably blacklisted, period.
So, to reduce the risk of that happening, I brought up everything I could during the drive home to keep Luke’s words from wandering in that direction. Anything that came to mind—my pet rabbit when I was five; the time I broke my leg playing soccer, age seven; my first trip to Italy when I was nine; a terrible case of food poisoning when I went to Jamaica at nineteen.
It worked. Up until now.
“I’m not uncomfortable at all. But I meant it when I said I need to take things slow.” I take his hand with a smile. And I give him the excuse I mentally prepared earlier this morning, laden with lies and laced with regret. “I went on one date with my ex and then, suddenly, all of my time and focus was consumed by him, almost overnight. I don’t even know how it happened, but I stopped doing what I love to do. Being who I am.”
Luke frowns. “Like how, exactly?”
“Oh . . .” I begin spouting off the common dating atrocities all girls have committed at one point or another. “I cancelled out on a trip with my girlfriends because he was afraid I’d meet someone else. I started working out for him instead of for myself. I ignored my family, stopped responding to my friends’ messages, and when I was with them, I was glued to my phone, waiting for his texts. He liked to play golf, so I’d spend my Saturdays driving him around in the cart. I’d sit around at these pretentious lounges with his loser friends, and listen to them discuss Socrates and Confucius like the pompous, self-indulgent asses they were.” Somehow, fragments of my real dating history—Clara’s string of failed relationships—are now leaking in, creating a Frankenstein of a boyfriend. “He wouldn’t let me wear heels because I’d be looking down on him and he had a major height complex. He wouldn’t let me wear leather because of the oppression of the ‘bovine population.’ ” I cut myself off abruptly when I notice that Luke’s lips are pressed together tightly.
