Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10)

Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10) Page 21

“I’ll get even with you,” she whispered. “I’ll make you beg.”

He laughed. “I look forward to it.”

He caressed her back, his touch gentle now, sending shivers down her arms and legs. “I love your scent.”

“I thought you loved my mouth.”

“That too.”

She tried to roll off him, but he wouldn’t let her, so she laid her head on his chest and rested her hands on his arms. His biceps were firm and taut, and she marveled at him. He was so powerful, so protective. She had never been this uninhibited with anyone. Yet, when she was with him, all she wanted to do was melt into him and let his courage and strength enfold her. He made her feel safe.

With a contentment she’d never experienced before, she lay quietly, feeling his rhythmic breathing against her cheek.

After a few minutes passed, she said, “Why does Henry live with you?”

The unexpected question jarred him. “His mother died several years ago, and Henry moved in with his grandfather. Then, when he became ill, Henry came to live with me.”

“What happened to Henry’s father?”

“His father is my brother, Devin. After his wife died, he went a little crazy. She . . . stabilized him, helped him focus. Now he travels a great deal. I guess you could say he’s become somewhat of a jet-setter these days.”

“Does he love Henry?”

“Yes, he does. He just doesn’t like being a father. Since he’s out of the country so often, I’ve gained full custody.”

She rolled to her side and her fingertips moved over his skin in feather-light strokes. She circled his navel and moved lower.

“Henry has to come first,” she said.

“I know,” he said. He grabbed her hand to stop her from tormenting him, then pulled her into his arms. “I’m hungry,” he told her.

“Me too,” she whispered. “What would you like?”

He tilted her face up toward him, kissed her brow, then her cheek. “You,” he answered.

“Me?”

“Yeah. I want you.”

No other words were necessary.

SEVENTEEN

What started out to be a lovely, thoroughly satisfying evening ended up in a fight.

They reluctantly left her bed, and because Grayson didn’t want the intimacy to end, he followed her into the shower. Olivia was shocked by how quickly she could want him again, and though she was a little clumsy and in jeopardy of drowning, she did get him to beg her to come to him. By the time he gave in, she could barely stand. Grayson lifted her up, wrapped her legs around him, and made love to her again.

The man had far more stamina than she did. He had already dressed and was in the kitchen looking for something to eat before she had dried her hair. She put on jeans and one of her favorite T-shirts. It was old, a little frayed around the bottom, and a little too tight across her breasts, but she loved the feel of the soft fabric against her skin. Besides, after what she’d done in bed and on her knees in the shower, being self-conscious about a tight T-shirt was ridiculous.

Grayson was guzzling a bottle of water, leaning against the kitchen island when she joined him. His gaze was locked on her as he slowly put the bottle down.

“You’re beautiful. You know that?”

She shook her head. “Not a lick of makeup on and I’m beautiful. You’ve overdosed on sex.”

He laughed. “That’s not possible. I can never get enough of you.”

The way he was looking at her, the intensity in his expression as he watched her, indicated he meant what he said. He looked as though he was thinking about dragging her back to bed. She was suddenly embarrassed and didn’t have any idea why.

He noticed she was blushing and thought that was hilarious.

“Sweetheart, considering what you just did with that sweet mouth of yours . . .”

She interrupted. “I’d rather not discuss what we did.”

She nudged him out of her way so she could open the refrigerator. “Would you like chicken parmesan with pasta?”

“Sure,” he said.

She handed him the casserole dish. He lifted the lid and said, “Did you make this?”

“Oh God, no. My aunt’s cook, Mary, brings meals over. She thinks I’m wasting away.”

“You’ve got a great body,” he remarked, and before she could react to the compliment, he asked, “What can I do to help? I’m starving.”

She put him to work making a salad. It didn’t take any time at all to warm the chicken and pasta. She sliced hot French bread, and dinner was ready. They sat at the small table in the alcove overlooking the street. Grayson turned the plantation shutters so no one could look in.

He ate like a starving linebacker. “Does your aunt’s cook . . .”

“Mary,” she supplied.

“Does Mary bring food every day?”

“Sometimes, or she’ll bring a week’s worth of dinners. She puts all of them in the freezer with instructions on each, and all I have to do is slip one into the oven or the microwave, and dinner’s ready. I keep telling her she doesn’t need to continue cooking for me, but she’s like my aunt Emma. Neither one of them will listen.”

“When did she start cooking for you?”

Olivia stared at her plate while she thought about it, twisting the pasta around and around her fork, barely aware of what she was doing.

“When I was finally released from the unit . . . the hospital unit,” she explained. “I moved in with Aunt Emma and Uncle Daniel. They’d purchased a house in D.C. about eight months before.”

“Why didn’t you go back home to San Francisco?”

“I had to continue to see Dr. Pardieu, and I would never leave Jane and Collins and Sam. They were still undergoing treatment.”

He nodded to let her know he understood. “You’re very loyal.”

“They’re my sisters.” Her voice was emphatic. “We protected one another.”

“From what? The outside world?”

She shrugged. “Something like that. Mary had just started working for Emma. At the time I was released, I was weak and thin, and from Mary’s horrified expression, I assumed I looked bad. I was suddenly encased in a bear hug, and Mary told me she was going to fatten me up. I remember thinking of the story Hansel and Gretel.”

“The witch was going to fatten them up before she cooked them.”

She nodded. “Mary wasn’t a witch, though. She was and is an angel. Unfortunately, I’m still not fattened up enough to suit her.”

“Emma moved here for you, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” She put her fork down and pushed her plate aside. “I thought when I went off to university and later when Uncle Daniel died, she would move back to San Francisco, but she loves it here, and she doesn’t want to move.”

“Mary has a key to your apartment?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Who else has a key?”

“Jane and Collins. Neither one of them has ever used her key, though.”

“What about Samantha?”

“Jane and Collins live here, and in an emergency they know they can come stay with me. That’s why they have keys. Emma’s house is always open to all of us, too,” she added. “But Sam’s in Iceland or somewhere thereabout. She doesn’t need a key.”

Olivia carried her dishes to the sink. Grayson followed and nudged her out of his way. “I’ve got this.”

She was happy to let him clean up. She sat on a stool at the island watching him. His back was to her so she could stare at him. He could easily overwhelm her, she thought. Can’t let that happen. But he was so . . . bigger than life. So wonderful and sweet and sexy and . . . She suddenly wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold tight.

Snap out of it, she told herself.

He turned and saw her watching him. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re frowning.”

Fortunately, her cell phone rang, and she didn’t have to come up with a suitable answer. She wasn’t going to tell him the truth, that he scared the hell out of her, making her want things she could never have.

She didn’t recognize the phone number, but as soon as she heard the voice, she knew exactly who was calling.

“Olivia, this is Eric Jorguson. Now, don’t hang up on me, please. Hear me out.”

“What do you want?” she asked quietly. She tapped Grayson on his shoulder, and when he turned to her, she whispered Jorguson’s name.

Jorguson continued, “I want to apologize for my behavior at the restaurant.”

“That happened some time ago.”

“And you’re wondering why I’m apologizing now? Is that it? I know it’s long overdue. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I should have reasoned it through. You’re Robert MacKenzie’s daughter, and if I can trust him with my money, I can certainly trust that you wouldn’t be part of anything so underhanded as wearing a wire. I completely overreacted.” He paused and then said, “The other reason I’m calling is to offer you a position.”

She nearly dropped the phone. “You want me to come work for you?” She shivered with repulsion over the possibility. At least she didn’t gag.

“Yes, I most certainly do. Once I understood you weren’t working for the FBI, I realized what a catch you would be. I really want you to consider working for me.”

He then explained in great detail what the position would be, and when he casually mentioned the starting salary, she nearly dropped the phone again.

Grayson was leaning against the sink, a dish towel in hand, watching her intently. He looked like he was about to grab the phone and throw it against the wall.

“I hope you don’t mind, Olivia,” Jorguson went on, “but I did have a look at your financials.”

“My financials?” she repeated, dumbfounded by his temerity.

He either didn’t hear how strained her voice was, or he didn’t care. “And I noticed you have never accepted any money from your relatives. You’re making your own way on your own terms, and I admire that. Yes, I do,” he insisted. “I also found out what your annual salary is, working for the IRS. In one year with me, Olivia, you’ll make more than five times that amount.

“Besides salary,” he continued, “there are other benefits, and you’ll only work with three of my top clients.”

He listed their names, and Olivia thought they sounded familiar. Probably from the FBI’s Most Wanted List, she surmised. Hmmm. The possibilities were growing. She might be able to help Agent Huntsman nail him. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

“I’ll have to think about it,” she said.

“Yes, think about it. Take all the time you need. Now, one last thing . . .”

“Yes?”

“I want to tell you how sorry I am that Ray Martin, my personal assistant, went after you the way he did.”

“Do you mean when he attacked me and hit me?” And you were yelling, “Get her, get her”? she thought but didn’t add.

“No, I mean when he drove by your apartment building and shot you. I want you to know he was no longer working for me. I had already fired him after the incident at the restaurant, and I believe he blamed you and wanted revenge.”

“You’re certain it was him?”

“Oh yes. You won’t have to worry about thugs like Martin bothering you when you work for me. You’ll be protected.”

And on he continued, raving about his luxurious offices and how very lucky she was to be one of his chosen.

As soon as the call ended, she looked over at Grayson and said, “I don’t know if I want to laugh or throw up. Get this. Jorguson said he’s invested in my father’s fund.” She laughed. “He’s going to lose every penny.”

“Huntsman will want to know about this. I’ll tell him. What else did Jorguson say?”

Grayson followed her into the living room, and she plopped down on the sofa. He stood on the other side of the coffee table and asked her to repeat the entire conversation.

Olivia was still flabbergasted when she finished. “How can he do that? Call me as though there weren’t still charges pending for the attack?”

“He wouldn’t call unless he was convinced his attorneys were making it all go away. They’ve evidently managed to shift all the blame onto Martin.” He thought for a second and said, “He didn’t give you any concrete reasons why he thinks Martin is the shooter?”

“Not really,” she said. “Other than saying Martin wanted revenge because Jorguson fired him. That’s more of a guess on Jorguson’s part, isn’t it? Could Ray Martin be the shooter?”

“He doesn’t have an alibi, said he was home watching Sixty Minutes.”

“Really?” She didn’t know why she thought that was funny, but she did.

“Really,” he insisted. “Couldn’t remember what was on, though. We don’t have proof yet that he was involved with your shooting, but we can prove he’s been selling guns to his neighbors, and we found his stash.”

“He’s got a bad temper,” she added. “I’ve seen it.”

“Yes, he does,” he agreed. “He tried to throw a chair at an agent during questioning. He’s got a short fuse, and he could kill someone. One of the guns we found, an old .45, was used in a shooting last year. Only prints on it were his. Martin’s going away for a long time.”

“What if he has something to offer in return for a lighter sentence? Maybe he could give you Jorguson and some of his clients.”

“He’d have to give up Gretta Keene along with Jorguson to get any consideration, and that’s not going to happen.”

“I thought you told me Keene vanished right before she was deported.”

“We don’t think she ever left the country. She’s still running her operation here, and we believe Jorguson is still laundering her blood money.”

He sat down next to her and called Ronan. He was waiting for him to pick up when Olivia said, “You know, I could take a leave from the IRS and maybe use some of my vacation . . .”

Ronan answered. “Hold on,” Grayson said. Turning to Olivia he asked, “For what purpose?”

“Do you realize the data I’d have access to if I were to work for Jorguson? You told me Agent Huntsman has been after him for some time now. I’d like to help. This would be an opportunity . . . Stop looking at me like you think I’m crazy.”