Skin Game

  He didn’t know what it was, exactly, because he’d never known anything quite like it before. Whatever it was, it made him keep stealing glances at her from his peripheral vision, just watching the way the wind blew her hair.

  It wasn’t too much farther now. The Marquis, being a sturdy car, would make it to the lookout point if he took care with it. And he intended to. Reyes felt strange and unsteady, as if masquerading as himself had weakened him in unanticipated ways. He hadn’t known how dangerous it would be, how thin the line between candor and truth.

  The silence lasted until he parked the car. There was nothing but open space and mountains for miles around, topped by a black canopy littered with stars glimmering like crushed ice. You couldn’t find a sky like this over any city in the world.

  “It’s so peaceful,” she said.

  In the old days, if he’d ever brought a girl up here, if he’d ever had a car, he would’ve first lain with her on the hood and pointed out the constellations. At one point he’d wanted to be an astronomer. If that gambit went well, he’d have attempted to talk her into his backseat. He’d dreamed of that scenario more than once, wishing on stars he climbed to see. But neither cars, nor girls comprised a significant portion of his past, at least not until he was well out of his teens.

  “You think Myrna would support us?” He tilted his head toward the hood.

  Kyra smiled. “Are you kidding? This is a car built for love. Of course she will.”

  To his surprise, she dug into his pocket for the keys, and then went to the trunk. When she returned, she had an old quilt, the sort of thing that people packed in their emergency kits, along with bottled water, kitty litter for traction, and granola bars. Someone, probably the father she’d allegedly killed for his cut of the money, had cared enough to teach her to be prepared.

  He no longer wanted to believe she’d done it, even though it complicated his life immeasurably. If he balked at this job, he would forfeit a pristine reputation. And Monroe wasn’t making matters any easier. The last public record he could find for Kyra Marie Beckwith came from a free-clinic vaccination. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old, either.

  Oddly enough, it was run by the same corporation that administered the free medical program in the Wyoming town where he’d grown up. Reyes remembered that because he’d spent hours sitting with one of his father’s women, waiting his turn amid crying children. He’d learned early on that crying didn’t do any good.

  The woman didn’t have bank records, didn’t have credit cards, so there was nothing to track. All he had to go on came from Serrano, who wanted the woman dead. But Kyra didn’t seem like the kind who would turn on her flesh and blood. The few things she’d said about her father seemed to indicate fondness, and he had a pretty good built-in lie detector.

  Could he stake everything he’d built on a feeling? Reyes had no ready answer for that. For now he could only steel himself and stay with her.

  She spread the quilt over the hood and climbed up carefully, her back propped against the windshield. Kyra brought her knees up as if to ward off a chill, but he could read her body language. For some reason, she felt uncertain and exposed.

  Not waiting for an invitation, he slid up beside her, leaving enough space between them that she shouldn’t feel crowded. But he’d read her wrong. Instead of inching away, she eased closer, as if she wanted to be in his arms. Or maybe he was projecting because he wanted her there. The movement carried her scent to him, more coconut. Reyes couldn’t tell if it was body lotion or shampoo, but it made him think of slick, bare skin, every time he breathed her in.

  “I used to hike up here when I was a kid,” he told her quietly.

  Self-preservation said he shouldn’t share any more of himself with her—it was fucking dangerous—but his infallible instincts told him that the only way he’d win her trust was by giving of himself. He could get the job done this way, no doubt, but Reyes wondered what the cost would be.

  “You must’ve lived in the middle of nowhere then.” Her gaze swept the landscape, for what he didn’t know, and was afraid to ask, for fear of what she might see. More clearly than he wanted, he could picture the way her eyes gleamed during the day, shining like sunlight through honey.

  “Not as much as you might think. It was a ten-mile trek. I’d usually stay overnight if the weather was good.”

  “How old were you?” she demanded, visibly outraged. “Didn’t anyone worry about you?”

  God, he didn’t want to answer. It gave her too much. But with her, it had to be a give-and-take, and she was too canny to be fooled by creative fiction.

  “Thirteen. And not really. Not so much.”

  She reached for him then, compassion outweighing the caution he saw in the lines of her body. Her fingers touched his. “My dad left me alone at night sometimes. When he was looking for a game. I’d lock the door, put on the chain, and try to sleep.”

  Reyes remembered how, when he’d first caught up with her, she’d been sleeping in a pool of yellow light, a small isle against the dark. That was why she still slept with the lamp on. He knew it as surely as if she’d said it, and he knew a quiet burst of rage for the man who’d used her as an accomplice, not cared for her as a father was supposed to. If she’d killed him like Serrano claimed, then maybe he had it coming.

  She saw something in his face, something that alarmed her. He couldn’t even guess at what. And she hastened to add, “We had a secret knock for when he came home. A password. I was never in any real danger.”

  Unless there was a fire. Or someone came in through the window. He didn’t say that aloud. Every little girl wanted to believe her daddy loved her, no matter how untrue, or how much of a son of a bitch the man might’ve been. He found himself glad that that old bastard Beckwith lay six feet down.

  Instead of replying to that, he threaded his fingers through hers. Her flesh felt hot, and she had soft skin. It was a silly little intimacy that shouldn’t have moved him, and yet it meant everything that she’d sit with him, hand in hand, beneath the sky of his boyhood.

  “That’s Lyra,” he said, changing the subject. Reyes lifted their joined hands and traced the outline of the harp. “Do you see it?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I think so.”

  “And there’s Sagittarius, the Archer.” He continued to sky paint, finding each star in the constellation for her.

  “Did you learn this in school?” she asked, eventually.

  “Some. Most of it I got from books on my own.”

  Kyra kept her eyes fixed on the heavens. “I never went.”

  That startled the hell out of him. “To school?”

  “Nope. I watched a lot of Sesame Street early on. And my dad taught me some. I can read.” At his look, she became defensive. “I learned a lot traveling. More than most kids do just sitting around some Podunk town for eighteen years.”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  She glared. “You were thinking it. This is why I don’t tell people shit. They always think they know something about me from how I was raised.”

  Reyes reached for her then, not calculating the probable outcome of his actions. He pulled her into his lap and sifted his hand into her tangled curls. She surprised him by yielding, not fighting him like a wildcat, and her body felt like seven kinds of heaven in his arms.

  “I think you turned out fine,” he said quietly, knowing she needed to hear it as much as it was true. “You’re smart and funny, skilled and resourceful. And if you were any more appealing, I’d lose my mind.”

  “You mean that.” Her voice came out soft and wondering, as she turned her face against his throat.

  “I do.” At this point, she’d cast some kind of wicked spell on him, and he couldn’t do anything but tell the truth. Reyes genuinely feared what might come next.

  Jesus, he thought, shaken. Then he realized—whatever had happened the first time he’d touched her, it didn’t seem to be happening now. That new development had t
o mean something, but what?

  And her mouth took his in a kiss that threatened to burn the leather off his shoes.

  CHAPTER 12

  “So do you do this a lot?” Kyra asked.

  Beside her, Rey stirred. “Depends on what you mean by ‘this’?”

  “Lure women into their own backseats and then don’t take advantage of them.”

  “No condoms,” he reminded her in a long-suffering tone.

  Man, she couldn’t believe she had to do this, after the sex they’d had. But it seemed he needed a nudge. The man had taken her joking comment about working for it far too literally.

  “There are other things we could do.”

  “Oh, really?” His lazy tone belied the sudden tension in his body.

  “Mmm-hmm.” She rather liked the switch, the pretense she was seducing him.

  Rain drummed on the roof, shrinking their universe to two. Body heat had already started to steam the windows. Imagine what they could do if they put their minds to it.

  “Did you have anything particular in mind?”

  “You talk too much.”

  Kyra pulled his mouth to hers and wrapped her arms around his neck. His response sent tiny bursts of pleasure careening through her bloodstream, as his lips toyed with hers, every bit as darkly sensual as she remembered. But there was an added edge to his kiss; they both knew he couldn’t go beyond a certain point, and it added a layer of thrilling risk. She shivered as he ran his mouth down her throat, teeth sinking lightly into the delicate skin. The light pain heightened her senses, making her more aware of his body heat, the hardness of him.

  “Better,” she breathed, tipping her head back.

  In the sultry dark, she couldn’t see him, but she felt his smile on her skin. “I know a fun game for us to play.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “Teenagers,” he whispered. “Neither one of us have ever been in a backseat, have we? You’ve never worried about letting a boy touch your breast under your shirt, but over your bra.”

  He wasn’t touching her there, but at his words, she felt the heat of phantom fingertips. Her nipples furled, and her breath came a little faster. She could envision it so clearly: a desperately horny kid wanting to touch her, so primed he could come in his pants just from the idea.

  His gravelly voice dropped even lower, rasping, “And you’ve certainly never felt the temptation to let him inside your jeans and stroke you over your panties, where in his clumsy eagerness he brushes your clit for the first time.”

  She sucked in a shuddering breath and had to clench her thighs against the resultant image, but she got into the spirit of things. “I don’t think we should do more than kiss,” she told him primly. “It’s too easy to get carried away.”

  Rey brushed his fingers against her bare belly, revealed by the gap between shirt and jeans. “Okay,” he whispered. “Just kissing.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  When he lowered his head, she expected a gentle mouth kiss in keeping with their game, but instead he touched his lips to the base of her throat, measuring her pulse. He could surely feel it skipping like mad against his mouth. His hands skated up to her sides as he nuzzled her collarbone. Her breath went in a dizzying rush.

  She pressed her thighs together tighter, not in self-preservation, but to try to ease the need building there. Each point where he touched her, fingers along her ribcage, thumbs circling on her upper belly, felt impossibly warm. Those thumbs would feel so good on her nipples, big and rough. Kyra made a sound in her throat, as he nibbled his way up to her jaw and on to her ear. When he took the lobe between his teeth and bit down with exquisite gentleness, she arched her back, trembling.

  “Are you sure I can’t go under your shirt, Kyra? I’ll stop the minute you say.”

  More than anything, she wanted to say to hell with it and take him inside her, but the no-condom problem was still in effect. She managed to keep the game alive by whispering, “Only on top of my bra. Don’t take my clothes off.”

  God, how could she feel this tremulous excitement over role-play? But as heat trailed up her belly to the side of her breast, she felt as if she’d never been touched before. Rey caressed her in slow sweeps, like a kid getting bolder. His fingertips fanned while he circled his thumbs closer, centering her yearning on one tiny point. A little whimper escaped her when he finally brushed her tight nipple.

  “You’re so pretty,” he murmured against her throat. “Am I turning you on? Are your panties damp, Kyra?”

  Yes. God, yes.

  Thinking a good girl wouldn’t be able to say it aloud, she nodded, eyes downcast. He played with her for what felt like hours, smoothing through the thin silk of her bra. She didn’t need much support so she went with decorative scraps, and she felt every touch, every stroke, every caress. Rey kept his touch heartbreakingly gentle and delicate when he knew she liked it rough. Kyra hadn’t known she’d enjoy this, too.

  “Can I touch you over your panties?”

  She just moaned, needing an orgasm fiercely. Heart beating like a trip hammer, she broke character and went for his zipper. She had to struggle to get it down because of the straining erection. His breath caught when she curled her hand around his cock, but he didn’t try to stop her. Rey’s fingers were busy now, too, delving beneath the waistband of her panties.

  Kyra arched as he found her clit. No more pretense now. They weren’t innocent kids, however powerful the play might have been. He knew how to strum her body into quaking, and he did it like a virtuoso. She was less sure about the way she handled him, but by the way he bucked and shook, she must be doing all right. They came in each other’s hands, shivering, shuddering, as rain crashed down overhead.

  “Mmm.” She stretched and licked her fingers.

  He caught her to him and buried his face in her hair. “God, woman. What you do to me . . . why do you always smell like the beach?”

  She was too dreamy to answer. Shortly, she slept, and in the morning, they moved on. A quick stop at the motel permitted them to wash up and collect their belongings. Reyes could probably tell she had a plan, but she wasn’t sharing the details even now. It was driving him nuts.

  New Mexico yielded to Colorado. This time of year, it was brown and dry, spiked with occasional greenery alongside the road. Kyra loved the west and how the sky seemed to stretch on forever. It made for easy if monotonous driving, and their route angled lazily northeast.

  Kyra had known without him telling her that Rey would rather not go through Wyoming. It would be hard not to look for his mother there especially, and she wondered if he found himself searching the eyes of strangers for a hint of recognition. For the first time, she was glad her mom had died; at least she didn’t have to live with knowing she was unwanted.

  By tacit agreement, they decided to stop in Denver. It was a larger city than she usually selected, but they might make a little more money here. That wasn’t her primary concern, of course. She had money, and if she could get to Mia in North Dakota, she’d be able to do something with it at last. She’d be sorry to ditch her new partner when the time came, but those were the breaks. He’d do fine with what he’d learned from her.

  For a change, Rey had the wheel as they drove into the city. Since he’d proved he knew how to handle a delicate machine, Kyra let him spell her now and then. She lifted her arms over her head and gazed out the window at passing buildings.

  “This all right?” He’d picked a cheap motel within a couple miles of downtown.

  “Fine. We can work from here. I’m thinking we’ll want to spend two or three days working different joints.”

  “Do you have somewhere in mind?” he asked as he parked.

  Kyra shook her head. “I’ve never been to Denver before. It’ll take me a little while to nose around and find a couple of likely spots. I’ll ask the desk clerk first. They’re usually a good source on local color.”

  “Good thinking.”

  She couldn’t help
but notice that he seemed distracted. He’d been a little strange and distant ever since they spent the night in the back of the Marquis, doing nothing but snuggling. “Everything okay?”

  “That guy on the bike—no, don’t look—use the rearview mirror.”

  A little shiver went through her as she did as he asked. Pretending to fluff her hair, she checked out the scruffy-looking dude on the red Kawasaki Ninja. His personal hygiene didn’t match the gleam of his bike, which meant it was new. He’d recently come into money.

  “What about him?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s been with us since we crossed the state line.”

  “But that was hours ago!”

  “Yeah.” Rey nodded. “Maybe he just likes the look of your Marquis.”

  “Your gut says no.”

  Rey angled, regarding her seriously. “Is anyone hunting you?”

  She hesitated. “There might be.”

  “If you don’t trust me, we’ll just have to be on our guard. Pay no special attention to him as we get out. I’ll be watching for him, though.”

  The man on the Kawasaki pretended not to see them. He was ostensibly fiddling with something on his bike, but Reyes could tell he was watching with his mirrors. Looking in that direction would tell him Reyes had made him, so he followed Kyra into the office.

  This motel was nicer than the ones they had been staying in. Denver had an upscale vibe that had reached even the seedy portions. It was a small lounge done in lemon yellow with two scratchy new sofas, assuming somebody would want to hang around here. The linoleum had seen better days, but they’d covered it with a cheerful area rug in primary colors, geometric pattern.

  The girl at the counter looked to have at least as much Hispanic blood as Reyes, and her name tag read “Maria.” “Hi there, can I help you?”

  “Two rooms,” Kyra said, and disappointment slid through him. “Three nights. We don’t have a reservation.”

  “Not a problem, unless there’s a convention in town . . . and there isn’t.”

  “Do you have any adjoining rooms?”