Page 106 of Bad Attitude
By Sunday, the tension in Raven’s apartment is getting to us both.
Partly it’s the doctor’s instructions not to do anything ‘strenuous,’ and damn it if he’s not right. My thigh is healing, the wound closed and a scar forming, the surrounding bruise now a fading green-yellow. But it’s still swollen, the muscle stiff and quick to cramp as soon as I push it.
Much as I hate to admit it, certain activities would hurt like hell. We kiss, and it quickly grows hot and heavy. I love the way her hands claw at my shirt, or slip beneath to lie flat against my skin. More than once, she forgets about my side, fingers brushing the wound. The sting adds spice I never thought I’d like, and the guilt in her beautiful eyes is its own turn-on.
I have to admit, when it comes to her, I may be a little fucked up.
She never lets it go further, and I’mnot yet strong enough to pin her down and force the issue. I’d be more than willing to risk any discomfort, but every time I reach for her, she gives me heated looks then slips away, telling me it’s too soon, for my own good.
I don’t know if she’s doing it deliberately or to protect me, but the frustration is tangible. For both of us.
My leg isn’t fit to ride by the time we need to leave. Every gear change would hurt, and though I’m desperate to get back on the bike, Raven’s more practical.
“What would happen if you cramp at seventy?” she asks, ordering an Uber on her phone. “It hurt you putting your jeans on.”
True. Didn’t think she’d noticed. “So you were watching.”
“You’re easy on the eye,” she murmurs. “That’s just genetics. You got lucky. Don’t get a big head.”
I’ll take it.
It feels strange to be in a car for the ride to the Art District, but nice to be able to sit next to her.
As if we haven’t seen enough of each other this past week.
Still, I let my hand fall naturally onto her leg, and she doesn’t object or move away. There’s tension in the air even here. We don’t speak on the journey, yet I’m conscious of her every movement, every breath. I think it’s the same for her.
We reach Kurt’s unit and she helps me out of the car. I grimace at the flight of stairs up to his rooms.
“Should we meet elsewhere?” she asks.
“No, that’s crazy. I can do it.” And I do, one step at a time, like an old man.
Fuck, I hate being debilitated.
“There he is!” Dario greets us with his usual ebullience. Raven gives him a hug, and it takes a special effort not to clench my fists and scowl at him for that. Cole’s there, lounging on the sofa. Tasha’s on her laptop, of course. Cammy gives me a knowing look that makes me double-take, wondering what Raven’s told her.
And Kurt Renner, the mastermind of this crew, sits in his ridiculous Chesterfield, his elbows propped on the arms, regarding me like he can see right through me.
“Good to have you back, Declan,” he says.
“Thank you for Steven’s services.” It’s polite, maybe even prudent.
He inclines his head, acknowledging my thanks, if not my debt.
Raven sees me to the couch and fetches us both a coffee, and we all settle down, watching Renner expectantly.
“This is the big one,” he begins, voice quiet as always. Today, it adds anticipation, and though I resist the urge to lean forward, the others don’t. “Our target is a corporate vault, Meridian Pacific Capital, in San Francisco.”
This causes a stir. Tasha doesn’t respond; of course she already knows. But Cole speaks up.
“Corporate? That’s not our usual play.”
“Because the payoff is massive. Ignoring thereserves of unmarked, untagged cash, and gold bars we probably won’t bother with for weight reasons, that still leaves something in the order of fifteen million in uncut diamonds.”
Dario grins. Raven sucks in a breath. Cole leans back, looking thoughtful.
And I see an opportunity.
