Page 77 of Get A Fix

He turned into me then, arm over my shoulder, hugging me tight. “He had a good heart.”

I hugged him back, giving what comfort I could in the face of loss. “If Voss did this, he won’t get away with it. My boss would never let that happen.”

After a moment, he whispered, “Good.”

EIGHT

Ihad Ash take a shower while I called down to housekeeping and had new bed linens sent up again. Second time in less than twenty-four hours. I’m sure they were wondering what we were doing that the sheets needed to be changed so often. If they only knew that the first time, I was worried about us getting cooties from the guy Damien sent up to our room. Not that it could happen again. I had Owen mess with our keycards and reprogram the keypad on the door so ours would work and no others’. Even a card from the maid, or an override, or the manager’s passkey would no longer open our door. I was taking no chances with Ash’s safety. Of course, when we left, they would need to reprogram the card reader on the door, but Owen assured me it would be a bit of a nuisance and nothing more.

“You know if it’s easy for him, it’s gonna be hell for them,” Nash told me. “Maybe leave them a note that if they can’t figure it out, to give Owen a call.”

It was the polite thing to do.

I was going to order room service, but Ash wanted to get out. Even though it was dark and dreary outside, walking around downtown, historic Castine sounded like fun to him. He was a fan of ghost stories, believed in the occult, and hoped to find some antiques to ship to his mother, who, as a high school English teacher, was always wanting to take things into her class to give her students something new to look at and think about.

I was waiting on him, and when he came out into the living room where I was flipping channels, I gave him my best wolf whistle.

“Are you serious?” He chuckled.

“Let’s see the ass, because the package looks good.”

He rolled his eyes but made the turn for me anyway, and yes, his ass looked amazing in his tight tan jeans hugging his powerful thighs and long legs. His white dress shirt under a gray button-up sweater vest, and over that, a heavy wool chocolate-brown peacoat really made him look like he was about to model that outfit on a runway. The distressed leather brogue boots were a nice touch, and his sunglasses were ridiculously sexy.

“Aw, man, I’ve got it bad,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Never mind,” I grumbled, getting up. “Come on. I’m gonna pass out soon if I don’t get something to eat.”

“I don’t get to look at you first?”

“What?”

He walked over to me and gestured for me to turn around.

“No, sir, only one of us is a lusted-after movie star,” I said, heading for the door.

He ran to catch up with me and darted in front, barring my way, grinning wickedly.

“Can we go?”

“I like these jeans on you,” he apprised me, circling, “and I might want to borrow these work boots of yours. Very chic yet rugged.”

I stared at him.

“What? They are. And your T-shirt under this heavy shawl-collar cardigan…I love this sweater. I might accidentally put that in my bag.”

“You don’t want it. It’s really old. It’s heavy, and yeah, it’s warm, but also ancient. Plus, c’mere.” He stepped in close, and I held up the collar so he could see the small hole. “I tried smoking clove cigarettes in college and ruined it forever.”

“It’s not ruined,” he said, pressing his nose to the thick weave, inhaling deeply. “And it smells like that soap you brought—sandalwood and pine with a trace of bergamot and mandarin. Is the other thing cologne?”

“No, it’s just this oil I put on my face and neck.”

Crowding me, he pressed his nose under my jaw. “It almost smells like bourbon and something spicy, earthy, and cherries, I think. Yeah, but maybe fermented ones,” he murmured and opened his mouth on my skin.

My knees nearly buckled, and I had to grab hold of his shoulder. “We need to go,” I managed to get out on the second try.

“Kiss me first.”