He held up his hands as if he were backing off from her. “Fine. I believe you.”
“The expression in your eyes tells me otherwise. You asked me to open up to you. I’m baring my fucking heart to you. Charlie gave me a deadline, and he’s threatening my bar and my co-worker, and he showed up this morning at my hair salon, and he’s circling me,” she said, holding her hands out wide. She flashed onto something he’d told her once about a friend of his. “I am mad and I am terrified. I’m not asking you for money. I’m asking you to believe me, and you need to believe me completely. So call your friend.”
He crinkled his nose as if her words didn’t compute. “My friend?”
“The lawyer who runs people down for you? You said he tracked down intel on people you weren’t sure about.”
“Yeah, my friend Cam. He can get the goods on anyone.”
Julia dug into her small satin clutch purse and grabbed her phone. She thrust it at him. “Call him. The guy is Charlie Stravinski, he owns Mr. Pong’s restaurant in China Town,” she said, rattling off the address. “He also owns Charlie’s Limos. I’m sure your friend can verify who he is. That’s the guy who owns me.”
“Julia,” he said softly, his voice strained, and that sound was terribly familiar. It felt lethal. It was the sound of his voice when he ran. It was the way he’d spoken to her on the street. She tensed all over, and she wished she could unwind the last fifteen minutes of honesty, zip them up and toss them in a body bag into the ocean. She should have continued leaving him in the blissfully ignorant state that made him jet out to San Francisco to see her. He’d been falling for her; she could see it, feel it, sense it. Now she’d shattered what they could have had. Whoever said honesty was the best policy didn’t have the mob on her tail.
He breathed out hard, pressed his lips together, and seemed to be debating. “Julia,” he said again, his expression softer. “You don’t have to prove it. I came out here because I trust you, and if we’re going to be together the way we want, the way I want, the way you want, I’m not going to ask you to prove who some guy is.”
But she needed him to know she wasn’t making up Charlie. “It’s important to me that you know this for certain and not just because I said so. I need to have proven myself to you. Call your friend, give him the info, and you’ll know I’m not lying. I have a price tag on my head.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was almost too crazy to believe, but the truth was messy. Lies were ironclad. They added up too neatly. Lies were padded so thick they became airtight and couldn’t breathe. The truth was frayed, like the tattered end of a rope. The truth was full of holes that were evidence of its veracity. Still, he could tell proof was vitally important to her, so he pulled his own phone from his pocket and dialed Cam.
“Hey man, can you run a quick check on someone for me?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely for you,” his friend said in his gregarious voice.
Clay gave him the basic details. “Just let me know what kind of business he’s running. Doable?”
“This is easy. I’m in front of my laptop right now, and will run a few quick searches. That is, if my lady friend doesn’t come back and try to distract me.”
Clay smiled briefly. “Have fun with Tess. But take care of me too.”
“You bastard, you owe me so much. I love it when you owe me. I love running down shit for you because it gives me one more thing to add to my totals. There’s only one other person I do this for free for,” Cam said, his voice stretching across the country like a big old Texas-style hug.
“Who’s that?”
“I’m not saying but she’s a lot prettier than you.”
“I should hope so.”
He hung up, and returned to Julia. She looked different than she had before. She’d always been tough, strong, a woman of the world. Now she looked empty, as if she’d shed all her emotions and replaced them with cool blankness. He reached for her, gripping her arms gently but firmly as he kept his eyes fixed on her. “That story is crazy, and I hate what he did to you and I hate that anyone wants to hurt you, and here’s the thing—I won’t let them now. You know that, right? You’re with me, and that means I’m here to help you. You tried to protect me and that was the most adorable, sweetest, sexiest thing anyone has ever done, but you don’t have to because that’s my job. Got that?”
She said nothing, just stared hard at him. She was shutting down, and he was having none of that. Not after she’d finally opened up. “I’m not running,” he said firmly, refusing to let her look away. “I’m here for you. I’m here with you, and I want to help you. That’s what I do. That’s what I want to do for you.”
“Why?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Why?” he said, his voice louder. He was going to have to make this abundantly clear. “Because I flew here to see you. Because you are under my skin. Because this fucking bastard left you with a shit ton of problems and if I ever find him I will make sure he pays. And because you have the mafia after you.”
“That doesn’t scare you? Make you want to run?” She shot him a challenging stare, almost as if she were daring him to walk away.
“No,” he said crisply.
There wasn’t a chance in hell that was happening. He straightened his spine, planted his feet wide, making it clear in every way that he was staying. “It makes me want to stay.”
“Why do you want to help me?”
He shook his head in frustration, but deep down he understood why she was behaving like this. She’d admitted something terribly private, and self-preservation was familiar ground for her.
“May I remind you of your toast in there?” He tipped his chin to the reception. Through the glass, the guests were still spinning on the dance floor, the twinkling lights illuminating their steps. Waiters moved nimbly about, passing out appetizers. “Common interests and passion? Ring a bell?” he said, waiting for her to acknowledge what she’d said a mere hour ago. She nodded once. “I feel the same.”
She didn’t answer him, so he reached for her hands, unpeeled them from her chest, and drew them behind her back.
“Now, don’t go cold on me. If you do, I will have to tie your hands the next time I fuck you,” he said, fixing her with an intensely serious look.
Her lips quirked up, as if she were trying hard to hold in a smile. “That’s a promise, gorgeous,” he added.
“But that’s a promise I like,” she whispered, and her words were a straight shot to his groin. They had to have set some kind of record for most hours being near each other without tearing off clothes. He pressed his hips against hers, holding her in place, watching her eyes go hazy as she felt him.
“Now listen. I made the phone call you asked me to make. I don’t care right now about what Cam is doing, or finding out, or anything. I care about you, woman. And I haven’t fucked you in a month, so if I were you I’d be thinking about how you’re going to spend the rest of the reception without any underwear on because it’s about to come off.”
“Is that a promise too?” she asked, and the playfulness he knew and longed for had returned to her voice.
“Yes. Now I’m going to deliver on it.” He grabbed her hand and linked his fingers through hers, guiding her across the lawn, past the reception hall, and to a back door that led down a carpeted hallway. This was the kind of place that had swank bathrooms, and that was what he needed right now. He walked quickly, scanning the area for an opening. When he spotted a bathroom, he knocked once, opened the elegant white door, and locked it quickly behind them.
The bathroom was small with marble floors and a sink that had just enough room for Julia to perch on. He lifted her up onto the edge of the vanity.