Thrill Ride Read online

  And I’ve never brought a woman home. Ever!

  Not that Libby’s budged even one fucking inch toward saying yes.

  That goddamn stubborn look she gave me from day one makes me think I’m probably wasting my time. Time that I should be using to plan my future. Not just my future but Sawyer and Van’s too. We’ve been working toward this goal for almost ten years and now that the end is just around the corner, I shouldn’t be thinking about anything else. Especially not a random woman’s feet.

  I’m done with Libby. Screw it. If she doesn’t want to fuck me, there are plenty of women who do. I bet I’ll forget her the second I sink inside of another tight pussy, and then my life can finally go back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for the bank robbing son of a con artist.

  I tell myself these same lies each night, but when my alarm goes off at six a.m., she’s the first thing I think about before I open my eyes.

  And when I’m in the shower and my fist is soaping up my cock, it’s her body I imagine underneath mine.

  So, at the end of my shift, I know that all those promises I made while I laid alone in my dark, lonely room will be shot to hell when I finally leave work.

  “Stop over-tipping me,” Libby huffs when she slaps down the same folded up fifty-dollar bill I left for her last night.

  “Feel free to ask the other waitresses, but I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as over-tipping,” I reply.

  “Yes, there is,” she declares through her clenched teeth. “Stop it or I’ll quit serving you.”

  “You can’t do that. I’m a paying customer. Bill would fire your ass for refusing to serve me.”

  “I’ve already cleared it with Bill. He says I can, and I will,” she threatens, green eyes narrowed in anger.

  “Fine, there has to be some sort of compromise we can come to.”

  “Ten dollar max,” she says. “That’s the most per meal that you can leave.”

  “I can accept that,” I tell her. “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Show me your panties.”

  Libby’s jaw falls open before she responds with a scoff. “No freakin’ way!”

  “Just the waistband,” I clarify.

  “Why?” she asks with an arched eyebrow.

  Instead of answering with the truth—so that my fantasies are more realistic when I get myself off thinking about her—I reply with, “Because then I’ll know a little secret that all the other men who come in here wish they knew.”

  “Can’t I just tell you?” she asks, and I’m happy to see she’s perhaps coming around to the idea.

  “Not the same as seeing for myself,” I say with a shake of my head.

  I’m sure it’s a lost cause. And I couldn’t even begin to explain why I bothered to ask…but then the unthinkable happens.

  Libby slaps her little notepad and pen down on the table and then she finally, finally, gives me an inch…a peek of an inch of the purple string of her panties.

  “There. Happy?” she asks while putting away the fabric.

  “More than you know,” I respond honestly because I never thought she would give me what I wanted, a tiny piece of her that no other man who comes in here has.

  I may not know Libby well yet, but I do know I’m not the only one she turns down flat each night.

  Deciding to push my luck when she shuffles her damn feet in her athletic shoes, I ask, “Can I give you a ride home tonight?”

  “Ah, a ride?” she asks, her green eyes widening in surprise at my offer.

  “You must walk here each day because I haven’t seen any new cars out back.”

  “Oh. I, um, I don’t walk. I ride a bike, actually, so, no, thanks.”

  “Good thing I have a truck with a big bed,” I tell her, well aware of the innuendo.

  “That’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t usually get finished up with the nightly chores until after midnight.”

  “Midnight?” I exclaim. “You leave here on your own, riding a bike, every night at midnight?”

  “Yeah,” she answers with a shrug, like she isn’t putting her life in danger by doing such a thing.

  “You shouldn’t ride a bike on the road in the dark,” I lecture her. “And you shouldn’t be alone.”

  Libby purses her lips together tightly like she’s trying to fight back a smile. “Well, aren’t you an overly concerned citizen. Now I’m not sure if your protectiveness makes you a gentleman or a nosy bastard.”

  “A little of both,” I assure her.

  “Fine,” she replies. “If you want to wait around and give me a ride home then that would be…nice.”

  “Nice enough for me to get another, longer, look at those panties?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Ha!” She laughs as she scoops up her notepad and pen like she’s reached her quota of my bullshit for the day. “I knew you had ulterior motives.”

  “No other motives,” I quickly argue. “Just let me take you home.”

  “Okay,” she thankfully still agrees. “Now, what do you want to eat tonight?”

  Libby

  “How long are you planning to string Blake along?” Carter asks from the sofa where he’s lounging and watching late night television when I walk through the door. Hendrix stayed until I closed up, just like he promised, and then dropped me off in his truck, like I hoped he would, for us to get some alone time together.

  “As long as it takes,” I answer, tossing my purse down on the floor and then flopping into the closest chair. I rip off my shoes and socks, letting both fall haphazardly to the carpet as I throw them over the armrest. Ah, it’s so nice to feel the cool air on them.

  I’m still wiggling my toes around to get the feeling back when Carter says, “Have you kissed him yet?”

  “What? No, of course not,” I immediately answer as my head whips around to meet his watchful eyes. For whatever reason, I make the instant decision to withhold from him the fact that I showed my panties to the thief earlier tonight.

  “Blake isn’t going to wait around on you forever, Price,” Carter responds.

  “I know that.”

  “It sucks, but you’re probably going to have to make out with him, maybe even let him feel you up in order to get closer.”

  My jaw hangs open at his casual statement to let Hendrix “feel me up.” When I finally recover, I ask, “Is that an order? Do you want me to let him get to second base tomorrow night?”

  “No,” Carter answers. “I’m just suggesting that you move a little faster. You’re attracted to him, aren’t you? At least that will make it a little easier to endure.”

  “I’m not attracted to Hendrix Blake,” I assure him.

  “Oh really?” he asks with an arched eyebrow. “Then maybe you’re in the wrong profession, because you’re a damn good actress, smiling and flirting with him like you want him.”

  “Were you watching us through the window?” I ask, since we sat out in the parking lot and talked in his truck for a few minutes before I came inside. “Jeez, Carter, why don’t you lay off and just let me do this job the best way I can. And just so you know, I took drama in high school. I was Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Maybe I should’ve stuck with it.”

  Carter snorts at that. “Maybe you should have,” he agrees. “Pay would probably be better than it is for a cop.”

  “No doubt,” I agree. “Even with a master’s degree, I’m still on street patrols! That’s why I agreed to put up with this waitressing crap for months. I want to be an agent, to do more than give traffic citations. And apparently I want the job bad enough to do permanent damage to my feet and make out with a criminal if I have to.”

  “Good. Hurry up and get this assignment done and you’ll get your federal badge as promised,” Carter says, getting up from the sofa to come over to my chair. He takes one of my feet in each hand and the moment his thumbs press into the balls of my feet, my head falls back and a moan leaves my lips.

  “God, that feels
good,” I tell him.

  “I’ve got the easy job babysitting. You have to do all of the heavy lifting here,” Carter says while my eyes drift closed. “Just don’t lose sight of our goal or yourself. That’s the tough part about going undercover. You forget it’s a role and sometimes you cross a line without thinking...”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I promise him, and myself, without even cracking my eyelids open. They’re so heavy I could probably go to sleep right here.

  “If you say so,” he replies softly. “But that’s why I’m here. To remind you to stay on track. It would be easier for me to do my job if you would wear a damn wire…”

  “No,” I reply, shaking my head to emphasis my answer. Forcing my head up and my eyelids open to see Carter’s face, I tell him flatly, “It’s too dangerous, especially if we do eventually get to second base.”

  And do I really want Carter to hear me and Hendrix talking about my panties? Hell no.

  “That’s right,” he says while his fingers continue working wonders on my sore feet. “Blake and his guys are dangerous. I’m not just a babysitter. I’m also here to watch your back in case you get in too deep. But it’s hard to do that if you won’t even wear the broach camera.”

  “I won’t get in too deep,” I assure him.

  “You’re still young and don’t have much experience with criminals of this caliber. That’s why I wished we could’ve found someone else to do this…”

  “But Hendrix Blake likes blondes, so here I am,” I finish for him, letting my head fall back again to rest on the other arm of the chair. “I know it’s my looks that landed me this job with the feds and not my experience. Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

  “If anyone can, it would be you,” Carter says, looking down at me with a smile. “You come from good stock. Your family will be proud.”

  “I hope so,” I agree.

  My grandfather is the police chief in Asheville and my mom is an investigator for the county DA’s office. Police work is in my DNA, so it’ll take a helluva lot more than Hendrix Blake’s charm and good looks to distract me from the end goal.

  Blake and his guys are thought to be responsible for at least four local bank robberies, but the problem is, the feds don’t have any evidence connecting him or anyone else directly to the heists.

  So why is Hendrix their number one suspect?

  Because his father told them he’s the man they’ve been looking for and provided a mountain of information about his son’s method—using his heating and air company as a cover to enter the banks through their air ducts.

  James Blake is cooperating for a sentence reduction, to get his twenty years down to ten, which have all been served. When we have the proof to connect Hendrix to the robberies, his father gets to walk right out the prison door.

  It’s fucked up that a father could roll over on his son, but criminals have no loyalty, not even to their own blood.

  Now, we just need proof.

  I have to bring the federal government proof that it’s Blake and his guys breaking into the banks where they also do all the heating and air maintenance. It’s going to take more than a father’s word to put these bank robbers behind bars since they’ve never left fingerprints or shown their faces on the cameras.

  We’ll need undisputable proof or to catch them in the act to close this case.

  And if I can’t find any evidence, then the least I can do is try to figure out when the next hit is going to happen and where to corner them.

  Every other year for the last ten, one bank is robbed in the middle of the night during the summer months. The thieves clean them out, the vault and all, leaving behind the dye packs, which means they take their time. These guys don’t get in a rush and half-ass the job. They’re incredibly disciplined to wait two years for one robbery, so their planning is meticulous.

  Hendrix Blake has thought of everything to cover his tracks—everything except being betrayed by his own father.

  Chapter 6

  Libby

  Even though I know it’s stupid, I couldn’t help myself.

  I went shopping for new panties.

  With what’s at stake, showing a man my thong shouldn’t be the highlight of my day, but it’s apparently the most exciting thing I’ve done in a long time. Also, it’s the most I’m willing to offer Hendrix at the moment. Soon enough, I’ll probably have to cave and kiss the man, but I’m trying to postpone that time as long as possible.

  It’s not like I’m an inexperienced virgin. At twenty-five, I’ve been with my fair share of men. The difference is that I agreed to date those guys and wasn’t making out with them with an ulterior motive.

  My panty shopping was also a strategic move. I’m still not convinced that Hendrix won’t lose interest in me as soon as I go out with him or kiss him, and that’s not something I can let happen. Therefore, I continue to tease him every chance I get with the sexiest clothes I can find despite Carter’s scowl each day when he sees me right before I leave for work.

  What color, are now the first words Hendrix says to me every day with that same determined heat filling his dark eyes. But then, after the peep show is over, he goes back to his usual charming self, occasionally sharing a meal with his two friends.

  Except one Friday night.

  “Let me guess today’s first,” Hendrix says with a wide smile that’s contagious when I walk up to his usual booth with my pad and pen in my hand.

  “Go for it,” I reply.

  “Red?”

  “Nope.”

  “White?”

  “Wrong again,” I answer.

  Hendrix groans. “Fuck. Just show me,” he says, staring at my short black skirt like he wants to rip it down the seams with his bare hands.

  Glancing around the bar to make sure no one is looking at us, I lay my pen and pad down on his table and then reach inside my waistband to retrieve the thin string.

  “Black.” Hendrix mutters a curse as he slumps further into his booth. “God, I love black the most. Or maybe the white…” I’m still shaking my head and smiling when he growls out, “What the fuck are you looking at?”

  Startled, I follow his line of sight to two booths over where one of our usuals, an older, brown-haired man with a unibrow is sitting alone, facing us.

  “Hendrix,” I hiss because while Lester is a creepy bastard who loves to stare at my breasts like most other men who come in, he doesn’t ask me for much and leaves decent, but not excessive, tips.

  Oddly enough, there are plenty of similarities between Hendrix and Lester, but I don’t mind the way Hendrix looks at me like he’s imagining pulling me onto his lap and fucking me right here in front of God and everyone in the bar. Actually, I’m starting to like his rapt attention on my various body parts more than I should. It’s a rush, knowing that he finds me attractive.

  That’s why I’m so surprised when, as I climb up in his truck after he waited for me to lock up tonight like usual, he says, “It pains me to say this, but I don’t think you should wear skirts to work anymore.”

  “What?” I ask, glancing over at him. “Are you seriously telling me what I can and can’t wear?”

  “Worse men than me want to see what you’ve got hiding underneath,” he responds. “Maybe you shouldn’t make it so easy for them to do if they get a wild hair up their ass.”

  “You’re the only one who asks to see my panties every day,” I point out.

  “Yes, and you don’t have to tell me or show me, but you do,” Hendrix replies. “Some guys don’t bother asking. It’s no secret in town that Lester Wilkes has a record as a sex offender…”

  “I’m not worried about the old men who come into the bar. They look at every woman that way, not just me,” I tell him.

  “Just be careful,” he says. “Don’t leave alone. If I’m not there one night, at least get your dorky roommate to come get you.”

  “Are you planning to stop staying late?” I ask in concern.

  “I should,”
he mutters. “Six a.m. comes really fucking early when I don’t get home until after midnight.”

  “That’s your own fault!” I shout. “I don’t ask you to stay…”

  “I know. I want to,” he replies through gritted teeth. And he doesn’t have to add that, even though he keeps coming by most nights, he’s frustrated by the lack of anything physical between us because I can read it through the air between us loud and clear.

  “Once I sleep with you, you’re gonna disappear,” I point out. It’s the truth and my excuse for why I won’t take things further.

  Hendrix barks out a non-humorous laugh. “I know you don’t believe me, but if you could look inside my head, you would see how certain I am that once with you would never be enough for me. I would have to be inside of you at least a hundred times to do all the things I’ve been dreaming of.”

  “I-Is that right?” I ask, trying to sound unaffected by his words as a deep warmth takes root and grows inside of me. Even if my mind, heart, and soul won’t allow it, the rest of my body is going rogue, also desiring Hendrix in all one hundred ways he’s been thinking of.

  Running his fingers through his hair as if he didn’t even hear me, he goes on to say, “The most fucked up part is there’s at least a hundred other things I want to do with you that have nothing to do with sex.”

  He actually wants…more?

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him because I can read the honesty of those statements on his face. “I’m trying to…I want to trust you. Don’t give up on me yet, okay?”

  I can’t have him pulling away now that we’ve come this far.

  “Believe me, sometimes I really wish I could just throw in the towel and walk away. Hell, I try my damnedest to talk myself out of seeing you…”

  “Is that why you were late yesterday?”

  “Yeah,” he replies. “Earlier in the afternoon, one of our customers called for an air conditioner repair and requested me specifically. She wasn’t wearing anything but a see-through robe when she opened the door for me,” Hendrix says, making my chest ache at the thought of him with another woman. “There she was, a hot and ready MILF, begging me to fuck her…and I walked away.”