Thunderstruck (Ramsey Security #1)

Studying me, Troy smiles wider. "Uncomfortable isn't the correct word for what you're feeling."

I close my eyes and deal with the hot blush across my cheeks. Troy laughs quietly at my embarrassment but says nothing more. Finally, I open my eyes.

"Any news on the dead guy from the crash?"

"Ah, changing the subject," he says, running his fingers lazily up my back. "In fact, we do have a name. The fucker was a relatively new shooter out of Toronto. His inexperience explains why he freaked after spotting Rafael on his tail. A real pro could have found a way to dump a tail in a busy city without gaining the attention of the cops."

"Can you link him back to Locke?" I ask, drumming my fingers on his chest.

"Don't make too much of what I'm about to say, but you're making me hard."

I balk at him, sending Troy into laughter.

"It's not funny."

"You're beautiful, and I'm smitten. Why wouldn't I get hard when you touch me?"

"Why tell me though?"

"I'd figured you'd notice, and I didn't want you getting surprised by the growing lump in my pants."

Laughing now, I squirm away from his embrace, change my mind, and squirm closer.

"Men are pigs."

"If we left the hunt up to women, our species might die out."

"That's not true. I know lots of women who chase men."

"Sure, some do but not enough. Men must behave this way. Trust me. I crunched the numbers years ago."

I roll my eyes while my fingers return to drumming on his chest. "How do guys like the dead ones get connected with Locke? Minka said they're freelance killers."

"Plenty of ways. Saskia says Locke is finding people through the White Rabbit. Not directly though, meaning he's not a real player."

"What is the White Rabbit?"

"The White Rabbit is a bit of a mystery. It's either a guy or maybe an entire organization that connects the super wealthy with top notch contractors. I got on their radar years ago, even before meeting Minka. The guys Locke hired aren't big shit enough to have direct contact with the White Rabbit. Locke isn't important enough either. Locke is meeting these turds through chat rooms created and organized by the White Rabbit."

"You say the guys Locke hired are lame, but the first one managed to kill a retired cop."

"No offense to your beloved brother-in-law, but Vernon hired lame security the first time around. He underestimated the threats, as did his security. It's why one of them is dead and the other is still in the hospital."

"Can you find Locke through the chat room?"

"That's the plan. We need to know where the chat rooms are though. They open and close quickly. Codes are changed out often to make it harder for law enforcement to track," Troy says, pausing to kiss my lips.

Feeling bold, I give his lips a quick lick before losing my courage and hiding my face against his chest.

"You're a vixen," he murmurs. "So the plan to find Locke is for us to keep watch of the known chat rooms and look for jobs that might be related to you. We can contact him as a specialist and get details that could lead back to him."

"He's not going to tell you his address."

"No, but sometimes, people give up more info than they think especially when they're frustrated. You escaped his muscle. He hired an outside contractor who ended up dead. The second one ended up dead too. The more pressure he feels, the more likely he is to fuck up. Once he does, we'll find and kill him. Problem solved."

"Then you won't be here to protect me anymore."

Troy lifts my chin so he can press his lips against mine. The kiss is shorter than I'd like.

"This isn't a job for me. You know how you can tell?" Shaking my head, I stare hungrily at his lips. "All the kissing. I make it a policy not to kiss my clients."

"I'm special, huh?"

"More than you can know."

"Why?"

"Why does anyone fall for anyone else? Chemistry? Fate? I don't know why. I just know it in here," he says, tapping his gut.

Snuggling my cheek against his chest, I think about how I'm pretending to be normal. Just a girl with a guy she likes. As if we could do anything, be anything. Except I'm not normal. A good day without being stuck in the darkness doesn't mean I healed.

"You think too much," he says, turning on the TV. "When I worked a job, sometimes I sat alone in silence for hours. I learned the benefits and failures that come from over thinking things. You should think less and react more."

"That sounds like bad advice."

"I know, but it's not. When you ran from Locke's muscle, you didn't think, did you? When the Serbian attacked your house, you didn't think. You just reacted. When you got the chance to slide up against all this sexy flesh, you didn't think either. You just grabbed on. Thinking is overrated."

"Sexy flesh," I whisper, trying not to laugh.

"I call it like I see it."

Taking all my strength not to chicken out, I caress his jaw and lift my lips. I want more kissing. I just don't think I want the stuff that comes afterwards. Not yet anyway.

Soon though, I can imagine our bodies pressed together like this except naked. When that day comes, I'm looking forward to more than a simple kiss.





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