Hot Honey Kisses: 3:AM Kisses 17 Read online

“All right, all right.” I break up the impromptu dance party, and Eli nods up at me.

  “I’ll catch you next week.” He looks to Serena. “I’m shooting pool in the back with Seth and Grant. I meant what I said. The app is no problem. Just lay it all out for me. I’ll get her done.”

  I bet if she lays it all out for him he’ll get her done. Who knew Eli was such a damn pervert? I can’t help but frown as I watch him take off for the next room. And let’s hook up? Don’t think I don’t know what that’s code for. Serena here has a real problem on her hands. I might need to talk to him sooner than later.

  “Earth to Shepherd Pie?” She waves her hand over my face, and the scent of sweet honeysuckle fills the air. Serena has always held the scent of that sweet flower. It’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of her. “Wow, where’d you go? You look good and ticked. Did Eli piss in your Wheaties? Because if he did, I owe him a free beer.”

  “Eli’s just a kid. I’m sure he’s not even old enough to drink a beer. I’d hate to see the bar lose its liquor license. And I meant what I said. You can forget about the app. Let’s focus on what you’re doing for the bar. All you need to do is implement something simple that can bring them a little more revenue. It could be finding another napkin vendor that gets the job done cheaper.”

  She crimps her lips as she leans in with a fury brewing in her eyes. “Everyone knows you don’t skimp on napkins. And I like the idea of having something that brings both the Black Bear and me a little more revenue at the very same time. Not all of us were born into litigating royalty. Some of us actually have to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps to make our way in this world.” She leans in so close, I’m within biting distance to her perky little nose.

  “Litigating royalty? My father will love the compliment. Look, forget Eli and that silly app. I’d hate to see you knock yourself out over nothing. Think up a new drink for the bar. That should be fun.”

  “Fun?” she barks it loud and caustic right into my face as her strawberry-scented breath washes over me. “Do you think it would be fun for me to ask Bryson to whip up a few concoctions so I can see which I think tastes best? I’m underage in the event you’re unaware. Or was that a part of your plan all along? I bet you’d get your jollies off watching me get carded by my own boss. Or better yet, setting me up for a humiliating moment at the grocery store. I bet you’d like to ride along for that one. Clean up on aisle one. Serena spilled all her tears.”

  I grimace at the thought. “Okay, sorry. I momentarily forgot that you, too, were underage. Make it a non-alcoholic drink. I bet a ton of your friends would love that.”

  She bucks as if I had just knocked the air out of her lungs. “A Serena Temple? I bet you’d love to see me as the laughing stock of this entire university! Boy—you really have it out for me, don’t you?” She gets in close. Her discontent with me is not only palpable, but at this point I can pretty much taste it, too. Tastes like fresh picked berries and I am not protesting.

  I can’t help but manufacture a short-lived smile. “I think maybe you should get back to work, and I should have a beer.”

  “You do that. Beer generally fuels bad ideas, and I’m sure you’ll have a million new suggestions for me momentarily. I’d rather spend the rest of my summer having Eli help with that app, or driving to West Virginia in an effort to find someone else who can, rather than give up on something I believe in.”

  “Serena”—I take in this fireball that has always somehow possessed the air around me when the two of us are together—“you don’t need to worry about Eli or West Vagina—Virginia,” I’m quick to correct. Fuck. I definitely need a beer and a girl. Not this one.

  Her cheeks burn with color as her mouth falls open.

  “Fine. I’ll do it with you,” I offer. “I can do it. I’m more than qualified. I’ve built apps before. It’s not my first rodeo.” And I farmed out a heck of a lot of the work at the time, but Serena doesn’t have to know that. “I’ll be your right-hand man.” I lift my arm. “And I’ve got a strong hand at the subject, so you’re in luck.”

  Her eyes flash with flames. “So your right hand is strong. That’s an indicator of several things.” A satisfied smile glides over her lips.

  “Honey, I don’t need to host a party for one. There are plenty of wildflowers ready for the picking.” Where in the hell did that come from? I’ve never likened a woman to a flower before, but then, Serena has the ability to drive me to do the unthinkable, let alone come up with a few floral analogies.

  “Says the boy who was trying to hide from his ex. It looks like you’re not as good at picking blossoms, or in your case bosoms as you thought.” She leans in tight with a vengeance. “You know what they say. You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose. But you can’t pick your friend’s nose. So get your finger out of mine!” Serena stalks off, and I’m left speechless.

  I take a seat at the bar as if I were just beat down with a stick, and I think I was.

  What the hell just happened? My ex blinks through my mind like a demon, and I blink her right back out. There’s no way I’m letting Carmella in tonight. Carm was all thorns, no flower. No wonder I’ve steered clear of the opposite sex as of late. But I think it’s time to get back in the game. That girl at the club blinks though my mind. Those long lashes, that pouty mouth, and something inside of me stirs to have her.

  Maybe I will head back out that way.

  Who knows? I might even get lucky.

  Friday night arrives and I decide to do it. I shower, shave, put something decent on, and head to the sleaziest part of downtown Jepson looking for my Mrs. Right. A dark laugh brews in my chest. I seriously doubt she’s anyone’s Mrs. Right. Floating around Anonymous certainly doesn’t look too favorably as far as a matrimonial prospect is concerned. I try to picture it for a moment. The two of us falling in love. The two of us actually determined to tie the knot. How did you meet will be the question we’d have to invent an answer to. But I’m sure it will never get to that. In fact, I’m sure it will more or less end on a rather anonymous note just the way it began. That is, if she’s here at all.

  Anonymous is pumping with a swell of bodies, each one cleverly disguised, most of them thoroughly intoxicated. The women are all cloaked in flamboyant eye masks that cover half their face, and the men are walking around with the same black hood as if we were about to lead them to the sexual guillotine.

  The last time I was here it was a pretty peacock of a girl who caught my eye, and the thought occurs to me that I might be screwed because she might have switched up her costume. Crap. I wander off to the bar and pick up a drink, a near-beer in the event I let the liquor be my guide. No way. Not tonight. Not at this ball-buster of a place. I need to stay safe and sane and remain on high alert lest I end up tied up to some woman’s bedframe by the end of the night.

  A healthy chuckle comes from me as I take a sip of my beer. The sound of the rap music blaring from the speakers is so loud my entire body vibrates to the rhythm as if it were an external heartbeat.

  And then I spot her. A girl with a peacock feathered mask laughs as some dude dives his mouth over her ear. She lifts a knee and slaps it hard before staggering at the hilarity of his words, and my heart sinks. There. It wasn’t anything special between us after all. Just some momentary chemistry I was caught up in. That’s all. Show’s over. I can take off the mask and head on out. Nothing left to see here.

  I turn abruptly, ready to land my beer back onto the bar, and a soft body bumps right into me. Bright eyes, wild long hair, bowtie lips twisted in a devious smile—that infamous feathered mask. The peacock princess has arrived after all. My adrenaline surges as she bites down on that sugared lip I’m determined to taste myself.

  The music hikes up another ten decibels, which makes having a conversation an impossibility, but something about the way she’s smiling, gliding her body over mine in a rhythm all her own, lets me know a conversation of any kind won’t be necessary. There’s a girl in a
pink feathered mask behind her, and she taps the peacock princess over the shoulder as she and a hooded man of her own head down the red hall of fame. The peacock princess takes up my hand and gives a firm squeeze, nodding down the hall before leading us right to the Panic Room.

  And so it begins. It’s dark, but there’s enough of a crimson neon glow for me to find us our own little alcove complete with cuffs attached to a pole, and I don’t waste any time in gently lifting her hands up over her head and tucking them into the soft restraints. Judging by that ever-widening smile, this girl doesn’t mind one wild bit. Her hips grind into mine, and I lean in and nip at those lips I’ve been fantasizing about every damn day since the last time we met. And, dear God, if they’re not as soft, as sweet as I remember them, and then some. She tastes sugary sweet like a bowl full of fresh picked strawberries. Serena pops into my mind, and I quickly give her the boot.

  The peacock princess hooks her leg around my waist and pulls me in, straining with all her might to steal another kiss, and I tease her, pecking at her, pulling back and grinning as I lose myself in her eyes. The dim lighting gives them a ferocious glow, and every last part of me approves of that fire in her. I’m ready to take her back to my place and watch the bedroom burn in our honor. I lean in, and her eyes widen a notch in anticipation. The crimson neon lights make her hair look a cartoonish shade of red, and I can’t help but think it gives her a superhero appeal. She looks perfect in every way—especially this way with her hands strapped high up over her head like an offering.

  My lips brush over hers, and she does her best to squeeze me closer with her thigh. And I lose it. I kiss this mystery girl as if it were our last night on Earth, hard and long, dark, demanding kisses, a firm tongue-lashing that gives a glimpse of tongue-lashings to come—along with lashings I plan on gifting far more interesting parts of her body, and I can feel her moan along with her kisses as if she read my mind. This sweet tasting girl kisses right back, soft and easy, unsure, and something about her hesitancy only gets me going all that much more. There’s something about her that knows how to move me, something about us that knows how to move together.

  I pull away and she bites down softly over my bottom lip, pulling me right back. And I can’t help but evict a husky groan as I lean in and gift her another well-deserved tongue-lashing. Every last part of me is craving so much more with this girl. I’m losing myself in the intensity of her mouth. The vigor at which she’s coming at me has set my boxers on fire. There’s something soft and easy about her as much as there is something determined and on fire.

  The raucously loud music cuts out abruptly. The house lights flick on, far too bright and caustic, and we break apart trying to assess the melee.

  A panicked looking dude sans a mask leans into the room and screams, “RAID!”

  “Raid?” The girl struggles to free herself from the restraints as the room clears out in a blur of bodies.

  No sooner do my fingers fidget with the restraints I’ve secured her with than a girl with dark hair jumps forward and whips off her pink mask.

  “Serena, we need to get our asses out of—!”

  A boy whisks the girl away before she can finish her sentence. But it’s too late. My blood has hit an instant boil. I recognized that girl from the Black Bear.

  “Serena?” I pull up the peacock mask and holy shit. I pluck the ridiculous hood off my head, and she screams as if I just plucked her toes off along with it.

  “Shit!” She knees me close to home and I twist just in time to avoid the maneuver.

  “Shit is right.” I untangle her from the pole and take up her hand. “Come on. We need to get out of here. The last thing I need is for my license to be up for review.” Of all the stupid things I’ve done, this has topped the list for life.

  “Who cares about your ridiculous review. If Marlin and Lex find out you had me tied up to some stupid post, they’re going to kill me!”

  I glance back and frown. “If Marlin and Lex find out I had you tied to a post, it’s me they’re going to kill, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t you sweetheart me! And why the hell are they doing a raid to begin with?”

  A swarm of cops come in with acrylic masks shoved over their faces, Billy clubs out, screaming get out at the top of their lungs, and I pull the two of us into a dark alcove. Serena lands her body up against mine, and I wrap an arm around her to keep her from falling back into view.

  I shrug. “I’m guessing underage drinking.”

  She sucks in a breath. “The club has a twenty-one or older cutoff, and my twenty-first birthday isn’t for another six months!”

  “How the hell did you get in?” I can’t hide how livid I am, and not just because of the things we were inadvertently doing together, but if she wasn’t here with me, she would have been doing God knows what with God knows who.

  She shrinks a little in my grasp. “Fake ID.”

  “Great. You’re off on the right start in life, kid.” I glance back down the hall, and it’s notably empty. “Come on. We’re making a run for it.”

  “Who you calling a kid!” she riots after me as we snake our way through the tunnel-like establishment until we hit a side door that swings open to a back alley. There’s no way I’m heading out the front door into the waiting firepower of the Jepson PD. Not that I’m afraid they’ll shoot on sight—not anyone else, that is. But if Marlin Maxfield spots me with his scantily dressed sister, I’m pretty sure shots will be fired—directly at me.

  “You’re a kid, Serena,” I say, trying to catch my breath as we hit the warm balmy night air. The alleyway is empty save for a couple of girls laughing as they run from the club.

  Serena pulls her phone out and grunts, “Great. Harley took off with Tyson, and she wants me to walk two blocks to meet her.”

  “In this dump?” I pause a minute to take her in. Her hair is waving in the breeze, thick and wild and red as an angry bull. Serena is rather bullish, so the analogy isn’t all that off. That hair should have given her away, and if there was a modicum of lighting in that sex dungeon we were in, it would have. “You need better friends, Serena. Text her back and tell her I’ll get you home.”

  Her fingers work quickly as I lead us to my car.

  A couple of cops stroll this way, and both Serena and I take in a quick breath. I don’t hesitate pulling her behind an overgrown dumpster, and we crouch low to the ground. That wasn’t just any old cop walking the beat. That was Marlin with his hand on his weapon, and I’m sure he’s feeling a little trigger-happy right about now.

  Serena gives my fingers a quick yank. “He can’t see me.” Her emerald eyes glitter with tears, and my heart breaks for her. I know how bad it feels to disappoint a sibling. I know how hard that is to live with, especially when they’re not around to make it up to them anymore.

  I lean in and touch my nose to hers for a moment. It doesn’t seem inappropriate considering I had my tongue down her throat less than five minutes ago. “He won’t see you. I can promise you that.”

  A weak laugh escapes her as the stench of something sour wafts over from the bin. “You do realize we have lousy luck in dark alleys laden with dumpsters.”

  I wince at the thought. “You might be right, but look at it this way. If there’s a dead body tonight, it will most likely be mine, so you’re good to go.”

  She gives a little laugh. Her head tilting to the side allows for the streetlamp to glow over her features and makes Serena look like an angel—one with horns and a tail, but a being of an otherworldly variety nevertheless.

  As soon as it’s clear, we hightail it to my car, and I speed us the hell out of there. Neither one of us says a word about those heated kisses, and we arrive at Whitney Briggs in silence. Serena pauses to get out as she swings the car door open, her heavy eyes lifting to mine.

  “Thanks for the clean getaway.” Her lips quiver a moment, full and ruby red, and that heated response my body has been doling out liberally in her honor goes off like a bomb.


  “You bet.” It comes out lower than a whisper. I swallow hard because I know what I have to do. “Hey, Serena?”

  She turns around, those wide eyes as large as dinner plates. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.” There. It’s probably the first thing I should have said as soon as I realized it was her.

  Her mouth falls open, and her eyes widen to the sky. “You son of a bitch.” She slams the door and runs all the way to her dorm.

  A dark laugh rumbles in my chest as I shake my head after her. There’s the feisty girl I know and love. Not that I love her. Not in that way. But Serena’s special brand of spice is an acquired taste, that’s for sure.

  And all the way home I think about strawberries.

  Unfortunately for me and my twitching boxers, I hit the bed alone, curling up with my laptop instead of another warm body. Instead of bedding the peacock princess—the girl of my illusions, not the one that the light of reality revealed—I look up Shelby Trainee, the dearly departed soul’s sister. After about an hour, I stumble upon a tidbit of information that makes me blink hard just to make sure I didn’t hallucinate the effort.

  “Holy shit,” I whisper. Not only does this bombshell shed a whole new light on Shelby, but it screams intent.

  If this isn’t a motivation for homicide, I don’t know what is.

  Shelby Trainee had over a million reasons to kill her brother.

  This is an undeniable motive for murder.

  Dead until Sundown

  Serena

  Fourteen. That’s how old I was the day of my greatest humiliation yet—and by yet, I mean up until the other night when the masked man I was making out with proved to be none other than Shepherd Collins. Shepherd. Collins. I cannot even begin to understand how Shep’s slippery tongue managed to slither down my throat—and with me such a willing party to the madness! Shit. Just shit.

  God, what was I thinking letting Harley drag me to that glorified brothel? She sure as heck didn’t need to go there. She has Tyson wrapped around her lusty little finger. Okay, so it’s actually the other way around. Tyson very much has Harley under his two-timing thumb. Bleh. Personally, I have no clue what she sees in him. He’s constantly flipping his long hair out of his stoned eyes—eyes that are red, white, and blue like the all-American tragedy he’s shaping up to be. And she knows he’s a skirt chaser.