Defending Pacer Read online

  Good.

  They definitely know about the scorpion; I’ve always known that. Sliding my glove off and looking at the scorpion tattooed on the back of my hand, I smile. My nickname, The Sting, has served me well—the sting before the kill.

  The gloves keep me hidden, fingerprints and all.

  With my gloves back on, I decide I’ve just about had enough of this little trip down memory lane. There’s more of this honeybee to uncover while I have the opportunity.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Seven fucking hours.

  Seven. Fucking. Hours!

  Dad and I have been testing every piece of police evidence to see if there is a fault in their investigation.

  For seven. Fucking. Hours.

  Forget about me having to convince Dad that Pacer is targeted. So much of this investigation is wrong. I feel stupid that I didn’t see it until Dad highlighted it. It must’ve been my rampant hormones that distracted me … that and the leather gloves.

  There are so many Jackson Reed types in the police force. I don’t even understand how this case was able to get as far as a trial. When Dad enlightened me on how some of this evidence has come about, I also realised that Jackson Reed has had his grubby mitts all over it. But I don’t tell Dad that part. I’ll go after Jackson on my own.

  I’m contacting the judge myself first thing Monday morning. I bet Jackson Reed paid off Pacer’s last lawyer too. The more I’m learning about these high-level criminal investigations, the more I find the undertow of corruption within the ranks. If they’re not careful, I will be making sure another Royal Commission happens. Dad was the chief justice for the last Royal Commission into corruption. Both sides of the fence hated my family before I even began practising law. The crooks hated Dad for locking them up, and the detectives hated Dad for exposing their crooked investigations.

  Our level of security was needed when you’re a powerful and very hated person like Dad was. I’m glad I’ve inherited Dad’s deep integrity. The so-called bad guys of the city seem to have more honesty than the people in charge of the judicial system. I’m starting to understand Dad’s frustrations.

  Dad has long gone to bed, but I’ve stayed behind in his office to finish all the notes. If this all goes to plan, Pacer’s case will be settled out of court, and without a plea bargain.

  I hate Jackson Reed. No wonder why Pacer’s family want him gone. He’s on a one-directional pursuit to get Pacer and his cousins behind bars. He needs to be stopped.

  Picking up my phone, I check the time.

  1:20am.

  I’m tempted to message Pacer. I feel like I want to tell him that I’ve got this in the bag … I also just want to hear from him, too. I miss him.

  Jesus! I’ve known him for three minutes and I already miss him? What do I do from here? Do I ignore my feelings or act on them and find out why I feel like this? There’s got to be a reason for it.

  It’s the leather gloves!

  Mmmm … leather gloves.

  CHELSEA: Our dinner may be happening sooner than you thought.

  Send.

  Waiting …

  Shit! Why did I send it? It’s one o’clock in the morning!

  PACER: Name a restaurant and I’ll organise the rest.

  Smooth. Heart aflutter.

  CHELSEA: Surprise me.

  PACER: Careful what you wish for

  Shit! Breathing difficult. I blow out a long breath, but it does nothing to stop the pounding in my chest.

  CHELSEA: You’re up late?

  PACER: I’m always up late. Nature of the beast.

  CHELSEA: I hope you’re at home. You have a curfew, remember?

  PACER: Nagging me already? I like it.

  CHELSEA: You pay me to be bossy. Just stay out of trouble. I will have this all sorted Monday morning.

  PACER: I love it when you boss me around. I’ll happily pay good money for that. Heading to bed now. Good night x

  I stare at the ‘x’, and stare at it for so long that I don’t end up replying.

  Something so small is so much cause for wonder. There are so many ways to take the ‘x’.

  As I make my way upstairs to my bedroom, I can’t dislodge the ‘x’ from my brain. It’s etched in there, just like Pacer is.

  ***

  The second my eyes open, he’s there. Pacer is right in there, and I can’t shake it. The guy will not get out of my head. I’ve got to do something about this. It’s crazy to ignore the incessant need to get myself off, every time I think of him … which is all fucking day. From the moment my eyes open, until the moment I shut them. If I have to go through another week of this, my clit will be rubbed into extinction.

  Maybe if I see him I’ll calm down enough to focus on the case?

  CHELSEA: I would like to go over some of the issues with your investigation. I need to clarify a few details. Are you free for lunch?

  Ten minutes later, no reply.

  Half an hour later, still no reply. He must be asleep. It is only seven am.

  Slumping back into my soft pillow, I decide another hour’s sleep will work wonders for the heavy bags under my eyes, especially if I’m seeing Pacer later.

  Fuck, I hope he messages back.

  As each minute passes, I’m getting dangerously close to feeling desperate. Sleep. Just sleep. Soft pillow.

  ***

  “Hey sleeping beauty, your beau is at the top gates. Uncle John is going to have your ass if he gets home to find him here.”

  My eyelids feel like concrete blocks but the rude awakening has me instantly alert. I look at the end of the bed to find Logan holding my foot. For a moment she looks just like she did when we were teenagers, and she wasn’t them yet. I miss the old her sometimes.

  Hang on.

  What was Logan saying?

  “What?”

  “He’s here … that Pacer guy. Well, his driver is here. He’s still in the car, hasn’t stepped a foot out. The driver said you requested a meeting with Pacer at lunch. The car is fucking pimpin’, by the way.”

  I smile. Without the stack of makeup on, Logan is my old Logan, but all the variants of Logan are so much better than just the one.

  Throwing my arms around her, I kiss her cheek. “What’s the time?”

  “Ten past two … in the afternoon.”

  “What the fuck?”

  I rifle through the bed, searching desperately for the damn phone. As soon as my fingers hit hard plastic, I rip it out from the depths of the bed.

  One missed call

  Two unread messages

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  Sliding open the message, I brace. I must’ve slept all morning.

  7:28a.m

  PACER: I’ll be at the northern gates of your parents’ home at 1pm

  8:00a.m

  PACER: I hope you know I’m not joking

  12:40p.m

  MISSED CALL: Pacer

  As I come out of my phone message coma, I find Logan still sitting on the bed, smiling at me.

  “Did you say Dad was out?”

  “Yeah but he’s due back any moment. Both him and Aunt Tilly went out to the yacht club for lunch together.”

  “Okay, can you get Pacer’s driver to take him around and meet me at the bottom gates instead. He can park on the main road then, and he won’t stick out like a sore thumb. Mum and Dad always use the top entrance.”

  “If I didn’t see how you reacted every time you see a message from him, I’d tell you to stay away. But I don’t think a natural disaster could keep you from seeing him. Now, go. Get yourself all prettied up, before your Mum and Dad find out about all of this.”

  As I rush to the bathroom, Logan slaps me on my pantie-clad ass cheek. Such a guy thing to do.

  ***

  Once I’ve got myself dressed and ready, I poke my head around the door to hear any voices downstairs. I just don’t need the questions about where I’m going. Luckily for me, the house has a million exits, and I know each one intimately. Escaping un
detected is always a breeze.

  Reaching the end of a hallway, I listen out for voices again.

  “She left an hour ago. Went to see friends down at Bondi.”

  I hear Logan talk. I’m trying to gauge the direction of the voices; working out which room they could be in.

  “Good. I’m glad she’s getting out. This must be a lot for her to deal with, John.” Mum’s voice of concern sounds as if it’s coming from their favourite sitting room. That would make sense too, they always hang out in the sitting room on a Sunday afternoon.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I lightly leap through the side doorway and take the overgrown path between the two tennis courts. A series of smaller pathways lead me directly to the lower-level entrance of the property.

  I step out of the small pedestrian gate and look to one end of the busy street. In the opposite direction, a sparkling car catches the corner of my eye. I turn quickly in the direction to find a beautiful chrome SUV Bentley parked a few metres away.

  Subtle.

  The driver gets out of the front seat and opens the rear door. There’s nothing needed to be said. I know it’s Pacer’s car.

  Excitement lodges that nasty ball in my throat again. I try to swallow it away but it doesn’t want to budge. Re-tying the belt that’s come loose on my trench coat, I walk as quickly as possible to the Bentley.

  “Good to see you, honeybee.” Pacer’s voice is as smooth as honey … bee. Honeybee? That’s new. I like the way he says it.

  I slide into the creamy leather interior of the car. Pacer pulls me straight to him and kisses either cheek. The second kiss is more prolonged, his lips lingering. They’re soft but hard, all at the same time, and I can feel his breath against me.

  My entire body vibrates with a buzz of energy. His nose runs along my cheekbone, his lips edging closer to mine. If I moved a millimetre, our lips would touch. But I don’t want to move. I want to savour every second of this.

  The driver’s front door opening pulls us both from the haze of one another.

  “Hi.” I smile, still not daring to move.

  “Hi.” His breath floats into my mouth as he speaks. It’s warm and delicious. I want more. I want to taste him so badly.

  I feel the movement of the car underneath us, but the ride is so smooth that you can barely notice it.

  Pacer reaches up behind me. “Better get your seatbelt on.” He pulls the belt from its holder in the back.

  “Okay,” I whisper the word more to myself than to him.

  The moment slips away from where it was heading.

  I’m so horny, I could cry … with real tears.

  CHAPTER TEN

  She looks so beautiful. It’s completely different to how I’ve seen her during the past two weeks. She’s so relaxed and sexy, and I love it.

  Her hair is flowing down past her shoulders for once, and it’s just how I imagined it. My dick is demanding my attention—or rather it’s commanding her attention. Her soft skin felt like silk. I want to lick every fucking inch of it.

  “So how did you know where to find me?” Her voice sounds shaky. Is she nervous?

  She’s fucking switched on. I need to watch myself.

  “You told me you always come here on the weekends.”

  “I did? When did I tell you that?”

  She looks confused. I’ve fucked it. Serves you right for being a desperate prick! Quick. Think quick, you fucking idiot.

  I shrug. “It was when I walked you home from my Uncle’s restaurant.”

  Just buy it. Please just fucking buy it.

  Her smirk is sheepish, and she glances down. “Oh. Yeah. I think I remember that.”

  The tension inside my gut loosens. That was too close. I need to keep my head together. She has me doing stupid things.

  “This is a nice car.” She looks around the interior and rubs her hand along the leather door rest. I imagine her rubbing her hand along my cock. I want to fucking punish her for doing this to me. She has me more stirred up than an un-popped bottle of champagne that’s been shaken. Any minute now, I’m going to fucking explode all over her.

  That’s it! I’m going back to fuck her pillow again tonight. I can’t fucking handle this.

  “So where are we going?” Her grin is gorgeous. I just want to kiss those lips.

  I realise she’s changes the subject again when I don’t respond to her. I can’t fucking think straight. “You wanted me to surprise you.” I smile. “So how are all the details of the case going? You must be onto something if you messaged me at one in the morning?”

  Her eyes shift to Giorgie behind the steering wheel.

  “He’s my godson. I should’ve introduced you, sorry. Giorgie, this is Chelsea. Chelsea, this is my nephew and my godson¸ Giorgio. He’s my sister’s oldest. He’s a good kid.”

  “Hi Chelsea.” Giorgie is as gruff as usual. Makes me laugh. He reminds me of what I was like at his age, except he’s a cleanskin. Not a charge on him in his eighteen years. He’s smarter than I ever was. He’ll make a great boss for the family one day, and he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty either.

  Chelsea takes her time to talk. “Well, I’ve uncovered a lot. There’s so much more to this than just your charge.”

  None of this is news to me, but I’m not surprised that she was able to uncover it either.

  “Go on,” I encourage.

  “I’d rather talk about it, alone.”

  “I trust Giorgie with my life.” I wish she would just loosen up.

  “It can wait. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day. We’ll talk after I get some food into my system.”

  I’ll fill your system with plenty of food, my honeybee.

  “Can’t have you hungry now,” I lower my voice, hoping to make my sarcasm obvious. Her bossiness gives me a boner, every time.

  We pull into the driveway of Catalina restaurant and Chelsea’s frown doesn’t look approving.

  “You don’t like Catalina?” I probe.

  “I love Catalina. It’s just that my parents know the owners really well. It’s probably bad timing coming here. I think we should go somewhere more discreet.”

  The car stops. Giorgie opens her door just as I step out from the back seat.

  She hesitates so I take control of the situation. “Lucky I booked a seaplane to take us up to the Hawkesbury River then.” I hold my hand out for her to take.

  Her beaming smile is so infectious. It makes me want to do everything I can to see it all the time. She takes my hand and grips around the leather of my glove. She pauses and stares at her hand in mine.

  That’s right, honeybee, your hand looks good there, doesn’t it?

  Still holding onto to her, I lead her around the side of the building and down the to the pontoon, where a pilot is waiting for us next to a seaplane.

  “Hi, Mr and Mrs Park?”

  Chelsea glances to me.

  I answer before she can, “Yes. That’s us.”

  “Welcome aboard.”

  The pilot shakes my hand and I help Chelsea into the back of the cabin. My hand subtly rests against her ass cheek as she takes the small steps of the plane. Moments like this I wish I had more tactility through the thickness of the leather covering my hands. Although, there’s no telling what I’d do to her if I felt the heat of her ass through her pants.

  Taking my seat next to her, I lean across and hand her the headset to put on. I do everything I can to get close to her. Her smell is sending my insides crazy.

  I can feel her watching me, but I try not to make eye contact. I can’t. Who knows what I’ll do to her if we lock eyes at this point.

  The pilot climbs into his seat and pulls his headset on, too, his voice sounding through my headphones. “The flight to Cottage Point will be nice and smooth. We have clear skies all the way and a nice headwind to take off in. Couldn’t get more perfect conditions if you tried.”

  Chelsea looks at me, and smiles. There it is again.

  Fuck you are bea
utiful my, honeybee.

  She puts her hand on my thigh and narrowly misses the head of my cock. The position it’s in is due to my half chub. I just wish the fucker would relax. He’s hungry as a beast for some honeybee.

  I take her hand in mine as my balls tighten and constrict from the tension. Her eyes drop. Did she just realise what she almost touched?

  The smile on her face is subtle, and the microphone is picking up her heavy breathing, centimetres from her open mouth. The plane’s engine loudly kicks in and drowns out any other noise.

  The pilot turns to face us. “I’ll be switching off my headset for privacy once we take off.”

  He finishes writing in his logbook then turns his attention to the control board, flicking switches.

  The plane surges forward and we glide along the surface of the water. As we gain speed, the small waves thump against the two floats underneath. We bounce around for a while until the engine roars and we weightlessly lift off the ground into a smooth ride.

  I watch Chelsea. Her face is turned away from me as she looks out of the window, but I can tell she’s smiling. I wonder if she’s ever had a guy take her away in a plane like this? Despite the way she acts, she comes from wealth, so a flight like this isn’t out of the ordinary for her, surely? But the way she’s behaving, it’s as if this is all new to her.

  I gaze down at her hand, still in mine, and give it a light squeeze. She turns to face me.

  “Have you been on one of these flights before?”

  She chuckles and she replies, “Yeah, but I never get tired of it.”

  Fuck, I’m an idiot. Of course she’s been on one of these flights. What a stupid fucking question, you cock-head.

  Her green eyes sink into me. “So how come you don’t fly planes yourself? You know, like all those men in the fairy-tale romance stories.”