Page 12 of Frankie and the Fed (Untamed Rascals #3)
I t was a surprisingly chilly night for Savannah, and the thin-blooded southern girl that was me wasn’t prepared for the breeze coming off the water. Goosebumps covered my exposed arms, and I regretted wearing a short skirt and thin crop top.
Though maybe the cold would work to my favor, give Jamie something to stare at and a reason to share body heat.
Butterflies danced in my stomach at the thought of curling up close to her to stay warm, and I had to remind myself why I was really here: get close to Jamie so I could uncover her secret identity .
It didn’t escape me that there were really only two possibilities if she was the woman in the museum that night. Either she was part of some kind of nefarious dealings with Tom—of all people—or she was investigating it. The part of me that was undeniably attracted to her wished for the latter.
A thrill ran through me at the thought of what I would need to do to get close enough to her to find out. Enemy or ally—that was what I needed to know.
I hadn’t felt this conflicted and torn up about someone since I had a crush on Jessie Franklin in seventh grade.
It was the first time I realized why I was never interested in my boy classmates like my peers had been.
Unfortunately, twelve-year-old Frankie didn’t yet realize that only a very few girls liked other girls, and she had her heart absolutely crushed when Jessie was caught making out with Brad Folger under the bleachers.
Jessie was labeled the class whore—of course, the girl was criticized and not the boy. Brad became the class stud. I became the odd one out, feeling like I would never fit in anywhere. That feeling had never really left me. Always the odd one out.
Nerves had me getting to the museum, our meeting place and conveniently the beginning of the tour, early. I paced up and down the wide steps in front of the Greco Roman columns to shake off some of the energy before I made a fool of myself.
We saw each other nearly every day at work, but it felt different somehow, with the sun down and the gentle glow of the city at night transforming the mundane into magic.
I adjusted my purple wig again as I paced. Hopefully, she liked it.
This wasn’t going to work. I hadn’t been this nervous before a date in… actually, I couldn’t remember how long. I needed a drink before I made a fool of myself .
On the next pass up the museum stairs, a tall, lithe figure stepped out from around the corner of the museum. She was backlit by streetlights, turning her hair into a sleek halo. My breath caught.
All thoughts of her potentially criminal dealings fled my mind when I caught sight of her long, surprisingly muscular thighs clad in tight jeans. She paired it with a black silky top and a cream sweater that made her skin glow. She was breathtaking.
Fuck.
I wasn’t prepared for this.
You’re just using her for information , but the refrain felt weak and fading as she walked closer to me, her full lips tipping up in a smile.
“Purple tonight? I like it,” she said when she reached me, stopping close enough that the heat of her beat on me and the soft coconut, floral, and sandalwood scent of her perfume filled my nose.
Heat suffused my cheeks at the compliment.
“Thanks.” I tugged on a strand of it like a lovesick puppy and tried to think of something other than ‘how dare you show up looking like sex personified.’
“So, I was thinking that after the tour we should go out for a drink. I know a great karaoke bar on the river if you’re into that kind of thing,” I said after a long silence.
“I’ve never done karaoke before, and I haven’t really had a chance to explore enough to find a good bar. Sure, I’m up for it.” She shrugged, and a part of me worried that meant she wasn’t really sure about it. I pushed that part down. It didn’t matter. I would convince her to love it.
“Ok, good. ”
Dammit. I had no problem talking to her at work, and I was usually good at dating. At least, this part of dating—the part where we are just getting to know each other, feeling each other out, but still at surface level. I already felt like I was in too deep with Jamie.
Silence filled the space between us, only interrupted by the hum and buzz of the city settling in for the night. Once or twice, I tried to open my mouth to fill it, only to come up short.
“Sorry,” I finally said. “I’m usually better at conversations. It’s just—you walked up here looking like a goddamn wet dream in those jeans and your tank top pulled tight across your chest and”—I fluttered my hands above my head—“all thoughts flew away.”
Shit. That was out loud and not in my head.
She looked startled before glancing down at herself. When she looked back up, a smile spread across her face. “It’s just jeans and a black top.”
“Just jeans.” I snorted and rolled my eyes at her, grateful the tension was easing.
“Yeah. You’re the one in a tiny, flouncy little skirt and a bra so thin I can see your nipples clearly through that top.” She waved at my chest, her eyes riveted to me, and I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips.
“I’ll have you know I’m not wearing a bra.” Yeah. I played every card I had to seduce her. I was potentially going up against a professional, after all.
Her eyes widened briefly before glancing down again. Her cheeks flushed, and she slowly looked away, toward the gathering crowd. I moved closer to her, seeking her warmth—desperate for her touch .
She didn’t move away, and every one of her slightly too fast breaths brushed our arms together. I couldn’t ignore the giddy feeling rising within me. What would she think if I held her hand? Wrapped my arm around her? Snuggled close and breathed her in?
When the old-fashioned trolley pulled up, she leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Need help getting up with those heels?” Her breath tickled my cheek and moved the stray pieces of my hair. Electricity shot down my spine at her low words—spoken only for me.
“Yeah,” I said on a shaky breath. I hadn’t even remembered that I had on my custom thigh-high boots with platform heels. I could probably climb into the trolley without help, but I’d be a fool not to accept any scraps of attention I could from Jamie.
When our turn came around, the tour guide scanned our tickets, and Jamie held out her hand to help me up. I stared at its surprisingly delicate shape. I wasn’t sure why I thought her fingers would be anything but long and elegant, but somehow, it still surprised me.
I placed my hand in hers, and the warmth of the contact shot through me, warming me despite the chilled air. Her grip was firm, and I was reluctant to let go once I was in my seat—the one at the back for privacy.
She practically leaped into the trolley behind me and settled in close on the long bench.
This was a very good idea.
“I’m glad it’s not me,” she said into my ear. Those tingles from earlier never really left, and her proximity and voice just turned them up again.
“What’s not you?” I couldn’t focus with her so close, her warmth and scent bleeding into me .
“Giving the tour.”
I laughed at the unexpected direction of her thoughts.
“Do you not like your job?” I turned toward her so I could see her as she spoke.
“Some of it is nice, but the endless talking and needing to have something witty to say about everything just to keep the audience’s attention is exhausting. I’m more of a performer than a guide.”
She slung her arm along the back of the seat, inviting me in close with every word. What would it feel like for her to bring it forward, just a little, and wrap it around me?
She didn’t, and I plotted ways to entice her into enfolding me in her arms when we hit a bump in the road and fate intervened.
Warm. She was warm and surprisingly soft, despite her athletic build.
“I don’t think I could give tours for that exact reason,” I said, only partially aware I was speaking at all as I leaned into her. Perfect fit. Her arm was a perfect fit around me.
The tour guide droned on about something, but none of his words registered to me. Jamie consumed me at that moment—her scent, light and warm, her eyes, bright and focused entirely on me, her long, powerful body pressed close to me.
“It is torture.” Something in the way she said torture had me heating.
My sex life had been… vanilla in the past. I didn’t mind sometimes, but there were times I craved more. The way her voice rolled over me, lighting the core of me, had me picturing all kinds of scenarios—none of them very tame.
I licked my suddenly too dry lips at the images of her digging into my toy box and picking something to help her slowly drive me crazy. Her pupils swallowed the gray of her irises as she watched the path of my tongue, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss her.
The trolley hit another bump, and we were thrown together, closer than before. I braced myself with one hand against her thigh, the other itching to tangle in her hair and drag her face down to capture her lips with mine.
The carriage lamps cast deep shadows across us, hiding us from the view of our fellow passengers. It would be so easy to bridge the gap between us and take her plump, rosy lips in a kiss. She would taste so good. Even if those lips carried lies.