Reggie's Girl Ch. 07

Chapter 7

It was a miserable day for a miserable occasion. Jasmine felt her hair get steadily heavier and damper in the cheerless drizzle of the late April morning. She cast a rueful eye at the crowd of umbrellas in the cemetery plot some distance ahead of her. Nonetheless she stayed where she was.

A young woman began a song she had never heard before, her voice carrying clear and sorrowful over the verdant grounds.

Jasmine sighed in pure sympathy with their raw emotion; she was glad she couldn't make out the words. In front of her, a single tortured wail lifted from amid the otherwise subdued crowd.

Jasmine glanced away towards the main road, feeling uncomfortably like she was intruding where she didn't belong.

All along both sides of the road were parked many cars and this was the only burial in progress. For a notorious crime boss, Reginald Tremain McComb III's funeral was remarkably well-attended.

But then, he wasn't just a crime boss, was he? The reality was more complex. His most vocal defenders said he'd given people a ticket out of poverty, and a sense of dignity in real self-sufficiency.

Xavier and the rest could and would forever valorize him for this. As for herself, it was enough to simply be here, very quietly paying her respects. She hadn't known him, after all, as they had.

A movement near one of the more distant cars caught her eye. A huge man emerged from the driver's seat of a familiar black Mercedes. Then he stood with his hands clasped before him facing the cemetery grounds. Facing her.

Without another thought to the ongoing ceremony, Jasmine turned and ambled down the gentle slope. As she got nearer, Tiny caught her eye, nodded once then went round to re-enter the car.

The pleasant warmth of the car's interior touched her even before she got in the car. She held open the door as she threw a conflicted glance over her shoulder. No sooner had she climbed in and closed the door than Tiny pulled away, unlike her, without looking back.

"He knew I'd be here," Jasmine murmured to herself with a small rueful smile. To her surprise, Tiny answered her.

"He knew. Wanted me to personally take you home, soon as you were ready."

"Of course." She shook her head a little as she looked out of the window. "I should've expected as much."

"Always. When did he not have you covered?"

It was the longest conversation Jasmine had ever had with Tiny, and the wonder of it was still heavy upon her when he opened the front door to the townhouse for her. He didn't follow her inside but closed the door and left, leaving her to take off her boots and pad down the foyer into the living room.

Equally barefoot paced Reginald Rashid McComb in the lushly carpeted living room, a tumbler of nearly-finished whiskey in one hand and a phone in the other.

He cut a fine figure in a cream-colored ribbed sweater with the sleeves pushed back to the elbows and pearl-gray slacks. Not that this was any time to appreciate how good he looked.

His jaw was clenched, his brows drawn down above his nose in an unnerving scowl. His eyes lit on her the second she entered his line of vision; his expression never lightened.

"That's kind of you to offer," he told the person on the other end with increasingly strained politeness. "I'm actually okay, though. Not at all, it's the simple truth. No-no-no, that won't be necessary. Yes, really. But, listen, thanks for reaching... Thank you for reaching out. I'm fine."

His phone landed on the couch with a bounce and came to rest right on the edge.

"Jasmine." Reggie downed the last of his whiskey even as he walked to the corner to pour himself a refill. "You gonna give yourself a cold going out in this bad weather."

"It was only a little drizzle."

"Was it now?" His voice hardened to a sneering, distinctly unpleasant tone. "What else was going on there anyway?"

"Reggie-"

She bit her lip when he interrupted with false good cheer, "I bet you couldn't see the casket for flowers. He'd have loved that shit."

"I didn't get close enough to see the casket. And you're not gonna bully me into apologizing for showing up for the few minutes I was there. That isn't fair." She dragged her fingers through her nearly dry hair then crossed her arms. "He was a part of you, Reggie, or at least he used to be. I can't help being interested in everything with a connection to you. Even your evil father."

There was a long silence belabored by the unobtrusive patter of the rain.

For Reggie, it was never a simple pleasure to see Jasmine. There was also, particularly after one of her inexcusable absences, too-sharp relief, a deep gratification that she had answered his summons, a touch of resentment that she hadn't come knocking on his door of her own accord, frustration that he apparently had not finished convincing her he was exactly what she needed.

And the anticipation. Always, always, the predatory anticipation of her surrender - sexual and (especially lately) otherwise.

No denying it, she loved the sex. Hell, he'd go so far as to say she adored it even more than he did (it wasn't his orgasms that had numbered in the double digits that first night in Miami!) Not that great sex would be enough to keep her.

In fact, she resented him because of it, if that wasn't too strong a word. She definitely had qualms about how drawn she was to him. Poor baby, he thought with a remorseless smirk.

He supposed it was to be expected. Jasmine had always had deep, serious misgivings about him. Even now, when he was sure she had a much clearer picture of who he was, she still didn't love the fact that she was attracted, probably even by now attached to him.

He had no apologies to make on that front. If Jasmine didn't like that he knew exactly how to get under her subtly scented skin, that was just too bad. He had a full arsenal - greater experience, excellent control, an intuitive understanding of just what excited her - and he would continue to use all the artillery at his command, press his every advantage until her ruined defenses joined her panties around her pretty little feet.

Reggie reined in his wayward thoughts with a slow, cooling breath. There'd be time for all of that. But first things first.

She had been somewhere she shouldn't have been.

Although it took some effort to remember now, he still felt annoyed that Jasmine had been there at all. Annoyed enough that he wasn't pleased with himself (yet) for knowing her this well, just sending his car over there on a hunch and having her brought to him without a fight...

Oh yeah. We were feeling obedient today, were we?

He gritted his teeth with such frustration he should have cracked a molar. The fuck was wrong with him?

No! Jasmine had not been brought to him for any salacious reason, and he really wished his imagination would give it a rest. Yes, she was looking at him with sympathy (he'd allow it, for now) curiosity and a likely unconscious regret but he wasn't looking to exploit any of it.

Uh uh, he needed her to understand that there was a line: anything to do with his father was out of bounds. Then once they'd gotten that out of the way, if she was in a mood to work her way back into his good graces, well...

"My father is dead, Jasmine." He turned to her at last, whiskey in hand. "But even if he was alive, he still wouldn't have anything to do with us. He didn't last week, when he was, and he won't start to matter now."

"I thought you were him once," Jasmine argued gently.

He exhaled a quiet sigh. Now why did she have to go and be right when he was trying to lay down the law?

"Once," Reggie repeated implacably. "Briefly. For all the difference it made. You and I have always had better things to discuss."

Her brows lifted. "I don't know if we've ever discussed much of anything in all our time together."

A reluctant laugh huffed out of his nose and he covered it by pretending to take a sip. He sent her a bland look over his glass. "My point exactly."

Her eyes widened slightly before flying to the windows. A fetching shade of rose climbed to the bridge of her nose and along her cheekbones. She didn't know how to answer that or didn't dare.

"Whenever we got together, Jasmine, it was just you and me," Reggie went on with gentle amusement; fuck it, he was done trying to be mad. "All you knew for sure about me was that you wanted me. Me, in the flesh, not some rumor out there."

"I didn't-"

"You had to have me." He would not stand here and listen to her deny it. "Just like I had to have you."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "Or did you think I didn't try my damnedest to leave you alone? You think I wanted to be with someone who thought my father and I were one and the same? You do understand, don't you, what an insult-"

He cut himself off, clenching his jaw to keep from saying more in this vein. He was getting worked up.

But Jasmine wasn't put off by his indignation. She regarded him still with wary concern.

"I'm sorry," she said into the tense silence. "I didn't before, but I understand now that you would resent that misconception."

I understand...

Ah fuck, Reggie thought as he put down his glass with a loud thunk. Resentment was in fact the last thing he was feeling, might she be made to understand that?

He should pick up his glass again, give his hands something, anything to do before he dragged her to him, kissed her until they both forgot their names.

He managed not to. He was just beginning to collect his composure when Jasmine stepped closer, hesitantly rested a slim hand on his chest. He looked in her eyes, the bafflement unconcealed in his own.

Was she or wasn't she trying to get shit started? Did she really still not see that this is how it always began?

From the beginning, her cautious, feminine trust that he was a better man than appearances suggested had more than flattered him. It had intoxicated him.

And impelled him to pay her right back. Whether to reward her faith or avenge his pride, Reggie had seen to it that she was pleasured within an inch of her life whenever they fell into bed.

Problem was, he actually prided himself on his cool head and self-possession in even the most trying circumstances. So this moth-to-flame reaction had been... new. Disquieting.

Galling, goddamn it all, and her apparent assumption that this was all normal behavior for him hardly made it better!

Yet what could he do about that? Just tell her that actually when she'd had him eating pussy on the first night she'd achieved quite the feat? And successfully made an addict of him to boot?

Forget that. Being that excited about sex looked better, much better on the erstwhile virgin. He was content to be the laid-back, sophisticated man of the world whose palm she ate out of.

And Jasmine lapped it all up. An admittedly dangerous notion to entertain, but he could swear he hit it just right each and every time. He'd always allowed her hands total freedom. About the only thing they hadn't done was push him away.

And it wasn't just the sex either. She'd always been fascinated by him, with the apparent contradictions he presented to her lively mind. It was no surprise she'd figured out his father's identity without any help from him.

Just as well. The last thing he'd willingly bring up in conversation with Jasmine was his fucking father.

To his nauseous chagrin, Reggie was all too familiar with the erotic obsession his father's sins inspired in a certain kind of woman. There was an actual medical term for it, he'd learned some years ago, but he had since forgotten it and anyway, he'd never needed to be told murder groupies were sick in the head.

Which was why, though she didn't know it, his involvement with Jasmine had been just as fraught for him as for her, with agonized concerns over who and what she was.

Yes, she'd been terrified when he'd first introduced himself to her. Sure, she'd righteously condemned his crimes to his face once the initial dread had worn off.

But she'd still gone to bed with him.

Always, in the aftermath, he'd be haunted by the thought - the very real fear - that he'd fucked the exact kind of person he loathed.

Or claimed to loathe, given the fact that he couldn't find anything in Jasmine that put him off. She was brave, sharp, loyal, kind, magnificently judgemental of all she thought he stood for.

But then they'd have sex and he'd be right back to square one. If she was so opposed to the vice and slaughter he represented, his conscience demanded, why the hell was she sleeping with him? Was she against it at all? Or did she actually revel in the idea of fucking his father?

How his sanity had survived, he would never know.

The latter would be unforgivable of course; he couldn't see Jasmine anymore if that was the case. Was it a coincidence then that they had, as he'd put it earlier, always found better things to discuss? Probably not.

He hadn't wanted to know. So much for his indomitable pride, to say nothing of his integrity.

He could have told her at any time the plain truth about himself. But he hadn't wanted to take even that small chance of losing his appeal for her. And that was the harsh truth of the matter: he had been willing to be whoever he needed to be to keep Jasmine's interest, at least until he had enough of her and set her aside.

How foolish and naïve those calculations looked now.

But also, on a much simpler level Reggie had just felt responsible for her. He'd met her in such a dangerous situation.

Poor thing thought she and Ted might have some kind of future together. He'd had to save her from that delusion and the inevitable catastrophe it would bring.

Then there was the business with Krow. Her little boyfriend had managed to drag her into his own problems with the punk.

Reggie would never forget the sight of Jasmine's bluish face that day in her mother's apartment. Nor how it had affected him. A fury like he'd not experienced in decades, cold and quite clear-headed, had had him imagining, planning, looking forward to the horrible hurt he would inflict on Krow when he got his hands on him - and then on his own father, Krow's benefactor.

For a time, Reggie had entertained a contemptuous pity for his father, declaring such a sorry heir. Still, what Krow lacked in smarts he more than made up for in viciousness; he might have been formidable. But then he'd threatened Theo's son.

Reggie had had to intervene then. The boy was under Reggie's protection thanks to a promise Theo had extracted from him while awaiting sentencing. So it really didn't matter what the knucklehead got up to, whether he was even in the right. Ted was Reggie's problem now.

And so was his charge's cute companion, who he kept catching staring bemusedly at his lips.

Fast forward to now, his original sense of responsibility for Jasmine had only got more complicated. She might be the mother of his child. She was the woman he loved. And she could still end up, if he didn't play his cards right, being the one that got away. All rolled into one.

How ironic that she had worried herself to tears for his safety when as far as he was concerned there wasn't a man alive more dangerous than Jasmine Fleet.

Although she was prickly as an irritable cat on the subject it was time he determined if she was pregnant. He'd figured some props might help him broach the subject, but the matter could not be put off any longer. There were some heavy conversations yet to be had.

Is that what she wanted now?

"Reggie, I..." she breathed. "I..."

Reggie blinked, suddenly hyperaware of what was going on in front of him. She wanted to say something to him, something of great import and she was searching for the right words.

Her hand rested on his chest in mute appeal. Her lips were parted and from the perfect stillness of her body, he thought she was holding her breath.

He was just about to encourage her to speak when at last she managed to spit it out. "I really- I missed you and I've been meaning to tell you something." A sharp intake of breath punctuated the abrupt statement.

Jasmine looked away as though embarrassed, but she didn't seem to regret her words. When she found it in herself to look at him again, he saw all her mustered pride and determination.

"I've been thinking," she said more steadily, "these past few days, about us. About how wrong I've been about you. I was always ready to believe the worst and to pass it on to other people. I realize now that I should-"

"No." He took a step back and let her hand fall.

He already knew where she was going with this, and he wasn't particularly interested in going in that direction. Perhaps it was arrogance on his part, but better she thought him insufferable than pathetic.

"You ain't gotta apologize to me, Jasmine," Reggie informed her. "I consider myself a lot of things to you. Your victim, though, that ain't one of 'em."

She blushed, smiled, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as if his words had just inspired the most inappropriate thoughts.

"I've never thought of you as such," she said in a low tone that made him think she was definitely thinking along those lines now.

He arched a haughty eyebrow and she laughed. Giggled, her hand quickly covering her mouth.

"I don't think I believe you," Reggie returned in tones cold enough to give her goosebumps. He noted with satisfaction the little quiver she failed to suppress.

"It's true!" Now it was her turn to step back when he suddenly advanced a step closer. He heard clear as a bell the breathless, slightly hysterical note in her protest. "It's true, Reggie, I swear. I can't even picture you as anyone's victim. Let alone mine."

His eyes narrowed. But really he needed no explanation for the obvious: she much preferred to be his victim.

Jasmine didn't retreat when he stepped closer again. Just released a soft sigh and sort of wilted, her body swaying slightly towards him.

"You're like a fortress," she was babbling now. She seemed to have trouble meeting his eyes and addressed his chest. "So strong. I... I couldn't even imagine seeing you sweat."

Reggie placed his hand on the small of her back and she just melted, leaning against him as if her knees might not support her much longer. He gave her a smile of sinister approval, making her shiver again.

He saw her swallow hard as he tipped her pointed little chin. "I really..." she managed in a fading voice, "Really admire that about you, Reggie."

"You shouldn't," he murmured silkily. "You're at your best when you're sweaty and weak."

Jasmine opened her mouth, but it seemed she couldn't think of a comeback. She wasn't thinking of talking at all if her laser focus on his mouth was anything to go by.

"Jasmine?"

"Mm?" She frowned a little. Less talking, her pout said, more kissing.

"You know who I am?" he drawled softly.

Her heavy-lidded gaze sobered just slightly, meeting his. But her voice was still a drowsy purr. "I sure do."

"You sure?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I'm finally sure about who you're not. If that's what you're really asking."

"You can't be sure, though."

"Crime bosses don't put their crews through college." She arched a lovely brow as she looked him in the eye. "Tell me I'm right."

There was no reason not to. "You're right," he simply.

Her aquamarine eyes widened as if he had stunned her. Then she began to laugh, a sound of pure relief, and if he was not mistaken, joy.

"I told myself I'd be mad at you," she said, a little misty-eyed. "I told myself you'd made a fool of me for letting me think the worst like that, but now, I..."