About That Night

by Julie James

  “Very bossy,” she said. But she did it anyway, gasping when he circled his tongue around her nipple, teasing it into a stiff, hard peak. Instinctively, she began sliding against him, his cock nestled right across her warm, wet core. He was so close to being inside her, but he wanted control—wanted all of her. She moaned again as he rolled her other nipple in his mouth and thrust against her.

  “I want you inside me,” she said breathlessly.

  “Ask me to touch you.”

  He would’ve smiled when she groaned in frustration if he hadn’t been so near to the edge himself. He used his legs to spread her open as he rocked his hips against her.

  Her body trembled as she finally caved. “Touch me, Kyle. Now,” she begged.

  Thank fucking God.

  Kyle slid his hands over the silky skin of her back, tangling them in her long hair as his mouth took hers possessively. “Flip over. On your stomach.”

  Her eyes flashed at his words, and she slid off him and lay on the bed, watching as he reached around on the floor and found his pants. He took a condom out of his wallet, tore open the wrapper, and rolled it on. “You should probably start keeping these here,” he told her. “I plan to be inside you a lot when we’re in this apartment.”

  Then he climbed between her legs and gently lifted her hips. “Up on your knees,” he said huskily. He nudged his cock into the wet entrance between her legs, sliding in and out while her tight, slick passage stretched to fit him, squeezing him every inch along the way. “I want to take you hard,” he said in a thick voice.

  “Yes,” she groaned, her hands clutching the blanket.

  He gripped her hips and began to move, first in smooth, steady strokes, and then taking her faster, deeper, wanting to claim her and make her his. When he was inside her like this, there were no rules, no complications; neither her job nor his past existed, there was nothing else except the two of them; and this moment, when everything felt so right and so fucking good.

  “Kyle,” she said urgently.

  “I’ve got you.” He reached down between her legs and began to tease her. She braced herself on her forearms and thrust back against him, crying out when her orgasm hit her. Wave after wave gripped his cock as he gripped her hips and thrust deep into her, again and again, until he exploded, the force of his orgasm so strong he had to slow down and hold her tightly to him, his jaw clenched as he groaned and finally shuddered to a stop.

  Panting, they collapsed on the bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering their bodies.

  “Better than…not bad?” he asked, out of breath.

  Her voice was muffled, her face buried in the blanket as she lay motionless and seemingly utterly spent. “Hell, yes.”

  With a grin, he rested his forehead against her back.

  About time.

  Twenty-six

  THREE DAYS LATER, Rylann met Rae at the Starbucks across the street from the Federal Building for a midafternoon break. She was on a supersecret stealth mission—Operation Setup—and, deriving inspiration from the FBI agents with whom she often worked, she’d crafted the perfect cover story: she’d claimed that she wanted to get Rae’s advice about the situation with Kyle. In truth, however, she had a whole sneak attack worked out—which was necessary, because if Rae caught one whiff of Operation Setup, she’d be out the door in two seconds flat.

  The beauty of this situation was that even if Rylann’s mission failed, no one would ever be the wiser. Having worked with Cade for a month and a half, she knew his routine: barring a court appearance or meetings, he went to Starbucks at three o’clock sharp every day. Which meant—as Rylann checked her watch—that he would be arriving in approximately eleven minutes.

  She and Rae sat at a table within view of the counter, where Cade would see them. Naturally, he would come over to say hi, at which point she would “casually” introduce him to Rae. The rest was up to them.

  While they enjoyed their drinks, Rylann caught Rae up on the latest developments with Kyle—being careful, of course, to keep her voice low whenever saying his name.

  “So Tuesday was the last time you saw him?” Rae asked.

  “Well, technically it was Wednesday morning,” Rylann noted with a smile. Since then, Kyle had been out of town, meeting in Silicon Valley with a young executive at a software company whom he wanted to recruit for his security consulting business.

  Rae studied her. “You’re doing the glowing thing again.”

  Rylann pointed to her latte. “It’s the caffeine. Stimulates blood circulation.”

  “You like him.”

  Rylann shrugged. “We have fun together. I’m not ready to call it anything more than that yet.” She saw Rae’s look. “What?”

  “I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

  Rylann scoffed as she picked up her latte. “Why don’t people ever say that to men when they want to keep things casual? Women can’t have fun, too?”

  “Of course they can. But here’s a general rule of thumb: if you’re still grinning like the friggin’ Cheshire Cat three days after seeing the guy, things have moved a hair beyond fun.”

  Ha, ha. “I’ve got this, Rae. He and I have talked—we both know the deal. He doesn’t want to get serious with anyone, and…I don’t want to get serious with him.”

  “All right. If you say so,” Rae said, not seeming entirely convinced. “So when are you and Smug Dimples seeing each other again?”

  Rylann hemmed and hawed a bit. “Um…tonight, actually.”

  Rae raised an eyebrow. “Two dates in one week.”

  Rylann shook her head. “Not a date. He’s going to the Bulls game with his sister’s boyfriend and asked if he could drop by afterward. It’s just a hookup.”

  “A prearranged hookup.”

  “Exactly,” Rylann said.

  “In other words, a date.”

  “If we ever step outside the nine hundred square feet of my apartment”—which was not likely—”then I’ll call it a date.” Rylann checked her watch. 2:59. Which meant that Target B was about to leave his office and would soon be en route to the rendezvous point with Target A. Within minutes, Operation Setup would be fully under way.

  Until the whole sneak attack went up in flames.

  Rae saw Rylann check her watch, and did the same. “I should probably get going. I’ve got a pile of document requests waiting for me back at the office.” She stood up from the table.

  “Wait.” Rylann tried to think quickly, needing to stall just a minute or two longer. “Maybe you were right. Maybe it’s not a good idea for me to see you-know-who tonight.”

  Rae waved this off. “You sound like you’ve got the situation under control.”

  “Still, perhaps we should fully vet the pros and cons.”

  Rae ticked off her fingers, running through her list. “You’re having sex. Great sex. With a man who brings you expensive wine. Pro, pro, pro.” She held up three fingers. “Yep, I’m good with the situation.”

  Well, when she put it that way…Rylann quickly changed tactics, not yet ready to concede failure on Operation Setup. “But we haven’t talked about what’s going on with you.”

  “Because, depressingly, there is nothing going on with me.”

  “Then let’s talk about that.”

  Rae looked her over suspiciously. “Why are you suddenly so insistent that I stay? We talk all the time.” She cocked her head. “And come to think of it, why have you been checking your watch this whole time? It’s like you’re waiting for somebody.” Her eyes went wide, then she gasped and pointed her finger. “No. Do not tell me this is a setup.”

  “Calm down, it’s not a setup.” Rylann hedged a little on that. “I’d call it more a meet and greet. Just a guy I work with; it’ll be totally casual. He doesn’t even know you’re—”

  “Uh-uh. No way.” Rae grabbed her purse and drink off the table. “You know I hate these kinds of things. They’re so artificial and forced.”

  “Come on. After all the mat
chmaking schemes you’ve put me through since college, you owe me.”

  “That’s probably true. But still, I’m out of here.” Rae took a step back from the table.

  As if in slow motion, Rylann saw what was about to happen. “Rae, look—”

  “Nice try, Pierce. But you’re going to have to try a little harder to get the jump on me.” With a satisfied grin, she whirled around and—

  —ran smack into the chest of one designer-suit-wearing Special Agent Sam Wilkins.

  A chest now drenched in iced cappuccino.

  “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” Rae blurted out.

  He sighed. “It would have to be one of the Varvatos suits.” Then he peered down at Rae, seeing her face for the first time. “Oh. Hello.”

  Rae’s gaze lingered several seconds, seemingly mesmerized by his dazzling smile. She held up the soggy napkin from her drink. “Napkin?”

  He took the napkin from her. “Assault with a loaded cappuccino. That’s a new one.”

  Just in time, Rae recovered her wits. “Purely self-defense. You sidled up on me without warning.”

  “Those would be my stealth moves.” He held out his hand. “Special Agent Sam Wilkins.”

  “Rae Ellen Mendoza.”

  Back at the table, Rylann watched this interaction with interest. Rae Ellen? This was getting serious. She waved cheerfully at Wilkins. “Good to see you again, Sam.”

  Rae shot her a look. “You two know each other?”

  “Sure do.” Wilkins blotted the coffee on his suit with the wet napkin. “We work together.”

  “How interesting,” Rae said. “And you just happened to be in the area?”

  “Actually, yes,” Wilkins said. “I was in front of the grand jury this afternoon for three hours and needed some caffeine before heading back to the FBI office. Saw Rylann and thought I’d come over to say hi.”

  “Oh.” Rae pointed to his wet suit, making an apologetic face. “Sorry you have to go back to the office like that.”

  “Since I’m by far the best-dressed agent in the office, you’re really putting my reputation on the line here. Luckily, I know how you can make it up to me.” Wilkins reached into the inner pocket of his blazer, exposing a glimpse of his gun harness. He pulled out his business card and handed it to Rae. “That’s my info. Call me—so I know where to send my dry cleaning bill,” he added with an amused sparkle in his light brown eyes.

  Rae looked at the card, then back at Sam. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that.” He handed her back the soggy napkin. “Because if you don’t call, Rae Ellen Mendoza, you’re going to ruin a really good meet-cute story.”

  She smiled. “Since when do FBI agents know about meet-cutes?”

  Wilkins winked as he turned to leave. “I think you’ll find that I’m not the average FBI agent.” He raised his hand in good-bye. “See you later, Rylann.”

  And just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

  “Well. That was fun.” Rylann picked up her latte and stood up from the table. Clearly, her business here was done.

  Rae was silent as the two of them walked out of the Starbucks together. When they stepped outside, she finally caved. “All right. Tell me.”

  “Yale Law School, joined the FBI last year. He works in the violent crimes division and specializes in homicide cases.”

  Rae digested all that. “He’s a little young. But that smile is deadly.” She shot Rylann a coy look. “That was actually pretty smooth.”

  The true tactical details of Operation Setup would go with Rylann to her grave. “Of course it was. You’re not the only one who’s a matchmaking evil genius.”

  “I meant Agent Wilkins was pretty smooth.”

  “So he passed the five-minute test?”

  “We’ll see.” But Rae’s Cheshire Cat-like grin said it all as she walked away, heading in the direction of her office.

  Rylann stood on the sidewalk, watching her friend go.

  And all was right with the world.

  “Rylann—hey.”

  She looked over and saw Cade Morgan approaching.

  He gestured behind him. “I just ran into Sam Wilkins, covered in cappuccino. He said something about a meet-cute? No clue what that means.” He stopped next to her in front of the Starbucks. “So what did I miss?”

  Rylann smiled. Poor Cade. So close and yet so far.

  Maybe next time.

  TO ENTERTAIN CLIENTS, Rhodes Network Consulting LLC—aka Kyle—had purchased a premium theater box at the United Center. The box included four private seats with perfect views just twenty-eight rows above the floor, in-seat wait service, and a reserved table at the stadium’s exclusive lounge and bar.

  Of course, since Rhodes Network Consulting LLC currently had no clients, the box hadn’t seen a lot of action as of late. Thus, after Jordan had essentially decreed that he and Nick have a guy’s night out to “bond,” Kyle had offered up the seats and told Nick to feel free to bring along a friend. He’d also asked Dex to join them—the more the merrier, he’d figured.

  Perhaps not always the best words to live by.

  Kyle warily eyed the two FBI agents—yes, now there were two; apparently they multiplied like wet gremlins—as they pushed open the red privacy curtain and entered the theater box.

  “How nice,” he said to Nick. “You brought the guy who nearly snapped my ankle off putting on a monitoring device.”

  Nick turned to the tall guy with dark hair and dark eyes next to him. “I totally forgot about that.”

  The other agent—Special Agent Jack Pallas, if memory served—looked just as surprised. “You only said you had an extra ticket,” he said to Nick. “You didn’t say who else would be here.”

  Nick looked between Jack and Kyle. “This is a little awkward.”

  The waitress stepped into the box, having seen the two agents arrive. “Can I get anyone something to drink?”

  Four hands shot up. “A beer.”

  After the waitress left, Nick and Jack took the two seats in the back row, directly behind Kyle and Dex.

  “In my defense,” Jack said to Kyle, “you were flirting with my girlfriend at the time. And you called me Wolverine.”

  Kyle smiled to himself, having forgotten that part of the story. On the night he’d been released from prison, the U.S. attorney, Cameron Lynde, along with Agent Pallas, had met with him to explain that she’d arranged for him to serve out the remainder of his sentence on supervised release—all part of Jordan’s deal with the FBI and U.S. Attorney’s Office, although Kyle hadn’t known that at the time.

  Seeing as how the U.S. attorney had been the first woman other than Jordan Kyle had seen in four months, and not having realized that she and Pallas were involved, he may have thrown one or two perfectly harmless, mildly flirtatious comments in her direction.

  “Maybe you boys could call it even?” Nick suggested, looking between Kyle and Jack.

  With a shrug, Jack turned to Kyle. “Not like I have much choice in the matter.” He nodded in Nick’s direction. “McCall here was just promoted to special agent in charge. I don’t want to get shipped off to Peoria on some two-year grunt-work assignment because I screwed things up with the boss’s future brother-in-law.”

  Kyle shot Nick a horrified look. “Brother-in-law?”

  From the seat next to him, Dex slapped Kyle on the shoulder. “See? And you were worried we wouldn’t have things to talk about.”

  FORTUNATELY, ALL NEED for nuanced conversation fell by the wayside once the game started. As part of his promise to Jordan to make an “effort,” Kyle had specifically chosen a Bulls-Knicks game, since Nick was from New York and apparently a huge fan.

  And so the lines were drawn. Team rivalry prevailed, replacing the former divide between ex-con and FBI agent, and the trash talk began to fly. They were men, after all—rare was the issue that could not be at least temporarily set aside within the confines of a sports arena.

  Just before halftime, however, t
hey hit their first glitch during a time-out.

  “So what’s going on with you and Rylann these days?” Dex asked casually.

  Kyle froze with his beer halfway to his mouth.

  Such a stupid way to get caught.

  He’d been out of town since Wednesday and hadn’t had the opportunity to fill Dex in on the clandestine nature of his goings-on with Prosecutrix Pierce. Nor had he had any idea that Nick would bring Rylann’s boss’s boyfriend to the game.

  Still, he’d be damned if their cover would be blown on his watch. He’d promised Rylann that he would keep their relationshi—er, hot, no-strings-attached fling—a secret, and he intended to keep that promise. Because if she thought that her boss thought something was up, she would undoubtedly put the kibosh on all future rendezvous.

  And he wasn’t ready to give up Rylann quite yet.

  So he stretched out in his chair, playing it casual. “Nothing’s going on, unfortunately. She shot me down that night at the club. Something about not mixing business with pleasure.”

  Dex frowned, understandably confused, since Kyle had told him he was going to Rylann’s that night, and opened his mouth to say something.

  Kyle subtly shook his head.

  Dex paused for a split second, then his eyes flickered over to Jack and Nick, seeming to catch on that something was up. So he, too, played it casual. “That sucks. I thought you were in there that night.”

  “You weren’t the only one,” Kyle said with a chuckle. “Just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

  “You’re talking about Rylann Pierce?”

  The question came from Jack. Kyle looked over his shoulder and saw the FBI agent studying him curiously.

  “Good guess,” Kyle said, maintaining a look of nonchalance.

  Jack shrugged. “Not really. Unusual name. Plus, I know you worked with her. My partner is Sam Wilkins—he mentioned that Rylann had interviewed you as part of the Quinn investigation.”

  Damn FBI agents and assistant U.S. attorneys. Apparently, they were thick as thieves when it came to knowing everyone else’s business. “Oh. Right.”