by Kylie Brant
Their gazes locked, he began to move again, and immediately she could feel the sparks starting deep inside her. Her hands moved over him restlessly, across his shoulders, down his muscled back, over his hips. His head reared back. She could feel him go tense, and still he never looked away. He yanked her body up, plunged deeper, thrusting harder in a pounding rhythm that had answering sobs of need breaking from her lips.
Higher and higher they climbed. There was nothing else she could want, nothing else she could need. Just the feel of Sully’s hard body. The sight of the savage hunger on his face, the unleashed need. Her fingers raked down his back, and she clutched him to her as she felt the first tremors of pleasure start to unfurl deep in her belly.
She chanted his name as the climax pummeled her, nearly sobbing the words. Because her eyes were open, she could see his face contort. The grip on her hips grew tighter, and as the sensations slammed into her, he gave a powerful surge of his hips and joined her in the free fall into pleasure.
Awareness returned in gossamer layers. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, to see Sully’s face close to hers, his gray eyes smoky and demanding.
“Again.”
Chapter 12
“Mr. Vargas is anxious for an update on your progress.” Conrad clasped his hands on the desk before him like a well-mannered schoolboy.
Sully raised an eyebrow. “What did you tell him?”
There was the barest tinge of worry in the other man’s voice. “That things were going well.” The anxiety became more noticeable when he added, “They are going well, aren’t they, Roarke?”
Nodding, Sully reached for a cigarette. “I’ve got the plans drawn up. I’ve refined them as much as I’m able without knowing for certain which stops in the Midwest he wants to make.”
“Trucks, you said.” Conrad’s fingers clenched and unclenched against his knuckles. “Do you think they’re a better way to go than planes?”
Sully drew smoke in and held it as he considered the man’s words. “Better? Not necessarily.”
Panic flickered across Conrad’s smooth countenance. “But you said...”
“I was thinking of safer. Cheaper. Trucks tend to be more risk free than rail or planes, simply because there are fewer people to involve. No landing fields, no rail inspections. Just some semis and drivers with valid commercial driver’s licenses. The driver sends for the correct DOT labels, we supply him with some forged shipping papers and he’s in business.”
He leaned forward and used the ashtray on Conrad’s desk. “Have you done much traveling across country, Mr. Conrad?”
The man looked puzzled at the question. “Of course.”
“By car?”
“No. I fly if there’s any distance involved.”
Sully nodded. “If you did much road traveling, you’d know what I’m talking about. Trucks rule the highways in this country. They’re everywhere and they have the capacity to haul huge loads. As long as it has the proper papers and labels, it’s not overloaded and the driver obeys the speed limit, there’s no reason for it to be stopped. A driver can travel from the Gulf of Mexico to northern Minnesota without being bothered.”
Conrad brought his linked hands up and leaned his chin on them. “How big a load can one of these trucks carry?”
“A big semi could easily haul fifty-thousand pounds and still be below the legal limit.” He watched, satisfied, as the man mentally calculated kilos into pounds.
“What did you mean by needing labels?”
Sully inhaled slowly, studying the man before him. The only other time he’d seen the man this edgy was when Vargas was visiting. The Colombian must be powerful indeed to strike this kind of fear in Thomas Conrad. Then he remembered Toby, and wondered if it wasn’t Vargas’s ferocity that had the other man running scared.
“Every truck has to carry a label of some kind indicating the type of load it’s hauling. A driver just sends to DOT for them. There’s no hassle involved.”
“I assume there would be a hassle if the driver got pulled over and it was found he wasn’t hauling what he’s supposed to be.”
Taking a last draw, Sully leaned forward and stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “But our drivers will be carrying what it says on their label. Or at least it will look that way.” At Conrad’s blank expression, he explained, “Mr. Vargas wants to distribute in the Midwest. That’s farm country, right? Farmers need herbicides. The trucks will have permission to carry them. The herbicides these days come in packets. We’ll get some of the empty boxes with the correct markings, plus we’ll have a few boxes of the real thing. That way we can put a couple layers of the herbicides over the top of the packages of cocaine, in case anyone gets too interested.”
Conrad pursed his lips and contemplated the scenario Sully had just outlined, searching it for flaws. He wouldn’t find any, Sully knew, and the knowledge brought him mixed feelings. He’d just given the man a very workable plan for smuggling great quantities of cocaine to the heartland, expanding their market substantially. But Conrad and Vargas would never have an opportunity to use it. He’d see to that.
“It really sounds like it could work,” Conrad mused.
“It will work. The next step is to run this by Mr. Vargas. He’s got some decisions to make. Does he want to buy the trucks himself and hire drivers, or does he want me to find people with their own rigs? How many trucks is he interested in?”
Conrad tapped his fingers against his lips. “As you say, we need input from Mr. Vargas on this. But if each truck has a capacity of fifty-thousand pounds, I would estimate that we’d require at least four semis.”
Sully did some quick mental math and then stared hard at the man. The sheer volume he was suggesting was staggering. And with the ten thousand dollars per kilo Vargas would make by eliminating the middlemen in Miami, he stood to raise his profits by the tens of millions. If his cover was real, he thought cynically, now would appear to be a perfect time to ask for a raise.
“When you speak to Mr. Vargas, tell him I’ll need a bankroll to start the purchases.”
“Of course. I’ll get back to you soon after I’ve contacted him.” Conrad reached inside his desk drawer and withdrew an envelope, which he held out to Sully. “Well done, Roarke. I think our employer will be pleased.” A smile eased his countenance. “As a matter of fact, I think he’ll agree with me that your plan is nothing short of ingenious.”
“You’re a mess.”
Ellie tilted her head at him. “Did I ever tell you what it does to me to hear you talk so sweet? I just get gooey inside.”
“Cute.”
She stepped aside, and he entered her apartment. Maybe he hadn’t engaged his brain before he’d spoken, but the word had been accurate. The sleeveless smock she wore was spattered with clay, as were her arms. She had a matching streak on one cheek. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that was paint she was wearing on her nose.
He drew the logical conclusion. “You’ve been working.”
“And you’re smart, too,” she marveled, teasing.
He looked down at her, mussed and untidy, with a hint of a smile lurking at the corner of her mouth. He wanted to take that mouth with his, wanted to seep himself in her taste again, until the dangerous ugliness he was immersed in faded away. He wanted to lay her down and rediscover all the sweet secrets of her body, drown in her, until they were both spent and wasted. And because he wanted it so desperately, he did nothing.
“And you’re a smart-ass,” he noted mildly. He walked by her, studying the changes she’d made in her apartment. He nodded at the long worktable she had set up in front of the windows. “When did you get that?”
“I had it delivered during my noon hour yesterday.” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course, that meant I had to rush home to let the deliverymen in and then rush back across town. I was an hour late and I thought Nathan was going to have a stroke. Not even Monica could save me from one of his famous lectures.” She ran a hand over the smooth surface of the tabl
etop, transferring some paint to her fingers. She didn’t seem to notice.
“It was worth it, though. Now I don’t have to paint at the kitchen table. I’ve already done two pieces.” She nodded at the kiln in the corner. “They’re firing now.”
He chose a paint-free corner of the table and propped his hip against it. “You’ve been busy.”
She nodded. “When I hear from Simon again, I want to be ready with at least a half a dozen pieces. In case he wants to see them, I mean. If he does.”
“He will.” The quiet certainty in his statement seemed to please her, and she beamed at him.
“Are you thirsty? I’ll get you a beer.”
He glanced pointedly at her hands. “I think I’ll get it myself, thanks.”
When the phone rang, she made no move toward it, saying, “The machine will pick up.”
He turned from the refrigerator and twisted the bottle top off the beer, taking a long swallow. Ellie added some water to the clay on her wheel, and then threw a damp towel over it.
As he listened to the caller’s message, his mouth flattened. “The Miami Herald? How many calls have you been getting from reporters?”
She made a face. “That makes six. I’ve managed to dodge them so far.”
He took a long drink from the beer, then lowered the bottle to gaze at her. “There’s no reason why you can’t talk to them. Tell them the truth. Carter isn’t going to be bothering you anymore. I took care of him.”
Her eyes went wide. He wondered what she thought he’d done to silence Carter. With a flicker of regret he considered that it hadn’t been half of what he’d wanted to do. But it had been enough. Robinson was too concerned about his career to jeopardize it. And thanks to the little chat Sully had had with Postal, that career should be stalling right about now. Robinson would be too busy trying to resuscitate it to trouble Ellie again.
“Exactly...how did you handle Carter?” she asked.
“He likes to play games.” He grinned wolfishly. “So I played a little hardball with him.”
If anything, the worry on her face deepened. “You didn’t do anything that’s going to get you arrested, did you?”
He pretended to take a moment to think. The smile spread to his eyes when he saw the way hers narrowed at him. He finally took pity on her. “Nope.”
She didn’t smile back. “The last thing I want is to be the cause of trouble for you, Sully.”
The concern in her voice had his chest growing tight. He still hated the idea of what she’d been prepared to do to protect him, while another part of him grappled with amazement that she would want to. No one else had ever shown him an ounce of her compassion; no one else had ever been allowed close enough to offer it. By some twist of chemical reaction, it was only this woman who mattered, only her feelings he cared about. He vaguely recollected from a distant biology class that all emotions started in the brain, but somehow that didn’t seem true in his case. The emotion she pulled from him came from much deeper, more gut level. He no longer questioned the urge he’d had to maintain a connection from the first time they’d met. The pull had been instinctive, and inevitable.
Belatedly he answered, “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s been taken care of.”
Walking over to the recliner, he began to sit down. He heard a loud “Yeowl,” and sharp teeth raked his backside. He jumped up. “What the hell?” A huge, angry feline hissed at him, and they glared at each other from narrowed eyes.
“Oh, no!” Ellie hurried over to them. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
Incredulously Sully realized the question was directed at him. “I think I got the worst of it, thanks to the teeth on that baby mountain lion there.”
She stopped in front of the recliner and sank to her knees, her hands going to stroke the cat’s ruffled fur, unmindful of the fangs it was still baring at Sully. “There, now, sweetheart, it’s all right,” she crooned. She looked up at Sully half-apologetically. “For some reason he seems to have taken a liking to your chair.”
Sully’s eyes slitted. The beast was actually rubbing its head against Ellie’s arms and purring, although the rumble coming from its big body sounded more like a Volkswagen engine.
“Where did you find it, Ellie?”
“Actually he found me. After work yesterday I was walking to the bus stop, and he dashed between my legs and almost tripped me. He’d been in a fight fairly recently—see his ear? It needed some attention, so I brought him home to tend to it.”
“On the bus?”
“No, I had to get a taxi.” She was scratching the big cat under the chin now, and its eyes were half-closed in pleasure. Every once in a while it would open them enough to send a malevolent glance in Sully’s direction.
Sully looked at the wound she was indicating. Indeed, it looked as if the beast had been on the receiving end of that particular battle, and it had just been one of many. The tom was a walking collection of far older war wounds. There was a gouge of fur missing from one side, where there was a knot of scar tissue. Its tail had a crook in it, and there were scars on its face and back.
“I thought he might be someone’s pet, so I took him back today and released him where I’d found him, but after work he came right up to me again, can you believe it? I’m beginning to think he doesn’t have a home, do you, big guy?” she murmured, running a hand over his fur.
“There’s a shock.”
She raised a questioning glance to him, and Sully elaborated. “It’s no pet, Ellie, it’s a mangy old tom. Probably been living in back alleys all its life.”
His words seemed to please her. “That’s what I’ve been hoping. I bought him a few things today, in case he wants to stick around.”
There wasn’t much doubt about that, Sully figured. The battle-scarred beast had enough street smarts to know when he’d found a meal ticket.
“Does your landlord allow pets?”
A guilty look crossed her face, and Sully had his answer.
“He’s not going to cause any problems, are you sweetheart? I call him ‘Bill,’ because ‘Tom’ sounded too trite and anything else just seemed undignified. Are you hungry, hmm?” As a matter of fact Sully was, but again, she wasn’t talking to him. She stroked the cat one last time before rising again and hurrying to the kitchen.
Sully stared down at the huge ball of fur unkindly. “You and me are going to have to reach an understanding here, cat,” he muttered. “This chair? It’s mine. And so is she.” He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen, where Ellie was opening a can of cat food. “She might be a soft touch, but I’m going to be watching you.”
The cat stood up and leaped gracefully to the floor, where it shook itself, as if to rid itself of Sully’s words. Then it sauntered into the kitchen to enjoy Ellie’s dinner preparations, and Sully reclaimed his chair.
It was ridiculous to feel jealous of an animal, he reflected as he listened to the sound of Ellie’s voice in the kitchen as she talked to the cat. And even more ridiculous to feel an odd sort of kinship with the fleabag. He recognized Ellie’s strays; he was one of them himself. He could match the beast scar for scar, and he’d be willing to bet they’d both spent more time than they’d care to admit in back alleys. Neither of them deserved Ellie’s care and her loving touch, but she offered them anyway, with that sweet generosity of spirit that constantly astounded him. Time spent with her opened little pockets of peace within him. Time spent with her made him greedy for more.
He tipped the bottle to his lips and drank. Greed was a dangerous thing. It made a man disregard what he knew in his mind, and focus on the want, the need. He’d never been one to waste time on regrets, so it was troubling now to realize how often his mind turned to them. With increasing frequency he was finding himself wondering what it would be like if he were a different sort of man, one with a job that didn’t deal in lies, and drugs and death. A man who didn’t need to fear bringing those things home with him.
Ellie came out to
the living room and perched on the arm of his chair. “Well, I’ve got one beast fed—I suppose I ought to think about you next.”
His arm snaked out and tugged her down in his lap. “It’s going to take more than a can of cat food to satisfy me.”
The look she sent him was surprised and pleased, then her arms twined around his shoulders. “You must be hungrier than I thought.”
He focused on her soft mouth as it shaped the words, the softness of her body as it molded against his, and his mind freeze-framed the moment. If time could stop here, right now, he’d die happy, and figure it was far more than he deserved. He tucked the bottle beside him and took her face in his hands, slowly combing her hair back with his fingers, drawing out the moment. Tenderness etched an aching path through him. It was an unfamiliar emotion, but not an unwelcome one. Slowly he fit his mouth to hers, and she responded with all the sweetness that was so much a part of her.
Lazily, with thorough care, he drank her taste and explored the moist, dark secrets of her mouth. He let her flavor trace through his senses, swallowed her purr of pleasure. The slow melt she did against his body had his blood quickening, but he made no move to deepen the kiss.
When his lips lifted from hers, he leaned his brow against hers. Her lips were damp and parted, her breath coming in short bursts. “Do you have to do something with that clay?”
“Hmm...?”
The dazed, languid sound she made had satisfaction curling through his stomach. “The clay on the wheel. Do you need to do something with it?”
Her eyes were open but still uncomprehending. Slowly they followed the direction of his gaze. “I guess I should put it away.” She looked up at him then. “Unless you want to use it.”
“Me?”
Her lips tilted. “Yeah, you. C’mon. I’ll show you.” He released her reluctantly and helped her to her feet. She took one of his hands in hers and tugged. “Let’s go, Sullivan. You’re about to get your first lesson in pottery.”
He let her pull him to his feet, although he still wasn’t sure what she was about. Trailing after her, he stared down at the wheel, with the separate bench he’d seen her sitting at dozens of times before. He looked at her, and found her studying him.
