The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  Dressed in a white hotel robe, her long legs peeked at him where the terry cloth parted, one knee winking through. She seemed to be waiting on him.

  Without a word, he walked to her, and pulled the door almost to, but left it cracked.

  “She went to sleep easily enough,” she said. She rubbed her arms and added, “You’re really good with her, you know? She needs that right now.”

  Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her and ignored her stiffening. After a minute she sighed and wrapped her arms around him. “What the fuck are we doing?” she whispered against his neck, her breath warm.

  Ian could only shake his head. If he wanted, he could forget, just for a second, that this wasn’t real. That his wife, his daughter, his life, was just a façade. Like all the other times.

  “I can’t take her pain away, Rori,” he muttered.

  Her head shook against his neck and she squeezed him tighter. “Not immediately, no. But you will.”

  He tightened his arms for a minute then let her go, taking her hand in his and leading her back to the kitchen. For just a moment, he simply wished things were different.

  Ian got them both water and handed her a bottle.

  “Ready for tomorrow?” she asked, clearing her throat.

  He grunted and watched her, watched as she closed her mouth over the top of the bottle and took a drink, the muscles in her throat working. He remembered what she tasted like just there beneath her jaw, how soft the skin on her neck.

  “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head, set the water bottle on the counter and grabbed her hand, jerking her to him.

  Looking into those witch’s eyes, he said, “There’s a saying about temptations and once tasted.”

  “Is there?” she asked, cocking a brow. She relaxed and ran her hand up the front of his shirt.

  “Yeah, there is.” He kept his eyes open as he leaned in, licked her lips and watched her eyes widen.

  Her tongue darted out to tangle his. Her arms slid up his chest, wrapped around his neck as she leaned into him.

  Ian tilted his head and deepened the kiss, closing his eyes.

  Her scent, spicy and exotic, engulfed him. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her harder. Her teeth nipped his tongue, his lips, her laughter a faint vibration as he sighed.

  “I’ve wanted to do this to you since I first laid eyes on you scoping me out.”

  “Luv, if I was scoping you, you’d be dead.”

  He grinned and pulled back, looking into her eyes. “Do you realize we know the other’s darkest secrets and don’t give a bloody damn?”

  A shadow shifted in her eyes. “Darkest secrets are relative. What’s bad to one isn’t to another.”

  “What’s that mean?” He started to lean back.

  “You kill, I kill, we do our jobs and go on.” She grabbed his head and kissed him, her teeth and lips coaxing his own. “I don’t want to talk about our bleeding jobs right now.”

  He kissed her back, his hands unknotting the belt holding her robe together. She gasped as he simply spanned her waist, the muscles tight beneath his hands. He wanted more. He wanted all.

  “What do you want to talk about?” he asked her, his hands gently squeezing on her hipbones.

  She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, her eyes on his. “I don’t want to talk at all.”

  His eyes darkened, and he breathed deep.

  Without another word, he picked her up and set her on the countertop.

  He should probably ask her if . . .

  She grabbed his head between her hands and jerked him to her. “Are you as good a lover as you are at everything else?”

  He pulled the collar of her robe off one shoulder and bit the side of her neck. “Care to find out?”

  She hissed when his other hand gently raked across her belly. “Are you going to talk all damn night? I’m not really a . . . aaahhhh.”

  He licked her ear, his hand reaching up to barely graze the undersides of her breasts with his thumb.

  She leaned back and looked at him. “You know, Darya could wake up at any moment.”

  He looked at her. “True. But I want to enjoy this.”

  She hooked her heels in the small of his back, and he felt her heat even through his clothing and her robe. “You take too long to enjoy this and neither of us will even get to experience this.”

  Her eyes dared him.

  He’d rarely passed up a dare. Grabbing her ass, her legs still hooked around him, he easily carried her into the bedroom. He’d slept out on the couch last night, but tonight . . .

  He kicked the door shut and turned, trapping her against the side of it.

  “Bloody hurry.”

  He kissed her hot and openmouthed. “I don’t want to bloody hurry.”

  • • •

  Miami, Florida

  Alla Gregary stood on the sidewalk of her hotel. The heels on her feet were killers, but they made her legs look even better than normal. Her short tight dress, the color of the sunset, only complimented her tan.

  She ignored one man, smiled at another as she waited on a cab.

  The doorman motioned with his finger just as another pulled to the curb.

  Tonight she was going out. She’d kept a low profile thus far. Her beautiful house in Kladno had been bombed. Damn bosses. But then Alla Gregary wouldn’t really worry about such things, would she? Elianya Hellinski would, but no one could find her.

  Alla smiled. Changing identities was so easy. More easy than she would have thought.

  One man whistled as he passed her.

  She licked her lips and stared at him until the woman on his arm jerked his attention back around.

  All men. She really had no use for men. She simply wanted to control them.

  Climbing into the cab, she told the driver where she wanted to go.

  She pulled her silver cell from her small black evening bag. She dialed the numbers and waited. Finally the voice on the other end answered.

  “It’s me,” she said.

  Her contact said, “Where are you?”

  Alla laughed. “Like I would tell you that.”

  “I need to know. Things are going to hell faster than anyone can guess.”

  She purred, “Are they really? That’s too bad. No?” She didn’t care what was happening.

  “I need—” the contact started.

  Alla interrupted. “I need.”

  “Don’t you always?” the voice snapped.

  Alla laughed, throaty and husky as she always had, and noticed the driver glance at her and run his gaze to her advertised cleavage. Men were so easy.

  “I want a name.”

  The silence on the other end went on so long she thought the contact had hung up.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yes.” A sigh. “What name?”

  “Petrolov’s.”

  The voice hissed, “I’ve given you his aliases.”

  “Exactly. I want his name.”

  No answer.

  “If you don’t, it’ll only take one phone call and your life will come crashing down,” she said into the phone.

  “Fine. But he’s being taken care of. The plan is for tomorrow.”

  Alla thought about it. She really wanted that bastard. He’d ruined everything for her and had always treated her with disdain. A saint who played the sinner.

  “Just in case you . . . aren’t successful, I want a name.”

  The driver was watching her too closely. She ran a finger down her breasts, down her torso.

  His eyes widened and she laughed when he almost hit the car in front of them.

  Another sigh.

  “One call,” she threatened.

  “Fine. Ian. Kinncaid. His real name is Ian Kinncaid.”

  The line went dead.

  Alla smiled.

  • • •

  Washington, D.C.

  Rori took a deep breath. Please don’t let him stop. She wasn’t deluding he
rself. She knew this wasn’t some big act of the L word on his part. Or it was, but of lust.

  His hands, those long-fingered hands . . .

  Her head hit the door as she leaned back. His mouth nipped at her neck. He lifted her higher and licked a line on her breasts.

  She took a deep breath and speared her fingers in his hair.

  “We’re mad, barking mad.”

  He chuckled, the gravelly sound vibrating against her chest.

  When his mouth closed over her breast, she arched into him. God, the pull, straight to her gut, a lust-tipped bullet that rocketed her libido.

  “Hurry,” she said to him.

  He lifted his eyes and she watched him as he licked at her. Then he trailed wet kisses over to her other breast, all the while watching her.

  She licked her lips. “We don’t have time to dilly-dally.”

  He chuckled again. “Oh, we’re going to dilly-dally.”

  She rocked her hips against him.

  He paused, frowning. “I don’t have a condom.”

  No. She took a deep groaning breath then said, “I’m clean. Are you?”

  He nodded. “Hell, yes. Where I worked, I was too selective.”

  “When was the last time you slept with anyone?” she asked him.

  He thought, frowned. “Several months ago. Some college chick.”

  She laughed. “Tested?”

  “Two months ago. I’m clean.”

  “Gor blimey, then just get on with it.”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up.

  She started to unbutton his shirt. “Bugger this.” She grabbed each side and ripped. Buttons flew and pinged across the room.

  His grin grew. “You want me bad.”

  She leaned in and sucked on the side of his neck, marking him. He hissed.

  His hands went back to her bare skin and pulled and jerked the robe away until it fell behind her, only hanging on to her shoulder and elbow.

  “Are you on the pill?” he asked as his hands ran up her thighs.

  “Children aren’t an option for me. Can’t have them. I’m sterile.” His hand stopped and she opened her eyes, looking at him. He seemed angry.

  “I’m not lying.” Fuck, she didn’t want to get into this now. “You want my bloody medical records?”

  He blinked and shook his head. “Sorry. Someone lied to me once and tried to get me to marry them by lying about a pregnancy.”

  “Fine, I’ll kill the bitch tomorrow, can we just get on with it?” Her breath shuddered out.

  His fingers gripped the backs of her thighs, his arm muscles bunched. And still those eyes burned. She took his face in her hands. “I will never be able to have kids. No amount of medicine or technology will change that.”

  She kissed him. She didn’t want to think about what she couldn’t do, what was lost to her because of . . .

  No.

  She wanted to forget. Forget and just live in the moment. Too many reminders lately. Too many dark thoughts.

  “Kiss me,” she urged him. “Make love to me. Or I’ll tie you to the bed.”

  He laughed, his features easing. “Promises, promises.”

  He grazed one finger so near, so near. She wiggled and he slapped her ass. “My way.”

  “Your way would take all bloody night.”

  “A man does have fantasies.”

  Then those fingers were skimming her, running the length of her. Her breath shuddered out.

  “God, you’re wet already.”

  His fingers pierced her and she arched, moaning as his teeth brought a nipple into his mouth. Wicked hands. They played her until she was writhing against the door, moaning.

  “Please, please. Ian. Please.” She looked into the blue depths of his eyes. The hardened features on his face.

  He grinned, but it wasn’t amused. She felt one of his hands leave her, felt him opening his pants.

  “Hurry,” she said again, rocking against him.

  Ian looked into her eyes and wondered what madness possessed them. He wanted, just for now, to forget everything. Everything but her and what they pretended to be.

  She was so damn responsive. Matching him in need, in wants, in his world where shadows met light and still were black. Where there was rarely any sanity.

  Finally, he freed himself. She was there, her legs locked around him, her robe half hanging off of her, waiting.

  For him.

  He played her again with his fingers, dancing over the bundle of nerves that . . .

  She gasped and arched. He grinned, fitted himself to her and surged inside.

  God she was tight, wet, and felt . . .

  Right.

  He watched her eyes widen as she pulled back and slid back on him.

  Without a word, he shook his head, hooked first one arm, then his other beneath her knees, keeping his hands on the wall. He slid even deeper and she moaned.

  Her breathing quickened.

  “My way,” he said, keeping control of the pace, of her, of them.

  Her head tilted back and the long line of her neck was beautiful in the low light of the bedroom, her skin dark and beckoning against his own.

  He pushed against her.

  “I’ve wanted this,” he muttered, still watching her, watching the way he could make this woman who was so in control lose it.

  Was there anything more alluring?

  Her legs trembled. “Ian. Gawd. Ian.”

  He drove deeper, harder, faster. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “I can do this to you,” he whispered into her ear, just as he plunged again.

  She gasped for breath, bit her bottom lip, and flew apart, her inner muscles vising around him.

  He followed her over the peak, groaning into her neck.

  His heart slammed against his chest, answered in the pound of hers, beat as one with a woman he wished was real.

  Chapter 17

  November 15, 1:33 a.m.

  Rori grazed a finger over Ian’s chest, her head resting on his shoulder. The sheets were twisted around their bodies; the room was dark now with the exception of the nightlights of D.C. permeating the room. The apartment was quiet, the only noise the faint hum of the heater kicking on.

  His heart beat against her ear, his arm holding her and his fingers tracing patterns on her hipbone. His other arm was bent behind his head.

  “What did you mean?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  She frowned. “About what?”

  “Not having kids. What happened?”

  He would zero in on that, wouldn’t he?

  She started to roll away, but he didn’t move, only tightened his hold on her.

  “If you don’t want to tell me, fine. Just stay where you are.” He didn’t lessen his hold on her.

  She waited, tensed. She wasn’t going into that tonight. Tonight had been too wonderful; she wasn’t about to ruin it talking about that, let alone even think about it.

  Rori took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  “That bad, huh?” He turned and kissed her forehead.

  How could the man make her feel weak and strong all at the same time?

  She waited. The night surrounded them.

  Normally, this was where she got up and left. There were only three men she’d spent an entire night with, two of which she’d never questioned the next morning. Others were simply quick fucks.

  She’d thought that Ian Kinncaid would be the latter.

  But she knew, knew in the deepest part of her, this man holding her would be one of the former and maybe even something else.

  She shied from the thought.

  “If you’re not going to tell me, at least stop thinking,” he muttered against her forehead.

  “You can go to sleep, ya know.”

  He grunted. “Not as loud as you’re thinking.”

  She propped her head up on her hands and looked at him. They were in the shadows and she couldn’t even make out his features, just the outline of his head, dar
k against the pillow.

  “Well, since we’re both awake, how ’bout another bang?” Rori leaned in and kissed him.

  “Another bang? As in you want to play with my SIG?”

  “Told you I knew how to handle a gun.”

  “A bang.” She heard the grin in his voice. “I love it when you go Brit on me.” His chuckle rumbled against her chest.

  • • •

  9:45 a.m.

  Rori looked at the little girl sitting quietly on the couch. She was coloring on a sheet of white paper, blue lines and red squiggles. Rori had no freaking clue what she was supposed to do with the girl all day.

  Ian had left early, telling her to go wherever, as long as she took one of the guards with her.

  Like she couldn’t guard one little girl?

  Maybe they’d go shopping. Sounded like a plan to her. There were several shops downstairs.

  She smiled as she rose and walked back to the bedroom. The sheets were twisted on the bed and she couldn’t help but remember exactly why they were so twisted. Ian had merely screwed her against the door, they’d then gone to the bed and he’d shown her she could beg for just about anything.

  She grinned and breathed deep. Like housekeeping wouldn’t know what the hell had happened in here. But then, they were expected to be doing the deed, weren’t they?

  In the bathroom, she looked at her reflection. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

  She shook off the thoughts and quickly dressed in slacks, a button-down, and a jacket. She strapped her piece at her waist, the holster hidden at the small of her back. Technically, that was illegal. Policemen tended to frown on people carrying a concealed weapon, but she wasn’t about to go out without one. If it came down to her and Darya and she couldn’t avert their harm because she’d left her piece at home, well . . . that was simply unacceptable.

  She turned and in the doorway stood Darya holding a picture. Hiding behind it, more like.

  “’allo,” Rori said, squatting down. She tilted her head and reached out, taking the picture.

  There were three stick figures on it. A man, a woman, and a little girl. They all had big heads, but the hair color and eyes were all correct. She had to grin at the fact both she and clearly Ian held guns. Big guns.