Aegis Security 02 - Sinful Surrender

by Elisabeth Naughton

  She stared at him with a perplexed expression, then her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. I didn’t mean thighs. I meant eyes. You must think I’m a complete idiot. I totally suck at first impressions.”

  Brian chuckled, because, yeah, she was cute all flustered and embarrassed like this, and her reaction told him loud and clear that she was absolutely a wallflower rather than a party girl. The only question was, why was she over here hitting on him when—according to Ryder—she was worried about some psycho stalker following her around?

  He figured he had two choices. He could brush her off and be stuck watching her from the shadows for the next few days, or he could probe for a little information that might make his job easier and get him the hell off this assignment sooner rather than later. God knew, Ryder had only filled him in on the bare bones.

  He swiveled his chair toward her, deciding there was nothing wrong with small talk. Especially now that she’d approached him. “It’s okay, I get it all the time. My thighs are my best feature.”

  A slow smile spread across her lips, making her eyes sparkle—and, whoa, look nothing like Ryder’s when she grinned. “You should feel lucky. Very few women think their thighs are their best feature.”

  He felt his own smile tugging at his lips as he held out his hand. “I’m Brian. The guy with the hot thighs.”

  Her smile widened. Her fingers slid along his. Soft, feminine, delicate… A lot like her. “Um…” She hesitated a quick second. “Samara.”

  His brow lifted as he shook her hand. “Samara, huh?” Not Grace. So that was how she wanted to play it.

  “Um, yeah. It, uh, means winged fruit of the maple tree. My parents were hippies.”

  Bullshit. Her mother had been a nightclub singer and dancer, her father CEO of a dozen different successful companies. He’d picked up Grace’s mom one night after her set in Vegas. Both were as far from “hippie” as they could get.

  The bartender headed by, and Brian held up a hand, stopping the guy. “My friend here would like a drink.” To Grace—no, Samara—he said, “What’ll you have?”

  “Oh, um.” She clenched the small clutch against the bar, her fingers repeatedly tightening and releasing, a nervous gesture he definitely caught, and looked over the bottles along the wall. “Ah…how about… a white-wine spritzer.”

  She’d been drinking a martini before. She clearly didn’t know the follies of mixing alcohols, especially wine.

  While the bartender turned to make her drink, Brian’s interest was piqued even more. “So, Samara. Ever notice how people don’t have traditional names anymore? Tandi, Jagger, Philippa, Jax. Whatever happened to names like Joan and Rick and Darcy and Steve?”

  Her cheeks brightened, as if she knew he was catching her in a lie. “Darcy isn’t a very common name. I’ve only met one person named Darcy my whole life.”

  “Is she traditional?”

  Grace—Samara—considered for a moment. “No, not really. She writes romance novels.”

  “Definitely not traditional.” And the woman wasn’t backing down. Interesting.

  The bartender set her drink in front of her, and she reached for it quickly.

  “What about you?” Brian asked. “What do you do?”

  “Me?” Grace took a very large sip of her drink and winced like she hadn’t expected it to taste the way it did. And Brian found himself smiling. She was so far out of her comfort zone, it was amusing to watch. “Um, I, ah…I write the back-cover copy. For romance novels.”

  No, she didn’t. She wrote music, not anything for any kind of romance novel. She was definitely playing this one high and tight, and he wanted to know why. He was also enjoying himself. More than he had in weeks. “Would I know any of the books you’ve written copy for?”

  Unease crossed her features, and she took another large sip. “Do you read romance novels?”

  “Only the ones with whips and chains.”

  Her eyes shot open, and shock made her mouth open in a tiny, sexy O, one that made him think of—oh yeah, not good—sex.

  Blood gathered in his groin, and heat rushed through his veins.

  A heartbeat passed, then, slowly, her eyes narrowed. “You’re playing with me.”

  No. But he suddenly wanted to. His gaze ran over her again, and this time it hovered on her perky breasts, her cleavage barely visible behind the black cocktail gown. Instead of being on display like every other chick in the bar, she was cocooned in a classy little package. One he itched to unwrap.

  “I might be.”

  Her face relaxed. “Then, no, I guess you wouldn’t.”

  She set her glass back down, working for calm when he could tell she was anything but. “What about you, Brian? What do you do?”

  What did he do? Two could play this fantasy game. “I’m part of the US men’s ski team.”

  “Oh, wow.” Her eyes widened and held his with awe and surprise. Dark, really sexy eyes, he noticed now. Not a thing like Ryder’s, except for the color. “That’s amazing. You must be really good.”

  He was good at a lot of things. And he had a wicked urge to show her. Which…totally went against every one of his gut reactions where young, cute girls like her were concerned. He also didn’t like how gullible she was, believing his bullshit so fast. “Yeah.” He frowned, conflicting emotions warring inside him. “I do what I can.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not much of a skier. I stick mostly to the green dots.”

  Angled toward her, he propped his elbow on the bar and tried to keep his eyes off her breasts and firmly on her face. “So, Samara, if you’re not much of a skier, what are you doing in Vail?”

  “Oh, I—” Her gaze skipped past him, and her whole body tensed.

  Brian went from horny men’s ski team member to Aegis operative in a split second. Every muscle tightened in anticipation of some kind of ambush. “What? What do you see?”

  He was already reaching back for the Beretta he kept holstered at the base of his spine and turning to look when her hand landed against his jaw, stopping his movement.

  She jumped off her stool, moved between his legs, and leaned in close. So close he felt her everywhere. “Nothing. Just my ex.” Her scent—her sexy, fresh, alluring scent—mixed with her heat to float all around him and make him lightheaded. “Quick. Kiss me before he sees me. He’s heading right for us.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Grace pressed her lips against Brian’s before she thought better of it. All she’d wanted to do was hide from the man heading her way, and kissing Mr. Hottie had seemed like a logical way to do that, especially since no one interrupted a kissing couple. But the second her mouth met Brian’s, tiny sparks of electricity zinged all through her body, short-circuiting her brain.

  Oh… His lips were soft and full and masculine. And his scent this close—sandalwood and something spicy—sent a flutter straight to her belly. He was hard and muscular—everywhere—liked she’d expected, but this close, he was also warm and so damn arousing, the blood in her veins felt like it was close to boiling.

  His hand landed on her hip, and he froze against her. Common sense told her she’d surprised him and that she needed to pull back, but she didn’t want to because… Oh man, he smelled too divine, he felt too right, and now that her lips were against his, she really wanted to taste him, especially if this was the only time she was going to get the chance.

  Her fingers threaded into his hair—she just couldn’t help herself—and, wow, she’d been right. Soft, silky, sensuous strands that slid along her skin. She brushed her mouth over his, skimmed her thumb against his cheek, leaned even closer so her breasts just barely grazed that hard, muscular chest of his.

  Kiss me back. She repeated the words in her head while she moved her mouth over his again, wanting—needing—that more than she’d expected. And just when she was sure he wasn’t going to and that it was time to let go, his fingers tightened against her hip.

  She stilled. Tingles ignited in
her fingers, in her belly, in every inch of her skin. And then his mouth opened, drawing her in, his tongue gliding along hers with a slow and sensuous stroke, and every muscle in Grace’s body turned liquid.

  She sank into the kiss, leaning into him, tasting him the way he was tasting her. His hands relaxed, his fingers spread, and then they were sliding along her back, his arms wrapping around her to pull her in tight.

  Reality flashed. He was a stranger. Some guy she’d just barely met. And there was something about him that screamed dark and dangerous, but that was part of what attracted her. Though his hands were huge, those thighs of his thick and muscled, grazing the outside of her legs, she wasn’t scared. Some sixth sense told her he wasn’t the kind of guy who would intimidate or try to scare a woman like that idiot back home.

  She was completely light-headed by the time he eased back, just a touch, just enough so she could gulp in air. Her heart beat hard. Especially when she realized his eyes—those gorgeous sapphire gems—were locked solidly on hers. All those tingles reignited through Grace’s skin, and she held her breath, waiting for him to say something…anything.

  “Hey,” a woman exclaimed somewhere to Grace’s left. “I thought you said you were gay.”

  Grace couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away to look, and neither did Brian. Those pretty blue eyes of his held hers with a heat and need that made her tremble. “I think she just turned me.”

  Everything inside Grace went warm and soft. The woman scoffed and stomped away. Footsteps sounded behind Brian, and the music continued to pump out of the speakers above, but Grace was too lost in the moment to care about anyone else. She leaned in to kiss him again when a voice brought her to a stop.

  “I thought that was you, pretty girl.”

  Her gaze shot past Brian to the dark-haired man standing behind him.

  Oh, crap.

  “Yep,” the man said with a shit-eating grin, one Grace knew well. “I was right. It’s really good to see you, Gra—”

  “Kendrick.” Heat rushed to Grace’s cheeks. She pushed back from Brian, stumbling on the stupid heels she was wearing, desperate for Tate Kendrick not to give her away. What the hell was he doing here? Why had she forgotten about him? And why on earth had she lied about her name? What had seemed like a good idea for a little harmless flirting was now going to ruin her night if Kendrick opened his big mouth.

  Brian’s arms were still around her, and they tightened, catching her before she slipped and went down. Confusion lowered his brow, but his gaze still didn’t drift from her face.

  Perspiration popped out on Grace’s forehead as she eased back far enough to balance on her own feet. His hands slid from her body, leaving behind a chilly trail, but she was still trapped between his thighs and her barstool, and she couldn’t get very far away. She pushed the hair away from her face, working to stay calm. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  Tate Kendrick rested his hands on his hips. His hair was longer than Grace remembered, almost to his shoulders, but his rock-star good looks were on full display, like always. “The band had a gig in Denver. Got a buddy up here who said the snow in Vail was awesome right now, so we thought we’d see what all the fuss is about before we have to head to Dallas for our next stop.” He nodded toward a table in the corner filled with five to six guys, drinking and laughing. “What about you?”

  “Oh, um…” Right. He was on tour right now. She’d read that online. She glanced over and quickly away. She didn’t want to hear about Kendrick’s bandmates or whoever he was partying with now. Though part of her owed him for her big break, she didn’t particularly want to tell him why she was really here, not in front of Brian. Because then she’d have to admit she’d been lying to Brian all along. And that wouldn’t just ruin her evening, it might ruin her entire trip.

  She also wasn’t thrilled about doing the whole big introduction thing, because she didn’t want to have to explain how she knew a rock god. “Just skiing.”

  “She’s here with me,” Brian said.

  Kendrick glanced toward Brian and back again, questions evident in his eyes, but Brian wasn’t looking his way. No, he was staring right at Grace with both amusement and interest. An interest that heated her veins and caused her pulse to tick up even more.

  Most guys were intimidated by Kendrick’s success. His band had been at the top of the charts for the last few years. But Brian didn’t seem the least bit interested in the guy behind him. In fact, after flicking Kendrick one quick glance, he was once again staring at Grace as if she was all he could see.

  “Um.” Grace didn’t know what to say or do. All she knew was that she wanted to kiss this sexy man in front of her again. Right now. All over.

  “I, well…” Kendrick scratched the back of his head. “It was good to see you, I guess.”

  “Yeah, bye,” Grace mumbled.

  Brian waited until Kendrick moved off, then his fingers found their way back to Grace’s hips. Sparks of electricity shot straight to her belly at the very first touch and trickled downward until her legs felt like Jell-O. “That was…unexpected.”

  “Yeah.” Her throat was thick. Her voice, so not like her own, filled with an arousal she barely recognized. Was he talking about Kendrick or the kiss? God, his hands felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted a guy this much. Wasn’t sure she ever had. Her fingers brushed his biceps, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like beneath that black button-down. A burning desire to touch him, to feel him, to know him whipped through her like a tornado. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to jump ten degrees. Grace’s gaze snapped back to his face, and she bit down on her lip, wondering what the hell he was thinking. What the hell she was supposed to do now?

  “You’re vibrating, Samara.”

  Boy, was she ever. “I know. But I can’t seem to stop it.”

  His lips curled in a gorgeous smile. “Not you, though I like that. I meant your purse.”

  Grace looked over her shoulder and realized her phone was buzzing. “Oh.”

  He let go of her and reached for his beer. “Answer it.”

  Grace didn’t want to. Didn’t want to lose the moment. But common sense told her it could be the police back home. Twisting toward the bar, she pulled the phone from her bag, and caught sight of an unknown number.

  “Hello?” she said, pressing the phone to her ear.

  “Hi. I’m wondering if I have to bring my own restraints or if the Playhouse provides them. What kind of dungeon rooms do you have, and how much weight can your restraints hold?”

  Grace closed her eyes, a familiar frustration bubbling inside her. “This is not the Playhouse. You have the wrong number.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s exclusive,” the man on the other end of the line said. “Exclusivity isn’t a problem. Do I have to bring my own sub or are you available? You have a great voice. I bet you scream really well.”

  “Oh my God,” Grace muttered. “Asshole. I’m not on the menu.” She punched End and dropped her phone on the bar.

  “Who was that?” Brian asked.

  Rubbing a hand over her forehead, Grace turned to face him again. While he’d released her, he hadn’t let her go far, and she was still trapped between her barstool and his legs. Awareness spread back through her belly. An awareness she hoped he liked as much as she did. “Just a wrong number.”

  His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid as he regarded her with serious, narrowed eyes. Something had changed in him over the last several seconds. Instead of the carefree, flirty guy she’d kissed, he now had a dangerous edge that set butterflies to flight in her stomach.

  The macho protective vibe had never done it for her before, but for some reason tonight, from him, she found that extremely…hot. Which only rattled her more.

  “It’s no big deal. I sometimes get calls like that. There’s this, ah…sex club…outside Vegas called the Playhouse. Have you heard of it?” />
  “No,” he said, eyeing her with those stormy, sapphire, very focused eyes. “Should I?”

  She shrugged and tried to keep things light. “I figured since you read all those whips-and-chains romances, you probably would.”

  “Not me. But it sounds like you know an awful lot about them. Go to this playhouse often, Samara?”

  “What?” Heat immediately rushed to her cheeks. “No. Never.” She looked at his broad chest beneath the black button-down, because this was so not a conversation she wanted to be having. “I’ve never been there, but my cell is like one number off theirs, and every now and then I get these weird, kinky calls from people like that idiot.”

  His shoulders relaxed, then his hand lifted, found her hip, and slowly tugged her back in close. And God, Grace liked that he’d reached for her again. That this wasn’t all her.

  “What did he ask?”

  Grace bit her lip. “Um…he asked if I was available. Said he liked the sound of my voice.”

  His other hand landed on her opposite hip. Heat exploded everywhere he touched through the thin fabric of her dress. “Are you available, Samara?”

  Grace’s stomach bunched, and Holly’s voice from earlier echoed in her head. “Hit that before someone else does.”

  Slowly, she lifted her eyes back to his and saw exactly what she hoped for. Desire, arousal, pure unadulterated interest.

  Oh yeah, she wanted to hit that, several times. And though it was reckless and wild and so not like her, Grace decided tonight she was going to go for it. Holly was right. This was exactly what she needed to release some pent-up anxiety and hopefully get back to work.

  She rested her hands on his biceps again, inched closer. And she knew by the way his arms instinctively wound around her that she was making the right move. “For the Playhouse? No. For you?” She leaned in close and drew a deep whiff of his heavenly scent, one that infused her with confidence. “Yes. But not here. Do you want to come back to my room for a drink?”