The dog dropped her head on the sofa. Now, if only the other woman in this room would be as compliant.
He found her leaning against the vanity, close to the mirror, struggling to hold up her hair and get a grip on an underneath layer. She was angled far enough that the waistband of her ridiculous boxers tugged down, almost to the shadow of her gorgeous ass.
Jesus. His hands itched. His throat tightened. His cock made a mockery of his love of control.
“It hurts,” she complained.
Yes, it did. It hurt to be this close to her. “Just a few hairs, Vivi. It has to be taken out in such a way that we get the glue that holds it in.” He took a few steps closer. One touch and he was dead, aching blood and balls winning the battle. One hand on her body and he wouldn’t want to stop. He should not do this.
“Let me help you.”
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he eased her away from the mirror, standing close enough to feel the heat of her. He twirled a lock of the long hair.
She met his gaze in the mirror, her dark eyes even blacker in the dim light. That wasn’t night vision causing her pupils to expand, he knew. It was arousal, just like his. Perfectly natural, utterly powerful, completely mutual.
“I’m going to have to pull some. I don’t want to pull your real hair and hurt you.”
Her expression grew as serious as any he’d ever seen. “I don’t want you to hurt me, Lang,” she whispered.
He got the message. A warning, mixed with an invitation, right? He wasn’t misreading that, was he? He drew her closer. “I won’t hurt you.” He slid his hand up the nape of her neck, causing a bloom of chills across her skin. Leaning her head forward, he separated some hair, easily finding the BB-sized knots on her scalp. Her short hair was well hidden underneath. “Ah, here’s Vivi.”
“The real one,” she said.
“The one I really do like,” he whispered.
Under his touch, she stiffened. “Don’t, Lang.”
He froze, too. “Don’t what?”
“Tease me.”
“I don’t tease. You do.”
She whipped around so fast he got the hairs without trying. “Ow! How dare you say that?”
Her vehemence surprised him. “What?
“I have never teased you. You can’t count that lap dance because that was done for a reason, and if you remember correctly, I finished the job. I don’t tease men.”
“I meant tease as in your sense of humor.”
“Really?” Her eyes just glinted in the dim light, and fell to his tented sleep pants. “Because I didn’t try to make that happen.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s the thing, honey. You never try, but it always happens.”
He closed his hand over her wrist, and placed her palm on his chest, just to let her know how hard his heart was beating, and then to inch her fingers down to singe his skin. “This is not an unusual occurrence around you. Even with your baggy clothes and stick-up hair.”
“Oh…” The word came out like a sigh as she splayed her fingers over his chest, her palm dry and warm and precious. Their gazes locked, their breaths already shorter, their pulses pounding.
“This is a surprise to you?” He angled his head just the slightest degree, the way it would fit perfectly on her mouth.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He managed a wry laugh. “Over the conference table, in front of your brother? Did you want me to announce my woody during strategy sessions?”
“You got… hard.”
He let go of her hand, sliding his hands around her waist to lift her in one easy move onto the counter. Bringing her face a little closer to his, easily slipping between her legs, his crotch inches from hers.
He burned to close the space completely. To let his hard-on free, to pull her into him. “How is it that a girl with so much confidence doesn’t realize her own sex appeal?”
She still had one hand on his chest; the other clutched the edge of the marble as though she needed stability. “Because… I thought I wasn’t your type.”
He smiled and let his hands ride over her hips and settle on the smooth skin of her thighs. “Yeah, I thought so too. Then we had the meeting about the Berkower case.”
Her eyes flashed in understanding. “The one that went so late into the night. When Zach had to leave and—”
“And you went to retrieve something from the top shelf in the storage room?”
“I thought you stayed in the conference room. You were watching me?”
“I thought you might fall.” He thumbed her skin, his hands already sliding closer to the inside of her thighs. To the opening of those little boxers. To her. “I had to make sure you were safe.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You had to see my ass when I climbed up that step stool.”
“And this…” He skimmed up to her waist, inching the top out of the way. “When your T-shirt rode all the way up.”
“Was I wearing a bra?”
“Didn’t go far quite enough.” He dragged his hand higher. “But you aren’t now.”
She sucked in a little breath when he grazed the underside of her breast with his thumb.
“Lang…”
“So I went home that night…” One more centimeter of skin—and she wasn’t stopping him.
“And?”
He leaned closer to put his mouth over her ear, the same moment he thumbed her pebbled nipple. “I imagined us in the storage room.” She shivered in response. Exactly what he wanted, exactly what he’d hoped for.
“Doing what?” she asked breathlessly.
“It. Up against the wall.” He closed his hand over her breast, filling his palm and shooting more blood and fire into his groin.
“So did I.” The admission was barely a whisper.
It was all he needed to hear. He pulled her hips against his and covered her mouth with the kiss that had been gnawing at his imagination for months.
Full on, openmouthed, hot, wet, and demanding. And Vivi gave it right back to him, wrapping her arms and legs around him, letting his cock smash against the very place it had to be—right between her legs.
Perfect. Perfect. No hesitation, just surrender. She inhaled the kiss in one gasp of joy. She shuddered—no… she giggled. And again.
“You’re laughing?” he murmured into the kiss, his hands already wild in finding new places to touch. The dip in her lower back, the side of her breast, her leg, her stomach—oh, Lord, the sweet, soft, sexy inside of her thigh.
“I’m happy.”
He slowed his kisses and stilled his hands. Happy. Not exactly what he was going for. Hot, hungry, and ready to go horizontal, but, okay. She was happy.
“Because,” she continued, her hand on his head to guide his mouth to a surprisingly responsive spot near her collarbone. “This crush is mutual.”
He stopped kissing completely, lifting his head. “Crush?”
“What do you call it, Lang?”
Usually, sex. Sometimes something a little grittier. Like… fucking. But not a… “Crush?”
“Yes,” she said, her head dropping back, her eyes glittering. “That feeling of excitement before you come to the office, when I’m all shaky and nervous? When we’re together, I just… want… to touch you and know you. After I see you, I can’t think of anything else for hours. Days, even.” The admission tumbled out, peppered with self-conscious laughs and quick breaths.
He just stared at her.
“I fall asleep thinking about you, Lang. Wake up thinking about you. I… I…”
He still hadn’t said a word. Because a crush was too much like an emotion.
“You don’t,” she said simply, realization dawning so hard and fast he could practically feel her skin freeze under his touch.
“I just told you,” he said slowly, choosing every word carefully despite the blood drain from his brain that made thinking like hard labor at the moment. “You’re the object of my fantasies.”
Sh
e inched back, all that happiness gone. “Mine, too,” she said quietly.
“Then what’s wrong?” Because something was. Terribly wrong.
Endless seconds dragged by as she looked at him, a war raging inside, and he had no idea what side he was on or if he’d win in the end.
“Vivi?” he finally asked. “Are you still okay with this?”
She smiled, wistful and sad. “The thing is, Lang, I was never okay with it.”
Instantly, he let her go.
CHAPTER 11
Of course she killed the deal. Wasn’t that inevitable? Wasn’t she just digging for an excuse to stop the luscious waves of lust he’d started in her body?
How could she possibly tell him that this was just about as far as she ever made it? Then he’d really call her a tease.
The word twisted her gut. The wounding, wicked word of an angry, violent boy. But not Lang, not any guy—just the one who ruined her.
Tease. It still made vomit rise in her throat.
“Vivi, why are you in here kissing me, if you’re not okay with it?”
Fair question, asked in his old, humorless, golf-playing Lang voice.
“I… am… tempted,” she admitted in a halting voice. “But I don’t…” Now what could she tell him? Not the truth. Never the truth. No one knew that, except the bastard who did it to her. And he probably didn’t even remember her name. “I really think it’s a bad idea to have sex with a client.” The words rushed out. “Even one I have a crush on.”
He visibly slumped. “Is that all?”
No, that was not all. But it would have to do until Vivi could—no, Vivi could never again. “Especially since you aren’t exactly reciprocating with the whole crush confession thing.”
“I just didn’t know what you called it,” he said. “I just thought we were friends who… liked each other.” He smiled and let his gaze drop to her body, warming her in spite of the fact that she suddenly felt very, very cold. “A lot.”
“Friends with benes?” she asked. “Is that what you’re looking for, Lang?”
He backed away, of course. Because that was what she was trying to get him to do, wasn’t it? That was her goal: sabotage the sex, and stay safe. That was the Vivi Angelino signature move.
“Benes?” he said, sounding a little disgusted.
“Benefits,” she explained.
“I get it. I was thinking more along the lines of… sex… without…” He just couldn’t say it.
“Strings,” she supplied.
He didn’t argue, giving her the perfect excuse. Let him think that hurts. “Oh, sure, Lang. You’re leaving for L.A. so we can just fuck like bunnies until you ship out to your big promo.” She sounded bitter, which beat sounding pathetic and scared and victimized. “Fine.”
“Sorry, Vivi. You didn’t strike me as a woman who needed… paperwork.”
Paperwork? Oh, that was good. She managed to look insulted, although she was just relieved. He was handing her a perfect out. “No, I’m not really big on the whole screw-and-shoo gig. But thanks for the offer.”
The sarcasm was hurting him, she could tell. Shaming him because he had come into this room acting like a perfectly normal man, and if only Vivi were a normal woman, she’d have gone along with it. Because Lang was her fantasy on steroids and she wanted him. Bad.
But some asshole had ruined her head forever.
And Colton Lang was paying for that right this moment. “Hey, listen.” She managed to slide off the counter and, to his credit, he didn’t give much of a fight. “We’re cool.”
He swallowed hard, stepping away completely. “I didn’t mean to insult you, Vivi. I misread you.”
“You didn’t misread me, Lang. I’ve got major hots for you, and that’s pretty hard to hide. I just… realized… that…” I’m more psychologically damaged than the poor old bag who’s scared to leave the house. “You matter more than you should and with you going to Los Angeles, I’d just get all weepy and shit when you left.”
He looked hard at her. “Why are you lying?”
Damn it. “Okay, I’m exaggerating. I wouldn’t get weepy. I never cry.”
“Never? Not once?”
“Once when my mother died,” she said quickly. “And once when my dog got taken away a couple weeks later.” And then that day she’d lain in some sterile clinic in Medford, all alone and so scared. She’d cried pretty hard that day. Cried until there were no tears left. “And the week I quit dancing,” she said quietly. “I think I cried then.”
Before he could stop her, she moved to the door and turned the knob. She had to get out of this room. “That dog sure is quiet when you tell her to be. Hey, Stella,” she called, opening the door. “He’s all yours—”
“What’s the matter?” Lang was next to her in a heartbeat, peering into the empty room. The door was closed, but Stella was gone.
“She took the dog,” he said, already marching to the door.
Vivi stuffed her feet into a pair of flip-flops and jogged after him. “Where are you going?”
“To get the dog back. I don’t trust that bitch and her sedatives.” He stopped at the door to his room and put up his hand for her to wait.
“You need a shirt to go get the dog?” Vivi asked.
“No, I need a gun to go get the dog.”
A minute later, he came out, his Glock pointed down, gesturing for her to follow to the kitchen through the butler’s pantry to the door that led down to Mercedes’s basement apartment. It was locked.
As he lifted his hand to knock, they heard the bark, and a whimper.
Outside.
For a quick second, they both looked at each other, the same thought registering. If the dog was outside, then the agoraphobic who never set foot out of doors mustn’t have her.
“I’ll find Mercedes,” Vivi offered. “You get the dog.”
“No, you stay with me. I don’t give a shit about the old lady—let’s just get the dog.”
But if Mercedes hadn’t taken Stella outside, who had? One of the other agents? Was there a doggie door they didn’t know about ? The kitchen was empty, and so was the fenced-in area where Mercedes usually let her out.
The whimpering came from the other side of that fence.
“She could have gotten under the fence,” Vivi said. “I saw her digging at that spot earlier.”
“Just stay with me,” Lang said, opening the gate to the backyard.
She stayed close to him, peering around. They descended the few stone steps to a secluded pool area enclosed by thick poplar trees. A shroud of mist rose from the heated water.
The whimpering got louder.
“She’s past those trees,” Vivi said, pointing to the poplars. “There’s nothing but brush back there.”
“Stella!” Lang called, pulling out his cell phone to use as a flashlight.
They heard a scurrying through the brush, the sound of the dog running. “Here she comes,” Vivi said, relieved. But no dog appeared.
“Stella!” he called again, walking toward the trees. “She’s going that way. Stay here, Vivi. I’ll go get her.”
He disappeared through the trees and Vivi listened to him calling her, his voice getting a little distant as he moved deeper into the wooded property.
She rubbed her arms against the cold air, listening.
A bark from a completely different direction startled her, and she turned toward the sound. How had Stella gotten all the way over there? She took a few steps to the other end of the pool, frowning into the darkness, wishing like hell she’d been smart enough to bring her cell phone to use as a flashlight.
But, no, she had been too busy waging her inner sex wars to think about security.
Still humming from the encounter, tight and needy and so utterly dissatisfied with her choices and her issues and her brain-versus-body battle, she walked to the tree line and listened. A little doggie paw cracked a branch.
“Stella?” she called, glancing over her shoulder, half exp
ecting to see Lang appear from the other side. Surely he realized she’d come over here now. “Stella! Come here, you little beast.”
She wiggled through the trees toward the sound. “Stella. I know you hate me, but I’ll hand you over to your true love.”
The dog barked once, a good fifty feet away in the thick of the trees. Then she whimpered helplessly again, the sound of real pain.
“Stella?” Was she hurt? Vivi moved toward the sound, stones and sticks prodding the flimsy flip-flops, cold air and stiff branches brushing her nearly bare skin. She was dressed for sex in the bathroom, not dog searches in the woods.
The whimpering was louder now, and more than a little desperate. She pushed at pine needles and shook off a spiderweb—more of those bastards—and headed to the noise.
“Lang!” she hollered. “She’s over here. I think she’s—”
The gunshot shocked her into silence, so close she automatically threw herself to the ground. The next one made her roll as a bullet whizzed right by her head.
She dove for the cover of trees, scraping her arms and legs on pine needles, a scream of terror trapped in her throat. Her hands hit something soft just as the next bullet ricocheted off the trunk of a tree. This time she did shriek a little and so did the dog she’d landed on.
Grabbing Stella, Vivi started to get up to run, but froze at the sound of footsteps, hard, fast, and headed in her direction. Folding up to make as small a target as she could, she rolled deeper under the pine, earth and dirt chafing her face and filling her mouth, her whole body around the tiny dog.
Here it comes, she thought. The next shot.
I’m going to die. Out here, in the bogs of Nantucket, holding a dog, pretending to be someone else. She was going to die.
Damn. She should have never said no to Lang. Now she was going to—
The bullet hit the soft peat of the ground, so close she heard the thump. Inches away.
Cradling the dog in both arms, she scrambled forward, losing a flip-flop as she crawled army style under the lowest branches of pine, having no idea where she was going but away from the son of a bitch with a gun.
She stopped long enough to hear branches snap, footsteps hitting dirt. Away or toward her? She had no idea. She wanted to scream for Lang again, but that would give away her location.
Face of Danger Page 15
