Kill Me Twice

by Roxanne St Claire

  Miles Yoder could be hard to crack, and, with Alex there, he might be totally unwilling to tell her anything.

  But how could she lose Alex? He never slept. She’d bet any amount of money he’d be standing outside her door when she opened it. She blew a hair out of her eyes and went to the bathroom to touch up her makeup.

  He had to have a weakness. Cuban coffee? Would he go out for some now? Probably not.

  Well, he did have another weakness. Absently, she ran her hands over her chest. Yes, he had a weakness. She’d caught him indulging it more than once.

  But how could she use that to distract him? She could hardly steal off to the Biltmore if he was on top of her. Unless…unless…she made him utterly weak, panting, and then sent him off…in search of a condom.

  Yeah. It could work.

  Her brain skimmed a bunch of scenarios until she landed on one. As plans went, it didn’t merit much more than a C, maybe C-plus. But it could work. And it sure wouldn’t hurt to try.

  On the contrary, it might feel…really good.

  Chapter

  Eight

  A lex closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, resting his elbows on the dining room table. Something was bothering him—a detail so minute, so faint, that he couldn’t quite pull it into focus. He went through every moment of the day, from the trip to the security offices, to the studio, to the interrogation of the next-door neighbor, to the not-so-subtle message sent by a dark sedan. What was it? A missing piece teased him like a word he could practically taste in his mouth, but couldn’t give voice to.

  “I’m going to work out.”

  Jazz’s announcement yanked him out of his concentration, and when he opened his eyes, he had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping.

  She was wearing ass-hugging biker shorts and a white mesh contraption that did exactly what he wanted to do with his hands: gift wrap her breasts with just a few choice inches left exposed.

  “Aren’t you going to put more clothes on?” he blurted.

  She laughed. “I’m not your little sister, Alex. And I’m perfectly decent—this is a sports bra.”

  Is that what they called it? He’d call it…the afterlife.

  “I’m just surprised you’re going to exercise at midnight,” he said casually.

  She threw a bulging bag over her shoulder. She was clearly staying in character: she’d put some makeup on to work out. “The condo health club is open twenty-four seven, you know I’m a night owl. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  He shook back the hair that had fallen into his eyes, taking another slow trip over her outfit. Lucy had promised him an easy client, yet he got stuck babysitting a plucky PI with a rack that belonged on the cover of Maxim. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “You don’t have to go,” she insisted. “I’ll be fine. I just need to lift weights for a while.”

  He scooped up the cell phone in case Lucy returned his call. And wouldn’t that be a great time? Watching a near-naked Jazz pump iron while Lucy chewed his ass out for total incompetence. She’d have Gallagher or Roper down here by dawn.

  On the bright side, once Jazz wasn’t his principal, he could apply for a job as her personal sports bra.

  “This is overkill,” she argued. “The gym is locked and no one else will be there at this hour.” She strode to the front door. “Plus, I’ll be surrounded by hundreds of pounds of iron for personal safety.”

  He was next to her in less than two seconds. “You’ll be surrounded by me for your personal safety.”

  Her gray eyes morphed to pure silver indignation. “I need some time alone, Alex. Don’t you give any privacy to the people you guard?”

  “That’s contrary to the point.” He grabbed the house key from the table. “Privacy is exactly what your stalker wants you to have.”

  She rolled her eyes but waited while he set the alarm, then marched toward the elevator, leaving him to lock the door and watch her gluteus max flex under the shiny shorts.

  The health club was a multistory affair, as luxurious as the rest of the place. Alex insisted on walking through the whole facility first, including the dressing rooms, with her two steps behind him. Then he gave her a nod.

  “You can work out now.”

  She glanced around the empty gym. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Why hadn’t she gone before they left?

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She dumped her overstuffed bag next to the treadmill with an exaggerated puff of disgust. “Never mind.”

  Confident that the place was secure, he leaned against the wall by the entrance. If someone came in, he’d see them first, and he still had a direct view of his principal.

  Who was already in a light jog on the treadmill, her gaze on the computerized readout in front of her. Unable to resist, he watched the sexy, rhythmic bounce of her breasts, rising and falling with every step she took. And it wasn’t only her impressive chest that held his attention. His gaze moved to the mirror, which reflected a just-as-distracting rear view. She was slim but muscular, the shorts revealing every cut of her quadriceps and the sexy little dips in her buttocks.

  As she picked up speed, the tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips and a gloss of perspiration shimmered over the V-neck above her cleavage. She glanced up at him and their gazes locked.

  He didn’t look away. Neither did she.

  On the contrary, she smiled. Slow. Sweet. Sexy.

  She tilted her head, just enough to make him think he’d been invited on the treadmill with her. Instantly, he turned to the second floor balcony. Scanned the training machines. Studied the glass door to the pool.

  But his gaze meandered back to the treadmill.

  She was slowing down a bit, her attention still locked on him. Oh, Jesus. His belly tightened. She had that look again. The one she had in the restaurant the other night.

  She stopped the machine and grabbed a hand towel, dabbing at her throat, the nape of her neck, and her exposed midriff. She never took her eyes off him. She sauntered over to the dumbbells, choosing two fifteen pounders before laying her towel on a narrow bench. Now what torture did she have in mind?

  She eased onto her back on the bench and placed a leg on either side, knees to the mirror. The position offered him a clear shot of the shiny material between her legs, dark from sweat.

  His pulse raged, his body reacted. But whatever game she was playing, she was outmatched—he could do his job with a hard-on. He already had been, for a couple of days.

  Taking a dumbbell in each hand, she spread her arms. Blowing out a breath, she brought the weights together in a chest fly, causing her breasts to firm up and rise into insanely sexy peaks.

  The first drop of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  Five, six, seven. He lost track of her set, counting backward from one hundred in a dismal effort to get blood flowing back to his brain.

  Finally, she stood up. She turned and gave him a quick smile, her gaze raking him.

  “You okay over there?”

  He lifted his chin in assent. “What’s next?”

  “Kickbacks.” She placed one knee on the bench and balanced on the other leg. Bending over, she looked up into the mirror and he looked straight down her bra. The curves of her breasts were completely visible.

  His mouth went desert dry and his whole lower half hummed with heat. What the hell was she trying to prove?

  She went through two fairly fast kickback sets, working her upper arms. Her triceps constricted with each push, along with the heart shape of her backside. In the mirror, he could see her breasts firm and relax with each movement.

  The image burned his brain. That’s how they’d look if she were on top of him. And he could close his mouth over each nipple.

  Arousal pumped through him in the same rhythm as her exercise, and he clenched his jaw.

  “I need a spotter,” she said as she hoisted a weight onto a barbell. “Can you help me, Alex?”
r />   Just what he needed. “Chiflada,” he mumbled, pushing himself off the wall.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that?”

  He walked toward her. “I think in Spanish.” At the most awkward times.

  “Come on, Alex,” she said, a laughing tease in her eyes as she swiped a damp lock of hair from her brow. “You know I don’t speak Spanish. What did you say?”

  “I said of course I can spot you.” She didn’t need to know he’d called her a prick tease. Hell, she’d probably take it as a compliment right now.

  As he stood behind her and the bar, she held his gaze in the mirror. “And what are you thinking…when you think in Spanish?”

  He dropped his gaze over her white top, drinking in the sheen of sweat, the obvious points of her nipples.

  “I’m thinking about you. That’s my job.”

  “You can quit anytime,” she said flippantly. “You really don’t have to stay down here in this gym if it’s a drag for you.”

  “I’m used to it. My job tends to get tedious.”

  She drew her tongue against her lower lip again. “I’m sure you find ways to eliminate tedium.”

  He almost laughed at her lack of subtlety. “I watch for security breaches. That generally alleviates boredom.”

  She spun on her backside, then lay down on the bench, looking straight up at him. Even upside down she was sexy. Especially upside down. “I told you this place would be completely empty.”

  “But not secure.” He placed his hands on the bar and stared down at her.

  “It is secure.” She flattened her back and closed her eyes, smiling. “And it’s secluded.”

  “Lift,” he commanded, rattling the bar gently against its brackets.

  She curled her fingers over the metal. “I’m ready,” she told him, inhaling a slow breath that pushed her chest higher.

  He touched the thirty-five-pound weights on either side of the bar. “Can you handle this much?” he asked.

  She looked into his eyes. “Can you?”

  He smiled at that, but simply lifted the bar and helped her ease it down over her chest.

  “Let go now,” she requested as she took over the bench press. Her color started to heighten on the fifth press, so he took the barbell and placed it back on the rack.

  “Not bad, Jazz. No wonder you damn near knocked the wind out of me the other night.”

  With a grin, she sat up and pivoted to face him, inches from his visible erection.

  She leaned back on her hands, the fabric of her thin top straining. “You’re being kind. I barely surprised you.”

  He laughed honestly. “You surprised the hell out of me.”

  She took the towel and wiped her neck again, this time sliding the terry cloth slowly over her chest. “Would you be a darling and hold my feet and count my crunches?”

  A darling? She was definitely up to something. “Of course.”

  She dropped to a floor mat, a clear summons in her eyes. Her lips parted as she lay back. She eased her knees up, then crossed her hands under her head.

  “I need you now, Alex.”

  She was making that pretty damn obvious.

  He slowly walked to the mat, and placed one foot on either side of her and looked down into her eyes. If she did one upward crunch, her mouth would be level with his crotch.

  A rush of blood screamed in his ears.

  “You can’t do it standing,” she said, pointing toward her feet with one elbow. “Hold my feet. Wait.” She reached down and slipped her sneakers off, leaving just ankle-high socks. “Better yet, sit on them.”

  No one in her shape needed that kind of help for a sit-up. She could hang upside down and touch her knees with her nose. She was definitely up to something.

  She moistened her lips. “Please, Alex. I want you…to.”

  He dropped to a crouch and encircled her ankles with his fingers. She tucked her feet under him and wiggled her toes. The sensation against his hard balls shot straight up his back.

  He kept his face impassive. “How many can you do?” he asked.

  “How many can you take?” she shot back.

  “What are you trying to prove, Jazz?”

  She eased one foot out from under him and slid it between his legs. Her eyes widened as her foot pressed against his erection. “I’m not trying prove anything. I’m trying to see…” She slid her foot up and down the length of him. “…If you’re human.” His shaft pulsed against her arch.

  “Why don’t you just ask me?”

  Her lips curved up. “What’s the fun in that?”

  “Is this fun?”

  She curled her foot over his hard-on, her toes caressing the sensitive tip, her heel prodding his balls. “You tell me.”

  He didn’t move.

  She sat up and threaded her hands at the nape of his neck, pulling him to her. “Kiss me, Alex.” Before he could, she did. Crushing his mouth with hers and sucking at his tongue, nearly unbalancing him.

  Damn it all, he was cursed. With a quick moan of desire, she took his hand and placed it over her breast.

  He closed his fingers around the soft mound and heard the groan torn from his throat.

  Nothing about Jazz had signaled that she’d be so brazen. Once again, something wasn’t right.

  But her breast filled his hand and her tongue filled his mouth and blood filled his cock so effectively that there was none left for his brain. Purring and moving like a cat, she slithered out of the sports bra in a quick, graceful move, and tossed it next to her shoes. Pulling him with her, she dropped back to the mat, arching toward him to offer two lush, womanly breasts.

  “Just taste me, Alex,” she crooned in his ear, combing her fingers into his hair and pushing his head to her nipple. “Taste me.”

  He flicked the tip with his tongue and she fisted her hand and ground her hips against him. His brain short-circuited with a flash of white light as he gave into the desire to suck her. He opened his mouth and took her in, pulling the nipple between his teeth, tasting the salt of her sweat and the cream of her flesh.

  She wrapped her legs around him and rode harder, guiding his head to her other breast and pushing her pelvis against his erection.

  “Me estás matando,” he murmured. And she was killing him. He couldn’t even think.

  She laughed softly as her fingers dipped into the waistband of his pants. “What you said.” Her hand closed around him and he jerked forward, lost in the pleasure of her first, mind-boggling stroke against his skin. She moaned appreciatively and brushed her tongue over his jaw, his lips. Heat surged through him, and he grew even bigger in her fingers.

  “Wow,” she whispered. “You hum.”

  The vibration of his cell phone ripped him back to reality.

  “That’s my phone.”

  “You’d better get it.”

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, the tips dark and wet and swollen. The phone vibrated again.

  Jazz pulled her hand from the nest between his legs and raised one eyebrow.

  He pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the readout, confirming his suspicion. Lucy had flawless timing. Jazz reached up and suckled his lower lip. “Take your call. I need to run to the bathroom.”

  Lucy vibrated again, and he could just imagine one long red fingernail tapping in frustration with each ring. Jazz slid out from between his legs and scooped up her shoes and the sports bra. “I’ll be right back.”

  He opened his mouth to stop her and she leaned over, pressing one finger on his lips, trailing it down over his jaw, down his chest. Her breasts were inches from his face. “I’ll be quick. I don’t want to stop.”

  Before he could answer her, she pressed her lips against his, giving him a long, openmouthed kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

  If Lucy hadn’t been on the phone, he’d have followed her right into the women’s locker room, which he imagined would be the scene of his undoing. And hers. He watched her backside as she bent to retrieve her bag. Run
ning a shaky hand through his hair, he answered the phone. “Yeah, Luce. I’m here.”

  “I got your message.” The fact that there was no ice in her tone pulled him out of his sexual haze and forced him to focus.

  “And?”

  “It’s fine, Alex. Just continue to do what you’re doing.”

  She didn’t want to hang him by the balls for losing the principal and guarding the wrong woman? No—she really didn’t mean that. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that this is an unusual and interesting turn of events, but not the end of the world.”

  He couldn’t comprehend what Lucy was saying. “You listened to my whole message, didn’t you? I don’t know where Jessica Adams is. She’s being replaced by her identical twin. There are threats against her.” He hadn’t even had a chance to go into the mysterious sex tape.

  “Alex, just go along with it.”

  What the hell did that mean? “What about the client? Does he know?”

  She was silent for what seemed like forever. “Don’t get involved in that. Just protect her, and, as I told you, stay in front of him enough to make a positive impression.”

  Alex dropped on a workout bench, noting the rapid disappearance of his hard-on. “Lucy, listen to me. I have no idea where the woman he’s paying us to protect is.”

  “She’s on a story investigation.”

  “Are you sure? Does Kimball Parrish know that for sure?”

  “Have you heard anything at all from her?” Lucy’s voice was sharp, and she’d purposely avoided his question.

  “Some bogus text messages.”

  “All right. Until further notice, this is your assignment: provide personal security to the woman that you have. And get as much face time with Mr. Parrish as you can.”

  Nothing made sense. “He’s left Miami, do you know that?”

  “He’ll be back. You just do what I’ve asked you to do. Do you understand, Alex?”

  No. He did not. He glanced toward the locker room door, pushing himself off the bench and heading in that direction.

  “Do you understand, Alex?” The bite was back when she had to repeat her question.