The Right Kind of Trouble

by Shiloh Walker

  Naked now, she stood there waiting. She figured this was best. If he turned around, if he rejected her while she was naked, vulnerable, maybe it would even the scales.

  The old wooden boards of the floor creaked a little as he took one step, then another toward her. She licked her lips, hardly daring to breathe.

  “And what about tomorrow, Mac?” he asked. “You going to push me away … again?”

  She saw the answer he thought to be true in his eyes.

  Slowly, she shook her head.

  “Mac?”

  She held out her hand.

  For the longest time, he didn’t move.

  Then he did—toward her.

  In the time it took for her to take a deep breath—whether it was to blow out in relief or to brace herself, she didn’t know—Gideon had hauled her up against him and she found herself pressed against the wall.

  She went to kiss his neck, but he tangled a hand in her hair and yanked, forcing her gaze to meet his. So she stood there, trembling and barely able to think past the want while he tore at the zipper of his jeans.

  He let go of her hair but only so he could pick her up and brace her against the wall at her back. A moment later, he came inside her, hard and forceful, and the screams trapped inside her lungs seemed to explode throughout her entire body instead. She could feel that scream—it had a taste, a rhythm, a need all its own and it belonged solely to the man who held her pinned to the wall.

  He withdrew, slowly, still staring into her eyes.

  She was wet, but not wet enough and his cock rasped over her tissues, an excruciating lesson in sensation. He surged inside her again and she was wetter now, taking him more easily.

  She went to kiss him, but he trapped her face in his hand, his palm at her neck while his thumb and index finger cradling the abused flesh with exquisite care. “I’m watching you. I want to see you come…” He drove in harder. “I want to see you break … and damn you to hell, Moira. If you walk away again, you might as well put a knife in me.”

  Tears burned her eyes and she couldn’t stop them from falling, nor did she try. The tears were for him and the misery she knew she’d caused.

  When he leaned in and kissed them away, she slid one hand up his shoulder, pushing her fingers into his hair. It curled—barely—around her fingers and she shook as a lifetime of memories warred with the complete and utter insanity of her need.

  Again and again, he surged inside her, pushing her to one climax and then another. She tried to scream and couldn’t, and the pain didn’t matter because she hurt in a million other ways already. She hurt and she hungered and she thought maybe this would kill her, this pleasure, this need … this love.

  He moved harder and faster, moving up on her body so that he rubbed against her clit with each thrust, his smooth grace falling away under the reckless desire that flooded them both.

  She came again just as he crushed her mouth under a kiss so deep and intense, she thought it would consume her.

  “Gideon,” she whispered against his lips.

  * * *

  Gideon …

  The weak whisper was so quiet, he didn’t know how he heard it. But he did and it struck him to his core. He stood there, the sound imprinting itself on his soul. He stood there … and cursed himself a hundred times over.

  He didn’t know if there were enough words in the English language to describe his stupidity.

  It wasn’t just because he’d caved when she stood there, stripping herself naked in front of him and then reaching for him.

  He was a weak son of a bitch and he would have caved—had caved—for far less.

  No, he was damning his stupidity as he lay in the bed wrapped around her because he actually believed that she might believe her own words this time.

  The hope was there, burning bright in a place that had known only darkness for so long.

  So he’d be a fool.

  He’d let her believe he believed her and he’d know it was probably yet one more mistake in a lifetime of them.

  Eyes closed, he turned his face into her hair and told himself he’d take the night and let himself be stupid. Tomorrow was soon enough to pick up the pieces.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Morning came softly.

  Moira stirred in the bed as physical needs and stiffness from her injuries became insistent enough to rouse her from slumber. For a moment, she just lay there, facedown in her pillow as she tried to process what was different.

  Things felt … well, not wrong. It was actually good. Actually, things felt all kind of right. But she wasn’t used to it because nothing had felt so right in a long time and her brain wasn’t processing it accurately.

  A muscled thigh pushed between hers.

  Everything inside her came alive and she jerked her head up.

  It smacked against something hard.

  A familiar voice filled her ears.

  “Ouch!”

  Tears burning her eyes, she pushed up onto her elbows and without daring to breathe, she turned her head slightly.

  Gideon was no longer half-lying across her back. Weight propped on one elbow, he rubbed at his chin with his other hand. “So much for a lazy wake-up.”

  Twisting and squirming, she wiggled until she could sit. Staring at him, she raised a shaking hand as she went to touch his chin. Gideon sighed and settled down to sit next to her.

  Last night was coming clearer in her head and she slumped down, her head falling to hit his thigh.

  “Ah…”

  It had really happened. She’d had a hundred dreams just like this, but she’d always wake up … alone, empty.

  There was a red area on his chin and the back of her head throbbed.

  But she couldn’t think of the last time she’d felt this good.

  He threaded his hand through her hair and said, “You do realize you’re in a dangerous position, don’t you?”

  “I am?” It hurt to speak, more than yesterday even, and she knew she’d overused her slowly healing throat, but she didn’t care. Letting herself smile, she wiggled around and wrapped a hand around his cock. His flesh jumped at her touch, and when she began to stroke him up and down, a low groan rumbled out of him.

  “Dangerous,” he said again.

  “I might as well make the most of it.” She pushed up onto her knees and nudged him flat. His gaze was unreadable but when she lowered her head, she could see the muscles in his belly flex.

  She kissed him then, her lips to the head of his cock for a slow, lingering caress. When he pulsed against her mouth, she opened and licked him slowly.

  Gideon muttered something unintelligible and tightened his grip on her hair.

  But when she tried to take him deeper, her ravaged throat sent out a stark refusal and she pulled away, blinking back tears.

  “I tried to warn you,” Gideon said, his voice raw as he watched her rubbing her throat. She glared at him through her hair and he laughed, pulling her on top of him, his fingers digging into her hips. “Call me crazy,” he said against her mouth. “But I don’t really want to see the top of your head when I come anyway. I went too long without this and when I lose it, I want to be looking into your eyes.”

  The sheer, stark emotion in his voice almost undid her and she pressed her brow to his as he slowly lowered her onto his straining cock.

  They were skin to skin, nothing between them. Vaguely, she realized that could be a problem, but the thought faded away as he lifted her back up, then slowly let her sink back down.

  It was a wonderful, sweet friction and she curled her arms and legs around him, rolling her hips in a slow circle. He was huge inside her and her head fell back, everything inside her focused on the pulse and throb of his cock and the way they fit.

  Gideon pressed his lips to her neck, gently.

  The marks there didn’t bother her much now, but the poignancy of the touch had a broken sigh tripping out of her.

  They came together slow and lazy, sweet and gentle, a co
mplete opposite of the past night and every bit as fulfilling.

  When it ended, he lay back and she sprawled on his chest, curling her fingers in the light dusting of hair that spread across his chest. He kissed the top of her head.

  “I have to go soon,” he said softly.

  She nodded.

  Neither of them moved.

  “I really have to go.”

  Lifting her head, she peered down at him. “So you said,” she replied, her voice raspy. “But you’re still here.”

  He pressed his thumb to her throat, frowning. “If you don’t stop talking, Mac, you’ll sound like a frog for the rest of your life.”

  She made a face at him.

  He snorted and dropped his head to her shoulder.

  He didn’t say anything again for several long moments.

  When he did respond, though, it wasn’t in words.

  She closed her eyes as he rolled her onto her back and came inside her once more.

  “We should be too old for this,” she said against his mouth.

  “Tell that to my cock. I’ve been trying to convince myself to leave for thirty minutes now. He’s leading me around by my balls.”

  She laughed only to have the noise die away when Gideon shoved up onto his hands and thrust against her, deep and hard. The lightness had fallen from him and he looked at her with an intensity that had her shivering.

  She went to twine her legs around him, but he stopped her, hooking her knees over his elbows and leaning into her harder. The position left her impossibly open and he thrust impossibly deep, stretching her until she whimpered.

  His cock swelled and she tried to move.

  There was no leverage and she could do nothing but lay there and take it as he rode her, ripping yet another orgasm out of her.

  He came again, swearing her name and growled, head thrown back, the veins in his neck standing out, the muscles in his arms rigid.

  She felt the jerk of his penis as he climaxed and she moaned, the sensation almost too much against her sensitized flesh.

  He let her legs go and thrust his fingers into her hair as he kissed her.

  But when she went to kiss him back, he pulled away.

  Dazed, Moira watched as he moved around, gathering up his scattered clothes.

  “Gideon?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got to go or I’ll spend the rest of the damn day fucking you and making you cry out my name.”

  A hot jolt of lust coursed through her, her lips parting on a sigh.

  “I don’t have a problem with that.”

  But he just shook his head again. “I’ve got work. A meeting. I’m trying to…” The words trailed off and he shot her a look. “You destroy my brain half the time.”

  She lay in silence as he continued to dress, and when he sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes, she reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. He covered her hand with his, but didn’t look at her.

  “Will you come back tonight?”

  Gideon slid her a look.

  “Please.”

  He turned then, kissing her soft and sweet. “Have a good day, Mac. Try to rest your throat.” His eyes glittered. “I want to hear you scream … really scream.”

  * * *

  Clive Owings was in a fucking mess.

  He’d gotten caught not only with his pants down, he might have gotten caught with his pants down while fucking a sheep for all the trouble he was in.

  “Look…” He tried his most charming smile. It fell short even in the best of times and he knew it, but he had to try.

  How the fuck was he supposed to know that shit he’d been trying to pawn had drugs inside it? He’d just found it, damn it. It had been right there, next to that chick who was on the phone, yelling at some dude—Tijon or Dijon, the hell if he knew. When she got up to pace, wandering farther and farther away, he’d just helped himself to the bag, adding it to the goods he’d found back in Treasure.

  Should have just left the shit with that caterwauling bitch, but nooooo …

  He’d been greedy. He’d seen the rings she wore and the watch. All real gold, and the diamonds on her fingers? Real too. He knew real from fake, Clive did, and since she was stupid enough to leave it…? Why not benefit from her idiocy?

  “Okay, see … this is what happened…” He tried his smile again as he told himself he could get out of this. He’d be fine. He always was.

  The DEA agents staring at him didn’t look impressed by his charming smile.

  He wasn’t surprised.

  It had never much impressed anybody else either.

  “I don’t do drugs. You should call Chief Marshall back in Treasure. He’ll tell you. I might find stuff and sell it, but that don’t mean I’m into drugs.” Actually, he couldn’t stand the shit. His mom had died of a drug overdose and he’d been the one to find her. He frowned now, thinking of it. It was something he avoided doing as much as possible. “I might like my Jack Daniels a bit too much, but I hate drugs.”

  “I’m sure you do, Mr. Owings.” The somber-faced man on the right looked like he had about as much faith in Clive as he did in the human race in general—absolutely none. Tugging out a chair, he lowered himself into it and sat down, elbows braced on the edge of the table. “Why don’t you just tell us who your dealer is?”

  “I ain’t got a fucking dealer!” The words burst out of him in a panic. “Just get a hold of Marshall, okay? He’ll tell you.”

  The agents shared a look, and then the blonde started in on him. She was even more brutal than her partner, so brutal, Clive couldn’t even appreciate the fact that she had one of the nicest sets of tits he’d seen in a long time and a pair of legs that looked like they’d wrap around a man and give him the ride of his life.

  She could also make a man sweat, but not in a good way.

  Within twenty minutes, he was ready to beg. “Please,” he pleaded. “I live in McKay’s Treasure. The people there, they know me. I just drove in to sell some stuff … I just found that bag here. In the city. I’ll tell you where. The only stuff that I brought in was in the knapsack you took from me. No drugs in it, right?”

  The blonde pursed her lips, and he seized on that faint pause. It was a sign, right?

  “See! That’s proof.” He pointed a triumphant finger at nothing in particular. “No drugs on me. Just the drugs in that girl’s bag.”

  “But there is no girl,” the agent said, smiling gently. “You have the bag.”

  * * *

  The two agents left the sniveling mess that was Clive Owings in the interrogation room and left, both for a breath of fresh air and some coffee. Clive was most decidedly not up with basic hygiene. He also didn’t seem to be too big on brains, but it wouldn’t be the first time somebody had played the idiot convincingly.

  “There’s no way this is our guy.”

  The woman from the park, Agent Marina Carter, pursed her lips as she studied the man through the window. She was trained to notice things. And she’d noticed him as he dropped down on the bench just down from hers. But she hadn’t noticed just how closely he’d been watching her. She never would have taken him for the man they’d been trying to stake out.

  But he’d taken the bag, just as they’d arranged.

  She’d been working this op for seven months, closing in on one dealer after another, moving up the chain and now … Sighing, she looked over at the other two agents. “Can we at least check his story? I don’t think it’s him either, but I don’t want to risk it.”

  “We’ll call up this guy in…” Agent Bryan Daniels flipped out his notebook and checked the name again. He frowned and slid his partner a look. “McKay’s Treasure? What the fuck kind of name is that for a town?”

  “Yankee.” His partner clucked her tongue. Agent Kim Wycoff folded her arms over her chest and studied the man on the other side of the glass. “I think just about everybody south of Tennessee knows about the McKays. And quite a few people north.”

  “Yankee.”
Marina grinned at her. “That’s the only explanation.”

  “Hey.” Bryan glanced up. “I’ve heard the name McKay. They own a bunch of shit.”

  “A bunch of shit. That sums it up. Including most of a damn town.” Kim shrugged. “There’s a whole story that goes back to the Civil War, or earlier. I can’t remember. Anyway, this guy comes over from Scotland, the first McKay—name was Patrick McKay. I was born in Mississippi so I’ve heard a fair amount about him. He used to hunt river pirates, then one of his friends turned on him and he was falsely imprisoned and executed. He was a rich son of a bitch. Married, had a couple of kids. Another friend, a guy named Steele, stepped up and helped his wife out, ended up marrying her. The McKay family is practically a dynasty now. The town was named after him a few years after he died. McKay’s Treasure.”

  Bryan rolled his eyes. “Weird.”

  “I’ve always liked the story.” Marina glanced over at Kim, smiled a little. “It’s … bittersweet, I guess.”

  “Yeah.” Kim looked sad. “Could have lived if he would have sacrificed his honor, but he was the kind of man who lived by his word to the bitter end. Anyway … I know Marshall, sort of. Had a few run-ins when he worked in Memphis. He’s a solid cop. I’ll shoot him a call.” Kim paused and sighed. “Man, I hope he can give us a reason to push this prick. Maybe he was sent to be a go-between or something.”

  Bryan rubbed the back of his neck, still staring at the man on the other side of the glass. “I think I’m going to go talk to the pawn shop owner again. If he does this sort of thing often, then the guy probably knows him. If we’re barking up the wrong tree, I’d rather know now.”

  He paused and looked down at all the stuff they’d taken off the man and shook his head, disgusted. “We need to make sure we get this all logged as evidence.” He picked up a camera and hit the power button, but it was dead. The watch still ticked, and one look at the maker told him the watch was worth well over a thousand new. There was also some small electronics, including two iPods and a phone. “Tell you what, though. No way this shit was his. Asshole out there is already complaining about getting this stuff back. Think we can still track down the owners?”