Explosive (The Black Opals)

by St. Claire, Tori

  He’d almost had that too, last night. For a few priceless moments it had been just the two of them.

  A vision of her soft expression as she glanced up at him from her knees burst to life in his mind. Those satin lips were so much more devastating than memories allowed. He fit perfectly between them, and goddamn, her tongue was sweet torture. And the way her wide brown eyes held his, welcoming all he had to give…

  A soft groan slid past Jayce’s lips, as his own hand fitted around his cock. He squeezed, reliving the feel of her mouth pulling on his head, her velvety tongue coaxing him along. This was no way to push Alyssa out of his mind, but hell, if he didn’t purge this arousal it would plague him all day long. And the last thing he wanted to do was spend the day with Jordan fighting off a hair-trigger erection.

  He let the memory take life, reliving the scalding heat of Alyssa’s beautiful mouth, hearing her soft cries of pleasure. His hand stroked slowly, mimicking the taunting of her fingers. Gliding over him, massaging with the perfect amount of pressure. Hard enough to make him question whether her next squeeze would bring pain or ecstasy. Keeping him on the edge, even as she drew him deeper into ecstasy.

  Release bubbled through his veins, rising with each slow deliberate pull of his hand. He bit down on his lip, grimacing as he fought to draw it out, to keep the memory alive for just a few more seconds.

  Yes, Jayce. God yes.

  Her breathless whisper ricocheted through his mind, and holding back became impossible. His knees buckled as pleasure burst through his body. He gripped his swollen head dimly aware of the warm, wet liquid sliding through his fingers, and gasped for air.

  Bit by bit, his surroundings filtered into his awareness. Hot water rained down on his chest, pelted his abdomen and the hand that held his pulsing cock. Slowly, he released himself and shuddered against the last of his orgasm. With his free hand, he pushed his wet hair out of his face.

  “Fuck,” he swore as he swiped at a washcloth. Sure, he’d taken the edge off, but jacking off left him strangely disappointed. The burn of wanting Alyssa still remained in his veins.

  Annoyed by his own weakness, he soaped off quickly and washed his hair. At least he wouldn’t have her perfume clinging to his skin to drive him out of his mind all day. He’d retrieve his wallet, then take Jordan shopping—that was one sure-fire way to keep Alyssa at bay.

  Jayce exited the shower, toweled off, and stalked back to his room once more. As he snatched his jeans off the floor, Jordan’s voice rang down the hall.

  “You up?”

  “Yeah.”

  A soft knock sounded on his partially closed door. Jayce fastened his fly. “It’s open,” he called as he grabbed a dark red T-shirt out of the dresser.

  His sister sauntered in, dressed in sweats and a workout tank top. She leaned against the doorframe, one knee bent in front of the other, bare toes pointed on the carpet. An athletic bandage adorned her graceful ankle. “Hungry?”

  “Yeah.” Damn, he was not in the mood for conversation. Not yet. He needed a good two cups of coffee before he could wrap his head around morning. Particularly this morning. He shot Jordan a frown. “Did you cook it?”

  She chuckled. “No. I just warmed up cinnamon rolls from the grocery store.”

  “Thank God.” He snatched at his keys and stuffed them in his front jeans pocket.

  “Gee, that’s so kind of you.” A wry smile pulled at her mouth.

  “It’s extremely kind of you to not cook.” With a dry chuckle, he moved beyond her into the hall, heading for the kitchen.

  Jordan followed, years of professional ballet making her steps nearly soundless against the wood floor. “You were out late last night.”

  “I was,” he conceded as he pulled out a chair at the table.

  “Rough night?” She ventured into the kitchen and pulled a plate down from the cupboard. “You look like hell.”

  “Guess so.” He swore inwardly, aware he was being an ass and unable to stop himself. Jordan didn’t deserve his annoyance. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to discuss Alyssa with her. She’d only make assumptions and ask more questions he couldn’t answer.

  She pushed the plate beneath his nose, gave him a lingering glance, then returned to the kitchen. “Coffee, I take it?”

  “That’d be great. Black please. Two teaspoons of sugar.” The first bite of doughy cinnamon did wonders on his sour mood. Buttery sweetness coated his annoyance, and the need for food overshadowed all else. He devoured the roll before Jordan had finished stirring his coffee.

  “Good grief, Jayce,” she remarked with a laugh.

  He looked up with a sheepish grin. “Got another one over there?”

  Still chuckling, Jordan set his mug down in front of him and the entire pan of rolls. “Help yourself.”

  He fished another out and gestured at her attire. “Been to the studio?”

  Jordan nodded. “Every morning.”

  “How’s that going for you?” All his sister had ever wanted to do was dance. So much so that their parents had scavenged every spare penny just to get her enrolled in the private high school that focused on dance and the arts. After Jordan’s attack, she’d thrown herself into ballet like it was her last foothold on sanity. He’d heard bits and pieces over the years, enough to know she’d been accepted at the Colorado School of Ballet and had obtained a few minor roles in the company. Pride infused him. Her dedication was flat out astounding.

  “Practices for Nutcracker are coming up. I’m working my tail off, but I’ve got to stay on top of things with this lead part.” She sank into the chair beside him, holding her own mug in both hands. “I hate driving in to the studio each morning though. I think I’m going to look for an apartment that’s closer.”

  Jayce cocked his head and studied her. He’d missed so much of her life. Failed her once too often. Of all the people he knew in this world, Jordan deserved to succeed. Their parents couldn’t help her—they were barely managing their own mortgage, especially with Jasmine’s wedding weighing on their shoulders. Jasmine wouldn’t help Jordan. She wouldn’t even recognize how Jordan pushed herself.

  But he could help. He could maybe even make up for not being there when she needed someone the most. Not fully, but at least he could try. Hell, it wasn’t like he had anyone else to spend his money on.

  “How about a house with your own studio?”

  Jordan blinked at him, then burst out laughing. “Right. I’ll get right on that when I win the lottery.”

  Jayce shook his head. “No. I didn’t mean that. I’ll help you.”

  She blinked, long and slow. Then with a shake of her head, blinked again. “That’s insane. And it still doesn’t solve the problem that what I make each month wouldn’t cover a mortgage.”

  “Jordan, I’ll buy the damned house. Just pick out something you like that meets your needs.”

  Her delicate features scrunched with disbelief as she squinted at him. “Are you still drunk from last night? Buy me a house? We’re not talking a few hundred dollars, Jayce.”

  “Really?” He arched an eyebrow. “I’m well aware what a house costs, Jordan. I didn’t just drop into earth yesterday. Stop arguing. We’ll go look today.”

  She stared for a minute, as if she doubted what he’d said, as if she expected him to laugh and scold her for taking him seriously. When he remained silent, steadily holding her doubtful gaze, a frown returned to her brow. “You have a tux fitting today.”

  “I do?” Damn. How the hell had he failed to remember that?

  “In two hours.” She stood and reached for the pan of rolls.

  Jayce hastily grabbed for a third before she could take the pan away. He took a bite, chugged the rest of his coffee, and pushed out of his chair. “Well, we’ll go after. And I’ll take you to a movie tonight too. But I have to retrieve my wallet from Alyssa’s first.”

  The instant Alyssa’s name tumbled free, Jayce’s eyes widened to twice their normal size. Shit. He hurried toward the do
or, intent on escaping before she could connect what he’d just said with the past.

  “Alyssa? The Alyssa?”

  Double shit. Ten years of undercover work, and not once had he ever put his foot in his mouth the way he had just now. Hell, peoples lives depended on his ability to keep secrets. How could one woman, as unforgettable as she might be, reduce him to such a stupid slip of the tongue?

  “Yes,” he ground out tightly and reached for the door knob.

  “Is that who you were with last night?” Jordan’s voice filled with disbelief.

  Jayce said nothing as he fumbled to pull his keys out of his pocket.

  “Oh, my God, it is!” she cried with a laugh. “You’ve been here two days and tracked her down already.”

  Jayce bristled. “I did not track her down. And I’m not discussing this with you.”

  “Oh, come on, big brother. I kept your secret all through high school. Can I meet her maybe now that we’re all grown up and not having to hide from her parents?”

  “No.” He jerked the door open.

  “Jayce!”

  “I said no, Jordan. I’ll call you after my fitting. Be ready to go house shopping.”

  Before she could pressure him into a conversation he didn’t want to have, he slipped into the hall and shut her door behind him. Jordan might have fancy designs on his rekindling things with Alyssa, but nothing more than last night was going to occur. He’d had his night. Now it was time to move on. To move forward and put her behind him once and for all. By the time he picked Jordan up for their realty excursion, he’d figure out something coherent and logical to tell her. Somehow he doubted she’d peacefully accept anything along the lines of I fucked her, but she’s involved with McTavish.

  Halfway to his pickup, Jayce came to a dead stop as the reason why he’d been at Alyssa’s in the first place surfaced in his memory. Son of a bitch. He was supposed to have called in another operative to handle the security system McTavish wanted him to install. For that matter, he hadn’t even completed much of an evaluation on her house.

  Shit—so much for a quick in and out, retrieve his wallet, and run away approach.

  Muttering oaths beneath his breath, he reached his truck, jerked open the door, and slid behind the wheel. Much as he’d like to walk away, if Alyssa was in danger, he wouldn’t take that risk. His damned heart wouldn’t let him.

  He drove across town, each mile closer to her house ratcheting the knot in his gut a degree tighter. That nervous tension only pissed him off more. Ten years undercover. Ten years of dealing with high-tech bombs that could take out full city blocks with one false twitch of his hand. He knew how to handle a gun like it was a natural extension of his body. And yet one woman unraveled him like a cat with a ball of yarn.

  Jayce rolled to a stop in Alyssa’s drive and killed the engine. He sat for several moments, staring at the front door. Might as well look the exterior over first—it gave him that much longer to put off the inevitable confrontation.

  He began at the garage, swearing to himself all over again at the obvious lack of any sort of security. What had McTavish been thinking? Only fools depended on deadbolts and chain locks, given the sort of men McTavish and Alyssa worked for.

  How the hell had she gotten mixed up with Parker anyway?

  Jayce sighed, shook his head to clear away his anger, and moved around to the side of the house. Two stories of windows overlooked about fifty feet of lawn and the neighbor’s ranch-style home. No trees to give access upstairs, but the ground level windows were prime targets. Jayce stepped closer and glanced through the open vertical blinds. Open, for God’s sake. An office sat in partial shade; a darkened computer monitor atop a wide desk stared back at him. On the far wall sat three lockable file cabinets. Security might not be his forte, but it didn’t take a genius to deduce McTavish was asking for trouble.

  He stepped back, and a twig snapped beneath his heel. Startled, he glanced down at the tiny stick, and frowned. Beneath his boot, rain runoff wore the grass down to powdery dirt. Dirt that had been disturbed by a footprint his boot tread bisected. Another matching print disappeared in a crushed clump of dandelions, the heel print still obvious enough to be fresh.

  A faint dark line just beneath the window sill brought Jayce to a crouch. Had he not been looking directly at it, he would have assumed the darker soil was mere shadow. But at this vantage, clear bits of a fine, dark substance sprinkled the top of the dirt. He pinched some into his free palm and spread the particles around. Iron filings. What the hell?

  Jayce dusted off his hands and stood. Time to find his wallet and make that call. Someone had definitely been up to something here, and with the break-in at Alyssa and McTavish’s office, Jayce wasn’t taking chances.

  He returned to the front door and knocked. Seconds passed. Silent seconds with no hint of life from beyond the entry. Just his luck—he’d come by and no one would be home.

  On a whim, he tried the door. Much to his abject frustration, it opened easily. Clearly no one had felt the need to lock it after he left last night. Are you trying to get yourselves killed, McTavish?

  Gritting his teeth, Jayce walked inside. His gaze pulled automatically to the stairs. Memories of the night before slammed into his awareness. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking them out, and forced himself to cross through the living room to the stairwell. Determined to grab his wallet and be free of this place, he bounded up the stairs and came to a dead stop in the doorway to Alyssa’s room. Stunned beyond comprehension, he stared, unable to connect the scene before him with logic.

  She lay on the bed, one lithe leg atop the tangled covers, one hand arched over her head and clutching the headboard. The other fell between her legs and tangled in McTavish’s short hair as he lapped at her pussy. She arched her back, exposing her gloriously bare breasts, and let out a soft moan.

  Fuck.

  Jayce took a half-step backward, knowing he should damn well leave. But as much as he despised the sight of McTavish buried between her legs, there was something magnetic about the way Alyssa’s hips gyrated beneath the assault of his tongue. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t make his feet obey the order his mind shouted.

  She flattened a foot on the mattress, used it to push higher into McTavish’s mouth. Her raspy breathing filled Jayce’s mind and sent heat surging through his veins. In the early morning light, her distended nipples were even more alluring against her creamy skin, and the way they swayed with the movement of her hips left Jayce craving the feel of those hard little buds against his tongue.

  “Don’t, stop,” she coaxed, breathless. “I’m so, close.”

  And she was, judging by her sharp pants, the way her teeth pricked her lower lip. Hovering on an edge that belonged to Jayce.

  Sense snapped into place. Christ, she couldn’t bring herself to fuck Jayce alone, but gave herself openly to McTavish. Fuck that—not while he was standing here.

  Jayce cleared his throat. “Have you seen my wallet?”

  Alyssa let out a sharp squeal and jerked upright in the bed. McTavish whipped around, shock widening his eyes. The glint of moisture on his mouth made Jayce scowl.

  “Jesus. Knock or something,” McTavish muttered as he sat up.

  So much for that party. Resisting the urge to smirk, Jayce strode purposefully to where Alyssa had stripped him down and tossed the corner of the bedspread up, exposing the foot of the bed. He dropped to his hands and knees, swearing inwardly at the undesired tightness behind his fly as he ran his hand over the floor beneath the bed.

  “I haven’t seen it, Jayce.” Alyssa’s voice was unsteady. “What are you doing here so early?”

  “Looking for it,” he answered, lowering himself further to the floor to get a better look beneath the bed. Nothing but a forgotten sock lay beneath. And the rest of her bedroom was just as spotless. Damn it. Well, at least he could take a small degree of comfort in the fact he’d spoiled her fun.

  He rose and frowned around the room.

 
“You sure you had it on you?” McTavish asked as he dragged on his boxer briefs.

  Too afraid she’d see too much in his expression, Jayce avoided eye-contact with Alyssa. No way in hell could he pull himself together enough right now and pretend this didn’t bug the shit out of him. She couldn’t have chosen a better way to tell him she didn’t think he was man enough for her. Yet somehow, McTavish was.

  Jayce clenched a fist. “Yeah, I’m sure I had it on me.” And he was absolutely certain he’d left it in the car, not this room.

  A deeper concern edged out the frustration and anger Alyssa and McTavish produced. His credentials were in his wallet. False ones, yes, but legit enough they’d link him to the CIA. And someone else now possessed that identification.

  Someone who might have well been outside Alyssa and Brice’s house.

  F o u r t e e n

  Arousal thrummed through Alyssa, gradually burning itself out the longer she sat, exposed, in her bed, facing down Jayce’s unreadable expression. A few minutes ago, she’d been blissfully fantasizing about him, not Brice, and hadn’t been the least bit ashamed as she pitched closer and closer to that frantic place of ecstasy Jayce created. Now, shame burned through her. Jayce looked so cold, so distant, and yet, she could swear she caught the hint of a smirk on his mouth as his gaze flicked over her.

  Goading her? Was the bit about his wallet all a ruse?

  She threw back the covers that trapped her leg and slid out of the bed. From her dresser, she grabbed a tank top and a pair of loose cotton running shorts. “Maybe you left it at the office?” she asked as she dressed. “I can look for you. I’m heading there.” Work would right her senses, and she’d lazed away too much of the morning with deadlines looming. Time to focus on the important things. Like the Anderson’s tax returns.

  Jayce shook his head distractedly. “I had it when I left.” His dark gaze cut to Brice. “You need window sensors, and I’m calling in a guy I know. I’ll be back with some temporary units.”