Money Shot

by Susan Sey

  “I’m back there,” he said, tipping his head toward an identical room on the other side of the bathroom.

  “Good to know,” she said, hitting him with a one-sided version of the usual stunner smile. “Do we have electricity, or are we full-on Little House on the Prairie?”

  “There’s power,” he said, and pointed toward the outlet on the same fixture as a single bulb dangling from the ceiling.

  “Internet?”

  “Dial-up.”

  “Yikes.”

  “People don’t come to Mishkwa to stay connected, Goose.”

  She looked up at him, her lips parted and laughing, ready to deliver one of those smoothly amused replies he was coming to think of as her trademark. But tilting her head up to meet his eyes put her mouth scant inches from his and the air between them went suddenly thick and electric.

  The amusement on her face didn’t budge, but a quick spark of panic leaped in the dark pools of her eyes. Normally he’d have stepped back immediately. Some guys got off on scaring women, but Rush wasn’t one of them. When the panic instantly melted into something more calculating, though, he stopped.

  Maybe he was a fool, and maybe he was letting a sexual dry spell—a really, really long sexual dry spell—cloud his judgment, but damn, this woman was fascinating. That had been fear in her eyes, genuine and spontaneous. But she’d mastered it in the space of a single heartbeat, then turned it into a plan with astonishing efficiency. He’d known war-tested soldiers who didn’t operate with that kind of automatic self-control, and he was dying to see what she’d do next.

  “Rush,” she said. He felt it on his skin, the warm wash of her exhale, the invitation of his name on her lips. He went instantly, painfully hard.

  “Yeah?”

  She stepped forward, leaving a bare, aching inch between their bodies, but her eyes when they met his were clear and frank. “You wanted honesty, right?”

  “Yeah.” God, listen to him. He’d never been much of a talker, but she’d reduced him to single-word responses. She was close enough for him to smell, and all the blood in his body instantly headed for his dick, leaving the areas in charge of speech and thought entirely unmanned. Wonderful.

  “Well, listen up, then, because you’re about to get a great big shot of it.”

  “Should I brace myself?”

  She laughed and Rush actually felt dizzy. “Maybe.” She reached up with long, cool fingers, slid them into the stubble at the nape of his neck. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and she said, “I’m thinking about kissing you.”

  “Are you?” If they were giving out trophies for the stupidest questions ever asked, Rush felt certain he would have at least made the finals. He wanted to close his eyes so he could berate himself in private, but he couldn’t look away from that mouth so close to his.

  “I am.” She swayed in until her lips, moist and lush and right there, nearly brushed his chin. Rush fought a brief but fierce internal battle and came up with control of his higher-level cognitive functions. For the moment.

  “Why?” Not eloquent but to the point. Plus he really would like to know where on earth she was going with this before he decided he didn’t give a good goddamn and just kissed the hell out of her.

  “Because for some reason I want to.” Her mouth curved in a smile that had the blood pounding in his temples. And in other, more interesting places. “And since I’m clearly not going to get any work done until I satisfy my curiosity”—she took that last step and fitted herself against him, curve to angle, soft to hard—“I figure I might as well scratch that itch.”

  She slid her other hand over his shoulder while Rush struggled for words, for thought, for coherence. She linked her hands together behind his neck and snuggled her stomach right into the aching evidence of his desire. She smiled like a cat, all sleek and self-satisfied.

  “So why don’t we just get this out of the way?” she asked, and kissed him.

  GOOSE HAD braced herself for impact, but the sheer scale of Rush’s kiss shoved her into territory she’d never charted before. His mouth was hot on hers, hard and hungry. His fingers speared into the spill of her hair, and he yanked her to her toes while he plundered—no other word for it—her mouth. Desire surged up in her, fierce and hot, and she groped desperately for the reins she’d held so confidently two seconds before.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, she thought wildly. Even as she kissed him back, even as she opened her mouth under his and offered up everything she had, everything he demanded, the panicked drumbeat of her fear shook her. This wasn’t what she’d planned.

  She’d planned to ignore the crackling sexual tension between them. When that hadn’t worked, she’d given herself a stern mental lecture on professionalism. The guy was a suspect, for God’s sake. But that was crap and she knew it. Maybe she didn’t have any concrete proof one way or the other, but her gut scoffed at the very idea of a guy this fundamentally straightforward as a criminal. So she’d moved on to good old suppression.

  But then she’d found herself bare inches from Rush’s hard, beautiful mouth, and the raw churn of desire inside her shot straight to a rolling boil that terrified her. So she’d retreated to her last line of defense. The big guns. She was going to sleep with this man. She was going to jump him, tear off his clothes and do him.

  Sex with a stranger was dangerous, of course. But what was more dangerous was allowing this lust inside her to grow unchecked. To sink its sneaky little roots deep into the vulnerable soil of her heart and whisper its evil lies about romance. About hot sex and warm promises and happily ever after. About love.

  Once the mystery was gone, once the unknown was known, she’d be fine. The curtain would be pulled back and she’d see that this man was exactly like every other man. No more, no less. He’d be made blissfully happy by the kind of fuck that normally only happened in adult movies—ding dong, delivery! Wanna do me?—and she would deposit this dangerously hopeful lust in the trash can along with the used condom.

  Then she found her back against the door frame, pinned there by the unexpected solidity of Rush’s body. He rocked into her, his want hot and demanding and aligned exactly with hers. A shower of stars burst behind her eyes, sending her plans and her thoughts and her self-control into the wind. His mouth commanded hers, and his hands were big and absolutely confident as they slid down to the curve of her bottom and lifted her more fully into his erection.

  Desire exploded low in her belly, and her nipples tightened, shameless and needy. He jerked aside her jacket and tunneled one of those big, warm hands under her sweater as if he’d read her mind. She arched into his touch, filling his hand with the aching heaviness of her breast. He made some kind of noise—masculine, satisfied, infinitely gratifying—and flicked his thumb over her nipple. The first shimmer of orgasm fluttered through her, slapping her into a shocked self-awareness.

  Jesus Christ, had she really come to this? Was she truly so far gone that a virtual stranger could dry-hump her into coming against a rickety door frame of a bedroom that hadn’t seen a vacuum since 1973?

  The plan, she reminded herself bitterly, was to give in to her lust in a controlled, orderly fashion. The so-so if not outright disappointing sex that traditionally resulted would force her to acknowledge that fabulous, brain-melting, consciousness-altering sex simply didn’t exist.

  But okay, maybe she was wrong. Maybe wild, screaming jungle sex did exist, and maybe Rush was its king. Good for him. And hey, good for her. This could be a much better afternoon than she’d anticipated, but she needed to keep her head in the game here. She was trying to bleed off the tension in a civilized manner, not wreck herself on the rocks of unbridled desire.

  She grabbed at her self-control with both hands, and the promise of a return to sanity cooled her blood. Not much, just a degree or two. But enough that she could take a conscious, controlled part in the action instead of simply feeling and reacting. Instead of letting her desire—and his—buffet her about like a ship on
a storm-tossed sea.

  She gave him a breathy moan, curled one hand around the taut column of his nape and did the two things she knew that would put her firmly back in the driver’s seat: she shoved her tongue into his mouth and her hand down his pants.

  The taste of him sent a dizzying surge of need through her, but the feel of him in her hand—smooth, hard and disconcertingly large—nearly drove her to her knees. A shower of sparks danced through her blood even as a wave of embarrassment pinked her cheeks. Oh God, she had her hand in his pants. She’d met him two hours ago and now she had her hand wrapped around his dick. She was such a fucking mess.

  He drew back, his forearm braced against the door frame over her head, his other hand still under her shirt, but the question in his eyes was unmistakable.

  “Goose?”

  She forced her lips into a knowing smile and stroked the length of him. “Do you really want to talk right now?” she asked. “Or would you like to see what else I can do with my mouth?”

  And cue the porno music, she thought, but she’d never met a guy who’d turn down an offer like that. And she needed to finish this before she lost her nerve.

  Rush dropped his forehead to hers and for a moment she thought she’d won. She reached up for his mouth but he turned away. He slipped his hand out of her shirt and gingerly backed away from her touch while she gaped at him in utter astonishment.

  “That’s an extremely generous offer,” he said. “You have no idea what it’s costing me to say no.”

  She flicked a glance at the impressive erection tenting the front of his jeans. “I have some idea.”

  He followed her gaze. “Oh. Yeah.”

  She threaded her fingers through her hair until it lay neat and smooth against her shoulders again. If only it were so easy to restore order to her thoughts. To her body. Both of which still buzzed and stumbled like drunks on a weeklong bender. “Do you mind if I ask why you’re saying no? I thought we were both on the same page.”

  “We were. Right up until you disappeared on me.”

  “Disappeared?” She stared at him. “I had my hand in your pants, Rush. How is that disappearing?”

  He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. One minute you were kissing me and I was going to die if I didn’t have you naked and under me in the next two minutes.”

  Lust slapped at her, left its glittery fingerprints all over her nervous system. She crossed her arms under breasts that still ached and tingled. “And then?”

  “And then the kiss became an agenda.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means one minute we were in it together, and the next I was all by myself.” He touched his lips, as if savoring the taste of her. “I don’t know what you were doing, but whatever it was, you were doing it to me, not with me.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t lie to you, Goose. I want you. A lot.”

  She glanced at his pants again. “Yes, I can see that.”

  “You’re missing the point,” he said grimly. “That?” He waved a hand at his crotch. “That’s biology. If scratching that itch were my only goal, I could do it by myself. It wouldn’t be as much fun as what you’re offering, but in the end I’d be just as alone. And I’ve been alone a really long time now. I’m tired of it. What I want from you is more than sex. I want to make love to you. With you.”

  She stared at him, the breath driven from her lungs. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Go figure. But I don’t argue with my gut anymore.”

  “And your gut wants to make love to me?”

  He smiled. “With you.”

  “Even though I stand here ready to blow you, fuck you, and otherwise fulfill whatever adolescent fantasy you can come up with?”

  He closed his eyes, pained. “Yes. I’ll forgo that in the hopes that, once you get to know me, you’ll be willing to make love with me as yourself and not some porn-star wannabe.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek and tried to work up some anger. Anything was better than the shame and guilt chasing each other through the emptiness inside her. “Did you just call me a porn-star wannabe?”

  He winced. “No. I said you were acting like a porn-star wannabe. I don’t know why either, because believe me, you were doing fine on your own.”

  She sighed. “You don’t have any other mode, do you? It’s just all honesty, all the time.”

  He lifted those surprisingly solid shoulders. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m hoping to grow on you.” He stepped forward, put a knuckle under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I guess I want more from you—more of you—than you’re ready to give me right now. But I’m a patient man, Goose. I’m not afraid to wait—or work—for what I want.”

  She gazed at him, half horrified, half entranced. She cleared her throat, slid her mouth into a familiar, wry smile. “Is that a threat, Ranger Guthrie?”

  He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her mouth that was so solemn and sweet it made her throat ache. “It’s a promise.”

  “I don’t want your promises, Rush.” She curled her hands into his lapels. “I just want your—”

  “Coat hooks are by the front door,” he said, breaking gently free of her grip. “Snowshoes stay outside.”

  “Rush?” She blinked at him. Was he really walking away? “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Later.”

  He let the door slap shut behind him and she watched through the window in baffled astonishment as he snagged his snowshoes from the snowbank, grabbed his chain saw from the shed and took off for the trailhead at a near run.

  Chapter 6

  IT TOOK her a great deal of experimentation, but Goose eventually discovered that if she stood in the very center of the tiny kitchen and leaned toward the window, she got an adequate cell-phone signal. She dragged out one of the rickety bar stools crouching under the overhang and made herself comfortable. Because she was getting off this damn island. Right now.

  Resident Agent in Charge Peter Harris answered his phone with a terse, “Harris.”

  “Peter. It’s Goose.”

  “Goose.” The tone didn’t exactly warm up. Damn. “How’s Mishkwa?”

  “Not the witch-infested hotbed of assassins one might think.”

  “I believe the politically correct term is pagans,” he said mildly. “And if they’re still dancing naked and speaking in tongues up there, I’d be surprised.”

  “Me, too,” Goose said. “Because, damn, Peter, it’s cold up here. Way too cold for naked dancing, though apparently it used to happen quite a lot. I guess there’s this pile of stones somewhere on the island that catches the moonlight just so a few times a century. It’s been closed for decades, but people used to—” She caught herself mid-ramble and cleared her throat. “I read about it on the ferry on the way over.”

  More skeptical silence.

  “My point is,” Goose said, “Rush Guthrie is clean. I can chase down the paper trail if you want, but this guy’s a real American hero. If he’s gunning for the governor, I’m Wonder Woman.”

  Harris barked out a laugh. “Do you really not know how many of your coworkers are sitting in their cubicles at this very minute having Wonder Woman fantasies about you?”

  “First, eww. Second, not my business or my fault.” Here in the privacy of a tiny cabin on an island in the middle of Lake Superior, she felt free to grimace. She took care to keep her voice smooth and amused, though. “Listen, Peter. You’ve made your point, okay? Can I come home now? Or am I still being punished?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Goose, I’m not punishing you.”

  “No?” Sourness crept into her tone.

  “No. First of all, Snow had it coming.”

  “Amen.”

  “But even if he didn’t, even if you took him down out of pure meanness, I’d sti
ll back you based on your record alone. Three languages, expert marksmanship, a few dozen counterfeiters behind bars? I don’t like playing favorites, but you’re by far a bigger asset to the department.”

  “So how is that a day after defending myself against the inappropriate and unwanted sexual advances of a colleague I’m the one interviewing homicidal park rangers with dubious political ambitions at the frozen ends of the earth?”

  “Think of it as a time-out.”

  “A time-out?”

  “You lost your temper, kid.”

  “The guy waved his boner at me, Peter. What was I supposed to do?”

  “You could’ve brought it to me. I’d have fired the kid posthaste and you’d still be sitting in your cozy little cube playing with that computer you love so much. But no, you had to snap a quick picture with your cell phone and e-mail it to your entire contact list. Which included me.” He paused. “And my boss.”

  Goose winced. “Okay. I lost my temper.”

  “Hey, I don’t have any objection to your ripping Snow’s guts out. Kid deserved it, no question. But, damn, Goose. There are ways to do stuff like that. And you’re the last person I’d have thought I’d need to point that out to.”

  “I know,” she said miserably.

  “So you should also know that I have absolutely no use for an angry, impulsive agent making emotional decisions.”

  She took a moment to master the panic bubbling up inside her. Sweet Jesus, was she about to get sacked?

  “Okay, fine.” She forced a smile. “You caught me. I lost my temper. It won’t happen again.”

  “Bet your ass it won’t. Because you’re not coming home yet.”