His Every Fantasy

by Delilah Devlin

She was nervous. Something Sergei didn’t like. “You’re here investigating her kidnapping?”

  “I am,” Menchaca said. “I talked to your uncle and your coworkers a couple days ago. When you went missing, we obtained a warrant to search your place. Mr. Benoit has given me a written account of your abduction, but I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “A written account?” Kara said out of the side of her mouth.

  “I provided that,” Sergei whispered back.

  “Huh.” Kara’s back stiffened. “Fire away,” she said more loudly.

  “You work in your uncle’s firm?”

  “I do.”

  “As a paralegal?”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “As an intern. I’m applying to law school in the fall. I wanted the experience and a recommendation.”

  Menchaca’s gaze didn’t blink. “Your uncle wouldn’t give that to you unless you worked for him?”

  Kara shook her head. “No, I applied to his firm and asked for the job. I needed the income, and I didn’t want him doing me any favors he wouldn’t do for any other intern.”

  Menchaca’s gaze remained eerily flat. “How would you describe your relationship with your uncle?”

  Kara lifted a shoulder. “Amicable.”

  “Amicable. But isn’t it true he disapproved of your father? That he cut off your mother’s access to her trust fund when she married him?”

  Her body tensed and Kara blinked. “I don’t know anything about any trust fund.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Sergei blinked, and then slowly stiffened. Something was in Menchaca’s tone he didn’t like.

  Kara’s troubled glance said she was having similar misgivings. “If there’d been any money, I wouldn’t have been attending school on loans and grants.”

  “But that’s the point, wasn’t it?” Menchaca said, his voice clipped. “Your uncle had control of the trust fund and didn’t let go of that control when your parents died, and you stood to inherit.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kara said, her words clipped. “There is no money. Wouldn’t someone have let me know?”

  Menchaca’s lips curved at the very tips. “They would have if any money existed, but it was gone before your parents died. Did you resent your uncle for squandering your money?”

  Kara sucked in a deep breath. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “Just getting the facts straight, Miss Nichols.”

  “I thought you were here to ask me about my kidnapping. Did my uncle have something to do with it?”

  Menchaca sat forward, his gaze burrowing into hers. “Was there a kidnapping, Miss Nichols? Or did you and your lover, Lucio Marroquin, set up this whole thing? A kidnapping to extort the money you feel you were owed?”

  Sergei’s body grew cold. He dropped his arm, his hand going to hers to squeeze it. “You’re done answering questions, sweetheart.”

  Menchaca dropped his gaze to their joined hands. His small smile curved deeper, but no hint of humor was in his eyes. No, his gaze was dead level. His expression a neutral mask.

  Kara was starting to shiver beside him.

  “Why don’t you tell us why you’re really here, Agent Menchaca,” Sergei said, his voice tightening with anger.

  “Fine.” His black gaze narrowed. “I’m investigating the murder of your uncle, Robert Young.”

  Kara swayed in the seat. “What?”

  “Killed. Last night. At his home in the Dominion.”

  She shook her head, her free hand clutching at her skirt. “This is how you notify next of kin?” she asked, sounding breathless.

  “This is how I follow leads.”

  Sergei slipped his arm around her to keep her upright. “Why is the FBI involved in the case? Murder should be the local PD’s jurisdiction.”

  “The kidnapping and murder might possibly be connected.”

  “But the murder isn’t your case. Her kidnapping is.”

  “Yes, but I’m working in concert with the San Antonio detectives investigating the murder.”

  “And if I call them, will they say you’re acting ‘in concert’ by delivering the news to his niece?”

  Menchaca’s lips firmed into a narrow line, but he nodded his head. His gaze shot to Kara. “Don’t get too comfortable here, Miss Nichols. We’ll have plenty of questions to ask you once you return home.”

  A chill settled in his gut at Menchaca’s set expression. What the hell was going on? He shot his gaze toward Boone, but Boone gave a subtle shake of his head.

  Agent Menchaca rose, followed by the sheriff, whose expression reflected his own doubt about what had transpired. “Sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he mumbled before he followed Menchaca out the door.

  As soon as they were gone, Kara leaned forward, hands braced on her knees.

  “I’ll get in touch with our friends at the bureau to check out this guy,” Boone said and left.

  Alone, Sergei bent over Kara, his hand gliding up and down her back. “He’s fishing, sweetheart. He wanted to see your reaction,” he said, although he wasn’t entirely sure that had been the man’s purpose. Something was definitely off about the guy.

  Her head turned toward him. Tears glazed her eyes. “He thinks I had a hand in this, doesn’t he? That I staged my own kidnapping.”

  “He can’t really believe that,” he said, sure of that one fact. This was something else. “And don’t you worry. You aren’t going anywhere, and if you do, you won’t be alone.”

  Her shoulders began to shake and tears rolled down her cheeks. “If my uncle stole from me, why did he hire me? His firm is tied up with the Omegas; he had to have known what type of business they’re in. Could he really have sold me to them?”

  Just what Sergei had suspected all along, but he hated adding to her burden. “We don’t know that yet.” Even to his own ears, he sounded skeptical.

  Kara straightened and wiped away her tears with her fingers. “I need that shower.”

  “Sure.” Her stiffening posture said she wanted time alone, and he’d give it to her. Besides, he had questions he needed answered.

  He stood and held out his hand to pull her up. She quickly dropped his hand and turned, walking slowly away, her small figure looking frailer than he’d ever seen her. As a captive, she’d been ferocious. As a suspect, she seemed weighed down, almost defeated.

  Two minutes later, he found Boone in his office, his expression hard as he spoke into his Bluetooth. “That’s unacceptable. We can’t guarantee her safety there.” Boone spotted Sergei’s lowering brows and held up a finger. “She’s not going anywhere, and if you need to question her, she’ll be available. Here.” His jaw tightened as he paused. “You know damn well where she was last night. And she hasn’t been in contact with anyone, hasn’t even asked to make a call since we plucked her out of that camp.” Boone tapped his earpiece, ending the call.

  “They want her back in Texas?”

  Boone’s lips lifted in a snarl. “Menchaca checks out. He’s been with their office in San Antonio for eleven years. Gabe says he’s hard-nosed, but he gets results.”

  Sergei unclenched his jaw to speak. “That part about her staging her own kidnapping is bullshit.”

  Boone nodded. “I know it is. But it’s messier now that her uncle’s gone.”

  “Marroquin taking care of loose ends?”

  “Who knows? Maybe her uncle had a change of heart and didn’t want to see his little sister’s girl sold into prostitution.” His eyes held a hint of regret. “She gonna be okay?”

  With a shake of his head, Sergei sighed. “I don’t know. She has no one. No family. Her uncle… Thank God, they weren’t close.”

  “She needs someone.”

  His tone was steady, but Sergei understood his underlying question. “She has me.”

  Boone paused, then gave him a quick nod. “Then she has us. I’ll keep close tabs on the investigation. Eric’s in charge of the security. You’re
her shadow. She doesn’t go anywhere without you.”

  He’d already decided to do just that. “Yes, sir,” he said, emphasis on the sir because he knew it pissed Boone off. Although he’d been his LT in the navy, Boone had made it a point that everyone in his inner circle knew they were equals once they’d joined him at Black Spear.

  Leaning back in his chair, Boone blew out a sharp breath, his frown slowly easing away. He gave Sergei a pointed look. “Did she enjoy the cabin?”

  Sergei grunted. “What? No flies on the wall watching?”

  “Eric gave you some privacy. Tilly insisted. She twisted his ear to make sure he knew she was serious.”

  Sergei’s lips quirked. “Yeah, Kara enjoyed the hell out of the cabin. We both did.”

  Boone’s phone vibrated and he tapped his earpiece. As he listened, he straightened in his chair. He gave a terse, “Out here,” then tapped his earpiece again. When his glance lifted to Sergei, his eyes were a cold steel blue. “There was an ambush in Mexico City. Miguel Torres, the head of Tex-Oil security, was among the casualties.”

  Sergei’s belly tightened and he shook his head. Miguel had helped plan the operation to rescue the hostages. “He was a good man. Do they think this was retribution for the raid?”

  “Looks like it. And they’ve lost their tail on Marroquin.”

  A knot tightened his gut. “Then he could be anywhere.”

  “He could be here in hours. I’ll let Eric know. We’ll need to double the guard.”

  “Should we think about moving her?”

  Boone shook his head. “This is still the safest place she can be. There’s only one road into Bayou Vert. No clearing is large enough other than on our land for any aircraft to set down. But keep her inside. No more walks in the garden. She’s on lockdown.”

  Sergei nodded and turned on his heel. If she wasn’t already chafing at her bonds, she soon would be. He’d tell her everything. Impress on her the fact her life was in danger, even here. And for the near future, he was sticking so close, she wouldn’t sneeze without him feeling it against his skin. After what they’d shared, he wasn’t losing her.

  As he strode down the corridor, he couldn’t help thinking about that other time, the growing dread he’d felt as Afya’s friends and neighbors pulled away. As her own family began to look at her as though she was somehow responsible for their plight. Her father had been the one to cooperate with the Americans, but she’d been a daughter. Someone expendable. Someone easily cast as impure, unholy. A scapegoat for their own fears and frustrations. Her death had been their only salvation.

  Kara’s situation was very different, but that same dark cloud of dread was settling over Maison Plaisir. Boone had to be worried about Tilly too—that she might be caught in the crossfire. No doubt she’d be confined with Kara. Neither man was willing to see harm come to the women. And not one of their friends would allow such an event. If the Omegas dared set foot in the bayou, they’d best come prepared for war.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kara stood, holding aside the curtains at her bedroom window to gaze at the thick dark clouds gathering in the sky, at flashes of lightning in the distance, and over the balcony at the long shaded tunnel beyond it. She’d stood there so long, she’d noted five guards, some walking in a circle around the house, some farther down the shaded road. One who watched from behind the stone-and-iron gate at the end of the long drive stood so still, she wouldn’t have seen him at all if he hadn’t moved to the side when a car left the estate.

  The car had been a luxurious foreign model, shimmering black, sleek. She didn’t have a clue who was inside because the vehicle had left from the garage. Not terribly interesting, but when she was stuck inside, everything anyone else was doing on the grounds seemed miles more exciting.

  After Sergei’s short visit, where he’d given her the news of the retaliatory attack in Mexico City and his instructions that she keep inside the house for the foreseeable future, she’d opted to mope in her original room. She’d refused lunch and refused his company. She’d looked for the laptop she’d used the evening before, but someone had removed it. Just to see whether they’d allow her that little freedom, she’d also tried the telephone. When she’d held up the receiver, she’d heard a long tone, then a click, and “Is there anything you need, Ms. Nichols?” before she’d slammed it down.

  Not that anyone inside this house was to blame for her circumstances. She knew that in her heart, but they were conveniently here. Their presence, if not seen, was felt everywhere—Sergei’s most acutely.

  She was scared enough and bored enough to crave him like a drug. Everything they’d done in her bed, in the cabin, every naked sweaty moment repeated in her mind in an endless loop. She wanted more of what he’d given her. And the anger building inside was provoking something more: a restless urge to shock him. To shock them all.

  She felt as dark-spirited as the heavy clouds blocking the sunlight. As restless as the thunderclaps chasing jagged forks of lightning across the sky.

  If this was what her life had been reduced to—lurking behind curtains while she waited for Lucio’s next move—she wasn’t wasting what was left bemoaning her fate. She’d grab for everything she wanted, every touch, every experience. Before, she’d lived a serious, studious life, keeping to her solitary path to assure a comfortable future where she’d never want or ever need. She’d completely cut out relationships and friendships, afraid to connect because she didn’t want to again feel the sting of loss. But now if her future was cut short, she didn’t want that last flash of awareness she’d experience to hold a single moment of regret over all the things she’d denied herself.

  Decision made, she dropped the curtain and crept through the connecting door to Sergei’s bedroom, heading toward the walk-in. After rifling through the jewel-tone clothing hanging there, she selected a short, figure-hugging dress in sapphire blue, the bodice held up by two thin shoulder straps. As she slid up the side zip, she sucked in a breath. The Lycra and silk-blend fabric pulled snug against her body. Anyone watching her move would know she wore no undergarments. With a tug on the hem to ease it down to midthigh, she turned in front of the mirror. Not bad. In fact, the pound or two she’d shed over the past days flattened her belly just enough to smooth the fabric there, while the stretch made little bunch lines beneath her bottom, accentuating her meager curves. The dress was meant to draw a man’s gaze to her lower half and tempt it to linger there. Perfect.

  She bent forward and shook her hair, then straightened and shook it again until it settled in messy curls around her shoulders. Then she headed to the vanity and applied cosmetics, shadowing her eyes with charcoal, painting her lips with the luscious garnet lipstick she’d worn the night before. She added a slick of gloss, wanting Sergei’s gaze drawn to her moist mouth. And if his friends happened to look there too, she wouldn’t mind.

  After slipping into dark sandals, she let herself out of her bedroom, knowing that simple act would send a message to everyone in the building that she was on the move. She wondered if the men would comment on her appearance, warning Sergei. Just in case, she added a little extra sway to her stride. Let them inform her lover she was dressed for sex. Dressed to get a little wild.

  As he had the evening before, Sergei met her at the bottom of the stairs, his expression dark and brooding, his gaze flicking over her outfit before rising to meet her gaze, a question there in his moody brown depths. “I’ll have to ask Boone to spank Tilly.”

  “As thanks for her choice of clothing?” she drawled, allowing him to take her hand.

  “Turn,” he said quietly, then held her hand high for her to twirl beneath it. His breath huffed out. “Fuck, do you know they’ll clearly see the crack of your ass?”

  “Uh-huh.” She halted, breathless, then lifted her hands and tweaked her nipples so that the points showed, clearly outlined by the thin, stretchy fabric. When she locked gazes with him again, she made sure he saw her challenge. Take me. Make me love it.
r />   “To hell with spanking Tilly—I’ll ask him to spank you,” he growled.

  She slid closer, rubbing her breasts against his dark jersey tee. “Will you watch?” she whispered.

  Sergei growled and placed both of his palms on her backside, bringing her hips flush with his.

  As she felt the stirring of his cock, Kara shivered. Then she gasped when her skirt lifted in the back, and he palmed her bare cheeks, right there in the foyer where anyone might see. Delicious shock quivered through her.

  “You sure you’re ready for this? That you want to play this game?” he murmured, his lips an inch from hers.

  “Yes, sir.” She met his gaze then dropped it, her fingers lightly running across his chest to find his nipples, which she rubbed until she felt them draw into tiny points.

  He sucked in a short breath and set her back a step, her dress still hitched up. His gaze raked down again and his mouth firmed. Then he reached into his pocket to pull out something. A small butterfly-shaped gel toy with straps. The thing he’d used on her in the cabin.

  Palm flat, he extended it to her. “Step into the straps. I’ll adjust them for you.”

  Her heart stuttered at his even tone, so brisk and commanding, and then raced. She took the toy and pulled apart the straps, making room to step into the loops with her shoes on, and pulled them upward until the device was snug against her sex. Or so she’d thought.

  Pushing the device against her sex so that the little cock-like protrusion entered her, Sergei pulled the straps tighter around her thighs and hips until her flesh bulged a little around them before patting down the Velcro fastenings. Then he smoothed down her dress. The indentions of the straps were clearly visible, something that sent a thrilling heat to her core.

  Again, his hand sank into his pocket, and a barely discernible humming began. “Remember the rules.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her eyelids dipping as the vibrations struck her clit. But she could remember only the most important rule. She couldn’t come until he told her. And now, with a hum shivering through her sex, she was once again all too aware this would be a battle for her self-control. Well, she’d needed a distraction.