The swelling notes filled the car, and if I’d been alone I would have been belting along. Now I just clumsily tapped my finger in time to the music.
“Actually, I’ve been to see Les Mis three times. I’m a fan.” Hannah cocked her head to the side. “I like that you have a side that no one else gets to see. Like maybe I’m special for figuring it out.”
I turned in to the parking lot of the steak house and tried to find a spot. It was a popular place, so even though it was a Wednesday, pickings were slim.
“I’m glad. I’d hate to run you off before I even park the car,” I remarked.
Hannah rested her hand on my thigh. She was touching me a lot. That was a good sign.
It was also a good sign that I liked it.
“Not a chance, Mason.” Hannah gave my leg a squeeze. She seemed to be laying it all out there for me. But at the same time I couldn’t help but think that Hannah’s book wasn’t open for me to read. Not yet.
It was a refreshing change. Frustrating, sure. But a challenge I relished.
I made my living by reading situations. Subtext. Hidden clues. So it had always made dating…difficult. When I had time or the inclination to try.
There were a lot of times that I wished I could simply be with someone and not look for all the things they weren’t saying. This was the reason I didn’t do relationships. Because I typically figured out the secrets before a woman could reveal them.
And what was the fun in that?
I looked over at my date and felt a ripple of excitement in my belly. Low. Deep. Shifting and turning and consuming.
I hoped Hannah was going to be a lot of fun.
My stomach rumbled and Hannah laughed. “I take that as our cue to go inside.”
I rubbed a hand over my aching stomach. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten since a muffin at breakfast.”
Hannah grabbed her purse and opened the door. “Well, let’s get you inside and stuff you full of meat.” She smirked. “Why does everything sound like an innuendo?”
Without thinking better of it, I reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair off her face. Her skin was soft. Smooth. Warm to the touch. “Probably because it is,” I said coyly.
—
Dinner consisted of a round of question and answers. I’d ask her something; she’d either answer or dodge it completely. Hannah was adept at changing the subject when it suited her.
“So tell me about your job. You said you work for the CEO of Western Railways. What’s the craziest thing you’ve had to do as his admin?” I broke off a piece of my roll and popped it in my mouth.
Hannah took her time cutting into her steak. Slow, precise incisions. “It’s pretty boring, mostly. Making his appointments. Keeping up with his emails and correspondence. Answering his phones. Nothing really crazy, I’m afraid.”
“You said he was bratty, though. You can’t use that description without a reason. Come on, Hannah, spill the beans.”
Hannah fiddled with the napkin in her lap, smoothing it and folding it and smoothing it again. “I may have been overly dramatic about it. He’s no worse than any other CEO, I’m sure.”
She didn’t want to talk about her boss. I picked up on that quickly. I sympathized, understanding all too well about shitty bosses.
“So you used to be a hardcore techie. Do you miss it?” she asked, deftly changing the subject.
“Sometimes. It was a lot easier when I only had to write some code and deploy it. Though you don’t get the adrenaline high from building an app that categorizes company email, that’s for sure.” I hadn’t been lying when I told Hannah I was a tech dork. There were times I missed the simplicity of my old job. There wasn’t a whole lot of time for programming now that my life was consumed with all things FBI. I still read trade magazines and kept current on trends and new technologies. I had to in order to keep up with the ever-evolving world of hacker technology and security.
“I’m sure being an FBI agent is a hell of a lot better than your standard nine-to-five. I’m jealous.” She took a bite of steak, taking her time chewing, watching me the entire time. The restaurant was busy, but I felt as if we were the only ones there. Hannah had a way of making me feel like the only man in the room. It was heady and powerful. It catered to my masculine need for control and domination.
Damn, she knew exactly what to do to get me going.
“What about your boss? What’s he or she like?”
She was careful in her questions. I liked that she didn’t pry overtly. That she was considerate of the limitations in the things I could share. Her queries were still probing, but in a way that didn’t send up red flags. She was simply curious about the man she was on a date with.
“He’s kind of a prick, actually. So it seems that’s something else we have in common.” I took a drink of my beer. “I’m pretty sure he has it in for me.”
Hannah drank deeply from her glass of wine. She was on her second glass and her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol, her eyes bright. It was clear that she wasn’t used to drinking.
“Why do you think he has it in for you? That sounds a little paranoid, don’t you think?”
“He stuck me with a hopeless case. One that he knows I can’t solve—” I stopped talking abruptly. Hannah made it too easy to reveal things I shouldn’t.
I liked it.
It worried me.
“A hopeless case, huh? Those are the best kind.” She reached across the table and briefly laid her hand on top of mine. I felt the tip of her shoe run along the side of my leg. All my blood ran south.
I forgot about my steak. I forgot about how fucking hungry I had been.
I wanted only one thing.
One person.
And she was sitting entirely too far away from me at the moment.
I turned my hand so that I could thread my fingers through hers. “You wanna get out of here?” I asked her softly.
I noticed a fine tremor in her hand. I squeezed just a little.
“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, they were molten. Burning hot.
Fuck.
How was it possible to be so turned on just by a look?
I lifted my other hand, the one not holding hers, and waved down the waiter. “Check, please.”
Chapter 8
Hannah
We left the restaurant quickly after Mason paid the bill.
What was I doing?
Was I really going to go home with him?
On the first date?
He held my hand tightly in his as we hurried across the parking lot to his car.
I had been giving off the vibe I knew he’d pick up on. The one that said what I wanted.
And that was him.
He drank it in. Men were so easy. Show him a little cleavage. Lick your lips. Lean into him. He was all yours.
But I didn’t do first-date sex.
I wasn’t that sort of woman.
Could I be that woman now?
For Mason Kohler?
Was that what he would expect from me?
I knew I wasn’t his type. I had figured that out the very first day.
I had to make up for it in other ways.
Because I needed him to want me.
I hid most of the parts of me that I didn’t want him to see. To him I was an overworked admin, nothing more.
Revealing I worked in IT could have easily planted a seed I couldn’t risk growing.
I revealed only what advanced my agenda. What made me appealing on all levels to a man like Agent Mason Kohler.
It seemed to be working.
We stopped once we reached his car. Mason turned around and backed me up against the door, pinning me in.
My legs started to wobble; my heart hammered in my chest.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. His breath came out in tiny puffs. He shivered. Because of the wind?
Because of me?
His eyes were dark and hooded. I could barely see him
in the shadows. But I could feel him.
Everywhere.
Was I sure?
He was so handsome.
I liked looking at him.
And surprisingly, I liked the feel of him pushed against me. All hard edges and soft touches.
I was attracted to Mason. I hadn’t predicted that.
There was calculation here.
But there was also lust.
A lot of it.
Did I want this?
Was I sure?
I gripped his shirt in my hands, pulling him even closer, our chests smashed together. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I murmured.
He framed my face with his hands, a disquieting, gentle gesture that almost shattered my resolve.
Then he kissed me.
It was gentle. A caress.
My wobbly legs turned to liquid.
Then it turned rough.
Harsh.
A bruising of flesh and teeth. Mason groaned low in the back of his throat. I let out a breathy sigh.
I was forgetting everything.
Everything but the man kissing me in view of everyone.
Audible laughter had us pulling apart. A group of teenagers ran by us whistling and yelling rude words.
“Let’s go.” Mason reached behind me and unlocked my door, letting me into the safe, dark interior of his car. I ran my hands through my hair, my hands shaking.
I was forgetting too much.
I couldn’t do that.
No matter how hot Mason was. Or how well he could kiss.
But I’m going home with him….
Into the belly of the beast.
Exactly where I wanted to be.
—
“Don’t mind the cat. He’s an asshole,” Mason said, unlocking his apartment door and letting me inside.
I had barely paid attention to where we were as he drove us to his home.
I knew the address already anyway.
He flipped on the lights and I looked around, just as he had looked around my house earlier. Taking everything in. Cataloging the things I should notice. Paying attention to the things others wouldn’t.
Like the photographs. The smiling man with his arm slung around Mason.
Another of this same man, only as a teenager wearing a basketball jersey, with a wide, toothy grin and a life ahead of him.
These were Mason’s secrets.
His past.
One he couldn’t hide from me.
The cat in question immediately wrapped himself around my feet, purring loudly.
“What are you? The cat whisperer?” Mason laughed. “That jerk doesn’t like anyone.”
I leaned down on my haunches and scratched the very sweet cat behind the ear. He leaned his furry head into my hand, butting my palm with his cold, wet nose.
“I don’t know, he seems pretty friendly to me.”
“That’s Tigger. He’ll lull you into an easy confidence. Make you think he’s not completely evil. But watch this.” Mason leaned down and attempted to stroke the cat’s back.
The cat morphed from sweet, lovable kitty to demon spawn instantly. He swiped at Mason’s hand, hissing and baring his teeth before running into another room.
“Wow, you sure do have a way with animals,” I teased, getting back to my feet.
I was feeling awkward. The heat between us had cooled a bit on the fifteen-minute ride to Mason’s apartment. I was now wishing I had waited. Put this off a little while longer. Until he liked me a little bit more.
“Yeah, well, he’s a special case.” Mason took off his coat and hung it up. “You can take your coat off, Hannah.” His eyes twinkled and I let out a shaky laugh, sliding my coat off and handing it to him.
“Should I take my shoes off?” I asked lamely.
Mason gave me a funny look. “If that would make you more comfortable.”
I kicked off my heels, which were like a modern-day torture device, and walked into his living room. It wasn’t a very big apartment. And it was messy. Very bachelor pad. It wasn’t really dirty, just cluttered.
As if reading my mind, Mason gathered a couple of shirts thrown over the back of the couch and balled them up. “Sorry it’s not cleaner. I wasn’t really expecting…I mean, I would have tidied up if I had known—”
“If you had known how easy it would be to get me to go home with you?” I joked. Badly. I winced. Mason cringed.
Damn it. I was playing this all wrong.
I knew better.
Mason gently wrapped his hands around my upper arms, his thumbs rubbing up and down in a way that he meant to be soothing but that served only to jangle my already frayed nerves. “That’s not what I’m expecting having you here, Hannah. I would never expect that.”
I closed my eyes briefly. Silently berating myself for being my usual abrasive self. I was working hard to suppress my less-than-appealing side for Mason.
This was what hormones did.
They made me an idiot.
“I know. I was being silly.” I had to rectify this situation quickly. All the hot, searing lust I had seen in his eyes had melted away, and now he was looking at me like a man who had to tread carefully.
I needed him out of control.
I wanted him off balance.
For me.
I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed his chin. Lightly. Running the length of my tongue along the curve of his jaw.
“I think we should stop talking, don’t you?” I pressed my breasts against him, stomping all over the butterflies running rampant in my stomach.
I had to be sure.
Confident.
I could feel his excitement. He liked me against him. I was glad. So glad. He had no idea how much.
“Hannah,” he rasped, his hands tightening on my arms. I kissed the hollow of his throat. I could taste the sweat on his skin. Salty. Thick. Hungry.
Kiss. Kiss. Nibbling. I knew this was right. I could feel it. Hard against my belly. Between my legs.
Rolling and falling. A tumbled, twisted mess. I had to make this count.
I felt his lips in my hair. Nuzzling. Too tender. Where was the man with the desperate lips from the parking lot?
I pushed against him, the backs of his legs hitting his couch. He sat down heavily, bringing me with him. I hiked my skirt up over my hips, exposing the lacy panties I had worn just in case. I straddled him, my fingers in his hair.
“Hannah,” he said again. A little more insistently. I ignored the implication, knowing I had to keep going.
I wouldn’t ruin this. Not now.
I finally kissed him and he yielded. His tongue invaded my mouth and I thought, This is it.
Then he was pulling back. Pushing me off. Gently, of course. But pushing me away all the same.
“Hannah.” He said my name again but this time with an underlying command.
Stop.
I sat back, breathing heavily, my face flushed. My legs spread wide. Humiliation just starting to set in.
“I thought…” I blinked in confusion.
Had I misread the situation entirely?
I thought I had done everything the way I was supposed to.
I started to slither off his lap, my pride in tatters, but Mason held me in place, not letting me move. I couldn’t screw this up! What if I already had?
“You thought right,” he assured me, pulling my hair over my shoulder, his hand firm on the side of my neck, his thumb pressing against my fluttering pulse.
“Then what’s the problem?” I held myself rigid until I knew what direction I needed to go in. How I needed to play this.
And I was hurt.
More than just my pride.
But I couldn’t dwell on that.
“I want to talk to you too, Hannah. I want to know more about you. I don’t want to jump into bed without laying the groundwork. Not this time.”
Not this time.
Okay…
“You want to talk?” I raised my eyebrow, attem
pting to assuage the discomfort of the situation. I ran my finger down his chest, dipping it into the waist of his jeans, giving it a tug. “Since when does a guy want to talk instead of—?”
“Since the guy realized he’d really like to get to know the woman for more than her body,” Mason interrupted.
Well then.
I wasn’t sure what to make of the way my chest warmed and expanded.
“I’m not much of a talker, Mason,” I warned him, my guard up now. Walls in place.
I had to be so, so careful….
Sex would have been a lot easier.
“I want to know about you, Hannah Whelan.” He kissed me. Harder this time. “In between other things.”
Then his fingers were in my hair again, buried deep. His mouth on mine. I moaned, his tongue sweeping between my lips. He was tasting me. Devouring me.
My hands ran up and down his broad back. There was so much to touch. So much to feel.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked, kissing the underside of my jaw. Trailing hot, wet lips along the column of my throat.
I laughed.
“Why don’t you guess?” I suggested with a gasp. I leaned back into his couch, arching my neck, giving him complete access. I was throbbing between my legs. An ache that needed tending. I parted my thighs. I wanted him to feel how wet I was.
For him.
Because of him.
He slowly unbuttoned my shirt and looked down at me, his eyes on fire. “Blue,” he said, his finger tracing the pale aqua lace along the edge of my bra.
“Nice try. It’s orange,” I offered, giving him something little. Something seemingly insignificant.
Mason kissed my bare shoulder, lingering. “Orange? Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
I ran my hands over the well-defined muscles of his back. “I’d guess you’re into working out. Religiously. You probably run five miles before work, don’t you?”
Mason propped himself up on his elbows and grinned down at me. “Not even a little bit. I’m allergic to physical activity.” He rubbed against me. “Well, most physical activity,” he conceded slyly.
“Those muscles are natural?” I asked incredulously.
“Just good genes.” He cupped my breast, squeezing, rubbing. Damn, he was good at this.
I pulled his shirt free from his pants, fumbling with the buttons. I didn’t have a lot of practice at this sort of thing. I worried I would do it all very badly.
Exploited (Zero Day #1) Page 9
