by Lynne Silver
The agents looked at each other again, having a silent conversation, before they turned back to him. “Actually, if you could stay with her, it could be helpful.”
“How do you mean?” he asked.
“She obviously trusts you. Butter her up, and maybe she’ll share something about her father’s whereabouts.”
He eyed the two of them for a long minute. “I told you, she knows nothing about her father. Besides, you know I’m on medical leave, right? I can’t go start playing ball for another team.”
“You wouldn’t be. Haven’t you been reading the memos? It’s all about interdepartmental cooperation these days. We’ll have our supervisory special agent get in touch with your boss to give you the go-ahead.”
Lance was reasonably sure his boss would do no such thing. He shrugged. “I’m not officially agreeing to anything until I speak to my superiors, but for now I’ll stick with Arianna.” Inwardly, he rejoiced, and his lower abdominal muscles clenched at thought of officially sanctioned time with her. “See you.”
He got back in the car and turned to Ari. “You’re not going to be happy.”
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “Why is the FBI following me?”
“They think you know where your dad is and may give them a clue.” He reached out his hand but pulled back when she turned away and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. He let her sit like that for a few minutes. He didn’t mention his new role in the situation.
Despite what she’d told him last night, and what he’d told the FBI, he had no real reason to believe her and lots of reasons to doubt her. She could be lying through her teeth about her father. For all he knew, Stanley Rose could be hiding in the Rose Gallery basement with Ari sneaking food to him.
“I don’t have a clue where my dad is. You believe me, right?” She lifted her head and turned to face him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.
“I do,” he said, and squashed any guilt he had at the semi-lie. He’d worked on the side of federal justice for eight years; he’d known Arianna eight minutes.
“Do you mind driving?” she asked. “I don’t feel up to concentrating.”
“Sure.” They quickly hopped out of the car to switch seats and he sped quickly back to her gallery.
“Phone’s ringing,” Lance said as they walked in the gallery and up the stairs to her bedroom.
“I’m letting it go to voice mail. There’s no one I want to talk to tonight.” The ringing abruptly stopped without the caller leaving a message.
“No, there’s one person we’re going to call, and that’s Sam.”
“Sam who?” And then she remembered. “Sam Cooper?” she asked, referring to her high school friend who was currently an FBI special agent. “How do you know him?”
“Through Valerie.” He already had his cell in hand and was dialing a number. Numbly, she listened to Lance’s side of the conversation, but she could guess he was getting the same message Sam had given her ten months ago. He worked in the cyber-security division, and as an old friend of Arianna’s, he was playing CYA—cover your ass—and keeping his fingers, toes, and nose clean.
“He’s got nothing,” Lance said, hanging up the phone.
“I know.” She heard the weariness in her voice and hated it, but didn’t know how to change it. After nearly a year of doing her best to ignore her father’s life in the spotlight, it had caught up to her big-time. Not even the enticement of Lance sleeping in her bed added shine back to her outlook. Her phone started ringing again, but she ignored it to head to bed.
She trudged to her open closet, her steps heavy, but sprinted when a deep, familiar male voice sounded on the answering machine. She raced to the phone and snatched up the receiver. “Daddy?” She was aware that Lance stood up straighter, staring at her intently.
“Arianna?”
“Oh,” she said over the lump in her throat.
“Arianna, it’s Eric Wright. I’ve been trying to reach you all evening.”
She struggled to bring her tone back up to its normal, chipper cadence. “Hi, Eric. I’m here now. How can I help you?” Lance relaxed back on the couch and rooted around for the remote control.
“I saw the news of the gallery yesterday.”
“Oh.” She hurried to reassure him. “Nothing of yours was broken. The front window shattered and one painting was damaged. Your artwork is safe.”
“For today. What about tomorrow or the next day?”
“Eric, now that I am aware of the threat, I have twenty-four-hour security, and the police are on it. The gallery is protected.” She decided not to mention the spanking-new FBI bonus security. That was more of a need-to-know basis, and she judged Eric didn’t need to know.
“I’m afraid that’s not enough for me. It’s not simply the physical security aspect. I don’t want my name connected with any hint of a financial scandal.”
Was Lance listening to her end of the conversation? Her steady bodyguard was channel surfing on low volume, giving no indication he was listening to the call.
“Oh, come on, Eric. You know any press is good press.” She tried to cajole and tease before one of her top artists took the conversation in the direction she suspected he was going.
“Not in this case,” he said, disapproval radiating through the phone line. “How are you going to convince patrons to drop a load of money on a painting when some of the money may go to the defense of Stanley Rose?”
She gripped the phone like her hands were made of titanium, wishing she could slam it down to end this horrible conversation with Eric, but she had to remain calm and professional. Even if her stomach threatened to churn up tonight’s Thai dinner.
“I guess I couldn’t convince you of that,” she said. “I’ll take down your paintings tomorrow and have them ready for pickup at your convenience.”
“Arianna.” Now his voice softened. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing against you, I…got calls last night from people who’d seen the news. They wanted to know if that was where my upcoming show was. I hated telling them yes.”
“Well, now you won’t have to.” She was ready to end this conversation and go to bed. Tomorrow would have to be a better day. Only the memory of Lance’s kiss brightened what had been a fairly terrible day. She remembered that tomorrow was Monday and the new security company was due to start. Lance would be leaving to go back to his own life. Her stomach sank and she forced her attention back to her traitorous former client.
“Maybe we can work together in the future, after all this scandal has died down.” Eric’s conciliatory words didn’t fool her. She’d never hear from him again. And good riddance.
“Perhaps. Thank you for letting me know. Good night.” There was a click on his end, but she sat with the receiver off the hook for a long second, gathering up her reserves one deep breath after another.
“Are you okay?” Lance asked from the sofa.
“Not really.”
“What happened? Who was on the phone?”
“One of my artists. Or should I say, former artist.”
“He pulled out of the show?”
She nodded. “I’m heading to bed now.” Her plans of flirting with and sleeping with Lance were currently off. It was hard to feel sexy with all the crappy vibes floating in the air around her. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?”
“It’s all yours.”
A while later, showered and clad in her non-sexy comfort pajamas, she curled on her side inhaling the earthy scent rolling off Lance. She moved her head to find a dry spot in her pillow that hadn’t been soaked by her silent tears. Lance suddenly rolled to face her, startling her and leaving no room to hide her anguish.
Through the shadowy room dimly lit by the moon, he saw her tears and held his arms open to her. “Ari, come here.”
She scooted into his arms without thinking of the consequences. His welcoming warmth enveloped and soothed her. They lay snuggled together for a while with his big hand rubbing large circles over her
back. Her cotton tank top rucked up from the movements and soon he was rubbing her bare skin.
She wasn’t sure when the hug changed from soothing to something more. One minute she was burrowed up against Lance’s strong chest and the next his thigh had slipped between her legs while her arms wrapped around his shoulders, placing them chest to chest.
His hand under her shirt made bigger circles, inching closer and closer toward her rib cage. Her nipples hardened at his proximity, and she could feel his hardness against her hip.
“Lance?”
“Hmm?” His voice sounded gruff, sexy, and she shivered in response.
“Will you hold me a bit longer?”
He didn’t answer, but instead pulled her tighter against him and moved his hand lower to cup her ass. Instinctively she shimmied her hips against his pelvis seeking his response.
“Ari, if you keep doing that, I’m going to do more than hold you.”
“Okay.” This was probably a terrible decision made from her vulnerability, but at this moment Lance was the most solid and tempting thing in her world.
“Are you sure?”
She pushed up to lie on top of him and looked directly into his face. “I’m sure. I need something good in my life right now. I decided this afternoon to sleep with you.”
“Before or after I kissed you?”
“After. I thought you didn’t like me before.” She smiled and kissed his chin; in the comforting and alluring arms of Lance Brown, the fears and tensions of the day melted away. It felt as if she was opening up a new momentous chapter in her life, and at the same time, as if she and Lance had known each other forever. With all her other men, she only showed them her fun, flirty side. Within a day of knowing her, Lance was seeing her, warts, tears, and all. And he still seemed to like her.
“I don’t like you, you little spoiled brat.” He softened his teasing words with a sharp pinch to a butt cheek.
“Ouch.” She laughed and rolled off onto her back, but he followed, pressing her into the mattress with his hips.
“You’re brave,” he said.
“Me, brave? How do you figure?” She arched up, seeking more contact, but he resisted.
“Your father is one of the most hated men in America, the FBI is following you, and some crazy person wants you dead. But you, you’re ignoring it all and throwing a major art show.” Finally, he lowered his face to nip her chin, then her earlobe.
She turned to give him better access. “Why do you see that as bravery? Maybe it’s me being terrified and ignoring it like an ostrich buries its head in the sand.”
“Is it?”
She thought about it for a second. “I honestly don’t know. I do what feels right in the moment.” Previously, all her right feelings had to do with her physical state, yet with Lance, everything felt right, even unadulterated honesty. She’d seen how loving and caring he’d been for his nana today. She wanted some of that care for herself. The love word flitted into her mind and she threw it out. Too soon. Waaaaay too soon. Not that she’d recognize romantic love if it bit her in the ass.
He lowered his lips to nibble on her collarbone and his hands were doing something marvelous to the sides of her breasts. “What about this moment? Does this feel right?”
Oh, God. It did. It really did. She couldn’t find the right words to urge him on, and she used her body instead, seeking more intimate contact. “Shirt: off,” she managed.
Lance sat back on his knees to yank off his t-shirt. Ari stared with appreciation at his wide, strong shoulders that tapered into a chiseled stomach. A line of light brown hairs wound their way from his chest lower into his boxers. She traced it with her finger, smiling when the stomach muscles clenched under her touch.
“You’re going to be wild in bed, aren’t you?” He smiled down at her.
She tore her gaze from his boxers to grin back at him. “You better believe it.”
“Oh, I do. The first time I saw you on TV, I thought, ‘Poor bastard who gets to wrangle her in bed.’”
She sat up and did her best to live up to his vision of a wild-child sexpot as she shimmied out of her skimpy tank top. Her efforts were rewarded by the gleam in Lance’s eyes and the distinct bulge in his boxers. “Lucky bastard, more like.” Now they were entering more familiar territory in which she’d wow him in bed, not cry all over his chest.
“Damn straight,” he said before gently tackling her back to the bed and taking one nipple in his mouth. She should’ve known Lance would be excellent in bed and would take her pleasure as seriously as he took everything else in his life. Some men reverted back to the nursery in their treatment of a woman’s breasts. Not Lance. He skillfully nibbled and caressed, heightening her arousal.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, loving the feel of his hardness stroking through her pajama bottoms. She had no panties on, but the two layers of cotton that separated them were entirely too much. Ari wanted bare skin, now. She slipped her hands into the waistband of his boxers to cup his ass, then yanked the boxers down to his knees.
Though she’d felt what lay beneath his clothes, she wanted to get a nice long look. “Hop up,” she said between kisses.
“Hmm?” He moved to her other nipple then up to her lips, ignoring her request. “I’m busy.”
She pushed at his shoulder. “Lance. Get up.”
He froze and balanced on his elbows over her. “Why? Are you all right?”
His concern that he’d hurt her warmed her heart. “Everything’s great. I want to get a good look at you.” She raised an eyebrow, hoping he was up to the challenge.
With a devastating grin, Lance sat back, then swung his legs off the bed to stand up proudly. Ari followed him to the edge to sit with her legs dangling off the bed.
“Nice,” she said, offering him a weak compliment that nowhere near described the perfection that was his body. His narrow hips framed his erect cock, which stood at attention begging to be touched. His thigh muscles stood out in relief. Only the scar on his leg marred his masculine beauty. For a moment, she worried not only for his physical well-being but his emotional also. How terrifying to have been shot. Did he still think about it?
“Oh, Lance. I’m sorry, I totally forgot.”
“What?” He looked almost panicked, as if she’d forgotten a dentist appointment or something and was about to rush out.
She hurried to reassure him. “Your leg. Did it hurt when you put your weight on it?”
He shook his head. “No, everything in that bed felt great.”
She eyed the angry red scar again. “Well, to be sure, perhaps you should lie on your back. I wouldn’t want my bodyguard unable to protect me.” She smiled, feeling like the devil with her naughty thoughts of Lance spread out on her bed as a delectable feast.
He leaned down to kiss her before complying. Flat on his back, he looked as good as he did standing up. Later, she’d make him kneel, then sit, for comparison’s sake, in the name of artistic research, of course.
Ari pulled off her gray cotton drawstring bottoms, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. Nude, she straddled his thighs, taking care not to put pressure on his injured leg.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked.
She eyed him, not sure where to touch first. Part of her wanted to be selfish and slide a finger between her own damp lips, but she refrained. Even though Lance had been joking when he’d called her a spoiled brat, part of her knew it was the truth. Taking her own pleasure and ignoring Lance’s seemed like something a spoiled brat would do. She decided to make this all about him, her serious, sexy, tempting bodyguard.
“Have some patience. What’s with you and the plans? I’m more spur-of-the-moment in bed. Think you can keep up?” she asked.
His abs flexed, causing his erect penis to shift, which took her out of teasing mode and straight into action.
“Can you?” he challenged back.
In response, she leaned down to swallow him whole, but because his size didn’t al
low her to take him all, she fisted the base of his cock and slid her tongue around the tip. Around and around she swirled her tongue, tasting the salty pre-come that dripped onto her lips. He grew impossibly hard under her ministrations and his hips subtly thrust into her mouth.
“Ari, stop.” His voice sounded as if he’d run a mile in a sandy desert, but he didn’t put up much of a fight, and really, what guy did when a girl had his dick in her mouth?
“I want to make you come, too,” he muttered, and then in a louder voice, “Jesus, right there.”
She kept going. She wanted to see Mr. In-Control lose it, and he seemed to be on the precipice. It was killing her to be this giving in bed. No previous lover had warranted such attention. Oh, sure, she’d given her fair share of blow jobs, but never had she ignored her own need clawing at her. At least a lover would have a finger or two deep inside while she went down on him.
But for Lance she wanted it to be about him, and she ignored the throbbing pulse at her core. She couldn’t rationalize why at this moment sucking him to completion was as necessary as breathing. She squeezed his shaft tighter and slid her hand up and down, using her saliva to ease the path. He was close, she could feel it, but he was holding back.
“Let it go,” she said around the tip of his cock, and used her other hand to massage the silky skin between his balls and back.
With a shout, his body tightened as hot come shot into her mouth. He groaned and lay boneless for a few minutes, then rose onto his elbows. “Why, Ari?”
“I wanted to see you lose control.” She smiled. It had been worth it to see him finally let go at the end. Almost nothing remained of the calm, in-control Secret Service agent. His hair stuck out in a haphazard mess on the pillow, sweat gleamed on his skin, and semen leaked a trail onto his thigh from his softening penis. He looked more like her love slave than her bodyguard.
“Well, you won. I lost control, but now I can’t make love to you for a while,” he said.
She shivered when he said “make love.” She knew it was an expression, but wouldn’t it be glorious to have a man like Lance make love to her and mean it with his heart? But it couldn’t happen. He was a federal agent, and she was a free agent and the daughter of a notorious missing criminal.
