Holt the Interceptor

by Rhiannon Neeley

Inside the office, there was no one in sight but the sound of a laugh track filtered in from a TV in another room. There was a bell on the bar that served as the front desk. Ivy reached out and rang it. Four times. Holt clenched his teeth and said nothing.

  “Reminds me of the Bates Motel,” Colin said, his voice low.

  Ivy snickered.

  A woman appeared through the doorway, dressed in a robe that had seen better days. When she met Holt’s eyes, hers grew wide. One hand came up and clutched the collar of the robe tighter.

  Holt tried to look non-threatening. They needed a place to spend the dark hours. They didn’t want to arrive on Bloody Hell during prime hunting time. Holt needed daylight to get an angle on how to approach the situation before infiltrating the Clutch of vampires on the boat. An idea came to him. He slid his arm around Ivy’s waist. “Why don’t you fill out the paperwork, hon?” he asked, giving Ivy a wink.

  She stared blankly up at him for a second before she caught on. “Sure thing, sweetie,” she said, her words dripping syrup.

  “Well, I’ll…” Rogue began, but Holt quickly silenced him with a look.

  They already looked suspicious. Three men and a woman. Holt didn’t want Rogue to blow the whole thing. The woman in the robe kept eyeing them as Ivy filled out the registration.

  Ivy glanced up at him and batted her lashes. “Honey, what’s the license plate number on the car?”

  Holt told her, all the while cringing inside, knowing that Colin and Rogue would never let him forget how Ivy was calling him pet names. When they got to the room, he and Ivy were going to have a little talk.

  Keys in hand, they gathered at the Lincoln to collect what they needed from the car.

  “Sure you don’t want to room with me?” Rogue asked Ivy, hovering over her as she leaned in to reach her pack from the trunk.

  “Thanks, but blonds have never done it for me,” she said.

  Rogue puffed out his chest. “Maybe I should call you ‘Poison Ivy’.”

  She flapped a hand. “Whatever suits.”

  Holt shouldered his duffel bag and watched her cute little swaying walk toward the room they had taken all the way at the end.

  “You might want to ask for an extra blanket, Holt.”

  Holt turned to look at Rogue. It was the first time Holt had ever seen Rogue’s face look so dour. “Why?”

  Rogue nodded toward Ivy’s retreating back. “Gonna be winter-cold in your room tonight.”

  Holt looked at Ivy. Just then, she turned around and with an exasperated stance, parked her hand on her hip.

  Rogue elbowed Holt. “Better get moving, Honey. Wifey’s waiting.”

  *

  Ivy wished he would hurry up. She was dying for a shower. It had been an extremely long day and she was tired. She no longer felt ‘silly’ tired. She now felt ‘grouchy’ tired. And she was trying like hell not to snap at Holt, but it wasn’t easy. He had information that she needed and biting his head off would not get it out of him.

  She rolled her neck, her shoulders tight, while she watched him walk toward her.

  For such a big man, he moved with ease. He looked very comfortable with his body.

  I’d like to get comfortable with his body, she thought as he came up beside her. They walked together the rest of the way to the room. With every step, Ivy cursed Heather. Under any other circumstances, entering a motel room with such a fine representative of the male population would have made Ivy’s day. Hell … her whole month. But thanks to Heather and her latest disappearing act, there was no way Ivy could let her guard down enough to truly enjoy Holt’s company.

  Holt opened the door to the room and flicked on the light. Ivy saw him freeze for a second, then recover. She frowned. “What’s wrong?” she asked, brushing past him into the room. She quickly scanned it, and then turned to him, an eyebrow raised. She hadn’t seen anything that would cause her to pause. It was like any other motel room she’d ever been in. Thirty-year-old furniture. Bolted down TV. King-sized bed that looked too hard—

  That was it.

  The king-sized bed.

  Holt glanced at the bed, then his eyes quickly darted away as he closed the door behind him.

  Interesting.

  Ivy dropped her pack on the ancient dresser top. She stretched her arms over her head, watching Holt through lowered lashes.

  He was nervous about the bed. This could be used to her advantage. The fact that he was nervous hinted that he was thinking about being in bed with her. She hoped it was because he found her attractive and not because he was … married? Nah. She didn’t think so. He didn’t ‘feel’ like he was married. There was too much animal in him. As she slowly lowered her arms, feeling the delicious stretch in her muscles, Ivy wondered if he would be receptive if she made a pass at him.

  Ivy had never used sex to get information but—with a bear of a man like Holt Raven—this time she was seriously considering it.

  Seriously.

  “Um,” she said, not really sure how to begin her little seduction, “would you like the shower first?”

  Holt blinked. “You can…” He ran a hand over his hair, “…You go ahead.”

  “Are you sure?” She perched on the edge of the dresser. “You really got dirty back there, working on my car.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Yes.”

  Ivy smiled. “Go on. I can wait.”

  Holt nodded. “I won’t be long,” he said, opening his duffel bag and taking out a pair of fire engine red flannel pants.

  “Take your time,” Ivy said.

  He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door. A moment later, the shower turned on.

  Ivy sighed. She pushed off the dresser and moved to the bed, plopping down on it. She gave it a bounce. Hard. As a rock. She kicked her boots off and wiggled her toes. Better. Now if she could just get these clothes off…

  Ivy let out a giggle. Now there was a plan. Wait until Holt heard the news that she only slept in the nude.

  * * * *

  Holt let the water stream down over him, his hands splayed on the shower wall as he dipped his head into the spray.

  He scolded himself. He should have been more alert. Should have anticipated her pulling out in front of him. Should have put Colin in the driver’s seat of her car instead of Rogue, who was known for his lead foot. Shouldn’t have brought her with him. Shouldn’t have agreed to share a room with her.

  Shouldn’t have done a lot of things because of one thing he was sure … Ivy Green was a distraction.

  Holt raised his face into the hot spray and shook his head. He reached for the small bottle of shampoo that the motel had stocked in a little basket that sat by the sink and roughly started washing the sand out of his hair.

  Damn, he was in a situation.

  “Hey, how long are you going to be?” Ivy asked.

  Holt jumped at the sound of her voice, hitting his head on the showerhead. “What are you doing in here?” he asked, shampoo stinging his eyes.

  “You’re not shy, are you?” Her voice came from the other side of the shower curtain.

  Holt forced his face into the spray to wash the shampoo out of his eyes. “No. I’m not shy. I just didn’t expect company.” He threw his head, slinging his hair back out of his face. “I’ll be finished in a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  Holt heard her leave, closing the door behind her. He finished up and shut the water off. Before she could barge back in, he snagged a towel from the bar and dried off. He had just got his pants pulled up when she opened the door a second time.

  “Ah, you’re finished.” She dropped her pack on the floor. “I thought I heard the water shut off.” She looked up at him, smiling a crooked smile.

  “It’s all yours,” Holt said. He brushed past her, walking out into the other room.

  When she closed the bathroom door, Holt raked his hands through his wet hair.

  Ivy Green was tempting … oh so tempting. It had been a w
hile since Holt had been with a woman. He had been just too busy. Before he let his mind wander to the many possibilities that tonight presented, he crossed to the bed and sat, picking up the phone.

  Time to check in.

  “Ravencrest,” Eric’s voice said on the other end of the line.

  “Holt.” He found it odd that Eric was answering. “John there?”

  “Sleeping. Skylar keeps John and Madison pretty busy. Anything wrong?”

  Holt sensed concern in Eric’s voice. “No. Just picked up a little snag. Thought I’d check in.”

  “Anything you need help with?”

  Holt looked toward the bathroom. “Nothing I can’t handle. We should be able to make contact by tomorrow night.”

  “John figured you’d have joined the Clutch tonight.”

  “We got delayed. Couldn’t be helped. I’ll check back in a couple of days. If we make contact tomorrow, I won’t call unless I need reinforcements.”

  “Hope the boys are being good,” Eric said.

  “So far.”

  “Be safe.”

  “Later.” Holt hung up the phone. He glanced at his duffel that sat on the end of the bed. Holt grabbed one of the handles and drew it to him. He reached inside, his fingers grazing the cold iron of the axe. It was close to the top of the duffel. Not where he’d had it.

  He heard the water shut off in the shower.

  Holt pulled the axe out of the duffel and slipped it between the mattress and the box spring. You couldn’t be too careful and this was one weapon he didn’t want to part with.

  Zipping the duffel closed, he carried it to the dresser and shoved it on top. He wondered what Ivy would say if she knew she was spending the night in a motel room with a guy who had an axe in his duffel bag.

  There was something about her. A strength that she held inside. And a wildness that her angelic face belied. Holt had a feeling that Ivy let her wild thing out of its cage once in a while. Just to exercise it.

  The bathroom door opened.

  A cloud of steam poured into the room, looking like it was lit from inside as the light from the bathroom shimmered through it. A shadow appeared, moving through the cloud.

  Then the cloud of steam parted.

  Ivy stood, a fluffy white towel wrapped around her, skin pink and fresh from the shower. She smiled softly, the glowing steam wafting around her.

  Holt’s groin tightened, the animal in him waking up from its deep sleep.

  “Are you ready for bed?” Ivy asked, her dark eyes sparkling.

  Chapter Three

  Bloody Hell rocked gently at its mooring, the waves barely perceptible thanks to its size. Ramsey lounged in a chair on the deck, hovering at the edge of sleep. The women would be back soon. Bloody Hell was moored off to itself, away from the bustle of the dock. Ramsey would be able to hear the women approach in the dinghy … if he was awake when the returned. Not long after their return, Ramsey would have a mess to clean up.

  As his eyes slipped closed, Ramsey smiled. He didn’t like the mess—it used to make him sick, though now he was used to it—but he loved the payment for his job. He got to captain this great boat, got room and board, never had to worry about spending money. Though he didn’t have a weekly salary, if he needed money all he had to do was ask. The icing on the cake was the sex. At first, he had two women. Catharine and Elizabeth. Both insatiable. Then, two more joined their little crew. Junie and Peg. Now, they were in the process of adding a fifth. Heather. Ramsey hadn’t had a chance at Heather yet. She was too new. Still in training. But it wouldn’t be long. If they kept adding to the crew of Bloody Hell, Ramsey would be able to have a different woman for every day of the week. How much sweeter could it get?

  Ramsey opened his eyes and took a sip of the beer that dangled from his hand. He looked up at the stars twinkling in the clear, dark sky.

  He didn’t realize that the women had returned until he felt the prick of one razor sharp fingernail as it traced his jugular vein. He must have drifted off for a few minutes, lost in the fantasy that was his life. Ah well, he was glad they were back. Ramsey smiled, cocking his head to the side to allow her access. He knew it was Catharine. Only she was dainty enough to use her fingernail to pierce through his skin. Ramsey didn’t say a word. He knew that a little bit of pain brought a whole lot of pleasure when it came to these women. A thin line of blood trickled down the side of his neck where her nail had pierced him. It was warm against his skin. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, wondering what Catharine was waiting for.

  Catharine hovered above him, her blue eyes glowing eerily. Her chestnut hair curled over her brow, enhancing the whiteness of her skin. She smiled coyly, and then ran her tongue over her full lips.

  Ramsey instantly became hard. A shiver raced through him. Already he was anticipating the caress of that very experienced tongue.

  Catharine leaned down and blew gently across the wet crimson path of blood that ran down his neck. Ramsey shifted in the lounge chair, his dick straining hard in his jeans. Catharine reached down and cupped his crotch. “I do believe that you have some swelling, Ramsey,” she whispered against his ear, her British accent clipping the words. “We’ll have to see to that. But first, I must … taste.”

  Ramsey shuddered, clutching the neck of his beer bottle as Catharine slid her long tongue up the length of his neck while the palm of her hand massaged his member through the zipper of his jeans. He closed his eyes, thanking God again for this life he was living. God or perhaps, the Devil. It didn’t matter one way or the other to Ramsey who was responsible for placing him in this delicious position. Catharine lapped up the trickle of blood, working her way up his neck to the spot where her nail had pierced him. Her tongue was feathery against his skin, driving him insane. She released her hold on his crotch and, swinging one long leg over his legs, straddled him.

  Ramsey set the beer bottle on the deck and grasped her waist with both hands.

  “Mmm,” she breathed, “you taste wonderful when you’ve had a spot of ale.”

  “Drink me, baby,” Ramsey said, stretching his neck.

  “I shall.” Then that luscious, dangerous mouth latched onto his neck.

  Ramsey groaned, digging his fingers into her waist. Catharine’s lips pulled at the wound, sucking deeply. The sound of her feeding was wet and sexy in his ear. Catharine liked it to be hard. Liked to leave a purple-blue hickey on his neck from her suction. That was why she always fed from the smallest of pinpricks in his skin.

  Ramsey didn’t care. Didn’t give one damn. She could do as she pleased as long as she gave him this much pleasure. And that mouth of hers … whoa … what she could do with it on other certain places were out of this world. Ramsey reached up and grabbed the neckline of her blouse, pulling it down to expose one firm breast. He kneaded the perfect roundness of her flesh, rubbing his palm over her perpetually peaked nipple.

  Catharine moaned deep in her throat and sucked harder at his neck. She buried her fingers in his hair and began to rock her hips, grinding against his fully engorged cock that was still trapped in the confines of his jeans.

  Sweat beaded on Ramsey’s forehead. With one hand, he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her away from his neck. “Enough,” he growled, forcing her to a sitting position across his hips.

  Catharine grinned, her fangs glistening with his blood. She drew one fingertip across her bottom lip, catching a drop of blood. Slowly, she slid her finger into her mouth, sucking it.

  Ramsey’s breath was becoming ragged. He had to have her. Now. He grasped her arms and moved her down onto his legs, still straddling him in the chair. His hands flew, unzipping his jeans. Her hands joined his. Within seconds, his erection popped free of its restraint, standing at full mast.

  Ramsey grabbed her waist again, lifting.

  Catharine lifted her skirt, exposing the fact that she wore nothing underneath. Ramsey groaned. She perched on her knees above him, legs spread outside his. He slid one hand down over the cheek of he
r ass. It was round, firm and cool to the touch. Moving his hand around the curve of her hip, he worked his fingers across her smooth, tight belly, and then delved down into the swollen folds of her crotch.

  Catharine moved against his touch, a soft moan coming from her.

  Ramsey smiled. He stroked her clit, and then pinched, enjoying the shudder that raced through her when he slid two fingers inside her pussy. She was wet and ready. He pulled his hand back to her hip and urged her forward. “You had your drink,” he said. “Now, fuck me.”

  Catharine smiled. She positioned herself over his throbbing dick and hesitated.

  Ramsey dug his fingers into her skin and rammed her down on his rod in one stroke.

  Catharine cried out, throwing her head back. Then she began to gyrate her hips, grinding into him, then rising up.

  Ramsey released his hold on her and gripped the arms of the lounge chair. He had no need to help her. Catharine had a limitless capability to move like no one he had ever seen. It was as if she could become weightless. Ramsey didn’t doubt that she could fly if she wanted to. She was a vampire, after all.

  He didn’t want to think about that right now though. All he wanted to think about was the way she was milking his cock with her virgin-tight pussy. He watched her through hooded eyes as she rode him. She moved up and down his shaft, her head thrown back. With one hand, she tweaked and rolled the nipple of her exposed breast. With the other, she stroked her clit, working her fingers while she moaned in complete abandon. She rode him like an experienced equestrian, not afraid of falling off the horse.

  Ramsey felt a tingle begin in his scrotum. The sensation increased, his dick pulsing. He gritted his teeth and clutched the arms of the chair. His body was in flames; sweat popping out of his pores.

  He was going to come. Hard and fast.

  With a shout, Ramsey rammed his hips up just as Catharine hit a down stroke. She screeched into the night, her pussy tightening like a vise around his cock. He spilled his seed inside her, his heat into her coolness.

  Still she rocked against him, drinking from him in the most erotic way, her pussy sucking up his seed.

  Ramsey felt the rush of his orgasm fading, his member slowly softening. He pried his fingers from the arms of the chair and took her by the waist. “Stop,” he croaked, “you’re killing me.”