Suddenly, Jack was behind her, his bare chest hot against her back, his erection pressing insistently, nudging her buttocks. His arms snaked around her middle.
“You make me hot,” he whispered. “God, I need to be inside you now.”
“Yes.” Emma set the humming vibrator aside and a swift glance at him told her he’d discovered something to help their investigation. The excitement, the satisfaction glowed in his dark eyes. She winked at him. “Yes, Jack. You make me so hot. Fuck me now.”
Jack turned her and bent her over the bed. Gentle fingers probed her slick channel, filling her then retreating. Before she could protest, his cock filled the emptiness. Two hard strokes shoved her into orgasm. She shattered, her body shuddering with the force of her release. Jack climaxed a stroke later while her pussy still convulsed with blissful spasms.
He rested against her for an instant before pulling free and tugging Emma to her feet and into his arms. His mouth lowered over hers as he plundered, kissing her deeply, driving her desire higher and winding her tight as a spring. Her last thought as they fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and tinkling bells was that she could never ever get enough of Jack.
Chapter Seven
Emma headed for the gym and ignored the perky voice on the speaker system, extolling the excitement of the clay pigeon shooting lessons for beginners and the tournament for those more experienced. Maybe she’d check that out later. With Jack’s discoveries last night—a computer with shipment details—the case was on its way to a conclusion. Once they found physical evidence and tied a few loose ends, their partnership would terminate. Back to the way things were before. Pangs of regret pierced her feel-good mood. Not exactly the same way because now her memory contained visions of a naked Jack and how it felt when his cock surged inside her pussy.
A businessman strolled along the corridor in front of her. Dressed in his charcoal-gray suit, he stood out in the casual beach atmosphere of the resort.
Mahoney. The creep.
He yanked open the fire door at the end of the corridor, saw her and paused to hold the door for her.
“Thanks.” She shaped her lips to a pleasant smile even though she’d prefer to spit at him.
A return grin—one that urged into smirk territory—curved his lips, an echo of amusement shining in his expression. “You’re very welcome, my dear.”
Emma bit back her gasp with difficulty and battled her urge to shift her countenance to an all-out glower. He recognized her face, and it wasn’t a big leap to a conclusion. Making love with Jack was private, dammit. Fury lashed her and accusations bubbled out before she could think.
“Mr. Mahoney, I want the films back.”
Amusement made him appear sly. Like the dog that had polished off the last of the cat’s dinner, his smirk widened as his gaze drifted up and down her body. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Emma shuddered, and it wasn’t with the same awareness she experienced when Jack paid her attention. Mahoney made her feel dirty with his slimy interest, and his attitude poked her anger to a higher level.
“If you don’t give me the films you’ve taken of me and Jack, I will go to the papers. I will tell every single guest at your resort that you’re filming their private moments without their knowledge. I will warn them about you peddling their images on the Internet for profit.” Her chest rose and fell with the force of her fury.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The clear enjoyment, the leer told her he knew and he’d seen the films. With his gel-slicked hair, his designer aftershave and suit, he appeared self-important. Emma’s right fist curled and drew back ready to let rip. His face. His gut. She didn’t care what she smacked—anything to prick his smug ego.
But no…violence wasn’t professional.
“Fine,” she snarled, after taking a deep, calming breath that was next to useless. “I will contact the police and see what they say.” She marched past, but his hand shot out and fastened around her forearm with steel manacle force.
“I don’t think so, my dear.”
“I am not your dear.” Only one man for her, and it wasn’t this creep.
With his greater height and strength, Mahoney dragged her, forcing her to trot at his side along the corridor before knocking on a door with his free hand.
Emma fought every step of the way. “Let me go.”
The door jerked open and Mahoney pushed her inside a storage room. Small brown boxes were stacked on a set of shelves while a desk and two chairs sat between the door and the shelves.
Emma squinted, trying to read the labels on the boxes. Ah! Her breath hissed out in triumph. Bingo. The very storage room they’d been searching for.
The hulk who’d opened the door stood to attention. “Problem, Mr. Mahoney?”
“Nothing we can’t handle.” Mahoney shoved Emma farther inside.
Emma was pleased to see her struggles had messed up his hair. She yanked from his touch, and this time he released her.
“Keep her here out of trouble. Get a rope. We’ll tie her up.”
Emma backed up rapidly. She lashed out with her feet, landed a kick, but it hurt her sandaled foot more than it bothered Mahoney. Tears stung her eyes but she kept kicking and biting until the two men forced her into a corner.
Chest heaving, she glared at them and considered her next move. “Sore nose?” she asked in a cool voice.
Mahoney’s helper patted his beak with a folded white handkerchief. The cloth turned red, and smug satisfaction filled her. That would teach him to mess with her again. George, her boss, would’ve been proud. She made a come-get-me gesture with both hands.
“Stop mucking around. You won’t get away,” Mahoney said.
“Make me.”
The door burst open, heralding the arrival of another employee. Emma shifted her attention and Beak man took the opportunity to grab her. Seconds later, they’d trussed her tight and she was ruing her rookie mistake.
“You can’t keep me here,” she screeched. Hopefully, someone would hear the din and investigate.
Mahoney scowled as he raked a hand through his disordered hair. “If the noise gets too bad, gag her.” He glared at her before striding from the room, the pop, pop, pop of the clay pigeon guns punctuating his ire.
Emma stopped mid-shout, pleased she’d knocked the smirk off his face. Best she save the yelling for later when she really needed to attract attention.
* * * * *
The magnetic pull of the moon gave testiness a whole new meaning. Jack strode to their accommodation, hoping like hell Emma was there and could be tempted into a quickie. As he passed the crowd at the clay pigeon event, his stomach twisted, pain slicing with the brute force of a blunt knife. He weaved through the onlookers, his staggering blending with their intoxication. Thankfully, the staff seemed to have things under control. Way more than him.
Sex. God, please let Emma be there.
He hustled as best as he could. Never suffered this level of agony. He needed to slam into her pussy in the worst way. A glance at his hand showed the dark stems of his claws beneath his human fingernails. Another sharp cramp almost doubled him over. He fell inside the room and scanned it urgently.
Emma wasn’t here.
Shit. He was gonna have to jerk-off to stave off both the pain and the taniwha. Along with the thought came a sliver of worry. He hadn’t seen her since this morning.
Jack ripped off his clothes before a wave of agony struck. He crawled into the bathroom before pulling to his feet in front of the mirror. His face glinted with the pale gray of taniwha scales. His hands fisted around his cock and he noticed that too glinted a pearl gray color.
Emma.
He concentrated, visualizing her in his mind. Her ripe curves. Her mouth wrapped around his swollen shaft. Jack pumped his erection, stroking with hard, even strokes. Not enough to send him over the edge but sufficient to keep the taniwha at bay. He stretched the process out for as long as he could be
fore applying more pressure to his tip. The pleasure bubbled over, escaping his restraint, and he came with a rush in his fisted hand. As he cleaned up, Emma filled his mind.
Where the hell was she? She’d said she intended to go to the gym. He’d go there first. If anything had happened to her, he’d never forgive himself.
* * * * *
The guards scarcely paid her any attention. There were two of them and they resembled their clones who worked in the gym. They argued about who would take their lunch break first. Evidently, it was chocolate penis day, as well as clay pigeon shooting day, and the chef’s recipe for the truffle filling was worth fighting for the privilege.
“Toss a coin,” one said, his brawny arms and shoulders almost bursting from his blue shirt.
“Heads,” the second one called. He’d shaved his head and his scalp glowed in the artificial light. The coin glinted as it tumbled to the top of the desk. “Yes. Yes!”
Baldy left, jubilant in his victory and whistling.
“Bastard,” Brawny muttered and clamped a pair of earphones over his ears.
Emma stared at him in disfavor. Why did he bother? She could hear his loud, discordant rock from where she was sitting. She continued to eye him while stealthily wriggling her hands and fingers in an attempt to loosen her bonds.
Half an hour passed, interspersed only by the pop and crack and cheers from the shooters and their audience. Baldy returned, brandishing a chocolate penis.
“There had better be some left,” Brawny said in a testy tone and bolted out the door.
Emma continued to work toward freedom, her gaze on her minder. Baldy swiped his tongue across the tip of his chocolate cock and moaned, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy as he savored his dessert.
Good grief. He was taking eating to a new level. She stared, not wanting to watch but mesmerized by his performance.
His groan was an animal grunt, and when he pulled the penis from his mouth, she saw he’d nibbled off the tip. A trickle of the filling dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
Eew. She shuddered and looked away. That was so not sexy.
Without warning the rope binding her hands loosened—just a fraction. Victorious, she doubled her efforts and five minutes later, one hand slid free. She drew her legs up in a stealthy fashion and unfastened the rope around her ankles.
What she needed now was a weapon.
Carefully, she scanned her surroundings. There was no way she could creep out, not with penis-sucking Baldy right near the door. But he was engrossed…
Her gaze lit on a large rock. A doorstop—something to prop open the entrance if they were bringing in or taking out new supplies. She glanced from the rock to the man’s head. An excellent weapon—if she could grab it before Baldy discovered she’d freed herself.
He continued sucking on the penis. Her lips curled in distaste while she worked on freeing her other hand. Then she blinked in astonishment. Even better! Baldy was nodding off.
She scanned the walls, the furniture and contents. Perhaps she should look in one of the brown boxes? A snore erupted from Baldy and a chocolate-colored dribble ran from the corner of his mouth. Holding her breath, she tugged open the closest box. It was full of foil packs containing pills. Emma slipped one inside her shorts pocket. A snort sounded. She froze, but when she spun to check, he was still asleep.
With her pulse racing, she stood and glided smoothly forward to scoop up the rock. It was heavier than it looked. And in truth, she wasn’t sure she could hit a sleeping Baldy over the head. As she edged closer, she saw dark chocolate smeared his cheek. That settled it—she couldn’t hit a man who resembled a defenseless kid.
Emma took another two steps and reached for the door, still holding the rock. Her free hand closed around the brass handle and twisted. The door squeaked.
Baldy jerked awake. “What?”
Emma threw the rock at him and ripped open the door. Baldy cursed. She heard a crash but didn’t stop to check the damage. Instead, she sped to the main corridor and paused to peek around the corner. Clear. She took off at a sprint in the opposite direction to the restaurant.
Jack.
She had to find Jack.
* * * * *
Jack scanned the bodies in the gym, alarm growing. Emma wasn’t here. He couldn’t smell the girly floral soap she used and he sure as hell couldn’t see her. He’d already checked the clay pigeon shooting area, but none of her friends had seen her, and she wasn’t one of those shooting.
He stalked through the restaurant, searching faces, his gut churning insistently the entire time. If anything had happened to her…
Pushing past the queue of party people at the buffet, he ignored the comments about rudeness. She had to be somewhere. Outside, he checked the bar and around the pool. Down on the beach. Worry creased his brow while the pull of the blue moon created havoc with his body, his control.
Every one of his bones ached as if he had a fever and sweat glued his shirt to his chest. He forced himself to stagger along the beach, to push past the pain that made him shiver and shake.
All he could think of was Emma. The way she smiled. The way she pressed him and ignored his bouts of surliness. The way she gave her all every time they made love.
A derisive snort escaped him. Somewhere along the line, Emma had crept into the empty spaces inside him. It was a damn uncomfortable sensation, but he’d come to enjoy her presence.
A flash of red caught his eye, and he hurried along the beach to intercept her. “Emma. Where the hell have you been?” A wave of pain doubled him over. Sex. Shit, now. Jack jerked her against his chest, shuddering at the feminine feel of her. Her sunset hair was ruffled and dirt coated one cheek. He lifted a trembling hand, battling nausea and acute stomach pangs to unbutton her shirt. A quickie to take the edge off, to stave the pain and halt the shift to taniwha. He fumbled, his nails well on the way to transformation.
“We have to go now.” Emma fought for breath, her breasts heaving, her brow moist with sweat. She glanced over her shoulder. “What are you doing? Shit! They’re coming. We’ve got to hide.”
The scent of blood distracted him, and his nostrils flared. The coppery tang was coming from her. He seized her hands and saw her wrists were bloodied when she pushed against his chest.
“What happened?” Damn, his voice was changing. Desperation swelled along with pain. Sex. Now.
“Run.” Emma grabbed his forearm. “They’re after me.”
A gunshot punctuated her words, sounding much like the clay pigeon shooters, but Emma took off like a startled gazelle. She sprinted across the sand toward the river mouth. Jack lumbered after her, trying to focus on moving one foot after the other. Waves of torment engulfed him, sharp and intense. His hands had turned. If the transformation progressed much further he wouldn’t be able to come back—not for twenty-four hours.
The soft sand changed to oozing mud. It sucked at his sandaled feet and slowed his progress. Fighting the aches and throbs of protesting muscles, Jack paused to rip off his shirt and yank off his leather sandals. Pearly scales already covered his chest, ranging over more skin with each gathering minute. He glanced at Emma as she darted between two mangrove trees. His brave and determined Emma. He hobbled after her, struggling past the grasping branches of the mangrove trees that gouged his limbs.
The pungent scent of the mud and the salty tang of the water called his dragon soul.
Emma.
Regret pierced him along with sorrow, and in that moment, he realized he cared more for her than he ever had for another woman. And he was going to lose her, if he didn’t scare her to death first.
Jack’s senses sharpened. The thudding of running feet following them continued, the harsh sound of the men’s breathing a signal to hurry.
“Emma,” he growled. “Into the water.”
Her face whitened noticeably. “No, I can’t swim.”
But he could since taniwhas—the species he belonged to—were creatures of the water. “Clim
b on my back.” He had to concentrate to force out the words.
Emma hesitated but the crack of a firing gun—closer now and not of the clay pigeon variety—galvanized her to action.
Jack ripped off his remaining clothes and waded into the water. “Come.” His low, growly voice was barely recognizable. He glanced at Emma and winced.
“W-what is happening to you?” The clear shock on her face told him the transformation from man to taniwha had progressed enough to traumatize a human. His gut burned, his throat tightened with the need to rail at fate. No time to explain. Their pursuers were still crashing through the undergrowth, coming closer, closer, closer.
He grabbed Emma and tugged her resisting body into deeper water.
“No. No.” She attempted to dig in her heels, panic lending her strength. The men’s shouts sounded near as they searched for them amongst the mangroves.
Knowing he didn’t have another option, he allowed the image of his dragon to form in his mind. Muscles and bones lengthened, his face changed, elongating to fit the sharp teeth and fangs that developed in his mouth. His nostrils changed shape, as did his eyes. A long tail formed, making him appear larger than his normal six foot two. His arms and legs changed into strong, webbed limbs suitable for swimming.
Fully shifted, the taniwha resembled a water beast, half dragon, half Loch Ness monster in appearance, capable of inflicting mortal wounds to enemies. He waded deeper into the water, and Emma started to cling instead of attempting to flee.
Jack filled his lungs with air and began to swim. He kept just below the surface instead of diving into the watery depths as he normally would if he was on his own. Emma needed to breathe but if he kept his body low, she wouldn’t be too visible. He headed for the mainland, his heart heavy.
Once they arrived on the other side, things would change with Emma. Her hands gripped him, fingernails digging into his hide, but after her initial gasp, she hadn’t uttered a word.
Blue Moon Dragon Page 10
