His Hot Number

by Shannon Hollis

  “We’re going to ruin that thing before we ever get to Napa,” he said tightly.

  “This is what it’s made for.”

  “Maybe. But I need more,” he confessed in a whisper, and she smiled.

  Some men needed clothes to make them stare-worthy. Some men were better to look at without any at all. Kellan Black was the kind of man who looked good in anything—or nothing. Linn marveled at the play of muscle as she ran a hand over his belly. At this moment she particularly liked nothing.

  She took him in hand, and the breath he’d been holding whooshed out of him. Liquid beaded on the tip of his cock, and she smoothed a little of it over the plumlike head, circling it, learning the shape and textures of him.

  “Linn,” he croaked.

  “Mmm?” She wanted to take him in her mouth. She wanted him to plunge into her body. She wanted him half a dozen different ways—it was only a matter of choosing which one.

  “I need to get something out of my room.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now, unless you want me coming in your hand.”

  She considered that for a moment. “Such a waste.”

  “Then you need to let me go.”

  When he came back, she drank in the sight of him, tanned and glorious, swollen and stiff with desire. For her. With quick movements he tore the condom package open and sheathed himself.

  He piled the pillows against the headboard. “Come here, gorgeous,” he suggested. “Sit in my lap.”

  The camisole fell under her knee as she straddled him and felt the insistent beat of his cock against her buttocks. She reached beneath her and stroked his length. He jumped, as though her touch had made a bolt of sensation rocket through his body. He cupped her mound with one hand and slid a finger into the creamy wetness that waited for him.

  “You’re as ready for me as I am for you.”

  Two fingers stretched her, stroked her. Reminded her how long it had been since a man had touched her this way. And it had been longer still—perhaps never—since anyone had touched her with such skill. He seemed to know exactly the moment when she could stand it no longer, and his wet fingers slid out of her body and over her clit.

  She was so swollen, so ready, that she jumped with the little burst of pleasure. He began to stroke her, and she knew she wouldn’t last more than a couple of seconds.

  “I need you now.”

  As he explored the curves of her breasts with his tongue, he tilted his pelvis up and she impaled herself slowly, her hands on his shoulders, her head thrown back as her body opened to him.

  “That’s so good,” she sighed, and began to move, sheathing him again and again, savoring each thrust and the way he filled her, stretched her, even. His thighs trembled and his skillful fingers again found her clit, stroking her in a counterpoint to the rise and fall of her body. The tension built with each wave of pleasure.

  She couldn’t stop it. She didn’t want to stop it. An orgasm she couldn’t control or slow down slammed through her, and fireworks blossomed behind her closed eyelids.

  As she shuddered with the pleasure of it, still pumping up and down on him, he braced himself on both arms and drove up into her with a powerful flex of his hips. His body froze in a split second of stillness, and then his release hit him, making his back arch as he gripped her waist with both hands and called something—a word? a name?—into the swinging curtain of her hair.

  10

  SHE JERKED UPWARD, and Kellan slid out of her body with a suddenness that left him cold and confused.

  “What did you call me?”

  He fell back on his elbows and reached out, still half-delirious with the pleasure he’d experienced with her. He wanted to feel her, warm and languorous, against him, to prolong it for just a few minutes more.

  She scrambled back, and her hand fell on the red camisole. She jerked it on. “I said, what did you call me?”

  What was she talking about? “Linn. Take that off and come back here.”

  “You did not. You cried out. You said Carrie.”

  He had? He tried to remember, but she was crouched on the bed like an angry cat ready to spring, and he needed to do something about that, fast.

  “Come here, sweetheart. Let’s talk about this. People can get so deep into character that they talk about themselves in the third person. But I didn’t just make love to Caroline. I made love to you. Linn Nichols.”

  “But when you came, you called her name, not mine.”

  Whether he had or he hadn’t, that wasn’t the point. The point was getting back to that place where they could lie next to each other. He reached for her pillow, which was teetering on the edge of the bed, and plumped it into place beside his. Now was not a good time to match her tone. Instead he kept his voice low. “Why does it bother you so much?”

  Her shoulders drooped a little as the spurt of agitation began to drain away. Had she been hoping he would fight with her, to give her an excuse to leave?

  “I don’t know. I’m beginning to think I have a split personality.”

  He judged the moment might be right to take her wrist in his fingers and tug her toward the pillow. To his surprise she came.

  “But I don’t want to be split,” she went on slowly. “I don’t want this to be Dean and Caroline, just part of the job. I want this to be you and me.”

  This was more like it. “For me it was.”

  They lay side by side, facing each other, voices quiet. The way it had been the other night, in her apartment. He wanted that sense of intimacy, like a secret room in the middle of the State’s temporary housing. This was what he missed when he was working. That connection with other people—normal people. People who weren’t criminals. Sometimes he had to go two or three months at a time without so much as making a phone call to any of his family. He’d lost track of the birthdays and holidays he’d had to give up because there wasn’t a way to break off an operation and become a civilian for a weekend.

  “It’s something we all deal with,” he said softly. “The split personality. If I went to see my family as Dean they’d disown me, but after spending six or eight weeks living and breathing Dean, who’s done hard time for distribution, it’s pretty difficult to be Uncle Kellan for my nephews.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted in a halfhearted smile. “And Uncle Kellan can’t talk about weekend house parties and spending hundreds of thousands in one day and driving fancy cars, either, can he?”

  “No. Uncle Kellan’s life is pretty boring in comparison. Sometimes it scares me. Life as a criminal is definitely not boring. Sometimes it can be addictive. The adrenaline. Having to think on your feet all the time. The challenge of getting the better of these guys.”

  “Are you addicted?”

  He thought about that. “Not addicted. But sometimes disoriented. Like driving down the freeway and suddenly realizing I don’t know who I’m supposed to be at that particular moment. That’s pretty weird.”

  “Does that happen when you’re with Caroline?”

  “She’s very disorienting.” He smiled at her, then sobered. “Caroline makes it easier to be Dean.”

  “She’s part of that fast life. Lots of money and easy women.”

  “We could write a country-western song.”

  “No, thanks. It would have to be a blues song. With Albert Collins on guitar.”

  Kellan grinned. “In that case we’d have to have no money and a hard woman.”

  To his delight, she laughed. “You’re right.” Then something seemed to strike her and the smile faded from her mouth. “That’s me. No money to speak of. And some people see me as a hard woman.”

  “I don’t.” He meant it. Of all the faces of Linn and Caroline put together, this was the one he liked best. This was the girl in the green bathrobe. “Now that I know you better.”

  She was silent, her eyes focused on something inside herself. A breeze blew through the open window, and a car went by on the street outside with its stereo turned up lou
d enough to make the glass vibrate.

  When the sound faded, he asked gently, “Can I stay?”

  Her gaze came back to him, her eyes dark and shadowed in the lamplight. “I don’t think this is the time or the place for you to ask me that. But I might have an answer when the case is over.”

  Ah. He could take a hint. He tamped the disappointment and mustered a smile, then leaned over to kiss her softly. “See you in the morning. But ask yourself this. When the case is over, do you think we have a chance?”

  A CHANCE? WHAT DID HE MEAN, a chance?

  Linn leaned back on the buttery leather seat of the limousine as it purred its way north to the Napa Valley wine country. Kellan’s arm lay comfortably around her shoulders, and her left hand rested on his denim-clad thigh. They looked like a pair of lovebirds on their way to an all-expenses-paid tryst, but Kellan had whispered into her ear earlier that he recognized the driver. The limo company employed O’Reilly’s couriers, carrying packages of narcotics all over the city under the guise of picking up well-heeled customers.

  Their conversation was restricted to small talk. Which was just fine with Linn. She needed a chance to think—as if there hadn’t been lots of time for that during the long hours of the night, after he’d slipped across the hall to his own room.

  Yes, she was sexually attracted to him. Yes, the feelings and antagonism and sheer desire had been building up for days and the inevitable conclusion had been terrific. But the problem was, she couldn’t quite get over the feeling that, despite what he’d said to reassure her, he had been making love to Caroline instead of to her. What did it say about her when a man fantasized about someone else when he was buried deep in her body?

  Kellan Black was the wrong man for her, despite the way they agreed on little things. Despite the way he could make her laugh. In one way, though, it was good they’d gotten the sex out of the way. Now she could really concentrate on this case and put on her act as Caroline without the secret fear that she’d let herself go with the fantasy and get any more involved.

  If Caroline was on his mind during the moment of truth—orgasm—then it was pretty certain she was the one he really wanted. Both of them knew she was a heartless, amoral bitch, so that’s exactly who he’d get.

  The limo tooled through the hills and slowed for the village of Napa. The clapboard shops and houses had kept their early 1900s flavor. Maybe sometime when she wasn’t working, she and Tessa or Natalie could come up here and spend a weekend tasting wine and window shopping. That wasn’t much to ask, was it? To get away from the job long enough to connect with people she loved. And to get back the pieces of herself she seemed to be losing. Tessa had advised her to integrate Caroline into her personality. That was turning out to be pretty difficult when Caroline made a habit of stealing the things Linn had begun to value, such as Kellan’s opinion.

  They turned in at a long drive flanked by pines and scrub oak draped in mistletoe. The parasite plant sucked the life out of the trees and subsequently starved to death. How had such a thing become associated with Christmas and kissing? It was a perfect metaphor for the drug trade, though, except that when the host died or got thrown into jail, the parasites just moved on to other targets.

  On that happy thought, the limo glided to a stop in front of the house. Linn studied her surroundings as she got out of the car. If this were the importer’s second pied-à-terre, she’d love to see what his houses looked like in Miami and wherever else he lived. Terra-cotta-red tiles and creamy plaster baked in the sun. Bougainvillea in shades of fuchsia, purple and red exploded from trellises in the south-facing angles of the house. Cypresses and palms provided shade, and from somewhere she heard the sound of running water, which probably cost a fortune in a state where fountains and watercourses were the first to go during summer droughts.

  She doubted that anything as annoying as a drought ever affected anyone at this little mission-style rancho.

  “I’ll take your bags up,” the driver said.

  She turned and saw Rick O’Reilly in the doorway, holding open one half of a pair of heavily carved Spanish doors.

  “Caroline, my love.” He slid an arm around her waist and kissed her on the mouth. She was less aware of the taste of bourbon than of how big a man he was, and how dangerous. She’d received her ratings in both sharpshooting and self-defense, but she was reminded again that in a physical contest with Rick O’Reilly, no matter how strong she was, chances were good she’d lose. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

  In the next moment she was freed as Kellan pulled O’Reilly’s arm away and shook his hand.

  “Welcome.” O’Reilly looked him over.

  “We’ve been looking forward to this.” Kellan’s tone was just as smooth, his words just as false.

  Well, it wasn’t as if they were all best buds. She was determined to see O’Reilly spend his life in prison, and he probably only tolerated Kellan because he was the buyer.

  “I’ll show you up to your rooms and you can change or whatever.” O’Reilly led them into a huge, cool hall. Plaster walls painted white contrasted with the warm reds and browns of the flagstone floor. “Drinks by the pool whenever you’re ready. Down the stairs and out that door.” He pointed.

  “Is your friend here?” Kellan inquired. “The one who owns the winery?”

  “He’s coming tonight. Don’t worry. I said I’d introduce you and I will.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” Kellan replied. “Did you say rooms?”

  O’Reilly entered a long wing on the ground floor and opened a door about halfway down. “Yeah. This one’s yours. Caroline, you’re the next door down, on the end.”

  “Wait a minute.” Kellan didn’t waste a glance on his room. “Where are you sleeping?”

  “Across from Caroline. I liked the view. Hope you don’t mind I took that one.”

  “What I mind is separate rooms. Caroline and I are here together, and don’t you forget it.”

  O’Reilly rolled his eyes, as if Kellan were being unbelievably unsophisticated and a pain in the ass, besides. “There’s a connecting door, for God’s sake. She can sleep where she wants, and if that includes the room across the hall, well—” he shrugged “—who am I to argue?”

  “Don’t count on it,” Kellan snapped.

  “Why don’t we let the lady decide?”

  “Yes, why don’t you?” Linn stepped between them and strolled to the door of her room. “See you at the pool.”

  When she stepped inside, she closed the door behind her and looked around. This room, and probably all the rooms in the house, had been professionally designed. The bedspread and curtains were a biscuit-colored fabric that looked like silk but was probably a longer-wearing synthetic. Still, it picked up a matching color in the rug that lay on the flagstones. It was as if the designer wanted to keep the room fairly neutral so that the view was the main focal point.

  Linn walked to the windows. On this side of the house, the hillside dropped away and then rose again where the vineyard began. Acres of vines roped across the curves of the hills, rich with foliage that concealed the young grapes. Her mother would have a field day painting here.

  What a shame this beautiful place was in all probability a money-laundering operation. Turning away, she went to the adjoining door and opened it—and jumped back with a gasp.

  “Relax, it’s me.” Kellan lowered his hand, fisted to rap on the door, and leaned in. “So, are we using your room or mine? Yours has more windows.”

  “But it’s closer to O’Reilly.”

  “Right. Mine’s bigger, and the bed is a king.” He peered over her shoulder. “Yours looks like a queen and my feet always hang off the end.”

  She could not believe she was having this conversation with her team lead. They sounded like Mr. and Mrs. Middle America at the Dew Drop Inn.

  “The king, then. But we need to stay focused.”

  He picked up her suitcase and brought it into his room. Pulling the connecting door shut behind her
, she joined him.

  With a glance that told her he hadn’t misunderstood, he said, “Meaning no repeats of last night? You can put pillows down the middle if you want.”

  She ignored that and changed the subject. “This place is beautiful. It could pass for a honeymoon heaven easily, except that knowing what it really is kind of puts a damper on the romance.”

  “True. You don’t sign into the average honeymoon heaven knowing your room will probably be rifled and at any moment another guest could pull a gun on you.”

  If she felt strange and uncomfortable talking about beds with him, it was nothing to how she felt about pulling her underwear out of her suitcase and putting it into the bureau drawers. Finally she concluded she was going to have to think of the room as a dormitory and of him as a roommate, both sharing accommodations while they were at the academy for some training. Otherwise, the thought of him looking at her lacy bras and watching her hang the red dress was going to spook her and get her thinking about him in a way that was dangerous to her emotional equilibrium. And a spooked woman wasn’t going to be able to play this part.

  Cool and focused, that was how she’d play it.

  Until she realized that he was, too. In fact, he was so damn cool and focused he was unbuttoning his jeans right in front of her.

  Oh, this was so not fair. “What are you doing?”

  His fingers stilled, then undid the last button. “Getting changed.”

  “You could use the bathroom.”

  “Sweetie, let me remind you, Dean and Caroline are living together. I undress in front of you all the time.”

  She glanced at the doors, but they were both firmly closed. “That isn’t what I meant. You said yourself we couldn’t have a repeat of last night. If you strip in front of me it’s going to be really hard to keep my focus.”

  It didn’t help when he crossed the room in nothing but his boxers and bent to swipe a pair of white cotton pants out of his suitcase. The man’s ass would make Michelangelo reach for his paintbrush.

  He turned sooner than she expected and caught her staring. “Do I make you lose focus?”