His Secret Agenda

by Beth Andrews

  “Come on, get up.” Richie jerked her to her feet, his fingers biting into her arm. She gasped at the pain. “Open the damn cash register.”

  Her hands were so unsteady, it took her three tries to fit the key in the lock. The drawer sprang open and he nudged her aside. He tensed, then threw the empty money tray over the bar with a curse.

  He turned to her and she took a step back, her hand going to her chest. “Where’s the money?” he asked.

  “I already put it in the safe.” She edged to one side, forcing Richie to turn his back on Dean if he was going to keep her in his line of vision. “You know I don’t leave that much cash in the register overnight.”

  He pressed his hands against his temples. “No, no, no.” He focused on Dean, who was bent over, his elbows on his thighs, his head resting in his hands. “We’ll…we’ll tie him up. Then we’ll go back to the safe, get the money.”

  “We can’t tie him up,” she said, drawing Richie’s attention back to her. “There’s no rope here.”

  He looked around frantically. “We’ll use something else.”

  “Like what? There’s nothing here.”

  “I don’t know!” He picked up the heavy glass mixer and heaved it toward the shelves of liquor. She covered her head as bottles exploded, sending shards of glass flying through the air, stinging the back of her hands. The distinctive smell of liquor filled the room.

  Richie was breathing hard, but she didn’t dare look to see what Dean was doing. Not if she wanted to keep Richie’s attention on her. “You need to stay calm—”

  “Shut up!” He pointed the gun at her. “Shut up. I—I need to think. I need—”

  “You don’t have to do this,” she told him, fighting the fear clawing her throat. “It’s not too late to end this right now. Before it gets worse. Before you do something you’ll regret.”

  “I didn’t want it to be this way. I didn’t mean for it to happen.” Bits of broken bottles littered his hair and a bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face. He wiped his cheek against his shoulder. “If you hadn’t been here—”

  “What? You wouldn’t have broken into my place? You wouldn’t have stolen from me?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dean easing up his pant leg. “So tell me,” she said, edging to the right, away from Dean. “Explain why you’d rather have drugs than a job and friends who trusted you. How you could betray the people who believed in you.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted you to find out.” His eyes welled with tears and he rubbed at them with his free hand. “I just need some money, but this will be the only time. I swear. Then I’ll get clean again.”

  For a moment she felt sorry for him. Then she remembered he was holding a gun on her. Had hurt Dean. Meant to rob her. And she still wanted to help him? She was either pathetic or delusional.

  “This isn’t you, Richie. It’s the drugs.”

  She licked her dry lips, noticed Dean slowly rising from his chair. Though he’d barely been able to walk, the gun in his hand was steady as a rock.

  It was enough to chill her blood, and she shivered. Where did he get a gun? And more importantly, how was she going to stop either of them from using their weapons? How was she going to get them all out of this alive?

  “You can still walk away,” she said desperately to Richie. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

  Tears streamed down his face and he lowered his arm. But he must’ve sensed Dean moving behind him, because he suddenly swung his gun around.

  “No!” Adrenaline pulsing through her, Allie rushed at Richie, knocking her shoulder into him. The gun went off, the discharge sounding as loud as a cannon in the confined space. Through the ringing in her ears she thought she heard Dean shout. Richie shoved her and she landed hard against the counter of the sink, the breath momentarily knocked out of her. Before she could regain her footing, Richie backhanded her. Her head snapped to the side, fire exploding in her cheek.

  Roaring like a cornered animal, Dean jumped onto a stool, then the bar, and with a flying leap, tackled Richie. Richie grunted at the force, his gun skidding across the floor. Allie scrambled through the puddles of alcohol and broken bottles, ignoring the stinging cuts to her palms and knees, her only thought on getting the gun. Helping Dean.

  She picked it up, but could only hold it loosely because of the bleeding gashes on her hands, the glass still embedded in her skin. Just don’t drop it, she chanted silently to herself as she sat back on her butt and aimed the weapon at Richie.

  Not that Dean needed her help, since he’d effectively knocked Richie out. She lowered her trembling arms and carefully set the weapon aside. Dean pulled his cell phone out as he straightened from Richie’s prone body.

  He knelt next to her as he called 911. After a quick, terse explanation of what had happened, he clicked the phone off and gently gripped her chin. His expression turned fierce as he studied her cheek, where Richie had hit her. But that was nothing compared to the fury in Dean’s eyes when he noticed the blood on her hands.

  He swore roundly, then shifted as if to stand.

  “Don’t,” she said, skimming her fingertips over the back of his hand. Even with that light touch, she could feel the tension vibrating through him.

  “Don’t what?”

  She nodded toward Richie. “He’s already unconscious. There’s no need to pound him some more.”

  “He hurt you. That’s reason enough for me.”

  “Please. Just…could you just sit with me?”

  He glanced at Richie, then at her before nodding. “Yeah, but let’s get you out of this mess.” He helped her to her feet and smoothed her hair back from her face. “You sure you’re okay?”

  His tenderness and concern mixed with her own relief that they were all alive, making her head swim. “I’m fine.” She began to shiver in earnest. “Just more shaken than I’d like to admit. I’m also confused.”

  He guided her around the bar to the first stool. “You should know better than anyone there’s no figuring out why people commit the crimes they do.”

  “No…I mean…yes, of course I’m curious why Richie would do this. But what I’m really wondering,” she said as she searched Dean’s face, “is what you’re doing carrying a gun?”

  DEAN INSERTED HIS KEY CARD into the lock and opened the motel door. He reached along the wall and flipped on the light. Used to working out of motel rooms, he never went anywhere without first locking all his files in a metal briefcase and making sure his laptop was shut off.

  Which was a good thing, considering the way Allie was hovering over him.

  “Want to lean on me?” she asked, as if a little bump on the head was enough to keep him down.

  He gave her a look. “No.”

  She followed him inside, shut the door behind her. He didn’t want her here. Not when he was feeling so amped up. So on edge.

  So out of control.

  “What is your problem?” she asked. “First you refuse to go to the hospital—”

  “Me? You’re the one who should’ve gone to the hospital instead of insisting the EMT take care of your cuts in the back of the ambulance.”

  She raised her bandaged palms. “Honestly, it looked much worse than it was.” And after they’d taken the glass out of her knees and cleaned the cuts, Jack had given her a pair of Serenity Springs P.D. sweatpants to wear instead of her ruined jeans. “At least I’m not in danger of slipping into a coma.”

  “The EMT said I didn’t even need stitches, so I doubt I’m heading into a vegetative state. Besides, what good would it have done to go to the E.R.?” He took his coat off, threw it onto the bed. “All they’d do is tell me I might have a mild concussion and to take it easy.”

  Even though his head had hurt like a son of a bitch, the four painkillers he’d downed earlier had diminished the agony to a dull ache.

  He clenched his fists. He wished the pills would also do someth
ing to erase the memory of Allie throwing herself at that maniac. Of that bastard putting his hands on her.

  “And now that you’ve seen me safely to my room,” he continued as he sat on the bed and pulled one boot off, “you can go. A shower and a few hours of sleep and I’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s a great idea. And what if you get dizzy in the shower? You could slip and crack your head open. Or be knocked unconscious again.”

  “I told you,” he growled, “I was only out for a few minutes.” He threw his second boot across the room and stood. “And I don’t need a goddamn babysitter.”

  She tossed her purse onto the desk. “What has gotten into you?”

  “You want to know? How about how, when your brother took our statements, you spun the facts so that while you didn’t actually lie, you didn’t tell the full story, either. If that’s a sample of your skills, you must’ve been a hell of a lawyer.”

  “I didn’t lie,” she said, stepping up to him. “I told Jack what he needed to know. And how about you? You’re the one carrying a concealed weapon.”

  “I have a permit.”

  “I don’t like the idea of one of my employees being armed without my knowledge.”

  He edged closer until they were nose to nose. “That’s the point of it being concealed.”

  And he could kick his own ass for switching from his preferred—and easily accessible—back holster to an ankle holster. All because she’d almost discovered his weapon that morning in her kitchen when they’d kissed.

  “I don’t like secrets,” she maintained, crossing her arms.

  “Oh, really? Then why don’t we call Jack? Tell him some of the facts you left out before. Like how you threw yourself at a gun-waving drug addict!”

  She tossed up her hands. “What was I supposed to do? Let him shoot you?”

  “If that’s what it took to keep you safe, then yes.” He wrapped his fingers around her upper arms but resisted the urge to shake some sense into her. “Or did you think it’d be better if you got shot instead?”

  She trembled, but since her expression was defiant and angry, he figured it wasn’t because she was afraid of him. More than likely the adrenaline rush she’d been riding for the past two hours was waning.

  Good. Reality would set in soon.

  “I didn’t want anyone to get shot. That was the point.”

  “Next time,” he growled, lifting her onto her toes, “do me a favor and don’t try to save me.”

  “Fine!”

  “Great!”

  Then he crushed her to him and kissed her. After a startled moment that felt more like a lifetime, she threw her arms around him.

  Their tongues dueled as his hands raced over her. He couldn’t stop touching her, assuring himself she really was safe. Whole.

  His head ached but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the woman in his arms. He speared his hands into her hair, held her head still while he kissed her deeply. She clawed at his shirt, lifted the hem and drew it over his head.

  Pain rocked him and he grunted just loud enough for Allie to hear.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

  He kissed her again. No way was he allowing her to finish that sentence.

  He spun them around and walked her backward until the backs of her legs hit the bed. She fell onto the mattress and he followed her down, pressing his hips against hers. He stopped kissing her only long enough to slip her shirt off.

  They rolled so that she straddled him, and he reached behind her, unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms. He took one nipple in his mouth and sucked hard. She groaned and arched her back, curling her fingers into his chest.

  They flipped again and he tugged her sweatpants down. She lifted her hips to help him, but the fabric bunched, caught on her boots. With a curse, he stood and, grasping them by the heels, pulled them off. She shimmied out of her pants and panties while he took his wallet out of his pocket and kicked the rest of his clothes off.

  She scrambled to her knees on the bed, caressing his chest, trailing her unbandaged fingertips across his ribs and down his stomach. She skimmed her warm fingers over him and his hips bucked. She pressed against him, trapping his length between their bodies. He couldn’t stop himself from sliding up the silky soft skin of her belly and down again. She scraped a fingernail over the tip of his erection and he bent his head for another voracious kiss even as he dug into his wallet. When he felt the square foil packet, he pinched it between his fingers and tossed the wallet aside.

  He ripped open the package and sheathed himself before pushing her back onto the bed and settling between her legs. He pressed his erection between her curls and rubbed against her once. Twice.

  “Dean,” she gasped, raising her hips, “now. Please.”

  He gripped her hips and shifted so that he was at her entrance. Her heat, her wetness beckoned him but he held on to sanity, to what was left of his personal morals, long enough to keep from madly plunging into her.

  “Allie,” he said, sweat beading on his forehead, his arms shaking with the effort to hold himself back, “look at me.” Her eyes opened, dark blue and filled with passion. “What’s going on between us, what I feel for you, is real. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

  “Dean, what—”

  “Promise. Please.”

  She touched his face. “I promise,” she whispered.

  He kissed her and slid inside. And it was even better than he’d imagined. He wanted to slow them down, wanted to make it last, but her eyes were at half-mast, her mouth open slightly. A soft flush stained her cheeks and she made a sound of contentment when he filled her.

  She was driving him crazy.

  When she wrapped her legs around his waist, crossing her feet at the ankles, his control snapped. He pumped into her like a madman. But she met him thrust for thrust. And when her breathing turned to soft gasps, he reached between them and stroked her. She tightened around him, her thighs gripping him, her back arched as her orgasm shook her body. Still he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Their skin grew slick with sweat.

  She leaned up and kissed him, bit his lower lip, then pushed against him until he rolled over. With her knees on either side of his thighs, she tucked her hips under, taking him deep inside. He gritted his teeth against the need to take control back from her. She bent forward, her peaked nipples dragging against his chest. She kissed him, his neck, his collarbones, his cheeks, her hair cascading around them, cool against his heated skin. Finally, she pressed her mouth against his in a languid kiss, her tongue sliding between his lips to lazily explore his mouth.

  He groaned and shoved his hand into her hair.

  She straightened and laid her bandaged hands flat on his chest, right above his racing heart. He’d been fighting his feelings for her, but when she smiled at him, he knew he couldn’t hold out any longer.

  Then she moved.

  She undulated against him slowly, so slowly he gripped the bedspread to keep from driving up into her. Her breasts swayed with her movements and he raised his head, catching one pink peak in his mouth. She made a mewling sound in the back of her throat and quickened her pace.

  Needing to watch her, he let his head fall back, but replaced his mouth on her breast with his hands. He pinched her nipples and her mouth fell open, her hips working him like a piston.

  It was torture. And heaven.

  He held on to his control by a thin thread until her breathing accelerated and her nails dug into his chest.

  Knowing she was close, he gripped her hips and rocked into her again and again until her body bowed back. She trembled as her second release engulfed her, and only then did he give himself over to the power of his own orgasm, calling her name as he emptied himself inside her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ALLIE KEPT HER HEAD against Dean’s chest, listening to the steady sound of his heart. She couldn’t believe she wasn’t a twitchy, hysterical mess after what had happened
between them.

  She sighed and snuggled further under the heavy comforter. Dean, having pulled her into his arms and tucked her head under his chin, had fallen asleep a few minutes ago. But his hold on her remained tight. Even in sleep, he couldn’t stop touching her.

  She wished she could shut her brain down long enough to doze off as well. But that wasn’t happening. Not when she was worried about his head injury. She figured she’d wake him every thirty minutes or so to assure herself he hadn’t slipped into a coma or something.

  Good thing she had so many thoughts flying through her mind. They’d keep her awake.

  She’d just had incredible sex with an amazing man.

  An amazing man who worked for her. One who held a grudge against his brother—his entire family, really. Who had a hard time seeing more than his own point of view. Someone who kept secrets, such as the fact that he carried a gun.

  She should be more nervous. More concerned about her possible lack of judgment. Should be contemplating how to sneak out of his room. Wondering how she’d be able to face him at work each day.

  Instead, she wondered if, when she woke him to make sure he was okay, he’d want to have sex again.

  She’d never felt better.

  Her stomach growled. Well, except that she hadn’t had anything to eat in over twelve hours. When her stomach rumbled again, she remembered the valentine’s gift Dean had given her.

  She carefully lifted his arm off her and slid out from beneath the covers. Gooseflesh rose on her bare skin and she put on Dean’s discarded shirt and her socks. Not wanting to wake him, she picked up her purse and crept toward the bathroom.

  A faint buzzing stopped her in her tracks. She frowned and looked down, realizing the sound came from Dean’s jeans.

  He mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over, the covers slipping down to reveal the strong planes of his back. She shook her head to get her focus off his body.

  After a quick search of his pockets she found his phone and took it with her into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly. The name displayed on the screen was Nolan Winchester, along with an out-of-area number. After a few more buzzes, which she tried to muffle by putting a towel over the phone, the noise stopped.