by Taylor Lee
He growled, “Damn, Nicki, I knew you would taste like this, sweet, hot.”
She wriggled against him stunned at the sensations swamping her. She struggled to keep from falling further, harder under his spell.
“What are you doing, Rafe?” Her voice was strangled with need.
“Damned if I know, Princess. It must be the scotch.”
And then he was no longer gentle, persuasive. Rather he thrust his tongue deep in her mouth, hard, demanding, pushing down her resistance. Oh God, yes. There was no way she could stop now. She was damned. Her hunger was as great as his. She moaned into his mouth and frantically began to taste him, suck on him drinking in the heady taste of Scotch and cigarettes and Rafe. She was lost to the turmoil raking her groin. She wanted him closer. She wanted to feel him, all of him. Touch him, the way he was touching her, deep, hard, unrelenting.
His hands were all over her, his probing finger slipped up inside the outrageous slit in her dress. Grasping her thighs, he spread them open. His voice was low, rumbling with lust.
“Yeah, just what I thought. Thigh-high stockings. And this slit in the front of your dress. Did you know, Princess, that when you turned a certain way, I caught a glimpse of this!” He stroked the bare flesh above her lacy stockings. “And that fucking bastard, he saw too. Christ, it’s a wonder we both didn’t attack you on the spot.”
He groaned. “Did you see me staring at you, wanting to see more? Wild little tease that you are, I think you did. But dammit, Nicki, I didn’t want to just look, I wanted to touch you, like this.”
She gave a gasp of agonized need, not wanting him to stop. She wanted his hands, his fingers deep inside of her. In places that ached for his touch.
When she didn’t think she could go any higher, feel any more, he groaned and shoved her dress up over her hips. Spreading her legs, Rafe grabbed her bare ass cheeks in his big hands and lifted her up over his strong thigh. When Nicki felt his bulging erection pressing against her fevered flesh, a bolt of electricity shot through her core. Clinging to his shoulders, she pressed against his hard erection, sobbing with need.
He growled, “Yeah, baby, ride me. Ride me just like that.”
And, God help him, she did. Her whimpering cries begging for more signaled her orgasm was near. He knew they were at a point of no return. In the next minute he’d have the top of her dress down to her waist and then he would have a choice. He could feast on her gorgeous breasts, taste those soft pink nipples he’d glimpsed, suck on them until they were hard ripe berries. Or, he could bury his mouth in the succulent folds between her thighs and gorge himself on the sweet juices coating his fingers.
Christ, he’d been lusting for her for hours. Hell, more like days. His prick was iron hard. If he didn’t get relief soon, chances were good he’d come in his pants.
But dammit, he couldn’t. Every inch of his body cried out, begging him to take her, to put her down on the floor and fuck her. Deep, hard. But he urgently reminded himself, he couldn’t. She’d never forgive him, and he’d never forgive himself. It was no good to blame it on the scotch. Hell, he could down a bottle of scotch and take on a small army without breathing hard. No, it was Nicki. It was her soft luscious curves, her tantalizing lavender and lemon grass smell, layered with the erotic musk of an aroused woman. God, he longed to bury his mouth between her luscious thighs and feast on her. But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t give in to her siren call. He’d resist her. For her sake, but even more for his own. He knew what he was. It wasn’t only his past. He was a man with hard-driving appetites. Much too hard, too demanding for Nicki. She teased, she flirted, but there was an unmistakable innocence about her that unfortunately was as big a turn-on as her wanton winks and sassy mouth. And then, God help him, there was Yuri Petrakov. Yuri was the one man who’d seen past the cocky sixteen-year-old hardened killer; he’d dragged Rafe out of a gutter that would have swallowed him whole before he reached his seventeenth birthday. And then Yuri trusted him with his Nikita, the person the gruff man loved more than anything in the world.
With a groan, he lifted her off his thigh trying to ignore the fragrant dampness she’d imprinted there. Rafe pulled her up close to him and pressed her cheek against his chest.
“Nicki, we can’t do this.”
His voice was as ragged as he felt. He forced himself to look in her eyes, to acknowledge her shock. His heart ached when first disbelief then pain took the place of her agonized surprise.
He sighed.
“Nicki, this isn’t about you, this is all about me. We can’t do this. It’s not right. I can’t take you like this. God knows I want to, but I can’t.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. Christ, if he could have, he would have kicked his own ass. Her lips were trembling and she was clinging to him… she would fall if he didn’t hold her up.
“Was it…something I did? I’m sorry; I’m not… very….”
He shook his head vehemently. Knowing how it must feel to kick a puppy, he knew he had to break the chain of desire between them. He’d need to hurt her now to keep from hurting her more in the future.
“Look, Nicki. I’m going to be honest. You’re not the kind of woman I fuck. It’s as simple as that. Plus, I’m your boss. It’s wrong. I apologize for letting this get out of hand.”
Longing to look away from the dazed pain on her face, he built one lie on top of the other and took the cowardly way out.
“You were right, Princess. I did have too much scotch tonight. Unfortunately, what you got was the scotch talking, not me. Again, my apologies.”
She visibly swallowed. He breathed a slight sigh of relief when the desolation on her face began to crumble and anger moved in. He could handle her anger. He welcomed it. He deserved it and a hell of a lot more. What he couldn’t look at another minute was her devastation.
He walked to his desk and grabbed for his cigarette case. Facing her, he leaned back against the edge of the desk and made a production of lighting his smoke. He forced himself to look at her swollen lips, her flushed cheeks, her cloud of disheveled hair. She smoothed her wrinkled dress over her thighs and wrestled the top of her dress up over her breasts.
He took a long drag off of his cigarette and gazed at her through the curtain of smoke.
“Good night, Nicki. I’ll see you in the morning. Seven o’clock sharp.”
He turned away hunting for an ashtray. When he turned back, she was gone. The hole in the empty doorway wasn’t nearly as big as the one in his gut.
Chapter 10
Nicki stumbled back to her room, not sure how she got there. Later she remembered unlocking the door then collapsing inside. She didn’t know how long she crouched in the corner too shocked to move. Little by little she acknowledged what had happened. Rafe had come on to her in a way she didn’t dream possible. He had kissed her, touched her, pushed her up a ladder of pleasure she’d never climbed before. And God help her, she had responded. She’d whimpered, cried out, begged him not to stop. But he did. Then he’d kicked the ladder out from under her and she’d come crashing down. He’d pushed her away. Told her that it was mistake. That if he hadn’t had so much to drink, he never would have… have made her feel things she had never felt before? No it was worse. He said that she wasn’t the kind of woman he fucked. Not hard to guess what he meant by that!
At first she was too stunned to feel, to sort out what had happened. At length, her pain turned to rage. She screamed. She ranted, raved. She smashed glasses on the tile floor, ripped her black dress to shreds and tore her stockings. But nothing assuaged the fury, the shame she felt. As angry as she was with him, she was furious with herself. How could she have been so stupid? So ridiculous? So pitiful! He said it. He didn’t dissemble. She wasn’t the kind of woman he fucked. But she knew that. She’d heard the men talking, laughing at their amorous exploits, marveling at the power Rafe had over women. How they flocked to him, experienced women, gorgeous women. Whatever the situation, the others lamented, Rafe attracted t
he cream of the crop, the women others would die to take. If Caleb was an accomplished chick magnet, Rafe was a vortex. He sucked the willing women in, then carelessly spat them out.
After she’d raged for what seemed like hours Nicki did something she couldn’t remember doing since she was a little girl. She cried. Harsh, bitter tears. Wrenching sobs. She cried until she could no longer cry. Until she was drained of tears, until her head pounded and her chest hurt. She hung over the toilet, wanting to throw up but unable to make the effort. As the morning light streamed through the windows, ratcheting up the pain in her head, she forced herself to look in the mirror. To survey the damage. Her eyes were swollen almost shut, her nose was red. Her face was pale. Her hair was a torrential mess.
Staring at her reflection, her pride kicked in. She refused to face him looking like this. Downing four Advil, she forced herself into the shower. After twenty minutes of blistering hot water, then five minutes of icy cold, she’d shocked her numb body back to life. She scrubbed away every vestige of him. Every hint of his smell, his musky masculine odor and the scent of sex between her legs. She surveyed her voluptuous body with disgust and dragged out her warrior garb. A sleeveless black t-shirt, cammo pants and combat boots were her armor. She pulled her hair up in a tight ponytail daring any tendrils to break free.
~~~
Their breakfast meetings were the same pleasant ritual. Camaraderie, pots of coffee and smash talk set the tone for the day. Nicki hesitated at the dining room door. She heard their voices, the clink of silverware, glasses, the aroma of strong coffee and fresh baked bread. She’d spent the last two hours preparing for this moment. She refused to cave now. Squaring her shoulders, Nicki pushed open the door and walked in.
Every muscle, every nerve was tuned to a high pitch. She was as battle ready as when she fought. Until she walked through the doorway and saw him. With one glance at his hard, impenetrable eyes, she folded, unable to meet his somber gaze. He frowned, then stood and motioned for her to sit in her usual place next to him. She ignored the gesture and moved down the row of men, and sunk down in the chair next to Caleb. Grayson was over by the counter. He caught her eye and held up the coffee pot with a welcoming smile. She shook her head refusing knowing she couldn’t swallow, much less tolerate the acidic brew.
Rafe’s refined tastes had converted them all. He’d insisted that even in the banlieues of Paris, they knew how to make bread. Rafe’s personal chef, Andre, won over the hard core Wonder Bread enthusiasts. Each morning, Andre enticed them with fragrant offerings that would meet the exacting standards of the finest French bakeries. The hungry men gobbled up the sweet-scented delicacies along with omelets and quiches made with fresh herbs and the finest aged cheeses.
As Nicki slunk down next to him, Caleb shoved a plate of warm brioche and croissants in front of her. With a welcoming smile, Matt handed her the butter and wild blackberry jam. Nicki’s stomach clenched at the smell. She fought the gorge threatening to choke her and refused them both.
Caleb leaned over and put his hand on her forehead.
“You okay, hotstuff? You don’t look so good. One of the things I like best about you is that you don’t eat like a girly girl. Hell, you can pack down more fuel than Storm here and he’s gotta outweigh you by a hundred pounds. You’re not sick are you?”
She shook her head and gave him a fleeting smile.
“No, I’m okay. I’m just not hungry.”
At that moment Sergio came to the doorway. A deep frown marred his brow. “Rafe, can I talk to you a minute?”
Rafe stood up and dropped his linen napkin next to his plate then joined Sergio in the hallway. A minute later he returned. His expression was solemn.
“I don’t want to interfere with your breakfast but we’ve got new information. As soon as you’re finished, meet me in the Cave. Grab what you need but make it no more than ten minutes. We’ve got a long morning ahead of us.”
He started toward the door, then turned back and sought her out.
“Nicki, if you aren’t eating, come with me. I’ll walk you down.”
She swallowed hard, forcing her voice to be steady.
“If we’re not going to eat again till lunch, I think I will have a little something now.”
He held her gaze. She lifted her chin and willed herself not to look away.
He frowned, then gave her a dismissive nod.
“Suit yourself.”
He glanced around the table.
“Meet me in ten.”
~~~
In less than five minutes they were all in the Cave, huddled around the conference table. Rafe had a stack of folders in front of him. His expression was serious.
“The game has changed. We’re now in the big leagues. Looks like the Senator was wrong—which is too bad. I’d hoped the asshole was on to something when he thought his daughter planned the escapade. That she was trying to hurt his illustrious career out of spite. Unfortunately, that’s not the case.”
He held up the copy of a text message.
“This is from Bernie Schwartz. Most of you know Bernie. Last year we uncovered the fuckers who were stealing him blind—selling his company’s industrial secrets to the highest bidder. Bernie insists we saved him millions of dollars. Turns out someone now has something more precious than his company secrets. They have his daughter.”
There was a shocked intake of air around the table.
Grayson asked the obvious.
“Connection?”
Rafe passed the note to Grayson who was seated on his left, motioning that he should pass it around the table.
“For those who haven’t seen the note,” Rafe said, “it’s a carbon copy of the note Senator Chambers received. Except that this note talks about Sophie, Bernie’s youngest daughter. As you will see, both notes are signed: Volkov.”
Sergio called out from across the room.
“I’ve got Vlad, Rafe. If you’re ready, I’ll put him up on the screen.”
At Rafe’s nod, three of the twenty LCD screens strategically placed throughout the center came to life. Vlad Koychev, their Eastern Bloc team leader, appeared on the screen. The serious expression on his handsome Slavic face matched Rafe’s. His thickly accented greeting filled the room.
Eschewing pleasantries, Rafe sliced to the chase.
“Most of our team is here, Vlad. You’ve got the floor. Help us out. What the hell is Volkov besides a famous Russian river?”
“That is the problem, Rafe. We’ve been leaning on every source we have in the human trafficking arena. We can’t find a mention of Volkov anywhere. There are many Russians with that surname, but at least to date we cannot tie any of them to known criminal gangs. No Mafia or Vory clan has a leader, a vlad or a vor by that name. We are not only connecting with Chechen groups, we are blanketing Russia. As you suggested last night, we’re offering a significant reward for leads to a credible source.”
Rafe turned the floor over to the rest of the team, who peppered Vlad with one question after another. As he listened to the conversation, Rafe replayed in his mind the strange call he’d had in the middle of the night with Yuri. When Rafe asked him about the Volkov there was a dead silence. For a moment Rafe thought he’d lost the connection. When Yuri finally responded, his voice was quiet, hesitating. Then he proceeded to give a long-winded description of the famous Russian river that Rafe could have read in any travel guide.
While not always 100% forthcoming, Yuri had never, ever before dodged any of Rafe’s questions about the Russian mob, no matter how high level or secret the information. Long ago he and Yuri had agreed, that if there was one person in the world they could trust, it was each other. Knowing that Yuri was holding back information on a critical life and death matter kept Rafe awake all night. Not that he could have slept anyway. Not with the image of Nicki’s stricken face looming in his mind.
Chapter 11
After Vlad signed off, Rafe reconvened the team, assigning specific tasks. Nicki glanced at the fie
rce-looking men encircling the table. She had been around fighters all her life. It was her life. But she had never known a group of warriors the likes of the ISA men. They were the elite of elite. In the few short years since Rafe created the enterprise, they had become an international force of bad boys to be reckoned with. All of them were ex-military, representing a cross section of special ops veterans. Caleb and Grayson had been on Rafe’s Delta team, while the others had followed him based on his infamy alone. To a man they shared Rafe’s disdain for the constraints imposed on uniformed fighters by civilian and military leaders. Like Rafe, they thrived in the shadows. They operated so far off the grid they wouldn’t recognize it if they saw it.
Surveying the group, Nicki suppressed an appreciative smile. In addition to being fearsome, each one of them scored at least an eleven on a ten point stud scale. Like every special ops guy she knew, they were gorgeous. It wasn’t only their physical prowess, their extraordinary bodies. It was the enticing vibes radiating off them. Every woman who met them wanted to see for herself if the tales she’d heard about bad boys were true. The ISA men proved their mamas right.
Rafe’s men were hard, dangerous adrenaline junkies. Nicki ought to know: she was as well. Each of them had joined the team for one reason. Rafe. He was a warrior’s warrior. His reputation preceded him and he re-earned the loyalty of his men every day they were together. He was the consummate leader. He headed every charge, and never assigned a task he wouldn’t do himself. Tall and lean, his cultured manner and easy elegance didn’t fully mask the danger simmering just below the surface. To the delight of his men, he thumbed his nose at the establishment—which perversely made him and them in more demand than ever. Jobs that the military wouldn’t touch or the spooks evaded, Rafe took on eagerly, demanding and receiving previously unheard-of fees. There wasn’t a job dangerous enough or suspect enough for Rafe to turn down. As Rafe had told Nicki last night, his goal in life was helping the good guys and taking out the bad guys as viciously as possible.
