by Ann Bruce
Faster and harder, she rode him, and he could sense her climax was near. Her body, flushed with blood and gleaming with sweat, was both taut and soft. Helpless, breathless sounds escaped her throat. In his hands, her breasts seemed to heat and swell, and Sergio pulled her down to him so he could feel the sensation against his lips, his tongue.
With a cry, she came, her body shaking uncontrollably. Buried deep inside her, Sergio could feel the spasms of her inner muscles on his cock and it was too much. He convulsed and peaked, his shout of rapture muffled against her skin.
December 24
Jack Manetti’s cell phone rang, yanking him out of an uneven sleep induced by too much red wine followed by too much bourbon. Rubbing his left temple and cursing the African tribal band that had taken up residence inside his skull, he grabbed the little electronic device, peered at the caller ID display on the front then flipped it open.
“Yeah.”
“I got what you asked for,” said a male voice on the other line.
Jack woke up, his head clearing of everything but the tribal drums. “One sec.” He swung his feet to the floor and sat up on the sofa. He found a pen and a discarded envelope on the coffee table. “Shoot.”
As Jack jotted down the name and address, the other man said, “Don’t call me at the number you used earlier.”
“You didn’t answer the disposable.”
“I don’t fucking care,” he said, his voice rising. “I don’t want your calls on record to a phone registered in my name!”
Very quietly, very evenly, Jack said, “I don’t like the tone of your voice, Taggert. You came to us. Your information services in exchange for wiping out your debt.” He paused then allowed amusement to color his tone. “Of course, I’d be more than happy to reconsider our deal.”
Patient, Jack waited with the sound of quick, raspy breathing in his ear.
“Ramirez covers my de—”
“Half your debt,” interjected Jack.
“Bu—”
Jack disconnected, rose from the sofa and crossed to the slumped form of his brother, who’d fallen asleep in the recliner. He kicked his brother’s legs. With a startled sound, Donnie jerked awake.
“Taggert came through,” said Jack.
Donnie blinked at him owlishly.
Jack gritted his teeth in annoyance. His baby brother was one of those slow wakers. One of these days it was going to get him killed.
Fighting the urge to smack Donnie upside the head, he snapped, “Get up and get your gun and your jacket! We’re leaving.”
“For where?” Donnie asked through a yawn.
“Queens. We got a name and address to go with the plate number I got off that taxi.”
Sergio and Noelle dozed then awoke while it was still dark and snowing heavily outside. They lay on the bed, the sheets twisted around their bodies, the comforter kicked to the floor, taking pleasure in the lassitude. Sergio closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her under his hands. He knew he should be doing his job right now, knew he should be trying to figure out who’d sold him out. He should be—
A stomach growled, followed by a soft, embarrassed feminine chuckle. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours.”
Sergio reached for the lamp and turned it on. “We should remedy that. You’re going to need your strength.”
Noelle cleared her throat then untangled her limbs from his and sat up. Her nude body was softly golden in the lamplight. She tugged at the sheet but it was trapped under him and he refused to move. He laced his fingers behind his head, propping it up a bit, and smiled at her, ignoring the pain that pulled at his side. Anything was worth watching her move around without a stitch covering that slender body. She shot him a frown and scooted off the bed. She bent down and scooped up something small and black off the floor. It was her nightgown.
“You don’t need that.”
“Yes I do,” she countered, pulling it on. “Someone has to answer the door for room service.”
She plucked a leather folder from the desk, flipped it open and started perusing. “You want anything?” She looked at him, sweeping her gaze down his form. Her lips pursed. “Even if you don’t, you should eat something.”
“I didn’t hear any complaints about my body earlier.”
To his surprise and enjoyment, color stole up from her chest to her neck, then finally to her cheeks.
“You look like you’ve been living solely on caffeine and adrenaline for the last several weeks.”
Sudden weariness flooded him and he let his eyelids drop, recalling the weeks of living a dangerous charade. “That’s pretty damned close.”
After a long moment, he heard her pick up the phone and place an order with room service. He waited for her to come back to the bed. And waited. He heard the heavy swish of fabric. He opened his eyes and, like before when he’d come out of the bathroom after his shower, saw her standing in front of the window again, one hand holding back the drapes, the other pressed against the glass. Oddly, she looked…sad, he supposed. On the other side of that transparent barrier, wind blew the thick snowflakes around and around in a gentle-looking tempest.
When she’d commented earlier about how much she loved the snow, she’d sounded content, peaceful even. Was she staring out at all that precipitation now because she needed a lift of the spiritual kind?
Sergio sat up, propping himself up with a couple pillows against the headboard.
“What are you doing alone in New York City just before Christmas?”
Her body didn’t stiffen, but the hand holding back the drapes fisted. He thought she was going to tell him to mind his own business.
Surprising him, she said, “I was paying a visit to my fiancé. It was a surprise.” She paused. Then, in a wry tone, she added, “He was very surprised.”
Sergio froze, the blood rushing loudly in his ears as something very primitive and very violent seized him. In contrast, his voice was as soft as velvet. “What?”
“My ex-fiancé, actually,” she clarified dispassionately, still not turning around to face him. “I caught him with another woman.” Another pause. “Such a cliché.”
He got to his feet and strode to her. When he was an arm’s length away, he very carefully turned her around to face him. Her face was expressionless, which only provoked that beast inside him. “So I’m the rebound guy?”
No immediate reply. Finally, she softly asked, “Do you care?”
“No,” he said, equally softly.
And proving his answer false, he none-too-gently cupped the base of her skull and crushed his mouth over hers. He forced her lips open and thrust his tongue inside. She responded to his aggression with passivity. Her submissiveness should’ve soothed him but, perversely, it only further infuriated him. The hand curled around her upper arm tightened until he knew he would leave bruises. He wanted something more than just simple compliance from her. He wanted more than dispassion, that same damnable dispassion with which she talked about the cheating jackass she’d planned on marrying.
The force of his feelings should’ve frightened him, should’ve made him pull back.
He tasted something metallic, something coppery, and tore his mouth from hers. Noelle sucked on her bottom lip, the lip he’d ravaged to the point of breaking skin and drawing blood. Remorse hit him hard. He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come. Silent, he stared down at her. And she stared up at him.
Noelle didn’t know what was more frightening—the fact that she was bleeding or the fact that she welcomed the pain. It tore her from the hollowness that had suddenly threatened to consume her, turn her into a self-pitying mass of female dejection that she couldn’t respect. She wouldn’t let herself fall into that trap.
She swiped the tip of her tongue across the inside of her bottom lip, tasting the blood. Staring into those fathomless dark eyes above her, feeling the masculine body heat that enveloped her, the roughness of the hands that possessed her, she wond
ered if Sergio had tasted it too.
Very deliberately, she lifted her free arm, ploughed her fingers through the thick hair just above his nape and tugged his head down to hers. After an initial trace of hesitation, he kissed her with the same passion as before, his tongue thrusting hungrily, almost angry, the arms he banded around her squeezing the breath from her lungs, through her mouth and into his.
Noelle fought him. Not to get away, but to get closer. Her fingers dug into the back of his neck. He lifted her clear off her feet and Noelle wrapped her legs around his hips, her ankles crossing just above his hard buttocks. Her world tilted and she found herself on her back on the bed, atop the rumpled sheets, her nightgown rucked up to her waist. Large hands covered her knees and spread them apart to the point of pain as he slammed into her, hilting himself, melding his body with hers. A startled cry, pain and pleasure intermingled, escaped her and he swallowed it.
He pounded into her, hard and feral, the torturous friction of his cock against her inner vaginal walls making her whimper and cry. Eyes shut tightly, she arched her hips each and every time to meet his, going wild beneath the weight of him as sensation bombarded her. The feel of his heated skin against hers, the sounds of their mating in her ears, the taste of him on her tongue.
She breathed his name.
His hands founds hers, pinned them to the bed beside her head. Large fingers laced with hers, making them stretch wide. His rhythm changed, not enough to be gentle, but enough to make her take notice, to open her eyes.
And she wished she hadn’t. He was staring down at her, eyes dark and too intense for simple, mindless sex. She wanted to look away, to close her eyes and break that silent connection, and couldn’t, as if he was willing her not to and she couldn’t disobey.
“Say…it…again,” he growled softly.
She gazed up at him, helpless to do anything else. And repeated his name.
“Again.”
His name became a shout as an orgasm seized her, rolled through her, making her convulse, making her inner muscles spasm.
When she came to, Sergio was above her on all fours, breathing heavily, his face dark, the skin stretched tight over the bones, his expression feral. She knew he hadn’t come yet and her body tightened with the knowledge.
“Turn over,” he rasped, his voice guttural with need. “I want your ass.”
Panic stirred even as the aftershocks of pleasure still rippled through her limp body. For a moment, her eyes locked with his. Then she moved, turning over onto her front, her head resting on her folded arms, lifting her bottom to him, as if he needed that invitation. Calloused hands found her ass cheeks and spread them apart. The soft, broad head of his penis pressed against her puckered ring of muscle, pushed past it. Coated with her juices, his cock slid inside her ass with only the slightest resistance. Once inside, he paused, savoring the tightness of her posterior sheath. Then he began pumping, the strokes sure and just this side of forceful.
Noelle ground her forehead against her folded arms, her lips parted on a cry she couldn’t voice. Intense pleasure imprisoned her in its clutches as he stretched inside her. Male fingers found her throbbing clit and she found her voice. Whimpers escaped her as she writhed beneath him, wanting him gone, wanting him deeper. As she struggled with herself, Sergio maintained a relentless rhythm, his cock pillaging her ass as his fingers played between her slick labia lips, alternately plucking and pressing her clitoris and slipping inside her vagina.
Sergio increased his pace and fervor, thrusting himself even deeper into her body. Noelle’s whimpers morphed into erotic moans. Then he pinched her clitoris and another climax crashed over her, making her shake violently.
And, with her name on his lips, he exploded, spilling his seed deep inside her.
They both needed a shower after the last session. Noelle had planned on taking it alone because she didn’t want Sergio to get his bandages wet. He solved that minor issue by cutting up a plastic bag and taping it over the large, square bandage high on his side. Under the steaming spray of hot water, Noelle allowed Sergio to wash her body and shampoo her hair as if she were a life-sized doll. Then he lowered himself to his knees and licked and lapped at her raw sex, feasted on her clit until she came. Twice. She wanted to return the favor, but he reminded her that room service would be arriving to deliver their food order.
Room service politely knocked on their door two minutes after they emerged from the bathroom. Naked beneath the hotel’s too-large complimentary bathrobe, Noelle answered the door. As the waiter wheeled in the cart, Noelle fervently hoped the smell of sex wouldn’t be as obvious to him as it was to her.
With Sergio still shirtless but at least dressed in his jeans, they sat cross-legged on the bed, food between them. Shrimp cocktail, herb salad with raspberry vinaigrette, seafood linguine, veal medallions and tiramisu. With a heavy fork, Noelle speared a circle of tender veal, brought it to her lips and took a bite. She nearly hummed with pleasure as the flavor spread across her taste buds, her eyes drifting closed as she savored. She chewed and swallowed. When her lashes lifted, she found Sergio staring at her with a hunger she knew wasn’t for the food. Heat blossomed in her cheeks and lower in her middle.
“I can’t,” she murmured regretfully. “Too sore.”
Sergio made a rough, unintelligible sound and tore his eyes away from hers. He took a healthy swallow of bottled water, having decided alcohol might not mix too well with the painkillers in his system.
They ate in silence for several more minutes, steadily going through the artfully arranged dishes.
“Why haven’t you asked me a million questions?”
His query made her pause mid-chew. Then she swallowed the mouthful of coffee-flavored dessert and said, “I figured you’d tell me what was going on if you could. Don’t get me wrong. I’m curious as hell, but if it’s one of those situations where if you tell me, you’d have to kill me, then I’m safer not knowing.”
His brows drew together. “I could be a serial killer for all you know,” he countered. She heard a trace of exasperation in his tone.
Contemplating him quietly, she took a sip of water then said, “I think you’re an undercover cop or federal agent. And I’m going to stop right there before I get too close to the truth.” She allowed a small smile to slowly curved her lips. “And if you’re a serial killer, then I should tell you that you’re going about it the wrong way. I haven’t heard of anyone dying from mind-blowing sex.”
He grinned, expression self-satisfied and cocky and purely masculine. “Mind-blowing, huh?”
She didn’t answer him.
He chuckled and reached out one hand to trail a finger down the skin of her cheek. He skimmed his finger across her lips. She flicked out her tongue and tasted the salt of his skin and traces of their late-night meal. Something flared in his eyes, but he moved on to her chin, the ultra-sensative underside of her jaw. Then he slid his hand behind her head and dragged her to meet him halfway. The kiss was soft, gentle, questing, and something warm unfurled in Noelle’s chest.
They pulled apart. Eyes still closed, Noelle drew in her bottom lip and tasted him. She sighed.
He groaned. “That’s just cruel and unusual unless you’re ready for another round.”
Her sex clenched even before her lids fluttered open and she saw the heat blazing in his dark orbs. He read the indecision in her eyes. Noelle wanted to say to hell with it. She didn’t need to be able to walk tomorrow. Or the day after. Her breathing quickened and her lips parted.
Someone knocked on the door.
Sergio cursed. “Don’t move. Don’t change your mind,” he instructed. “I’ll get rid of whoever’s at the door.”
Then he sprang from the bed, went to the door and yanked it open—and a uniformed waiter stumbled inside, as if pushed from behind. In quick succession, Noelle heard two soft bursts of air and the waiter fell to his knees then collapsed face down on the floor. She saw red bloom on the back of the waiter’s white jacket and
screamed.
Cursing, Sergio slammed the door closed, catching the arm with the silenced pistol between the doorjamb and the door. He heard a crunch as bone broke, then a shriek of pain. The silenced pistol fell from slack fingers and he automatically dropped to his knees and caught it. He shot through the door, splintering wood as the bullets tore through it. Answer fire came back at him, but the shooter was aiming for the torso of a standing man and the bullets whistled above Sergio’s head.
It was over in seconds. He heard two thuds on the other side of the bullet-riddled door and fired a couple more shots, lower this time, for insurance. Still crouching, he moved to the other side of the door. A quick glance at Noelle showed him that after her initial scream, sense had kicked in and she was now hiding on the other side of the bed. From his position, he reached out and prodded the door. It swung open.
Nothing else happened. Sergio straightened and saw the two bodies of the Manetti brothers. He knew they were dead, but he checked for their pulses anyway. Then he went through their pockets, finding wallets and cellular phones. And his own gun.
Jesus. Opening the door without looking through the peephole had been a rookie move—as had handing over his piece. Rosario’s absence should’ve tipped him off. Then Tony’s insistence on feeding him. He guessed that was their way of giving him his last meal. His eagerness to make progress in his case, however, had overruled his instincts.
Of course, he had spent months painstakingly working his way into the Manetti organization. He’d done things that kept him up more nights than he could remember to earn their trust. They’d even started treating him better than his own family.
And all that work, all that time, was destroyed because someone had betrayed him. The source had to be another cop—that much he knew. And, consequently, he hadn’t been able to risk a visit to the hospital. He had to keep a low profile until he sniffed out the rat in the department.
His low profile, however, hadn’t been low enough.
His head came up at the sound of a door opening farther down the hall. A blond head poked out.
