Kat and Mouse

by Lexxie Couper

  Katrina’s mouth salivated. Lobster. God, how wonderful would it be to have lobster. But catching The Mouse was the priority, not indulging in a dish she’d never afford back in Australia. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m just going to have a quick show and then head back out again.”

  Tiamat’s smile widened, her expression unreadable. “If you say so.” She turned and Katrina watched her go, a frown pulling at her forehead. If I say so? What does that mean?

  She slipped into her suite and headed straight for the shower, stripping as she went, trying not to think of Lobster Thermidor. A shower would clear her head. The day had been strange, hell, the whole trip had been strange, but she couldn’t let it distract her. The Mouse was here, he was playing games with her and, unless she was focussed, he’d escape her once again.

  She wasn’t returning to Australia without him, be damned with what Abaddon—and her traitorous psyche—was suggesting. Catching the jewel thief was her only goal.

  Fifteen minutes of seductively invigorating water streaming over her body later, she stepped from the shower and wrapped herself in a thick towel the size of a bedsheet. Okay, she felt better. She felt in control again. She felt herself again. She’d hit the streets and by nine am tomorrow have it all figured…

  Her eyes fell on her bed and she stumbled to a halt.

  The latex cat costume still held pride of place on the massive piece of furniture, the golden box containing the mask and the invitation to The Big Man’ ball beside it. That wasn’t what grabbed her attention, though. That wasn’t what made her mouth dry and her pulse leap into furious flight.

  At some stage, whether while she was getting familiar with Los Magia during the day or washing away the conflict and confusion and turmoil in the shower just then, someone had been in her suite. Someone who added a new item to the costume on the bed.

  A cat’s collar. Black suede, studded with what she knew without checking, were diamonds. Thirteen of them. A black suede diamond-studded cat’s collar, complete with long leather leash.

  No card. Just the cat’s collar.

  Katrina clenched her fist on the towel, staring at the bed.

  Gun or not, she was going to kill him.

  Whoever he was.

  ***

  Flynn held her wrists, holding them behind her in a grip both inescapable and powerful. “Why did you come here?”

  The feel of his body pressed to hers made her pussy flood with cream. His cock, ram-rod straight and harder than steel, ground against her arse, burning her flesh like a brand even through the cotton of her shorts. “To see you,” she answered, her normally confident voice just a whisper.

  “To see me or to be fucked by me?”

  Both.

  She wanted to say the word, but it refused to pass her lips. Instead, she tried to pull away from his hold. “Let me go.”

  “Tell me.” he demanded, jerking on her wrists.

  Her shoulders ached a little, a slight burn that made her feel alive. Her life had been about playing it safe, never taking risks, but everything about Flynn Marsters was a risk. An addictive risk…

  “Tell me.”

  “Both.”

  One hand left her wrists and reached around her body, closing over her left breast with a possessive arrogance. She whimpered, a pitiful sound that seemed louder than a gun shot. “I told you never to come here.”

  The growled statement made her skin tingle. Her nipples pinched harder, straining against the material of her bra and t-shirt. How could she not come to him? When he made her feel so… so…

  Wanted?

  Was that it? Was that the attraction? The desperate longings of a lonely child of affluent parents who didn’t know how to stop working? Who sent her to boarding school the moment she could spell her name?

  Or was it more?

  Dangerous.

  Love.

  His hand left her breast, fingers tickling the lines of her ribcage as he explored a line down to her waist. With an ease both disturbing and thrilling he slipped his hand under the hem of her shirt, pressing his palm to her bare skin.

  She gasped and arced her spine, pressing her arse harder to his rigid shaft.

  “Is this why you disobeyed me? To have me touch you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He skimmed his hand up the curve of her ribcage, capturing her breast once again. Her nipples puckered into painful tips of want, rubbing against the material of her bra, pushing his palm with an urgency that sent hot ribbons of shame and hunger into her being.

  “This isn’t a game, Katrina.” The growl in her ear made her shiver. “If you’re here to be fucked, tell me.”

  “I’m here to be fucked.”

  The hands on her body grew brutal and she whimpered again, eyelids fluttering close, pussy pooling with wet rapture.

  “By who?”

  Her sex constricted. Her knickers grew damp. Anger flared in her chest. Anger at herself. At him. “By you, Flynn. Only you.”

  Without warning, he curled his fingers around the edge of her bra and ripped it aside, claiming her breast with a force that made her cry out. “Tell me again.” He pinched her nipple, rolling the nub of flesh between thumb and finger even as he tightened his grip on her wrists. “Tell me what you want me to do to you. I want to hear it from your lips.”

  She bucked against him, molten lust pouring into her sex. His strength overwhelmed her, stole her breath.

  Just a lonely rich girl longing for danger…

  She still remembered his almost inaudible words after the first time they’d kissed, uttered with deep rancour. Who he was bitter with she didn’t know, but she couldn’t stay away. And he didn’t want her to. She could tell. In the gentle way he brushed the hair from her face after he’d taken her on the bed, against the wall. In the softness in his eyes as he studied her, post-coitus, his fingers trailing over her body in a delicate exploration, as if he’d never seen something so precious. He was an enigma, a contradiction she wanted to solve. An addiction she didn’t want to do without.

  God, did she love him?

  Arrogant fingers flicked her nipple and the thought vanished, replaced by a wave of wild heat that poured into her very core. She writhed against him and he bit her neck, his teeth and tongue torturing her skin. She cried out, bucking in his hold. The action drove his cock harder to her arse, its insistent length setting her blood on fire.

  Teeth nipped at her earlobe, sending shards of exquisite pain through her body. “Tell me.”

  “I want you to touch me. To fuck me.”

  The hand on her wrist tugged, bowing her backward, thrusting her breasts forward. “How?”

  She sucked in a ragged breath, pulse pounding. “Hard.”

  He squeezed her breast, his knuckles razing her aching, eager nipple. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, Kat. Don’t play with me like I’m a—”

  …toy.

  The disembodied word floated through Katrina’s sleep-clouded brain like a ghostly whisper. She opened her eyes, staring about herself, completely confused.

  Where was she?

  A massive painting of a wild cat, a lynx, stared down at her from the wall above her head and it came back to her in a rush. Los Magia. Abaddon. The Mouse.

  And another memory…

  Dragging her hands through her hair, she dropped her head. When had she fallen asleep? Hell, when had she even sat on the bed.

  When you discovered the cat’s collar.

  She snapped straight, staring at the latex costume still stretched out on display, albeit a little tussled now, beside her on the bed. Nothing new had arrived while she slept. No sudden appearance of a bottle of catnip or tray of kitty-litter.

  Rubbing at her face she turned to the suite’s far window. Sunlight flooded the room, painting everything with a golden glow. She squinted at it, feeling more fuzzy and jet-lagged than ever. God, how long had she been asleep for?

  A quick glance at her watch gave her the answer. Five h
ours. Five hours sleep in the last forty-eight. She suppressed a groan. No wonder she was having disturbing dreams. Sleep deprivation was a legitimate psychological tor—

  Blackjack tomorrow. 6am. Or has the Kat become a chicken?

  The Mouse’s arrogant note flashed through her head and she leapt to her feet. 6am. Damn. It was already 5:45.

  ***

  The Mouse watched her move through the busy casino. Noticed how her eyes searched the crowded room like a predator hunting. She had no idea who she was looking for, but still she looked.

  A darkly arousing sensation unfurled in the pit of his gut. Considering she had no idea who he was, considering she was only going on what he’d left for her at every crime scene, at the end of every teasing trail of false clues, she knew him better than anyone alive. He allowed himself a smile, hiding it behind a glass of whisky. He never drank this early in the morning, but today was an exception. Today he needed the alcohol to linger on his breath, his lips.

  How long does the game continue?

  He didn’t have an answer. It all depended on Abaddon, who so far had failed to make an appearance. But as soon as the transaction was made, as soon as the three million credits was in his account…

  Are you really going to end it?

  He followed Katrina as she threaded her way through laughing tourists, her clear, direct pale green eyes focussing on each face, as if cataloguing it for later reference.

  His stomach churned and his groin tightened.

  Yes. He was. She was getting too close to catching him and he wanted to end his criminal career a free man, not in Australia’s toughest prison.

  And that’s the only reason?

  He ground his teeth, ignoring the question, watching Katrina make her way to a Blackjack table and perch herself on a stool instead. Damn, she had great legs. Long, toned and delightful. A grin pulled at his mouth as, for the first time since spotting her enter the gaming area, he really noticed what she was wearing. Trust Australian Federal Police Officer Katrina O’Lauchlan to wear denim shorts, a fitting baby-pink Billabong t-shirt and sneakers to a casino.

  Pulling in a steadying breath, he began to cross the busy floor. He was about to gamble with his life.

  God hope Lady Luck favoured jewel thieves.

  ***

  “Is this seat taken, mademoiselle?”

  Katrina swung her head to the left, giving the tall man standing beside her a sharp look.

  Intent black eyes gazed back at her, unreadable and enigmatic at once. Glossy dark, dark brown hair was cropped close to his scalp—a rough, choppy, sexy mess that subtly spoke of enough wealth not to care, an impression furthered more by the black silk Ralph Lauren polo shirt hugging an impressive torso. A tingle began in the base of Katrina’s spine and she stared at him. He was familiar. But why?

  The Mouse?

  “It is a beautiful morning, no?” he continued in an accent as enigmatic as his eyes. European? South African? He slid onto the stool beside her as if she had answered his question, the midnight gaze roaming her face. A very smooth smile stretched lips entirely too sexy. “But then, the beauty of the day is pale when compared to the beauty I see before me.”

  Katrina cocked an eyebrow, fingering her chips. The tingle in her spine grew stronger, even as she digested the lack of an Australian accent. The Mouse was definitely Australian, but then, an accent could be faked. She resisted the urge to gnaw on her bottom lip, instead casting him a level look. Is he familiar? Maybe… “Tell me, sir? Do you write your own material?”

  Dark eyebrows shot up. “Aah, you are Australian, no?” he flicked a quick glance to the waiting Blackjack dealer, giving the man a wide grin. “I come from the Land Down Under,” he sang in a deep baritone that made Katrina’s tingle turn into a teasing tickle and her nipples pinch tight. “Where women blow and men thunder… The land of deadly snakes and spiders and many things which bite.” He slid his room card through the electronic data access slot, activating his table credit. “Deal me in.”

  Turning back to Katrina, his grin grew devilish. “Do you bite, ma cher?”

  “Only those foolish enough to provoke me.”

  Black eyes glinted. “Oh, I would provoke you, yes? I would let you devour me, if it meant feeling your teeth on my flesh.”

  The tingle-now-tickle in her spine spread into the pit of her stomach and Katrina felt her pulse quicken. “I’m a fussy eater,” she shot back. “I avoid oily food.”

  He laughed, a rich sound that struck a chord buried deep in the shadows of her mind. She openly studied him, imprinting every detail of his face on her brain. There was something about it, something about the hard angles of his cheekbones, the strength of his nose, the brooding arrogance of his brow that caressed a deep memory. She’d never seen The Mouse’s face, she’d never been that close to catching him, but she was almost certain she’d seen this man’s face before.

  Or was it wishful thinking?

  “Oily food can be good for the blood, cheri. Especially when the heart beats quicker than normal. When one is excited, for instance.” Lifting his own eyebrow, as if accepting a challenge she didn’t know she’d made, he threw five gold chips onto the table.

  Five thousand credits. Katrina shot a look at her own bet: Five hundred credits. She cast the man a pointed look. “Compensating for something?”

  His answering chuckle pinched her nipples tighter again and his unreadable eyes held hers as their cards were dealt.

  Their dealer cleared his throat. “Dealer stands on all seventeens.”

  Starting, Katrina checked her cards: Ace of Clubs, eight of Hearts. A soft nineteen.

  “Playing to win?”

  The man’s deep, smooth voice—accent thick and rolling—drew her gaze to his. “Always.”

  “Do you ever play for fun?”

  “Never.”

  The sensual lips twitched, but his eyes remained fixed on hers, intent and inescapable. “A shame. Playing for fun is most…pleasurable.”

  She dropped her attention to his cards. Ten of Hearts. Seven of Diamonds. Seventeen. A good hand.

  He lifted a beading glass of whiskey to his mouth and Katrina found herself staring at the rim of the cut crystal where it met his mouth, the quick glimpse of his teeth and tip of his tongue as he took a small sip stirring something deep within her memory. She frowned. “I know you.”

  Black eyes glinted. “I wish it were so, ma cher, but I am afraid you are mistaken.”

  Katrina shook her head slightly. “No. I know you. We’ve met before.”

  He chuckled again, the wicked sound sending a ripple of surprising dark want into Katrina’s core. “Perhaps in your dreams. Those you would not admit to even your closest friend?”

  A wave of heat flooded Katrina’s face and belly. Her dreams. God, she didn’t want to admit to herself her dreams. She fixed him with a level stare. “I tell you what, if my next hand beats yours, you will tell me how I know you.”

  The man took another sip of whiskey, refusing to look away from her as he did so. “Agreed,” he said. “But if my hand wins, you will let me have you.”

  A wild flutter exploded to life in Katrina’s sex. “Have?”

  His piercing black stare answered her question. An image of his tall, lean body sliding, moving over hers filled her head and her pussy fluttered again.

  She shoved the image from her mind.

  He’s not The Mouse. And The Mouse is who you’re—

  A dark eyebrow arched. “I did not take you for a coward. Perhaps you are not as skilful at playing games as you would wish people to believe. A meek little mouse, not a fierce lioness.”

  His words sliced into her like a blade. Mouse. Was the word a coincidence or a taunt?

  “Perhaps you are scared,” he continued, eyes unreadable black pools. “Of the woman inside who longs to be free. Why else would you be here in Los Magia.”

  Katrina narrowed her stare. “You tell me.”

  He chuckled. “If you win.” />
  Meek little mouse… Here in Los Magia…

  She tilted her chin and dropped another one-hundred credits in chips on her stack. “Agreed.”

  With languid calm, the man threw five gold chips onto the table, never removing his stare from her.

  The dealer flipped Katrina her first card. Ten of Clubs.

  Pulse quickening, she watched him deal the man to her left. Ace of Diamonds.

  The Dealer place the “hole” card down before him, and then it was back to Katrina.

  Feeling like she was covered in ants, she watched her new card slide from the pack. Ten of Spades.

  Twenty.

  A sense of victory warmed her blood and she turned to the man beside her, smile wide and—she had to admit—smug. “Sit.”

  Their dealer slid another card from the pack and placed it face-up before the man beside her.

  Nine of Clubs.

  Katrina’s sucked in a swift, but silent breath. Twenty.

  Black eyes regarded her. Unwavering. Arrogant. It was as if his cards held no importance to him at all. He tapped the table once with one long finger. “Hit.”

  A thrill of incredulous surprise shot through Katrina. Hit? With twenty? What were the odds—

  The dealer flicked out another card.

  Time froze. The room fell to silence. All she could hear was the beat of her heart—wild, erratic. Frantic. Pulse pounding, she watched the dealer turn the card and placed it face up it beside the man’s nine of Clubs. Her mouth went dry. Ace of Clubs.

  Sinfully sexy lips curled in an arrogant smile. “Twenty-One.”

  “Dealer busts,” their dealer said suddenly and Katrina jumped, flinging her stare from the man’s winning hand to the dealer’s.

  Ten of Diamonds, six of Clubs, eight of Clubs: twenty-three.

  Turning back to the man beside her, heart hammering, she found him standing, his expression completely unreadable. “Room Forty-Two, minette sexy. The Western Wing. Twenty minutes. Do not be late.” He turned from the table, winnings still stacked on the felt, and walked away, his tall frame dominating the space even as he disappeared into it.

  Katrina stared after him, wanting to scream. God, she recognised that walk. She did. But how? Why? A ghost of a memory flitted through her mind. An echo of a moment. There, teasing her, then gone. Just as quickly as the man himself.