Kiss Me Deadly

by Susan Kearney

She braced for water but Zack didn’t spray her. Instead he held up the massage oil, the condom, and a tiny bottle she didn’t recognize. “Mission accomplished.”

  “What’s in the bottle?”

  “I found some White Flower in the medicine cabinet.” He set aside the hose, opened the fragrant cocoa butter and scooped some cream into his hand. He spread it out a bit, then opened the tiny bottle and shook a few drops of the liquid into the cocoa butter.

  “White Flower?” She sniffed.

  The peppermint scent was sharp. As he mixed the concoction, she had no doubt he intended to smooth it over her skin. At the thought of his hands trailing over her body, her stomach clenched, her nipples tightened.

  Zack raised an eyebrow. “The oil comes from a Chinese flower and is mixed with eucalyptus, lavender, and peppermint. It’s great for minor aches and pains.”

  “And?”

  “It’s good for other things, too. The massage oil has a bit of a bite.” He placed one hand on each of her shoulders and began to rub. “What do you think?”

  She closed her eyes and leaned into his massage. “Mmm. Your hands feel wonderful. I’ll give you a few hours to stop that.”

  He nuzzled her neck, nipped lightly. His bite’s tiny sting spread over her shoulders as he rubbed the concoction into her flesh. Warmth from the White Flower settled into her shoulders, shooting delicious heat through her skin and straight into her bones.

  “That’s good stuff,” she murmured.

  “It gets better.”

  She opened her eyes. “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. Wait until you feel what it does to the rest of you.”

  She laughed. “I’m all yours tonight. Or at least for what’s left of it.”

  “I’m a lucky man.”

  He smoothed the lotion into her arms, ran his hand over her biceps and forearms and wrists. She hadn’t known that a hand rub could be so erotic. Perhaps the reason he felt so good was because she was standing there nude, her muscles soothed, her bones melting, totally relaxed, yet all too aware that he intended to totally cover her in lotion. Several places on her skin were already demanding attention.

  He had yet to touch her breasts but as if of their own accord, they swelled and ached for his clever touch. She tried to be patient, wished she could demand that each part of her wait its turn so she could fully enjoy him rubbing her fingers, her palms, and her sensitive finger joints. But she kept thinking where else he intended to apply the heat. Private places.

  He was proceeding so slowly. After spending a lot of effort on her shoulders and arms and hands, he gave her plenty of time to soak in the heat. She kept tensing, and he kept releasing the knots.

  Impatient, she reached for the cocoa butter. He nudged it out of her reach.

  “Hey, I want to put some on you,” she complained.

  “Later.”

  “But . . . but . . . why?”

  His tone soothed, caressed, provoked. “Because I want you to only think about my hands on you.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed hard.

  “Will you do that for me?”

  She fisted her hands on her hips. “If I agree? Then you’ll let me do the same to you?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He’d agreed too easily. She eyed him suspiciously, but it was difficult to think when his hands bypassed her breasts and rubbed the lotion into her belly. Somehow she now knew he was going to skip putting lotion on the parts her bikini would have covered.

  Sure enough, he soon moved on to her thighs, her knees and shins, her ankles and toes. The sensation was odd, yummy. Her entire front except for the areas he’d deliberately avoided was warm. The rest of her front and all of her back remained cool.

  She felt cherished, adored, beautiful. As he stroked and caressed he was clearly enjoying himself.

  “I don’t think I truly ever understood the meaning of sweet torture—until tonight,” she admitted, her tone low and husky.

  “Good. Turn around, please.”

  She faced the sea as he requested. The wind had begun to kick up the waves, matching the growing froth inside her. She parted her legs, hoping to entice him back to her throbbing center. But he began with her shoulders and slowly, ever so slowly worked down her back.

  “My butt’s cold,” she hinted.

  “Is that so?”

  “Uh-huh. Would you mind putting a little of that lotion there?”

  “That will be a real hardship,” he teased. But he began smoothing the heat into her bottom, kneading muscles that made her sigh in delight. And oh, the heat was making it difficult to remain still.

  She peered over her shoulder at him. “Did you mix extra White Flower there?”

  “Why?”

  “My skin is so hot.”

  He grunted. “Too hot?”

  She laughed. “There’s no such thing. But the heat is making my lower half throb.” She began to turn around. “You missed some spots on my front.”

  He stopped her from turning. “Patience.”

  She snorted. “I’m not the patient sort.”

  “All right then, I’ll hurry.”

  But he didn’t. His hands caressed the back of her thighs, her calves, the bottoms of her feet. Satisfaction purred in his tone. “Now, please turn around.”

  Surely he would soon place that wonderful potion on her breasts? But he’d picked up the hose that she’d forgotten about, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You splashed me in the water. Now it’s my turn.”

  He turned the spray on very low, to a light mist, and he trickled water over her breasts.

  “I don’t think . . . ahhh.”

  The heat on her body, the cool air and water trickling on her nipples had her so sensitive that she could feel each ripple of water drip over her hot flesh. She could tell from the arrogant twist of his lips to the glowing glint in his eyes that he knew the hot and cold was driving her wild. He knew she was about to come unglued.

  “So, talk to me, Mandy. Which would you prefer? A little lotion on those beautiful breasts or a little water spray between your legs.”

  “Uh . . . both. I want both,” she demanded.

  He chuckled. “Your wish is my command.”

  He shoved the sprayer’s nozzle between the straps on the back of a chair, aiming directly between her legs. The force was enough to tease, to provoke, to excite, but not enough for release. Finally, he began to smooth the heat into her breasts.

  “Look at me.”

  “Why?” She sucked in a breath and locked gazes. He let her see his desire, his need, his excitement and it made her want him all the more.

  “I want to watch every emotion flicker in your eyes.” He tweaked her nipples. She gasped. He raised an eyebrow. “You liked that.”

  “Uh—”

  “You did.” He tweaked the tips again. “I can see your eyes dilating.”

  She refused to lower her gaze. “If you don’t get that condom on, I’m going to tackle you.”

  “But then you’d miss my kiss. You do want another kiss, don’t you?”

  She’d never wanted anything more in her life. “Damn you, Zack, kiss me, right now.”

  “Sure.” His mouth angled over hers. His hands left her breasts and she missed the contact. Leaning into him, she slid her oiled body again his hard chest. At the same time she unzipped his jeans and shoved them to the floor.

  She pulled back her mouth long enough to ask, “Where’s the condom?”

  He took care of it, then held up the cocoa butter. “Put some on me.”

  Happy to comply, she scooped some from the jar. As badly as she wanted him inside her, she figured it was her opportunity to take the initiative. She applied the White Flower to the cocoa butter and slowly, sensuously smoothed her palm
s down his hips, his thighs, the insides of his legs.

  When she reached his balls, he sucked in air and then released his breath on a long, low hiss. “Be careful.”

  “Sure.”

  He spoke between gritted teeth. “I mean it. The area is rather tender at the moment.”

  She giggled and kept rubbing the lotion into the area. “You want me to stop?”

  “No.”

  “You sure I’m not hurting you?”

  “No.” He was beginning to sound desperate. He clenched the railing so hard that his knuckles paled.

  “Oh, Zack. I’m so glad we’re doing this. I’m having fun.”

  He groaned. “You are so bad.”

  “You like me bad.” She squeezed a little harder. “Don’t you?”

  “I . . . like . . . you . . . any way . . . I can . . . get . . . you.”

  “Mmm. Kiss me, again. Please.” She kept her hands right where they were on his balls, stroking, tugging, caressing.

  Zack leaned forward, his arms encircling her. His kiss revealed mounting frustration. Slashing need. Burning lust. She let him have her mouth, but she didn’t stop caressing. His flesh beneath her fingers warmed, heated.

  He groaned into her mouth.

  Then he placed his hands on her waist, lifted her onto him, and lowered her slowly. He felt totally delicious and with a gasp of pleasure at his fullness, she wrapped her legs around his hips.

  His hands clutched her bottom, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin in her crease. Forced to release her hold of him, she wound her hands around his neck.

  “Comfy?” he asked.

  “Oh . . . my.” Heat flamed where their bodies joined.

  “What?”

  “Some of the White Flower is . . . ah . . . ah . . . ohh. It’s inside me.”

  He grunted. “I . . . can . . . feel it, too.”

  As the temperature rose, he thrust into her and the wondrous blaze swept through her like wildfire. Delicious warmth suffused her from the inside out. Every area he’d caressed seemed connected.

  She burned. Wanted it to last forever. She needed release now. Right now.

  Her head was spinning. Her muscles tensed. Her nerves gathered. She was so close. Tipping her hips, she created friction where she needed it most.

  “Come with me,” he demanded.

  She exploded, and Zack covered her mouth with his to muffle her scream. The shock wave rippled through her, reverberated, then ripped again, leaving her so satiated that if Zack hadn’t been holding her, she would have collapsed.

  When her heart rate finally approached normal, when she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, she found that Zack had lowered her to a chaise lounge. She sprawled on top of him and his fingers lightly trailed up and down her back.

  In the moonlight, she lifted her head. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were marvelous.”

  He grinned. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

  She snuggled against him. “You know the last time we did this—”

  “—the condom broke. I think we’re okay this time,” he squeezed her shoulders.

  “Last time . . . was it this good?”

  Zack brought out her adventuresome side. She had never made love outdoors. She’d never made love with hose spray and cocoa butter and White Flower. But it was Zack who made her heart hammer. Zack who excited her. Zack who always seemed to know how to push her buttons.

  “It must have been. I haven’t hooked up with anyone else in two years,” he admitted.

  “Me, either.” She sighed contentedly against him. Just this once she didn’t want to think about the future. About Zack leaving for California. She didn’t want to think about what she would say to her mother in the morning.

  She just wanted to take these precious moments and revel in them. She didn’t understand why the physical connection with Zack was so strong.

  However, she did understand why she found him so irresistible. Zack could focus better than anyone she knew. When he turned all his incredible energy in her direction, she felt intoxicated. Her blood hummed. Her pulse accelerated. There could be thirty people in the room, but her attention would be on him.

  She even liked the tender way he held her afterward. He didn’t rush for a shower or bed. He caressed her, cuddled her, finishing what he’d started with a gentle tenderness that made her feel appreciated.

  Morning was going to arrive all too soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “HOW’S YOUR HEAD?” Sam asked Dana. “Are you sure you feel up to attending the funeral?”

  “I’ll be okay.” Dana gazed at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, wincing in three mirrors as she hit a sore spot with the brush. Hair covered her egg-sized bruise, but it still throbbed. She took an aspirin for the pain and washed it down with a glass of water.

  Sam came up behind her, held her hair off her neck with his good arm and kissed her behind the ear. “No one will blame you if you decide to stay home.”

  “I know. But I need to pay my respects. It’s the least I can do.” Dana put on her favorite teardrop pearl earrings—a birthday present from Sam. “Lisa was so young. She died so violently. It’s horrible.”

  Dana hugged Sam, careful not to touch his arm, which remained in a black silk sling that managed to look sexy. He’d always been her rock, and she was grateful he’d accompany her today. His phone rang, and he broke the embrace, reached into his pocket and answered the call. “Hello.”

  Even from a distance, Dana could hear a burst of sound and recognize Dylan’s voice before Sam said, “Calm down.”

  He walked away, talking in a low tone that sounded worried. Dana heard him mention Mitch Anderson, the missing county administrator.

  She didn’t understand why Sam had suddenly gotten so thick with Dylan lately. And his sudden interest in politics worried her. Didn’t he have enough to do between his thriving law practice and his real estate investments? She understood he had big dreams, but it almost seemed as if he’d moved into Mitch Anderson’s position as advisor to the mayor.

  Turning back to the mirror, Dana checked her blush, then added lipstick. She probably had her own list of voice-mail calls to return but simply didn’t have the energy. Perhaps her sorrow over Lisa had sapped her energy. Or perhaps she hadn’t recovered from her head injury yet.

  Usually Dana felt calm in her bedroom. She loved the cream wallpaper, the matching carpet and coverlet. Between the eggshell-colored oak furniture and the monotone creams, the room’s decor soothed her. But Sam, dressed in a black suit, black shirt, and black shoes, had disturbed the harmony.

  She turned around to put on her dress and caught sight of him as he returned to their bedroom. His brows had furrowed into an angry line. Worse, his face had reddened, a sign his blood pressure was high.

  She zipped her dress. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He masked the frown, but the furrows in his forehead remained.

  “Sam. You might as well tell me. Otherwise, I’ll worry.” She picked up a string of pearls to place around her neck.

  “The chief of police called to tell me that Nick Vizzi—”

  “Who?”

  “The man who shot me.”

  “Right.”

  Sam gave her an odd look. It wasn’t like her to forget names. “The medical examiner finished his autopsy.”

  “That was fast.”

  “I pulled strings.”

  “And?”

  “Vizzi didn’t kill Lisa.”

  Dana dropped the pearls. “They’re certain?”

  “Yeah. Lisa managed to scratch the killer. They found skin under her nails that didn’t match Nick’s.”

  “So whoever killed Lisa is still
out there?” Dana bent and picked up the pearls, her stomach churning.

  “I’m afraid so. We’ll have to tell the others.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  MARIA FINISHED breakfast to find a white box with a big red bow on top of the morning newspaper that her bodyguard had placed beside her on the kitchen table. She opened the card and smiled, knowing it was from Ray before she recognized his neat handwriting. “For the funeral.”

  Heart thumping, she carried the box into her bedroom. She hadn’t seen Ray since the night they’d done some grind in the street, right up against her car. From the first time they’d met at a club four months ago, Ray had seemed unusually sensitive to her need to push the envelope sexually but with the assurance of a safety net. In the last few days, as if sensing her hesitancy, he hadn’t called. He was a master at balancing her need to feel safe with her love of surprise and experimentation.

  She opened the box, expecting to see something totally inappropriate to wear to a funeral. But Ray had sent her a black hat, a dark gray suit, a pink blouse, dark thigh highs, pumps and an exquisite set of delicate lace lingerie. The panties, a thong and bra set, were soft sexy and exactly her size. Everything fit as if she’d tried on the clothes and picked them out herself. In addition, the dark gray suit fabric complemented her tan. He’d even included a clutch purse.

  She looked perfectly respectable but felt naughty in the underwear—which was surely his intention. Maria locked the front door behind her and her bodyguard just as Ray pulled up to the curb. She was surprised but pleased to see him; he looked yummy, dressed in a navy suit that brought out the sparkle in his eyes.

  He strode up to her as if they had a date. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you for the compliment as well as the clothes.”

  His tone was low and husky. “I like dressing you. I like knowing that I picked out every stitch of clothing that touches your skin.”

  He didn’t seem to care that they weren’t alone and his intimate words in front of her bodyguard made her uncomfortable. “Ray, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m escorting you to the funeral. Did you think I would let you go alone?” Ray’s gaze turned to the bodyguard. “You’re hired protection?”