Lure of the Wicked

by Karina Cooper

Fun. Naomi was having fun.

  The thought made him want to insert himself into that easy niche of feminine laughter and kiss her until her breath fragmented in her chest.

  As something dangerous fragmented in his.

  He rubbed at his sternum idly, surveying the picked-over remnants of Andy’s design studio. Something else. He was missing something, something perfect.

  He heard the click of her wicked heels before her voice, quiet. Judging. “You like her.”

  The top of Andy’s ice blond hair barely came to his shoulder. He glanced down at her, at her wide, shrewd blue eyes. He couldn’t lie, not to her. She knew him better than that. “Yeah.”

  Her mouth twisted. “You sure know how to pick them.”

  Shared memory sparked between them both, mingled laughter and an indulgence so brief, it barely registered as a footnote in her ambitious career.

  Or so Phin figured.

  Still, he turned, tucked a finger under chin. “Hey,” he said. “What is it?”

  “Oh, you know,” she said lightly, and braced a hand on his shoulder to bring him down to her level. Her lips were warm, brief on his cheek. “Remembering good times. I’m tapped out, did you find anything else?”

  “I liked the red.” Phin let her change the subject, but he kept her hand tucked in his. His best friend.

  He hoped it was enough.

  She grimaced. “Too obvious.” A beat, and then her mouth flipped up into a catlike smile. “But one of my best.”

  Phin chuckled, turning again to study the starkly contrasting viewing studio. “The black velvet—”

  “Ugh, no.” She waved that away, effortlessly freeing her hand with the gesture. “It practically flattened her chest. She looked like a twelve-year-old boy in a skirt.”

  “Impossible,” Phin argued. “Besides, did you see what it did for her—” He stopped. Frowned. “What is that purple thing there?”

  Andy followed his gaze, her smile widening as she saw what caught his attention. She hurried across the floor, dug through the clothes hanging together until she could find the start of the material trailing from the bottom of the rack.

  “I had,” she crowed triumphantly, “completely forgotten about this. This is it, Phin.” Fabric shimmered through her arms like violet moonlight, as fragile as spun silk. It caught the harsh light from the ceiling, reflected it back in shades that made him think of the heart of a thunderstorm, a purple sheet of lightning.

  He whistled. “Go stop her from trying anything else on.”

  “Naomi?” Andy pitched her voice to carry. “This is it!”

  Phin heard Naomi’s muffled question, heard Andy’s excited nonanswer, and grinned. He checked the wide face of his watch, reassured they’d have plenty of time before the reservations anybody else would have had to wait months to make, and barely kept from climbing into that damn fitting room himself.

  The knowledge that she had spent most of the past two hours wearing nothing but red lace and his scent had steadily redirected the flow of blood from his brain and into his pants.

  Tonight was going to be exquisite agony, and he’d already had her once.

  He stared into the ordered chaos of Andy’s studio and wondered if everything was all right in Timeless. Not for the first time, he checked the comm clipped to his belt, saw no message, and was only partially relieved. They’d call if there was a problem.

  He just couldn’t shake the certainty that there was.

  Behind him, Andy cleared her throat. He turned, expectant, and saw only her. Smiling in knowing sympathy. “We’re going to go ahead and fix her hair and makeup. You go fix yourself a drink.”

  “Is it perfect?”

  “You’ll see,” she said, and vanished back into the elegant fitting room station.

  Phin obeyed, but only because the urge to peer over the top of the paneled wall was too strong to completely ignore. Rueful, he crossed the studio, stepped into the large, equally as stark office, and helped himself to Andy’s carefully stocked bar.

  He drank the expensive imported whiskey slowly. It’d take them time to prepare—growing up among women taught him time was a given—so he made himself comfortable behind Andy’s black metal desk and cracked open his comm unit.

  At the very least, he could get some work done. It kept him from drinking too fast, and his brain from what was going on in the dressing room.

  Only half of the smooth whiskey remained when Andy cleared her throat from the door. Phin set down the glass, rose, and hesitated when she said simply, “Stay there.” She vanished again. Shadows mingled, feminine voices murmured.

  He felt as if the air had been punched out of his lungs as Naomi took her place.

  Her hair had been swept off her neck, coiled into sleek curls and pinned in place with diamonds that winked like stars in a tapestry of night. Her makeup was subtle, luminescent. It swept her eyes into more dramatic lines, polished her mouth to a lush, tempting gleam.

  Her expression was cool, indifferent, but he knew her better than that. Beneath the material that cupped her body like a lover’s hands, her muscles were rigid with tension. And Jesus, she didn’t need to worry.

  “You—” Phin swallowed hard. “You’re stunning.”

  The gown’s lines hugged her body, its corset strapped tightly under her bust and beaded with gold in diagonal patterns. It pushed her breasts high, shaped her cleavage to something he didn’t think he’d be able to resist staring at all night. Her shoulders remained bare, porcelain smooth, while more of that soft, shimmery material draped over her arms in faux sleeves.

  And her legs. God in heaven, Phin was going to die a happy man. The slit in the side of the draped gown stopped a hairbreadth from the band of red lace he hoped she still wore beneath. It was signature Andromeda, intensely sexy and completely unapologetic.

  But Naomi wore it like it was made for her. Just for her, and her long, long legs.

  “Phin?” She tilted her head, the column of her slender throat moving as she swallowed. “Hello?”

  “Wait a minute.” Phin circled the desk. Very slowly crossed the office to stand just out of reach. It only got worse—better, Christ, worse—the closer he got. She looked like a goddess, like some kind of moonlit creature of the night, and he—

  “I expect,” Andy said severely from behind her, “that she will arrive to Swann’s in the same condition that she is now.”

  Naomi shifted, a flush of color sweeping over the tops of her lovely breasts, over her shoulders and cheeks. Her eyes filled with laughter, knowing and wicked, as they met his. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Same condition.”

  She turned, and his eyes flicked to the strappy stiletto heels on her feet. They were barely noticeable, a glint of gold crossed over her ankles. He wanted them over his shoulders. Now.

  “Uh, yeah,” he managed hoarsely. He cleared his throat, met Andy’s narrowed eyes and tried again. “Absolutely, perfect condition. Andy, you’re a genius.”

  “No,” she corrected, and tucked her arm in Naomi’s. “I’m an artist. She is the perfect canvas.” When she offered her other arm to him, Phin took it. He matched Naomi’s smile with his own as Andy led them both to the door. “Have fun, behave”—this with a stern look at Phin, who had the grace to smile sheepishly—“and for the love of all that is holy, Naomi, try the dessert. I don’t care what, you just must have something and think of me.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Despite her polished shine, Naomi looked glazed enough that Phin took pity on her. He touched her shoulder, felt the electrical twinge all the way to his chest when his fingers encountered bare skin. The faintest edge of a faded scar. “Why don’t you go to the car,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

  To his surprise, she didn’t argue. She turned, holding the rainbow purse that didn’t match the gown in one hand and a sleek gold handbag in the other, and bent to receive Andy’s air kiss. “Thank you,” she said, a glint in her eyes. “It was great meeting you, Andy.”
>
  “I expect you to tell everyone that you’re wearing an original Andromeda,” the designer said brightly. “I’ll have work until the next earthquake.”

  Naomi turned, sliding him a thoughtful look over her bare shoulder, and proceeded down the steps. Martin hurried to meet her, holding an umbrella over her head. His expression was rapt. Awed.

  Kicked in the gut, and Phin knew the feeling.

  “Thank you, Andy.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “You know I owe you.”

  “Boy, do you,” she said indulgently, and caught his arm when he straightened. “What do you know about her, Phin?”

  Her eyes were serious, her tone lowered enough that he frowned. “There’s a lot I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can tell you this: She’s funny, and smart. She’s gorgeous—”

  “Clearly,” Andy interjected wryly.

  “I mean on the inside, too.” Phin looked up, saw her step out of the way of a man in a dark overcoat walking by. He said something to her, something flattering, because she smoothed a hand over her gown and smiled.

  Naomi’s gaze flicked to Phin, but he couldn’t read it in the dark.

  Andy’s fingers tightened on his arm, brought his attention back to her. Worried. “Do me a favor,” she said quietly. “Just do this and we’ll call it even, okay?”

  Covering his fingers with hers, Phin promised, “Anything.”

  “Ask her about her tattoo.” When his eyebrows rose, Andy smiled, a resigned curve without humor, and patted his hand over hers. “Enjoy your evening, honey. She can keep the dress.”

  Before he could ask anything else, she pushed him toward the waiting car. Toward Naomi’s silhouetted profile, waiting now inside the warm interior.

  “Same condition,” Andy reminded his back, and Phin sighed. Her laughter followed him all the way to the street.

  Naomi watched him carefully when he slid inside the opened door, banking a sudden, vivid smile as he tucked himself on the opposite seat. He slid as far into the other corner as he possibly could.

  The gown revealed too damn much of her long, smooth legs, crossed at the knee. And no visible tattoo.

  “It’s going to be a long drive, isn’t it?” Laughter deepened her voice, that smoky edge that wrapped like a hand around an erection that didn’t need any more help. He jerked. “Would it help if I—”

  “Don’t,” Phin said tightly, locking his hands around the seat, “breathe. Or we’re going to end up exactly where we were when we arrived.”

  “Oh.” Naomi uncrossed her legs, crossed them again in slow, wicked challenge. “Well, okay, then.”

  Phin reached for the champagne.

  Miles would have to tail them to Swann’s.

  She glanced out the window, eyes tracking the muted shades of light and motion filtered out by the dark glass. He was out there somewhere, she knew he’d have to be.

  If not, she was going to hunt him down in this purple dress and kick his ass. She wanted her gun.

  Her skin tingled, as physical as a caress, and she knew Phin was watching her. Again. Still. A part of her reveled in it, knowing he found her irresistible in this wretched, cloud-spun dress, and a part of her knew he only saw the dress. The rich girl.

  The heiress.

  Still, it was one night. Dinner, a dress, Phin’s hands and mouth on her, what would it cost her? Tomorrow she’d start pushing Carson. Harrying him. She’d find out where he hid, how, and take away his ground. She didn’t have time to wait for blueprints anymore.

  Tomorrow she’d have bullets to give him.

  Just for tonight, she could be Naomi Ishikawa.

  Her gaze slid back to him, to the set of his jaw, his glittering eyes, across the dark interior. “So. Swann’s.”

  His mouth quirked. “Andy has a big mouth.”

  “Lover?” Naomi kept her voice casual, but she saw his smile deepen, saw him nod in the shadows.

  “For a little while.”

  “What happened?”

  Phin placed his empty glass back into the sideboard. “She wanted a career more than she wanted a partner.” He glanced at her.

  Or, she realized with a sudden wash of humor, her cleavage. Shifting, she hooked a finger into the tight edge of the corset. Pulling on it didn’t give her any more room to breathe. The damn thing was boned with steel. “You don’t seem very broken up about it.”

  When his glance flicked back to her face, amusement settled over his features like a shroud. “It was almost eight years ago, Naomi. We were both young. I was focused on Timeless, and she wanted her design studio.” A beat. “I turned thirty-two earlier this month. I lost my virginity when I was seventeen, and no, it wasn’t with Andy. My first kiss was at a birthday party for a schoolmate. I was ten, she was eleven. Would you like to know how many people I’ve slept with?”

  Her chin lifted. “Only if you’d like your rosy view of me tarnished beyond repair.” Saccharine sweetness dripped from every word.

  His eyes narrowed. Through a veil of relaxed, pleasant good humor, his gaze glittered dangerously. “Really.”

  The car slowed. Naomi meant to hold that gaze, to show him that she could sit in a luxury car, wear a designer dress, and lose nothing of the woman he didn’t know she was, but light shattered over the tinted windows. It exploded like fireworks, drawing a sudden frown, swift tension as her gaze jerked to the window.

  “Welcome to Swann’s,” Phin said dryly.

  “Reporters?” Naomi didn’t like the look of it. Too many people. Photos. Her face in the news. Worse, on Phin’s arm. “I don’t like reporters.”

  “They barely qualify as that.” Phin shifted, reached behind him to tap on the glass between the seats. It eased down, Martin’s capped head tilting as he guided the car through a line of similar luxury vehicles.

  Naomi scowled. Busy night for the rich and infamous, wasn’t it?

  “I have phoned ahead, sir,” Martin was saying in neat, precise tones. “They are prepared around the back.”

  “Thank you.” The window eased up as Phin turned back with a smile. He straightened his jacket. “That should take care of that.”

  “Phin, I don’t—”

  He shook his head, one hand raised. “Relax. It’s a date, Naomi, I’m not asking you to marry me. I might ask you to show me that scrap of red lace again,” he added with a boyish smile that pulled at something sharp and bittersweet, “but it’s not really the same thing.”

  No, it wasn’t. And she could handle showing him the ice blue lingerie Andy had sneaked into the room when he wasn’t looking. Only about a thousand times sexier than red lace. Naomi’s own smile didn’t do anything to ease the ache forming in her chest.

  Nerves. That was all. She smoothed the skirt of her gown as the lights faded away and the car eased to a gentle stop.

  The front door slammed. Then Martin’s shadow by her window.

  Phin got out first, leaving her to gather the sweeping hem of Andromeda’s gown. When he reached back, his hand splayed and steady, Naomi let him help her out of the car.

  Let him pull her just slightly too close. For too long.

  The cold autumn air ghosted over her skin like icy nails, but his arm was warm around her back. His eyes hot and approving as they met hers.

  His smile undid every good manner she didn’t have.

  Ignoring Martin, ignoring the muted frenzy of lights and voices just up the block and around the corner, Naomi tilted her head, closed the distance between them with a low, impatient sound. Hungry.

  His arm tightened, his body tensed, but his mouth— Oh, his mouth. It took her kiss, her brand, and turned it back on her. Made her forget the cold night air as his lips moved over hers, soft and damp. Sticky sweet with her own lip gloss.

  Fresh and male and so very much Phin.

  Her breath caught. Her nipples beaded in the slow, molten reaction of her blood and his flavor. Unable to stop, to separate, she slid her fingers into his hair, cupped the back of his head and pulled him closer.


  His mouth to hers. Her breasts pressed hard and hungry to his chest. His thigh inserted between hers, so close to the sensitized flesh framed in decadent lace and silk.

  His erection, thick and insistent against her abdomen.

  She broke off with a muted laugh, a chuckle caught on the edge of something wilder, one hand braced against his chest. “Okay, slick.” She managed casual, but it came out breathy. More needy than she wanted.

  His eyes were shadowed in the darker privacy of the secondary street, but his smile widened in pure male satisfaction. Sliding one hand under her elbow, he eased her away from the car, put his lips to her ear, and murmured, “You taste like candy.”

  It was such a simple comment, a matter-of-fact observation. She did taste like candy, like something sugary and sweet. It was the lip gloss Andy had put in her bag. She knew that.

  But his breath ghosted over her ear like a warm caress. His lips brushed her sensitive skin, his fingers tight at her elbow, and that simple observation slid like a pure aphrodisiac to the damp, pulsing heat between her legs.

  Dessert? She wasn’t sure she’d make it through dinner.

  Her knees rubbery, Naomi straightened her shoulders and stepped out of reach. To save herself.

  The man was potent.

  He nodded at the impassive driver busily watching nothing in the opposite direction. “Martin, I’ll call when we’re ready for pickup.”

  Around the corner, lights exploded in a frenzy of flash bulbs. It peppered the side street wall, sent shadows dancing across the rain-slick brick. Naomi glanced at the street entrance, saw a figure turn the corner.

  She recognized the tweed fedora tilted at a jaunty angle.

  Finally.

  “Of course,” Martin said, and tipped his hat with a ghost of a smile shaping his thin lips. “Enjoy your dinner, sir. Ma’am.”

  Now she just had to figure out how to get Miles inside, or get the gun from him on the outside.

  “Naomi?” Phin offered his arm, even as the polished glass door slid open beside them. A man in a crisp white shirt, black jacket and slacks waited with a wide, welcoming smile.

  She glanced back over her shoulder once. The car pulled away, briefly highlighting Miles’s hunched shoulders and sodden raincoat in its headlights.