Danger and Desire: Ten Full-Length Steamy Romantic Suspense Novels

by Pamela Clare

  At least not in seven years.

  The shockingly hard ridge of his erection burned against her stomach. A flare of panic spiked in Jess’s chest. Just as quickly as it did, Tanner let go. She stumbled backwards and gasped for air, her whole body awash in tingles.

  His eyes were wild, stunned, so dark she couldn’t tell where the pupil ended and the iris began. He stepped back, leaned his head against the door and shut his eyes. “Jesus.” Wiping a hand down his face, he shook his head. “I’m…I didn’t mean…” He opened his eyes, watched her. “I won’t do that again. I’m sor—I won’t do it again.” He opened the door and left her alone, with her lips throbbing, stinging from his kiss, and her body overheated from his touch.

  Tanner couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. Every cell of his body wanted Jess and he’d barely controlled the urge to take her on the kitchen floor. What scared him most wasn’t the fact that he wanted her—that was a no-brainer after being celibate for seven years. No, what freaked him out was the way she’d stood on her toes to get more of him. Didn’t she get it? He was an ex-con. They were leagues apart in every aspect of life.

  He should never have touched her. Holding a finger to her mouth had been worse than stupid. Getting a feel of her soft lips had pushed him over the edge. Yeah, he thought he could take a little and back off. Idiot. Dumbshit. He’d even given her time to come to her senses. He’d been slow, sure she’d back away or slap him, put him in his place. But the little fluff ball had wanted more and in the blink of an eye he’d lost control.

  She got way more than she bargained for. But she’d think twice before getting in his space again, so he had to be grateful for that. He hated people in his space, especially her. She smelled too good, looked too good. He’d almost apologized too. Wasn’t that an ass-kicker? Yeah, he was sorry he couldn’t relieve the hard-on, but not sorry he’d tasted her. Her mouth was a sensation of hot and cold. She tasted like the tiny mint breath fresheners she chewed all the time, but her mouth was warm, dark and so damn inviting.

  Tanner shook his head, finding himself in a shaded corner of the backyard, near a slider bench. His parents had one just like it. When was the last time he’d been on one? Ten years ago? More? He refused to go back to that time when he had family and friends, a life.

  He couldn’t go back and who knew what his future held. All he had was now.

  Blood still pounded through his veins, settling in his rigid cock. He needed to lose the hard-on in a big way. He dropped to the cool grass, set the gun on the wood chips under the nearby hedge, stripped off his T-shirt and did the only thing he could do.

  Push-ups. He did them in the morning and at night. He did them in prison anytime a hard-on got too extreme to ignore. He punished his body with exercise since sex wasn’t an option and having an audience to any solo relief hadn’t appealed to him.

  But maybe little Miss Fluff Ball was an option. She’d invited him, hadn’t she? Stood on her toes and asked for more, not having any idea what more really meant. She’d learned quickly enough though. She’d been shocked as hell. She’d frozen like a possum in headlights. Every muscle in her body had tensed and told Tanner what he already knew. Jess didn’t want him. Would never want him. She knew by now what a loose cannon he was.

  Breathing steadily, Tanner kept going, up and down, nose and stomach to the grass. He’d do as many as he could in the few minutes he had remaining. The stitches on his side pulled as he pumped, but the pain only helped his body focus on something else. It also helped bring the peace of mind he needed to face Jess again.

  Finally, he heard her behind him, felt how her tension changed the air.

  “It’s time,” she said. “We should talk to him.”

  Tanner hopped to his feet. Jess didn’t back away as he expected, but she watched him warily. Was she going to pretend like it never happened? Did she think he was going to forget it happened? He almost laughed out loud at that idea. He went to the nearby water hose and bent over to douse his head and neck with cold water. Then he splashed it over his chest and under his arms.

  He had control back.

  But for how long?

  Chapter Nine

  “Hey, Paulie, you up yet?” Frank Grubb asked from the other side of the bedroom door.

  Paul Facinetti closed his newspaper with a snap. Foreclosures, murder, suicides… The world was going to hell. What happened to honor and living by a man’s word? He pushed the breakfast tray aside and tightened the belt on his black, silk robe as he got out of bed. He let the grand simplicity of the open room soothe his nerves. He hadn’t been in Los Angeles since his sister’s death, but he was glad he hadn’t sold her house. Though he liked Vegas and the money he made there, he understood his sister’s love for the water and appreciated her style. This master suite on the top level of the house gave him a spectacular view of the Pacific and with the walls painted an ocean green, it was almost as if the water flowed right from the sea and into the room. Beige drapes billowed from the breeze coming through the French doors and matched thick carpeting under his bare feet.

  “Yeah, I’m up,” he answered.

  Frank walked into the room, announcing his presence with enough cologne to kill a moose. “I just wanted to let you know that everyone’s behaving. No stupid moves or nothing like that.”

  “Anything like that,” Paul corrected as he shoved his feet into comfortable slippers.

  Frank just stared at him, his head cocked as he tried to figure out what he’d just been told. It was not a look uncommon to this man. Paul sighed.

  Frank spoke like a punk with no education. Of course, he was a punk with no education, but Paul had always hoped he’d quit talking like a man with no brain and too much muscle.

  “How long before we hear from the assistant bitch?” Frank asked.

  “How many times have I told you not to categorize someone before you’ve met them? From what I can tell, Jess St. John is a very nice person. Her boss put her in a bad spot. The fact is we have her parents and brothers, and that would make anyone unhappy. If we’d met her under normal circumstances, I’m sure she’d be very friendly.”

  Paul had spoken to Jess on the phone a few times before he’d met with Maurice Juneau, and she’d been very accommodating. Very nice. He could practically see her smile over the telephone. He regretted what he had to do, but Juneau had cost him too much time and money. Jess St. John had been the next easiest option. She ran Juneau’s life and the man had been stupid enough to brag about it.

  “Friendly?” Frank latched onto Paul’s last word and took it out of context the way he usually did. He swaggered, a bull sniffing for a mate. “Like, uh…just how friendly?” He lifted bushy brows and smiled crookedly.

  Paul wouldn’t have kept Frank employed if they hadn’t been together so long. Frank had saved his ass in high school more times than Paul could remember. What he lacked in brain-power he made up for in loyalty. Frank would never betray him, he’d never try to take over the business. He knew where his place was and he never bitched or moaned. He made more than a decent living and took plenty of vacation time. Paul knew enough women so that Frank always had a good fuck when he needed. Life was good for Frank. He’d never screw it up. In this world, that meant something.

  Take Maurice Juneau for instance. The man had promised a movie. He’d laid out a plan, shown Paul where his money was going, who the stars were and where the film would shoot. Paul had always wanted a taste of the film industry and he knew a few guys who’d invested and made some money. One film had gone on to be nominated for an Oscar. What a frickin’ ride that would be.

  Not that Paul expected that type of success out of the box. Films were hit-or-miss. He understood that. That’s why he’d demanded to read Juneau’s film. It was gritty. Real life. Maybe that’s what spoke to Paul so strongly, why he connected so much. It was about a kid working his way from a bad neighborhood to rise up and become a man of substance, someone to be reckoned with, someone who deserved respect
. Paul felt like it was his story. So he’d forked over eight million dollars. Eight fucking million dollars had got him jack-shit. There was no movie, no nothing.

  The more digging Paul did, the more he found out about Maurice Juneau. The man was a scum-sucking magpie. But he’d been smart enough to hire more security after Paul called him. Paul sighed at his mistake. He should’ve just picked Juneau up and gotten it over with. Either get the money or exterminate the man. But Paul still liked to think that business relationships could remain friendly when all parties played fair. He should’ve known better by this stage in his life.

  “Hey, Paulie, you done with this melon?” Frank asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

  Paul used words Frank understood. “Knock yourself out.”

  Frank popped the honeydew melon in his mouth and smacked appreciatively. “While we’re talking about friendly,” he said. “That St. John woman in the basement, she ain’t friendly at all.”

  Paul cringed at the reminder. “How is Lou feeling? He still have a headache?”

  “It’s going to be another week before he’s active again. His head aches, his balls ache. She whacked them all the way into his throat.” Frank gave him a pointed look. “It ain’t right that she get away with that. Give me the word and I’ll make sure she don’t do it ever again.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Paul said. “We’re not going to hurt these people.” Well that wasn’t true, since he’d ordered the younger brother’s earrings be sent to Jess as incentive…along with most of his earlobe. “At least not more than we have to,” he amended.

  “You think I can have a crack at her before this is all over?” Frank asked. “C’mon, Paulie, I never ask for nothin’. I’d just like to give her one good hard fuck before this thing ends. It’ll be a little going away party.” Frank laughed at his own joke. “You gotta admit, she is one piece of ass. I can’t believe she gave birth to all those guys. She must have some expensive-assed plastic surgeon.”

  Paul doubted Terry St. John had any surgery at all. She was one of those women who didn’t age. But did she deserve to be mauled by Frank just because her time was up? Not in Paul’s book, she didn’t. He’d just have to make it up to Frank with another girl. A different redhead so Frank could pretend he was fucking Terry St. John. If anyone deserved the woman, it was Lou, the one she’d taken down.

  “I don’t need an answer now. Just think about it.” Frank popped another piece of melon in his mouth and headed toward the door. “Anyway, just wanted to give you the morning report like you asked. I’m heading down to relieve Kwami. See ya later.”

  Paul watched his friend leave the room. The world owed him a favor for keeping Frank off the streets.

  He checked his watch. Jess only had a few more days before her deadline. Would she come up with the money, or the man? Either one suited Paul. He admired her phone call last night, even if it had been late. He’d been about to go to sleep and had to get dressed to face her family. Clearly he couldn’t intimidate anyone in his pajamas. Then he’d had to show her there was a price for going against his rules. Had to make sure she understood the consequences.

  He really didn’t want to have to kill all those people in the basement.

  But he would if he had to.

  Maurice sat up straighter as the door opened and Jess walked in with Bryant on her heels. That little bitch had left him tied up like a goddamn steer at a rodeo. An obnoxiously big clock had ticked the minutes away on the wall over the drum set. But he wouldn’t let his temper guide him. Right now, he needed to be the negotiator. The producer. He had to get results because he wasn’t going to be handed to Paul Facinetti like a side of beef. If Facinetti took the earlobe of an innocent kid, then what the hell would he to him?

  “Did you make a decision?” Jess asked.

  Making eye contact, Maurice nodded. He’d done some thinking the last few minutes. If Jess wanted to fuck around, she’d picked the wrong man to play with. “I was wrong before when I wouldn’t help you. It’s my fault this happened. I take full responsibility.” Maurice shook his head, filled his voice with contrition. “Jesus. What was I thinking? Look, I’ve got an account in the Cayman Islands. I can transfer the funds as soon as you let me out of here.”

  Little bitch Jess narrowed her eyes, suspicion clear in her gaze. She’d been around him long enough to know his bullshit, but he looked her straight in the eyes as if he meant every word. Finally, she headed toward him, but Bryant stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “How much is in the account?” he asked.

  Maurice wanted to throttle him. He took a measured breath, reigned in his anger. “Three million dollars. It was earmarked for the next film, but I’m giving it to you, Jess.”

  Her bunny rabbit eyes grew wide. “I need eight million. You know that, Maurice. He gave you the money. You have the money.”

  Yeah he had most of the money, but he sure as hell wasn’t forking it over to her. “I told you, Jess, most of it’s gone. I have that account and two more that come to just over four million total and you’re welcome to it. Just take these cuffs off and let’s do this. Please, Jess, my shoulder is killing me. I can’t be in this position. I’m dying here.” He adjusted his sore shoulder for effect. Jess hated to see people in pain. One of her many weaknesses.

  Jess moved toward him at the same time something slammed against the square glass in the door. A second later glass shattered outside. Bryant looked over his shoulder, then backtracked toward the noise. He looked out the window. Maurice doubted it was one of his guys, but hope had his pulse racing.

  “Wait for me,” Bryant instructed Jess, before going outside. The door shut behind him.

  “Since when do you take orders from cavemen, Jess?” Maurice asked. He needed her in his corner, not Bryant’s.

  “About three years now,” she said, leveling him with a flat stare.

  Funny.

  Maurice smiled. It was either that or fly into a rage and he couldn’t afford to lose the ground he was making. He didn’t have much time with Bryant gone. “C’mon, Jess, unlock these.” He flinched as he adjusted his shoulder. “You don’t need them.” Maurice tugged his wrists behind him, ignored his sweaty palms and forced another grin. “It’s me, remember? You’re like a daughter to me, Jess.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Look, I’ll get you the money. I swear. I didn’t think Facinetti would go this far. I admit, I was stupid. Let’s just take it one step at a time.” He used his soft voice, the one that coaxed money out of wallets. The same voice he used on actresses when he needed them to strip…and it wasn’t in the script.

  She glanced toward the door, clearly considering the consequences, and Maurice pushed a little harder.

  “Where’s the Jess I’ve known the past three years,” he cajoled. “This isn’t you.” He grimaced and tried to roll his shoulder. He never thought his broken collarbone would come in handy. “You’re letting Bryant’s agenda cloud your thinking. This isn’t about him. It’s about you and me doing the right thing. C’mon, unlock these. We can go straight to the bank. Let’s go help your family.”

  When she finally nodded, Maurice felt a wave of relief rush through him. Jess wanted to believe the best in people. She wanted the fairy tale, and he was more than happy to give it to her. She was too easy. She bent behind him and Maurice heard the lock unsnap, felt the chain slide across his wrists. The plastic tightened briefly, pinched his wrists then became slack. He loosened his hands.

  Free.

  The door opened as Bryant came back. Blood revved in Maurice’s veins. No time to waste if he wanted out of this damn garage. He lunged and grabbed Jess as Bryant stepped inside. She gasped as he wrapped his arm around her skinny little neck and held on tight.

  “Change in plans, shitheads.”

  Bryant planted his feet and straight-armed his gun. He didn’t have a shot with Jess blocking his way. Tension in the room cycled higher as they warmed to their Mexican standoff.

&nbs
p; Getting out wouldn’t be easy, but it was doable as long as he kept Jess as a shield. Maurice smiled as he eased toward the door nearest the adjacent garage. “We’re walking out of here,” he said quietly.

  Bryant shook his head and headed them off. “No, you’re not.”

  Anger erupted in Maurice’s veins. “Don’t fuck with me, asshole. I’ll snap her neck quicker than you can blink.”

  “Do I look like I care,” Bryant shot back. His face was set and he hadn’t glanced at Jess once. Hadn’t looked at her eyes or shown any sign that she meant anything to him.

  What if he’d miscalculated their little partnership? What if Jess was just a pawn?

  “Maurice, I’m no help to you,” Jess said, futilely tugging at his arm. “He already shot me once, he’ll do it again. Just cooperate and everything will be fine.”

  What? The girl had lost her fucking mind. “You’re delusional, Jess. If he shot you, you wouldn’t be here, and we both know nothing’s going to be fine for me if I stay here.”

  “Didn’t you wonder how we came to meet,” she insisted as she squirmed in his arms. “He took me after you drove off. I’ve got the bandage on my shoulder to prove it. This isn’t going to help because he doesn’t care if I live or die. I was just a way to you. You’d better—”

  Maurice clamped his hand over her mouth, didn’t want to hear her babble, but no sooner had he shut her up then he felt pain slice through his hand and up his arm. The bitch had sunk her teeth into his palm. Maurice stepped to the side and delivered a hard blow to her midsection. Jess doubled over—with an audible whoosh of air from her lungs—which hadn’t been his intention. He’d just wanted his damn hand back. But Bryant was on him too fast. Maurice saw the giant fist before it made contact with his face. A crushing round of pain exploded in his cheek quickly followed by another. The second sent him crashing against the filing cabinet before he hit the ground, dazed. Fuck that hurt.