by Willa Okati
Joe ignored her -- again. “Not until I’m sure you’re all right. You zoned big-time just then. Are you tipsy? I thought you weren’t drinking tonight. I thought you weren’t drinking, period.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Look, waiter, you’re the one who filled my order. Looks like a screwdriver, contains nothing but orange juice.” Picking up the glass, she waved it at Joe. On the wagon or not, fitting in was essential to a successful stakeout. She might as well have had Do not trust me stamped on her forehead if she’d requested water or, God forbid, soda. “I’m in control.”
“You looked -- I don’t know -- like you were gonna be sick.” Damn his persistence. Elizabeth had known easier-going bulldogs. “I thought maybe you’d slipped something a little harder than OJ in there.”
“Thanks for the confidence, and sorry to disappoint you. I’m fine.”
Joe didn’t look as if he believed her. Maybe he didn’t want to believe her.
Frustrated, Elizabeth reached up to rub the back of her neck, where the long dark-blond hair she normally wore braided or in a ponytail had been let down and curled. The strands tickled her too-sensitive Nordic-heritage skin. Having the hair down, let alone styled, made her feel like she was playing dress-up.
She didn’t belong in a world where women were elegantly thin instead of rounded and curvy like herself. Where they wore personally fitted evening gowns playing up their slender arms and dishy legs. Where delicate makeup and artful coifs made all the difference between One Of Us and “one of them.”
Joe still hadn’t moved on. Elizabeth tried a more direct approach. “Get going already. It’ll look suspicious for you to just stand here and do nothing.”
“Waiters sometimes flirt with cute customers.”
“Not in a place like this.” Not with a woman like me. “Besides, with this crowd the odds are good you wouldn’t be getting anywhere.”
“I told you -- I never stop trying.”
Elizabeth resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, as she’d gotten her eyebrows tweezed and shaped earlier that afternoon and be damned if she’d muss so much as one sculpted hair. “Joe, don’t make me go through the whole spiel again.”
Oh-oh, now she’d pissed him off. Look out. He scowled at her, an ugly expression. “Fine. Your loss. You’re one cold cunt, you know that? And you might be good, but you’re gonna either get yourself killed or burned out. Watch your back.”
Elizabeth laughed shortly. She took another sip of her fake screwdriver, grimacing at the bitter taste of pulpy juice made worse by getting warm. “Threatening me now, Joe? I’m not impressed.” She reached for the table’s cut-crystal ashtray and the complimentary cigar beside it -- very nice brand, the end already snipped by a helpful maître d’. They didn’t skimp on the finer things, did they? “Got a light?”
“I thought you quit smoking.”
“I did. Cigars are different. Don’t ask me why.” Elizabeth picked her purse up from the floor and fumbled through the contents until she found a pack of matches. She lit her cigar, drew in a mouthful of bitter, flavorful smoke, then let out a plume of off-white mist. “A lady’s got to have at least one vice, and since drinking and sex are pretty much out, at least at the moment…”
“One of the two doesn’t have to be.”
“Get over yourself, Joe!”
The maître d’, an ethereal wisp of a woman, materialized at Elizabeth’s elbow. “I’m sorry, madam. Is there a problem with -- er -- this member of our staff?”
“Nothing I can’t take care of.” Elizabeth pulled in another mouthful of smoke and let it drift free. “He was just leaving.”
“Yes. Ma’am.” Joe tucked the drinks menu he carried under his arm. “I have other customers to take care of.”
“He must be new,” the maître d’ apologized. “May I freshen your drink?”
“Thank you, no. I’m enjoying what I have, and I’m more interested in the show.”
“I think you’ll enjoy tonight’s performance.” The maître d’ gave her a quick, secretive wink, as if there were some inferred joke Elizabeth didn’t get. She nodded her head and vanished easily as she’d appeared -- not magic, but the natural-born talent of the best servants.
Elizabeth forced down one more swallow of her juice, then put the half-empty glass on her table and pushed it aside. The house lights were dimming and the women around her murmured in anticipation.
Guess it’s showtime.
“Good evening, ladies,” a disembodied woman’s voice declaimed smoothly as a Shakespearean actress, plummy and fruity as vintage red wine. “Welcome to… ah, but you know where you are.” The speaker waited for the ladies’ soft ripple of genteel laughter to fade. “Old friends and new visitors, we hope you enjoy tonight’s entertainment. We are proud to present a special surprise for your viewing pleasure.”
Plumes of misty white smoke began curling up around the edge of the stage. The scent of jasmine filled the air.
Elizabeth twitched with a sharp jerk of déjà vu. Oh, he wouldn’t. No, wait. Of course he would. Damn, the man has balls.
She grinned. You bet he had balls. She’d seen them up close and personal, and they were very nice balls indeed, heavy and pendulous with a downy coat of dark hair over the soft skin.
Mmm… I can’t wait to lick him and remind myself of how good he tastes.
“Tonight,” the announcer continued as if announcing the next item up for auction at Christie’s, “we are pleased to bring you the one and the only Killian.”
Elizabeth’s hand drifted to her cleavage, nicely displayed by the scoop-neck of her dress. One hundred bucks says this is going to be the best game yet. Come out, come out, wherever you are…
You’d better be the right guy too. I’ll be pissed as hell if I’ve followed the wrong trail.
“Killian,” the other women breathed, chanting his name over and over in a genteel but ravenous rhythm. “Killian. Killian. Killian.”
Oh, yeah -- if we’re thinking about the same guy, you know he’s all that and a bag of dark chocolate chips, don’t you? Elizabeth glanced quickly at the women seated nearby. Their eyes were glossy and their cheeks flushed, their mouths parted with dainty pink tongues flicking out to wet their lips. Her own lips tightened. Sure looks like a typical reaction to our own brand of Special K.
“Enjoy the show,” the announcer murmured, her voice fading into the heavy, deep-down sexy opening notes of a power ballad. The audience cheered, albeit quietly. Elizabeth shuddered. God, these women were creepy. Stepford pervs.
The mist thickened into a billowing cloud quickly pierced by a bolt of blue light from a gel spotlight. As the brilliant beam filtered down, it illuminated what had to be the most perfect hand any man had ever been blessed with, fingers arching up to catch the blue glow.
Luminescence spread down the man’s face, revealing raw masculine beauty. Not androgynously pretty, not classically handsome, but somehow better and much more fascinating. Glossy black waves of hair tumbled down his bare chest and shoulders, the skin glistening with a light coat of oil. The expression on his face as he gazed at the light was one of a man who was wishing on a falling star for what he wanted most out of life. Something he ached for.
Yep, that’s my boy. Damn, he’s good.
She felt through the exterior of her bag to make sure she had remembered to conceal her favorite snub-nosed pistol. She chuckled to herself. The times, they are a-changin’, aren’t they?
The light finished tracing its path down Killian’s body, down molded-on suede pants and over his strong, shoeless dancer’s feet. He closed his eyes and his fist as the bass built to a crescendo -- and when the electric violin began to wail, he whirled out of pose and danced.
Elizabeth hissed an awed, impressed curse. God, why did no one else see this man couldn’t be human? He moved with the fluidity of a ballet master, the raw sensuality of a jaguar, and the cockiness of a male who knew every single woman in the room had their eyes fixed on him, rea
dy and willing to spread their legs if he gave them the slightest hint of encouragement.
Just like me, oh, yeah, except I’m the one here to take him down and take what I want.
As Killian spun down the catwalk, teasing open the leather lacings of his pants while he gyrated, Elizabeth snuck her hand into her pocketbook to grasp the stock of her gun. Crazy, she knew, crazy -- he shouldn’t have had any idea she was out there -- but God help her if she didn’t feel the thrill of the chase burning bright. Watching Killian dance was like standing on the edge of a savannah while a lion paced in circles, unbearably beautiful and happy as he could be planning to rip your throat out when he was good and ready.
The dance came dangerously close to mesmerizing Elizabeth, but not so much that when the women voiced a shocked ripple of exclamations, she didn’t pick up on the disturbance. Automatically turning to follow their stares, Elizabeth zeroed in to check out what was going on.
A smaller man had vaulted nimbly, as if from nowhere, onto the far end of the catwalk. Small only by comparison, since for all his grace Killian was built like a brick wall. No less masculine despite his curtain of platinum hair glistening silver in the blue light. Better-looking, in the standard sense, but mischievous, impish, the kind of man who’d play bad to the bone and laugh all the way.
He moved with the music as if he had been born to dance, falling into sync with Killian and spinning toward the bigger man, who threw his head back in a laugh Elizabeth barely heard over the music and beckoned his new partner on.
The two were barely a couple of feet apart when they paused for a long beat as the music dropped into a low thrum. Their eyes met, and from where she sat Elizabeth could see the daring looks passing back and forth between them. What was this, part of the act?
The blond man did a lazy turn into Killian’s arms. He leaned against the giant’s broad chest, hands going back to cup Killian’s ass.
Well, now, isn’t this interesting? And by the way -- holy shit. Elizabeth, her mouth suddenly dry, snatched up her warm juice and took a deep swallow. She’d never gotten why some women liked seeing two men together -- nothing against it, mind -- but watching Killian and the blond gyrate to the music was giving her all kinds of new insights.
Watching them together drew cream from her sensitive pussy. Her nipples puckered.
This could be a lot more fun than she’d expected.
That wasn’t the end of it, though, oh, no. The blond didn’t stop at copping a feel while Killian pulled down the zipper of the blond’s white suede pants. He rocked his hips into Killian’s hand, threw his head back against Killian’s shoulder, and looked as if he were gasping in ecstasy.
Killian brushed his lips down the blond’s neck, nipping lightly at the exposed skin of his throat. The blond bucked forward, still perfectly in sync with the music, but with a passion no one could have rehearsed, not even the best.
Elizabeth’s clit began to throb. She squeezed her thighs together, thanking God she’d chosen to wear a black dress so no one would be able to tell how wet she was getting. She wanted to fan herself. He is so going to pay for this later. Both of them. Hmm. Why not? Two for the price of one.
Killian ghosted his hands up from the blond’s fly to his nipples. Elizabeth realized for the first time that the blond wore fragile-looking silver clamps on them, linked by a thin chain. When Killian gave the chain a jerk, the blond arched and moaned, sending yet another wave of pussy-soaking excitement through Elizabeth’s cunt.
The rest of the audience had fallen deathly quiet, all eyes riveted to the men on the catwalk. Had they known this was coming? Was the man-on-man action the reason they came to this club? Or were they just as surprised as herself?
The blond turned in a deft circle, pressing his chest to Killian’s. Elizabeth couldn’t see his face, then, but Killian’s eyes flared with lust, his smile darkly triumphant as he seized the blond by the back of his head and pulled him close in what had to be a kiss.
Elizabeth gasped, stunned by the jolt of pleasure bursting through her as she watched the two men turn in a slow circle, giving everyone a good view of their kiss, mouths working hard and fast, not gentle at all, but hungry. Raw. Primal. Shockingly in contrast to the blue-white lighting but in perfect timing to the building tempo of their song.
The two parted, looking slightly dazed. Killian touched two of those amazing fingers to his lips, and then to the blond’s. He grinned quickly, savagely, and grabbed the blond’s suede pants, tearing them off and spinning the man around, displaying his naked, swollen red cock to the roomful of women. The tip of that cock glistened, wet with pre-come. Killian swiped his thumb across and brought the digit to his mouth to lick it clean.
She had to fight back an orgasm -- and jeez, that was so not what she wanted to be doing -- but Elizabeth had seen what she’d come to see, and anything her body demanded could wait until she had those smug bastards at her mercy.
Time to make her presence known.
Elizabeth stood up so quickly her chair shot out from beneath her, clattering to the floor. A muted chorus of protest swelled from the audience, quickly changing to stifled cries of alarm as Elizabeth pulled the gun out of its hiding place.
The music cut off in a screech of electronic feedback.
“Killian, you and your dance partner are under arrest for public indecency,” Elizabeth said over the shrill noises of the other women’s alarm, keeping her own voice flat as she could. Arrest for indecency -- as good an excuse as any. “This club is to be closed immediately pending an investigation by the city. Joe!”
Joe stepped out of the shadows, dropping his menu. “Ma’am?”
“Two jobs. Get your hands on the management and let them know just how deep the shit they’re standing in is. Also, make sure none of these women leave before you get their personal info and send it to the home office.” Elizabeth ignored the cries of dismay and protest rising around her. “Sorry, ladies,” she said, hardening her heart to their concern.
Just part of the job. Besides, it wasn’t like they’d actually do anything with what the women offered.
Killian was what mattered. Killian, and his interesting new boy toy.
Speaking of which, the only people not panicking or in action were Killian and his blond. Swaying in place on the catwalk, they both grinned -- no, leered -- at Elizabeth. “What the fuck do you think is funny?” she demanded without lowering her gun. “You’re both on your way to jail. This goes on your permanent records. You think that’s a laugh?”
“Jail. Interesting. I’ve never been in trouble with the law before. Are you going to handcuff us?” the blond teased, tilting his head so the fine platinum hair fell down over one eye. “I like the thought of a pretty woman tying me up.”
Elizabeth fought back the urge to snicker. Oh, he was good.
“Roan,” Killian scolded, slapping the blond’s stomach. “Have a bit of manners. She’s an old friend of mine come to see me. I’ve told you about this particular lass, if you’ll recall. My one true love.” He sighed melodramatically. “She’s aiming a gun at me, true, but there have been worse reunions. What I care about, laddybuck, is her plans for us to walk out of here together.”
“Don’t make it sound like I’m planning a romantic getaway,” Elizabeth warned over her gun. “My car’s parked out front. Start walking.”
Killian laughed and helped Roan step lightly down from the catwalk. “You don’t have to tell me twice, my radiance undimmed by time. It’s been too long for both of us, and I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He sparkled wickedly at her, voice echoing sexily in her ears. “You’ve been a bad, bad girl. Missed me too much to stay away, did you?”
Elizabeth’s finger tightened dangerously on the trigger of her gun. “Fuck that. If it weren’t my job, I’d never have seen your face again.”
“Then three cheers for your job. I left, yes, as you requested. Then I came back for what I’d left behind.” Killian tugged Roan’s nipple chain. “And I found
a bit of something else to enjoy, the other part of us I promised you long ago.”
Elizabeth eased up on the gun’s trigger. “Is that a fact, now?”
“Do you doubt me? Well, perhaps I can teach you differently. Take me in, Sergeant. I look forward to being questioned.” Killian glittered at Elizabeth, licking his lower lip in a long, sensual sweep that riveted her eyes to his mouth. “And please… no need to be gentle.”
Chapter Two
Killian laughed as Elizabeth slammed his cage door shut.
Elizabeth kept her eyes on her own hands, keying in the captive pen’s digital locking sequence. “Is something funny?”
“You, Radiance. You never cease to amaze me.” Killian came close enough to feel the warmth of his breath and catch his aroma of clean sweat from dancing, way-too-enticing male musk, and the unique hint of cloves clinging to his skin.
He trailed his fingers down one of the cage’s reinforced steel bars. Elizabeth closed her eyes, imagining she felt the touch on her cheek -- or better still, her cunt. “I am impressed, and better pleased with you than ever before.”
Too quickly for Elizabeth to see, Killian thrust his hand through the bars and seized her by the back of her neck. The gaps between the poles were just wide enough to give them room for a kiss, not just any kiss, but the kind Elizabeth had been aching for since they’d parted for the sake of this little adventure. She moaned and buckled against the cell as Killian’s tongue plundered her mouth, showing her who was really in charge.
When they parted, he ran his tongue around his lips. “Sweet, lass. So very sweet.” He grinned and gave the cage an experimental rattle. “This is quite the set-up you’ve got down here. Must have cost a dear price.”
“Elven gold oils just as many pockets as American greenbacks.”
“Anyone ever take note how the gold turns into autumn leaves by and by?”
“If they do, I haven’t heard. I’m long gone by then. That last bag you gave me, the gold imprinted to look like Spanish pirate booty?”
