She sputtered. “But—”
“The jet would have been too dangerous. The power outage proved Fuller’s killer was still there. Evan—if it’s Evan—could have been trying to buy time to sabotage the jet.”
“So you don’t think Colonel Norris was trying to help Raptor by tossing us?”
“I didn’t say that. I just said we weren’t going back to the jet. At least this way we have a vehicle. We can’t stay in it, though. Any number of people could know we have this car—and all government vehicles are fixed with tracking devices.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I can call the Arizona US Attorney for help, but it’s one in the morning. Do you know Tucson?”
“No. I’ve never been here.”
Neither had he. Ahead, he saw a blue sign with an airplane symbol and thought maybe, just maybe, luck was on his side for a change.
“We’re going to the airport?” she asked.
“We’re getting rid of this car.”
“But we can’t rent—not without a credit card transaction, and I’m pretty sure rental cars have tracking devices. Child’s play for Raptor.”
He shook his head. “We’ll take a taxi.”
“All the way to DC?”
“No. To a strip club.”
“Wow. That was so not what I expected you to say.”
He smiled grimly. “Me neither, but from there we can find a motel that won’t care about credit cards or IDs, and I can make arrangements.” He glanced at his passenger. “Tonight we’ll pretend we’re a couple looking to take a walk on the wild side.”
A dangerous heat suffused him. They’d be alone in a room built for sex, for hours. Neon and fireworks marked this hazardous path, yet this was the only possible move.
For some unfathomable reason, even though she’d withheld vital information from him, he wanted her. His vaunted control was about to be tested like never before.
An hour later, Curt shoved three twenties into the hand of a taxi driver as they idled in front of a Miracle Mile strip club. The man wore a knowing smirk, and Curt could only hope he didn’t recognize either of them.
On the sidewalk, Curt pulled Mara tightly to his side as they headed down the street, seeking a seedy motel.
“Lose the tie,” she said. “You look too proper for this part of town.”
“That’s the point. We’re tourists on the wild side.”
“But we don’t want to be noticed.”
She had a point. He gripped the knot. He should keep it on. He’d need all his armor where they were headed. He had to face a cold, hard fact: outside of military or government channels, arranging for another jet would be impossible.
That should be foremost in his mind, yet he was sweating the coming sleeping arrangements more than the knowledge he was likely to miss not only jury selection but also opening arguments and the first witnesses.
Evan Beck wasn’t fooling around. He’d killed two men and nearly blown Mara’s head off at Hickam. The thought of how close she’d come to dying was a sucker punch to the gut every time it crossed his mind. Which was constantly. Even when he should be thinking about the case he’d been building for the last year—the one that would cinch his place on the attorney general short list, which he’d only been working toward since he was sixteen.
But he was in Arizona—thousands of miles away from the courtroom—with the niece of the man he was prosecuting, and instead of coming up with ways to use her against her uncle in the trial, he was plagued with thoughts of other ways he wanted to use her.
If he could survive the night with his control intact, then they’d hit the road in the morning and drive without stopping—allowing for no more temptation.
And if his control failed? He’d have to decide between dropping her testimony or stepping down from the prosecution. His case or his career. If he slept with her, he couldn’t have both. And the fallout could mean he’d have neither.
She’d been holding out on him.
That knowledge was a better shield than a silk tie—which he’d removed as he walked. Damn. He was already undressing and they hadn’t even reached the motel.
A smallpox bomb, a dead operative, and a dead airman. Focus, dammit.
Mara shivered beside him, and he realized she didn’t have a coat. The temperature must have dropped below fifty degrees. He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
“Ever the hero.” She smiled and inhaled his scent from the cloth. The glimmer of pleasure on her face sent heat right to his cock.
They passed two motels, seeking to distance themselves from where the taxi had dropped them, in case the driver was questioned. At last they found one that looked perfectly disreputable. When he would have paused to rehearse their roles, she flashed a wicked look, squared her shoulders in the oversized coat, and marched toward the door. “Time for US Attorney Dominick to meet his wild side.”
He was in deep shit.
***
MARA PLASTERED HERSELF TO CURT’S side as he slid cash through the slot in the bulletproof window. She blew in his ear and nibbled on his jaw. The display wasn’t necessary—the guy behind the thick pane didn’t look like he kept up with the news—but dammit, Curt clung to control like a man dangling by fingertips over an abyss. And with each press of her breasts against his arm, another finger slipped from the ledge.
After everything that had happened—don’t think about Jeannie, and definitely don’t think about her brother Eric—she needed tenderness, affirmation. And if she couldn’t get that, she’d take the oblivion of mindless sex. Either way, she wanted him. Now.
The clerk dropped a metal key in the trough—no plastic key cards here—along with a ribbon of condoms. Mara let out a throaty laugh and said, “For a first-time john, you sure do know the place to go.”
Curt cut her a sideways glance that said he was both amused and annoyed at the role in which she’d cast him. He collected key and condoms and, fingers entwined with hers, tugged her out the door and to the stairs that led to their second floor room. On the landing, he pulled her against him. His mouth found her neck, and he said, “I thought we were a couple. Why did you make me a john?”
Because she knew it would fluster the upright attorney. She couldn’t imagine the man doing anything wicked, let alone illegal. “A real couple would go to a classier place than this dump.”
“We could be having an affair.”
She gripped his shirt. “A man wearing clothes as expensive as yours would take his mistress to a hotel. A place that gives out condoms on check-in is for whores and johns.”
His eyes narrowed in the sexiest, hottest way. The amused glare went straight to her center. “You’re blowing smoke. You’ve never been to a place like this before.”
She nibbled on his jaw and worked her way toward his ear. “This is my first time on the wild side—but I like it.”
He stiffened against her, and she felt the heavy beat of his heart as another fingertip clinging to control slipped. Still gripping his shirt, she tugged him down the covered walkway. “You’re wasting time. I have another appointment in an hour.”
She leaned against the door and stroked his chest as he fumbled with the key. Would he fall? Or would he regain his grasp once they were alone?
The door swung open, and she tumbled inside. Gripping his bicep for balance, she pulled him in after her. He kicked the door shut behind him and caught her in his arms. A rush of victory suffused her when his mouth covered hers.
His tongue thrust between her lips, and she took him in, already drowning in the sensation of his potent kiss. She’d fantasized about this, but the reality of his surrender was a bigger rush than she’d imagined. He filled her senses with his touch, the musky smell of his skin, and the taste of his mouth as he devoured her.
“Oh God,” he muttered against her lips. “I can’t take this anymore.”
She slid her tongue along his, drinking him in. “I need you. Now.” She fumble
d with the buttons on his shirt, finally freeing the top two.
He released her and pulled the shirt over his head. Ah, those glorious pecs. She ran her hands over his muscles, only breaking contact when he removed her top. His lips traced the edge of her bra, and his hands cradled her breasts.
He nibbled his way upward, nuzzling her neck as his hands dropped to pin her hips to the wall. Once again his mouth covered hers in a searing hot and thoroughly mind-blowing kiss.
When Curt Dominick let his carnal side out, the man was hot enough to melt stone.
His left hand slid upward again, capturing her breast. “You have a spectacular body,” he murmured against her lips. “Keeping my hands off you. Yesterday. On the beach…” Kisses punctuated each word. “Was hell.”
She kissed him, sliding her tongue along his, taking him deep into her mouth. She wanted nothing more than to do the same thing with the impressive erection currently pressing against her center and pinning her to the motel wall. She wanted to taste all of him, to look into his eyes as he surrendered his control utterly and completely, and gave in to the pleasure she could give him and came in her mouth.
Her hands trailed down his chest and found his fly. She popped the top button, then touched the zipper. His hands closed over hers, stopping her.
He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. His breathing was ragged. “We can’t do this—”
No. A fingertip had gained purchase. “Don’t you dare back out on me now, Curt.”
“I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now.”
“No problem, because you can have me.”
“We can’t. I can’t.”
“Please, Curt. I need this.”
His mouth lit on her cheek, her brow, her neck. “So do I, sweetheart. But if I have sex with you, then put you on the stand, I’ll be disbarred.”
“Then don’t put me on the stand.”
The lips against her throat paused for a heartbeat; then he reared back. “Fuck. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “What’s your goal here, Ms. Garrett? Are you doing this to help your goddamned uncle?”
Her wildly thumping heart split open. How could he think she’d be so mercenary?
Cold, hard eyes pierced her with a glare. “Are you trying to get out of testifying?”
She swung out to slap him, but he caught her wrist before impact. He grabbed her other arm and pinned her to the wall with both hands up. “Or do you want me disbarred?”
TWENTY
JESUS. HE WAS TOO STUPID to live. How could he have kissed her? How could he have forgotten everything that mattered to him?
Her eyes burned with anger as she glared at him, trapped between his body and the wall, her hands pinned beside her face with her fingers curled into eye-gouging claws. Her magnificent breasts heaved as she struggled against him. She might be strong and fit, but he was twice her weight with twice the muscle.
“You are such an ass. For a Harvard-trained lawyer, you really are stupid.”
“I agree.”
She stopped struggling, but he didn’t relax his grip. Her knee came up, but he blocked her with his own. He thrust his knees between her legs, preventing her from trying again.
She wriggled against the intrusion, her crotch nestled on his thigh, and let out a small, guttural sigh. His body responded to her arousal just as quickly. What the fuck? They were both spitting mad and hot for each other at the same time. “I hate to break it to you, darling, but I’m not into rough sex.”
Again she glared at him. “Neither am I. But I’m into you, dumbass.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No kidding.”
Small and fine-boned, she’d been held prisoner in a dark cell for two months and had at times been blindfolded and handcuffed—and he was manhandling her in the worst way, making him question every virtue he thought he had. “If I let you go, are you going to scratch me or kick me in the balls?”
“I won’t scratch you.”
He smiled. Damn, only she could make him smile in this situation. He pressed his thigh against her center and she gasped. “Dammit, Curt. It’s obvious I’m turned on. Allow me some dignity and let me go.” She was a proud woman. That had been apparent from the moment they met, and now he was bringing her low in a despicable manner. The starch left her spine. “Please.”
He dropped her hands, lowered her feet to the floor, and stepped back, wary of quick movements on her part.
She stayed against the wall and stared at him, the fight in her gone. A tear rolled down her cheek, but it lacked the quality of courtroom hysterics and cut straight to his heart.
“Why did it have to be you?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Clinton, Richardson, even Jesse Jackson—I’d have been grateful, but I wouldn’t have fallen for them. No, I get you as my rescuer. Young, handsome, powerful, and utterly heroic. You are a potent combination, and in my fractured state I didn’t stand a chance. Not even the fact that you’re trying my uncle could get in the way of my foolish fascination.
“No, Curt. I don’t want to make love with you because it will gain me a damn thing. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only thing you can offer me is pain. But I want you because I’m stupid and vulnerable and weak and lonely, and a thousand other things, all unflattering and embarrassing.” She pushed off the wall and headed to the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower. When I come out, we’re going to pretend I didn’t make a big fool of myself—”
“You didn’t—”
She cut him off with a swift arm motion. “And you didn’t make an even bigger ass of yourself. We’ll pretend this didn’t happen.”
She was right. He was a complete ass. As far as he knew, the last guy she’d been with was Evan, a man who’d been paid to date her, had assaulted her after their breakup, and now was probably trying to kill them both. He itched to pull her back into his arms, to make it up to her with his mouth and hands. To erase all the harsh memories by making love to her. But he couldn’t. That path led to disbarment and destruction.
“We’ll pretend we didn’t get out of control, and that you didn’t insult the hell out of me.”
She was right. They had to pretend nothing happened. “Mara—”
“And I will tell you about the smallpox bomb.”
Fuck. What was wrong with him? How could he have kissed her, started to undress her, when she still hadn’t explained the smallpox bomb?
***
SHE TOOK A LONG HOT SHOWER, washing Curt’s touch from her skin. A half hour later, she emerged from the bathroom, at last composed enough to face him. Curt sat on the bed with the prepaid phone to his ear. He took one look at her, said a quick good-bye, and dropped the phone.
Her heart squeezed, as it always did at the sight of him. Disheveled again with half a day’s growth of beard, he was so appealing, so magnificent, she probably could have come while they kissed if he’d applied only the slightest bit more friction.
She had forgotten her number one rule: never trust a man with ambition.
For Evan, she’d been a ladder, a way back into his father’s good graces after a botched military career, with the levels of their courtship providing the rungs. But Evan was merely the last and most successful in a line of men who’d wanted to use her to gain access to her uncle. Then there was her uncle, who’d used her job with JPAC, visiting her for photo ops that softened his image and encouraged the military vote. He’d used her, and she’d spent years looking the other way.
She should have guessed Curt was just another man with ambition who wanted to use her. “What if I refuse to testify?”
His face revealed no emotion. “Then you’ll go to jail.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me. Not after what I’ve been through.”
“I don’t bluff, Mara. There’s no need when I hold all the cards.”
“You really are ruthless. All you care about is your case.”
He didn’t flinc
h. “It’s about time you figured that out. Now, tell me about the smallpox bomb.”
***
MARA PACED THE DINGY ROOM, and it took all of Curt’s effort to keep his brain on her words and off the shape of her ass or the bounce of her breasts beneath the thin T-shirt. Over the years, he’d taken pride in the fact he wasn’t ruled by his dick like so many he knew. Even many of the greats he admired—politicians with brilliant minds—had fallen into that trap. But not him, no, he’d been smug in his belief he’d never be so stupid.
Then he met Mara. She’d entered his life and rocked his world. Forbidden fruit until after the trial. But when the trial was over, if her loyalty to her uncle remained, they’d never speak again.
So he drank her in now. The sexy sway of her hips, the flutter of her blond hair as she pulled it back from her face in a repeated, unconscious action. Those luminous deep ocean blue eyes that conveyed exactly what she was feeling at any given moment. All the pieces of her came together to create a work of art, a masterpiece that was Mara Garrett.
She paused in her pacing. He noticed because her breasts stopped bouncing, and he was sorry for the interruption. “Earth to Curt? Hel-lo?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. Lack of sleep is getting to me, I guess.” Liar.
She smiled. “Liar.”
Hell. He had to add mind reader to her other attributes.
“For the record, you’re the one who stopped us from having sex.”
He grimaced. “I thought we were going to pretend that didn’t happen.”
“It would be easier if you didn’t look at me like I’m dinner.”
“I am not.” But of course, he was. She had utterly decimated his legendary control in—what, three, or was it only two?—days. He stood from the bed and pulled off the bedspread. It was cheap and scratchy and would probably melt in a warm dryer, but it was their only hope to get through this conversation in a timely manner so they could sleep for a few hours before hitting the road. He draped the blanket around her shoulders and gathered it in his fist at her throat. “Tomorrow we’re going to buy you a burka.”
Her eyes flashed with heat.
Crimes of Passion Page 13
