by Stacy Gail
Nikita’s inner hunter stirred. That didn’t sound right. “This is the girl I subbed for last night, right? You told me she didn’t bother to call in sick. Has anyone heard from her?”
Dodie shook his head. “Bambi Dominguez and my brother are kind of close—that’s why he’s in such a shitty mood. I think he’s worried, but he doesn’t want to admit it.”
Nikita reached into her bag for her card before she thought to check the move. No matter how she looked at it, she’d disrupted The Toy Box and made already-rough lives that much more difficult with her charade. She owed them. “If she doesn’t turn up by tomorrow for her paycheck, give me a call. I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter Four
Nikita ignored the cry of seagulls wheeling overhead. Instead, she drank in the sound of the surf as it gushed onto the beach, a never-ending pulse that synched with the beat of her heart. Considering her life had been irrevocably altered by the waters that stretched between Cuba and where she now lived, some might think she’d hate everything about the ocean. And maybe a part of her did—that irrational child part of her that had endured the nightmare that ultimately took her mother’s life. But time had sealed away the child she’d been, along with those powerful emotions like hate, rage, terror and even love. All that was left was a faint numbness that had become a part of her.
Though her eyes were closed against the relentless glare of the sun, she could picture her peaceful surroundings with ease. For about a mile in either direction stretched a mixed shoreline of rocks and sand, littered with sea grapes and driftwood, not at all like the well-groomed sugar-white beaches farther south. The coastline here was still undeveloped, as wild as nature made it and best yet—not a single tourist in sight.
This was her beach, her secluded sanctuary, her personal heaven. No one disturbed her here.
“Yo! Nikita! You home?”
With a snarl she bolted upright, only to remember the bikini top in her favorite neon yellow was somewhere off to her right. She wasted a few precious seconds tying it back in place over her oil-slick breasts, all the while cursing under her breath. What the hell was Kyle doing in her private heaven when he knew she hated visitors? He’d be lucky to hop away from here with only one broken leg.
“Yo, Nikita! Wakey, wakey.” He pounded on the door hard enough for her to feel each impact.
“I am awake, you idiot.” With full-blown murder in her eyes, she gripped the foot-high metal railing that ringed the top of the silver Airstream and glared down at the man on her doorstep. Though a simple metal pull-out step wasn’t much of a doorstep, she’d be the first to admit, but it didn’t matter. She adored her chrome-shiny silver bullet of a trailer, a vintage ’60s camper fully refurbished with all the twenty-first-century bells and whistles. Its greatest asset, however, was that her tiny, compact home on wheels could be parked wherever the best surfing was. The only problem with where it was parked now was that it was obviously too accessible. For a moment she glared back up toward where she’d parked her SUV. Another reason she had such a big vehicle was to haul her home in and out of its various spaces without getting stuck, but she never took chances when she was on this particular property. Maybe it had been a bad idea to build a simple slab for her portable home so close to the water, only to leave the actual parking for vehicles—like Kyle’s muscle car—a good hundred feet away on the hard-packed, unpaved road. At that distance she was almost guaranteed not to hear anyone approach. Definitely not the greatest setup for a bounty hunter, now that she thought about it.
Dressed in casual navy plaid shorts and a cotton gauze shirt buttoned just to his sternum, Kyle shaded his eyes and squinted up at her. “Oh, there you are. With your board leaning against the trailer, I figured you’d be around here somewhere. Glad I didn’t wake you.”
Any pissed-off cat would have been proud of the hiss she unleashed. “Why would I be asleep at this time of day? It’s after noon.”
“Don’t you believe in naps? Wow, I don’t know if we can be friends if you don’t believe in naps. What are your thoughts on naps, now that we’re on the subject?”
She dragged a hand through the wild tangle of her ocean-salted, now-dry hair. When Kyle was in this bouncy-playful kind of mood, he was too delicious to be resisted. Her last line of defense against losing control over the situation could only be one thing—making death threats. “Don’t make me come down there and kill you, cabrón.”
“Did you know that with your hair flowing all over the place like that, you sort of look like my idea of a Cuban Rapunzel?”
ADHD, thy name is Kyle. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed. Remember that night when you knocked on my window to bug me about catching that slimy wife-beating jump? Remember how I Tased you for your efforts?”
“Yeah, that was a lovely jolt of electricity you gifted me with. Made me so tingly I felt like I was walking on air. Or maybe that was just seeing you in a nightie.”
“I don’t wear nighties, I wear big T-shirts to bed.” Or nothing at all, but no way in hell was she going to let that cat out of the bag.
“Are you sure?” His brows drew together doubtfully. “I distinctly remember a nightie with lots of frills and lace. You looked great in it, by the way.”
Oh, my God. “The way your brain works is one of the great mysteries of life.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment. What are you doing here?”
He pouted. “You say that like you’re not happy to see me. I’m always happy to see you, especially when there’s so much of you to see. Is your top coming off? That’s so awesome.”
She shot away from the camper’s edge and out of sight, cursing again as she retied her top before clambering down the ladder at the back. “This is my happy place, cabrón,” she said, trying to appear imposing. But that was difficult to do when her daisy-covered flip-flops smacked against her heels as she closed in on him. “You’re messing it up with all your cuckoo Hurricane-Kyle vibes.”
“You’re just as crazy as I am, Sparkle, and stop calling me an asshole. If you’re not careful I’m going to start thinking you don’t worship the ground I walk on.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
“I know I wouldn’t.”
She would not face-palm. She would not face-palm... “How did you know where I’d decided to park my house?”
“You own three properties in Florida—one north of Jacksonville, one close to your aunt’s place, and this little spit of land here. After I checked with the weather service and found out the waves were six feet here after yesterday’s storm, I deduced you’d be closest to the best surfing.”
She pursed her lips. “That’s...actually pretty impressive detective work.”
“That, and I called your aunt to see where you were.”
The smack of her palm hitting her face was louder than she’d expected. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to live this long without someone trying to kill you. Tell me what you want so I can go back to my sunbathing in peace.”
“At the moment I’d do just about anything for a piña colada.” To her surprise, he leaned into her personal space and inhaled deeply while his eyes drifted shut. “You have no idea how the smell of coconut turns me on, Nikita. Makes me want to lick you to see if you taste as good as you smell.”
Without warning, Nikita’s heart slammed into her sternum while her skin prickled with a heat even more potent than the sun overhead. Unbidden, an image flashed through her head—Kyle, lithe and lean-bodied as he held himself suspended over her, while his head dipped low enough for his tongue to taste her. Goosebumps broke out as she imagined its moist, rough texture gliding to the sensitive dark mauve peak of her breast. Just the feel of it would shatter her, and the flickering tease of that intimate caress would make her beg for more. More pleasure, the k
ind that only he could give her, a pleasure she couldn’t live without because she wanted it so much.
Too much.
A wisp of cold twined around her thudding heart, as it always did, until both her blood and thoughts grew still with that familiar numbness. She wouldn’t want anything, not like that. She wouldn’t yearn. She wouldn’t need. And above all, she would never care. About anything.
Ever.
For only a moment she dropped her eyes, blocking Kyle out of her vision so she could adequately steady herself. If she saw how his long, unruly hair was blowing in the sea breeze she might give in to the need to plow her fingers through it, and from there it would be a short slide into a loss of control. If she could just find a way to work him out of her system in a purely physical way—get answers to all those curious questions she had about him—she’d be able to shut down these wayward thoughts and urges once and for all.
As a plan, she could do worse.
“I’m sure I taste better than any coconut you’ve ever had in your mouth.” With an over-the-top sexy smile designed to hide the mental distance she struggled to build, Nikita hauled open the camper door and swept an inviting hand. “Why don’t you come in and we can discuss some serious taste-testing?”
His pale eyes darkened, like a sky going from blue to gray. “I wonder what you’d do if I ever took you up on your offers.”
“I’d enjoy myself. Just like I do with all my lovers.” Her smile never wavered as she reached out and undid one of his shirt’s buttons, the backs of her fingers brushing his chest. “I’d make sure you enjoyed it, too.”
“You think you could do that?”
“You doubt me? You shouldn’t.” Nikita kept her gaze locked on his in a futile attempt to compel him to bend to her control. If she could control him, maybe she could control whatever the hell kind of weird hold he had on her. With that in mind, she took his hand in hers and pressed it to her sun-warmed stomach, brushing the heel of his hand against her navel piercing while encouraging his fingers to splay against her skin. The catch in his breath was almost lost to the ceaseless whisper of the surf, but that telltale response prodded her on. Closing the distance between them, she slid his hand, unresisting, over the ridge of rib, the faint sheen of oil on her skin smoothing its journey as she brought it up, up...
A harsh noise he didn’t seem to be aware of ground out of him when the progress of his hand stilled over her breast, and Nikita bit her lip hard to stop herself from making a similar sound. But it was shocking how well his palm fit over the subtle curve covered by the thinnest veil of yellow material. She’d never been what she’d call stacked; long and lean with an athletic build was a kind way of putting it. One meager cup size away from a flat-chested boy-body was another. But somehow she molded to his touch as if she were a piece of a puzzle that had at last found a place to fit.
Too bad she had zero interest in fitting with him, or anyone else. To fit with someone meant to depend on someone to be there to fit with. And that way lay madness.
“It’s a bad move to doubt me, Kyle.” She looked away, blocking out his rapt hunger out of fear of becoming addicted to it. Instead she rubbed a thigh against his and tried to leach out every emotion except lust. Lust was fine. Lust was safe. It was the other crap that caused trauma in the long run. “It makes me want to punish you by turning you inside-out. Just to prove I can.”
He jerked back in the same way a man flinched from a cobra strike, and he didn’t stop until several feet separated them. “Is that how you picture it, Nikita? Me, helpless and at your mercy, while you feel nothing?”
“Nothing? Are you that bad of a lover?”
“I’ve never had any complaints in that department, and I have no doubt you’d take full pleasure in screwing my brains out. But that’s all you’d allow yourself to get out of it. Right?”
“What else is there?”
“My point exactly.” His face was almost unrecognizable in its harshness, before he turned and headed for the water. “Fair warning—I’m getting tired of you leading me around by my dick. I can’t believe I’ve put up with it for this long. Back in a few.”
“Wait, what are you...?”
He ignored her, and to her stunned amazement he dived, fully-clothed, into the surf.
* * *
Saltwater stung Kyle’s eyes as he at last sloshed onto the rock-strewn beach fronting the area where Nikita parked her little tin can of a house. It was the physical embodiment of the woman who owned it—flashy, sassy and incapable of staying in one place for long. If she ever decided to sink roots somewhere it would no doubt be a sign that the end was near.
No doubt about it, trying to reach Nikita was like trying to hold on to smoke. And it drove him right out of his goddamn tree.
The late-summer ocean wasn’t as cold as he would have liked. Touching her had ignited a white-hot desire that still prowled around inside him, though he supposed he should be grateful he was no longer making a tent out of his shorts. This couldn’t go on much longer. If they kept pushing at each other the way they did, someone was going to give. Either she’d forget to slam up her lusty but emotionally-detached defenses, or he’d succumb to the blatant come-ons she kept throwing in his path. One way or another, someone was going to break.
If only he didn’t have the nagging feeling it was going to be him.
The sound of a blender on high greeted him as he hiked himself up into Nikita’s trailer. The interior was bright and airy, with a skylight directly over the bed that took up the back portion of the mobile home. Instead of carpeting, which most trailers had, she’d installed white and gray mosaic tile work that went well with the chrome appliances and drawer handles. Adroitly he kept his eyes trained on the front part of the trailer’s interior, though every nerve in his body screamed at him to ease back onto that huge, inviting expanse of bed.
And pull Nikita along with him.
“How was your swim?” To his vast relief, Nikita had pulled a shapeless T-shirt on, along with the rattiest, most un-sexy pair of cutoffs that existed in the northern hemisphere. Barefoot, with her sea-salt-stiff hair pulled back in a messy braid and no makeup, she should have been the definition of bedraggled. Instead all he wanted to do was wrap that braid around his hand, tug her head back and make that pouty mouth work its lush magic on that part of him that was still pulsing with need.
“Refreshing.” Just not cold enough.
“Good.” Standing at the kitchen’s tiny chopping block, she poured a thick, pale cream concoction into a couple of glasses, added a slice of pineapple, and handed him a glass. “Piña colada, as ordered.”
Lord, she was irresistible when she didn’t know how to say she was sorry. “You’re joining me, right?”
She lifted her own glass in response and waved him into the dining nook padded with bright outdoor seat cushions. “Am I going to have to guess why you decided to drop in for a visit?”
“Ever met a girl by the name of Bambi Dominguez?”
Nikita’s glass halted halfway to her mouth. “Who?”
“Ah.” He grinned. “That’s a yes.”
“No, it’s not.”
“But you have heard of her.”
She shrugged and sipped her drink. “It’s not exactly a name you forget.”
“Bambi was last seen leaving The Toy Box early Thursday morning, around three. Were you working at that time?”
“Yep. But my focus wasn’t on any of the ladies. I had eyes only for Man-Baby.” Her eyes narrowed in an expression he’d seen from her so many times in the past—the hungry look of a dieter staring at a double-cheddar cheeseburger and a side of salty fries. “Is Bambi a jump?”
“Don’t get excited. She’s just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill prostitute who thinks that if she ignores her court date the whole mess will go away.”
“If s
he’s so ordinary, why did she snag your attention?”
Because he needed something to keep his mind off a demon determined to bring about the apocalypse by unleashing his insanity-inducing telepathic powers. “Because I thought I might have a line on digging her up when I saw where she was employed.”
“Yeah, well, nobody there has any idea where she is.” She dipped her piece of pineapple into her drink and took a delicate bite. “Trust me on this.”
“You know I trust you, Sparkle. I’d just like to confirm The Toy Box is a dry well for myself.”
“Then why bother dropping by here? You know where it is.”
“Typically the kind of sterling character found in places like that isn’t the most trusting.” He watched her take another nibble, then lick the side of the fruit before it could drip melted drink all over her hand. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, and his still-twitchy flesh behind his zipper tingled as if that pink tongue had licked him instead. Ahh, hell. “I’m hoping you can give me a proper introduction.”
The amused gurgle that escaped her was too charming to be legal. “An introduction, eh? Funny how you make it sound like civilized Victorian warfare. For what it’s worth, an introduction from me—the waitress-turned-stripper-turned-bounty hunter—is probably not going to instill vast quantities of trust.”
“Five percent of the bounty just for this intro.”
The look she gave him was scorching enough to dry his still-damp clothing. “You sit in my trailer drinking my rum, enjoying my hospitality, and insult me to my face. Who raised you?”
“My mother, mainly. Daddy was too busy scoring his next hit. Ten percent. For a measly three minutes out of your life, you’d be an idiot not to jump at it.”
“One thing I’m not is an idiot.” Polishing off the last bite of pineapple, she put a bright yellow-tipped finger in her mouth to lick off the excess juice. The unrepentant sexiness of it made him want to pant like a damn dog. “Okay, Hurricane Kyle. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
