by C. D. Hersh
He reached for her, tugging her wiggling hips against him. Her touch was sheer agony and ecstasy. Her eyes popped open when their bodies met. Mike held out his left hand, reaching for hers. Her eyes never leaving his, she entwined her fingers through his. Encouraged by her actions, he threaded his arm around her. His hand splayed on her bare flesh, and he drew her against his chest. She gasped, the sound loud enough he heard it over the percussion of the music.
The melody ended, but they stayed wrapped against each other. Then without speaking, Mike led her off the dance floor to the table, where he asked for the check.
“Are we leaving?” she asked as he grabbed her wrap from her seat.
He leaned over her shoulder and kissed her neck. A visible shiver ran over her, causing the thin fabric barely covering her chest to ripple.
“I thought we might pursue something a bit more personal. Do you have a sock we can hang on the doorknob?”
“Dozens,” she replied.
Moonlight flooded Fiona’s bedroom. When she reached for the light switch, Mike stopped her. He wanted to see her naked, bathed in the soft glow of the heavens. He guided her toward the window where the moon’s radiance paled beside her beauty.
“Undress for me,” he whispered.
She dipped her head, suddenly shy after her bold seduction on the dance floor. When she hesitated, he slipped one side of her gown over her shoulder. It fell to her waist, exposing her bare breast. She hooked the material over her arms, depriving him of the glorious sight.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked, confused over her sudden modesty.
She stepped forward and curled her arms around him. “Yes,” she whispered. “But this way.”
Pulling his face to hers she covered his mouth in kisses, her hands running over his chest. She loosened his tie and threaded it off his neck. Then she unbuttoned his shirt with excruciating slow precision. Each button she undid exposed more and more of his passion. By the time she’d opened his shirt and pulled it from his pants, he could barely restrain himself.
“You’re killing me,” he whispered into her hair. “I need to touch you.”
“Not yet.” She reached for his belt, but he eased her away and slid his hands along her shoulders, pushing the gown to her waist. She gasped and threw herself against his bare chest. When her flesh hit his, Mike could not contain his raging passion. He slid her dress to the floor.
Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the bed, and quickly stripped. She arched to meet his touch, guiding him as his hands roamed over her quivering body.
“Mike,” she whispered.
He stopped, praying she wouldn’t tell him to put his clothes on. He needed her. Wanted her. Like he had never wanted another woman.
“Yes?”
“I don’t normally do this. I don’t want you to think bad of me.”
He lay beside her and wrapped one leg around her, the full length of his need pressing against her. She gasped, making him uncertain. “Do you really want to do this?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a squeak, not as certain as he’d hoped. He considered breaking it off. Then she did the one thing that would not let him leave her.
Mike’s hesitation was more than Fiona could stand. He would stop if she didn’t act, and the dark fire rolling through her, driving her crazy, would not get quenched.
She slid her hand between their hips. Mike groaned when she touched him. His hands commanded control of every inch of her body, gently taking her. Making her insane with desire. Driving her to places she had no clue had ever existed.
When she thought the sensations flooding her could get no higher, his touch changed and she broke through the stratosphere of desire. Mike rolled her onto her back and mounted her. Wave after wave of delicious spasms overtook her. As their bodies joined, Mike’s convulsions met hers. They thrust and writhed, finally exploding in harmony.
As the last tremor vanished, he eased them to their sides and tucked his arms around her.
“The socks,” she whispered. “We forgot to put them on the door. What if George checks the room and finds us?”
Mike laughed, the sound bubbling on her neck.
“If he dares open your bedroom door, I’ll shoot him.”
“Please don’t. I’d hate to have to bail your naked butt out of jail.”
Mike kissed her head. “All right. I’ll knock his block off, instead.” She squirmed against him, causing their bodies to separate. “Do you want me to go?”
“Stay,” she said. “I feel safe with you here.”
But she knew she wasn’t. No matter what Mike might do, he could not save her from her greatest enemy—herself. She’d dug her grave with her involvement with the shifters, and no one could get her out.
Chapter 22
Fiona looked as beautiful in dawn’s light as she did in moonlight. His heart aching, Mike eased her from the crook of his elbow and slipped from the bed. She mewed, reaching across the sheets. Gently, he covered her bare torso before the sight made him crawl into bed with her and repeat last night.
Making love with her had not eased his need. Instead, the deep, gnawing desire had become bottomless. Wondering if he’d made a mistake by giving in to his desires, he slipped on his clothes and sneaked out. The morning after was always awkward. Discovering he wanted more than one night—no, a lifetime with her—was even more awkward. Especially since she had been clear about not being the marrying kind, just as he had. Besides, he wanted to get to the cottage before George woke. The fewer who knew about his indiscretion, the better.
Luck was not with him this morning. George sat at the kitchen table, a cup of steaming coffee in front of him.
“Morning, boss. I see you had a late night, or should I say early morning?”
The smirk George tossed Mike said volumes, and nothing he wanted to hear.
Mike pitched his tie on the sofa and headed for the coffee pot.
“Did you have a good time?” George asked.
“Peachy.”
George’s smirk broadened. “I’d have thought your temper would have improved with a few hours of cheek-to-cheek dancing.”
His tone told Mike George didn’t mean face cheeks.
Scowling, he snapped, “Don’t you have rounds?”
“Did them already. The perimeter is secure. Her bedroom, too. But you know. I saw you leave.”
Mike poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “Don’t let on to her you know.”
“Know what? But you might want to erase last night’s surveillance tape from that part of the house. As a precaution, I aimed it right at her door.”
“I’ll get on it as soon as she leaves for her office. In the meantime, I want you to guard her today. I’ve got some computer work to do here and at her business this morning, and an errand for the Scotland trip.
“Sure, boss. Did you tell her?”
“No. I left before she was awake.”
George gave him a questioning expression which turned blank when Mike scowled.
“Forget I asked. Not my business.” He rose and dumped the remainder of his coffee in the sink.
“If she asks, tell her I’m working on LJ’s case.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
If she didn’t, he’d know she thought last night was a mistake, and he’d be off the hook. “Tell her anyway. It’s what she’d expect if I don’t show.”
“You’ll have to face her sometime.”
“Not today.” Not until he had figured out how to deal with his raging desire for her. He’d already lost his heart to her. He wanted to keep his soul. He would need it in order to walk away when the time came.
Fiona awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. She cracked open one eye and stretched, her ha
nd hitting the rumpled pillow on the other side of the bed. Remembering, she jerked upright, pulling the covers over her chest.
The room was empty.
“Mike?” she asked tentatively.
No trace of the man who’d pleasured her last night remained in her room. She plopped on the empty pillow he’d lain on and his masculine scent rose, entangled in the fragrance of his aftershave. She pressed her face against the fabric, inhaling. He’d probably left early so George wouldn’t catch him leaving her room. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stretched, then dashed to the bathroom for a quick shower.
Choosing her outfit with more care than usual, Fiona slipped into a form-fitting business dress she thought Mike would like. She rolled her waves into a French twist but remembered the warmth of Mike’s hands threading through it. Unpinning her hair, she let the mahogany curls cascade over her shoulders.
Her heart light, she dashed downstairs to the kitchen, excited to see him. George sat at the breakfast table, the newspaper spread in front of him.
“Good morning, Miss Kayler. I made coffee.”
Fiona’s gaze cut around the room. “Morning, George. Is Mike awake yet?”
“Yes, ma’am. He said to tell you he’s got some business to handle today related to LJ’s case. He asked me to go to the office with you.”
“Oh.” She heard the dejection in her voice and smiled brightly hoping to hide it. “LJ and her son are important. Much more than me.” She crossed to the coffee pot and poured a cup.
“You’re important, Miss Kayler, otherwise he wouldn’t have hired me to help him. I’ll take good care of you.”
She sat at the table beside him and patted his large hand. “I know you will, George.”
He grinned at her. “But they all like him best.”
A flash of jealousy stabbed her. But he had slept with her. Didn’t that mean he liked her best?
If it did, why was he hiding from her today? He should have been here this morning, reassuring her about what had happened last night. Instead, his absence, regardless of the deserving excuse he’d given, soiled their experience, as if she were a tramp who’d had a one-night stand that went sour.
Really, what was so hard about showing up for a cup of coffee after you slept with a woman?
She dumped an extra spoonful of sugar in her mug, then another.
“You got a sweet tooth this morning?” George asked.
“Just a bad taste in my mouth.” She sipped the coffee. It was awful. Just like she felt. Rising, she dumped it in the sink. “Are you ready to go? I’ve got a busy day.”
George folded the newspaper and scooted the chairs under the table. “Whenever you are.” A smile lifted the side of his mouth.
“What’s so funny?” Fiona asked.
“Nothing, ma’am. Except yours and Mike’s moods are a near perfect match this morning. Must have been a bad bet you won last night.”
Huffing, she whirled on her high heels and headed for the garage. “You have no idea.”
“You have a visitor, sir,” Bently said as he opened the office door of Falhman’s country compound.
“Who is it?” Falhman asked.
“Your presidential candidates.”
Falhman stopped what he was doing and gave his full attention to the entrance. “Excellent. Send them in, Bently.”
When the men entered, Falhman motioned for them to spin around, and he inspected them from every angle. “I assume you’ve mastered every nuance of the gentlemen’s presence.”
“Even their wives and children won’t know the difference, sir,” said one of the men in a perfect Boston accent.
“We know every part of their lives, backward and forward,” added the other man in a Texas drawl.
As Falhman watched, the shifter morphed from the Texas congressman into the Florida governor.
“We’ve got the secondary front runners down as well.”
Falhman nodded to the other shifter. His height dropped and he became stockier. A full head of dark hair lightened into a thinning, blond comb-over.
“Excellent,” Falhman said. “I’m impressed with your work, gentlemen.” He moved to his desk and withdrew two files. “Here’s the next politicians I want you to study. Whatever way the November election goes, I want a man ready to step into both parties. We’ll meet next week. I’ll go over your progress then.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed his rogues.
When they’d left, Falhman dialed Fiona’s cell.
“Mr. Falhman,” she said, when he’d identified himself. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“I have news about your next steps with OmniWorld. I’m sending the helicopter for you this afternoon.” When she didn’t acquiesce immediately, he continued, “Is there a problem?”
“Some of us have to work for a living. I can’t just hop on your helicopter and fly to God knows where at your command. Perhaps you could make the trip in to see me, instead. I could spare a long lunch hour, if we meet somewhere near the shipping yard. Besides, if I ditch my bodyguard one more time, he’ll probably kill me himself.”
Bodyguard? His heart raced. Had she hired protection because she was afraid of him or his rogues? “Why do you have a bodyguard, my dear?”
“Did I forget to mention someone tried to kill me at my home the other day? I thought it might be a good idea to hire security.”
“Who tried to kill you?”
“I don’t know.”
He certainly hadn’t ordered a hit on her, and he knew for a fact it wasn’t OmniWorld. Who was after her? He thought about the cargo of cigarettes he’d pinched from the Cleveland Mafia and shipped to New York. Had they managed to trace it to Fiona’s shipping company? Or had the rogue who’d placed the shipment of live Anthrax on the KayFion said something to someone before he’d had him killed? Was she in danger because of something he’d done? The thought made him sick. He’d only just found her. He couldn’t lose her now.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He tried to keep the anxiety from his voice, but he heard the tiny tremor.
“It happened before you came on the scene. Why would I tell you?”
“Fire your protection detail,” he ordered. “I’ll send some of my men over. Then you won’t have to worry about ditching your security.” He could keep her close to him. If a rogue was the hit man, no one would dare try to hurt her if they knew she was under his protection.
“That’s kind of you, but I’m comfortable with these men now. I don’t want to start over with strangers.”
“My dear, Fiona, there are no strangers in my rogue family. I know them all.” If he found out one of them had tried to kill her, he’d make a public display of his dead body. In fact, he’d kill the bastard himself. For her, he’d get his own hands dirty. Something he never did. “Considering what you’ve said, I think I should come meet you for lunch, my dear. Are you familiar with the Dew Drop Inn Bar and Grill?”
“It’s not far from the office. Will one o’clock be okay?”
“Absolutely. Watch for me in a shifted form. I’ll be with a few of my rogues.”
Fiona sat facing the Dew Drop entrance, her back to the wall, uncertain exactly what a few of Falhman’s rogues meant. The last time he’d introduced her to his rogues they’d come into the room in waves and knocked her to the floor, literally.
George lounged a couple of tables away, his gaze locked on her. Close enough to reach her quickly, but far enough away to not hear her conversation. She glanced at the menu, trying to decide what to order, then jerked her gaze up, searching the room.
George followed her motion, his body readying to spring into action. Concern spread across his face.
The sensation of bees buzzing over her skin started, and she became aware of the rogues enterin
g before she actually saw them.
A tall, matronly blonde stopped just inside the doorway, then waved her hand in the most ridiculous manner and yoo-hooed at Fiona. The clutch of men following her into the grill scattered like guppies before a shark, spreading out across the restaurant. The buzzing intensified as the shifter woman approached. Was it Falhman?
“Fiona, darling, it’s nice to see you,” the blonde said as she air-kissed her cheeks.
“It’s been ages, hasn’t it?” Fiona said, playing along with the shifter. “I’m glad you could make it today.” She cast a glance at George, who relaxed into his seat at her greeting.
The woman’s gaze tracked hers. When she saw George she waved. “Hey, handsome, want to join us?”
George blushed beet red, shook his head, and hid behind his menu.
Her lunch guest scooted her seat around so George couldn’t see her face.
“Falhman?” Fiona whispered.
The woman tapped the tip of her nose, indicating Fiona had guessed right. “Is he the bodyguard?” Falhman’s voice dropped an octave into a male register.
Fiona nodded.
“Is he watching?”
“Yes.”
Falhman twisted in his seat and waved at George, motioning him to their table. George refused once more. “Your loss, sweetie pie,” he said to her bodyguard. Then Falhman faced her, the flirty expression melting off. “That should convince him I’m no threat to you.”
Fiona bit her lips to keep from busting out a smile. George had angled his body away from them and was giving the server his order.
“Pretty smart move,” Fiona said.
Falhman removed an earring and rubbed his lobe. “Works every time. Men never suspect an over-the-top, flirty woman as a threat.” He patted his head of blond, coiffed hair. “They view us as dumb blondes.”
