by Nikki Duncan
She opened her mouth, but words wouldn’t come.
“I’ll still travel for work.” He went on. “But I want you to either come with me or be waiting when I get back.” He kissed the right corner of her mouth. “I want you to only be with me. No more Hauk.” He kissed the left corner. “I want us to be an us exclusively.”
Her knees would’ve buckled if he hadn’t held her so close. Her panties were dampening as quickly as her resolve was melting. “Braydon.”
“I watched you reading last night and ached to be back at your side.” His calloused hands explored her back and incited tingles of arousal along her spine.
He’d spied on her.
“I saw you cozied up with Hauk this morning, and aside from wanting to rip his limbs apart one by one, I wanted to be the one touching you.” He pulled her pelvis against his so she felt his erection. “I wanted to be inside you.”
Her belly rolled. She couldn’t argue with the sentiment.
“I’ve always been fond of wintergreen. I wanted to be close enough to smell your scent.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. “And every time someone made you smile or laugh, I wanted to be that person. I wanted to hear your happiness.”
She tucked her head beneath his chin to hide her smile. It came through in her voice though. “You followed me? All day?”
“You turned me into a stalking, peeping Tom.”
His rough accusation whispered through her with a voyeur’s wicked thrill. All the times she’d watched him. Now he’d watched her. “Really?”
“Yes.”
Assured he wasn’t going to turn away, she rested her hands at his waist, itching to slip her palms beneath his shirt to feel his skin against hers.
“I couldn’t stop watching you while you read my article and then that novel. And when you left home I followed.”
“And found me with Hauk.” The irony of the flipped tables putting the popular boy in the situation she’d spent years in didn’t escape her. Hell, it thrilled her.
His hand fisted at her back briefly. “Yes.”
Indulging desire, she worked her hands beneath his shirt. His muscles twitched. “You were jealous.”
“No.”
“Yes.” She glided her hands farther up and grinned. “You were jealous of another man touching me.”
“I don’t like that word, but fine.” He pulled back enough to meet her gaze. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “I was jealous. Next time I’ll kick his ass. Now, are you going to change your mind and spend your life with me?”
“Wait. You’re talking life?” She leaned back and cocked a brow dramatically. “I don’t know if I can stand you that long.”
He sucked in a breath and after a long moment began to smile. “You’re going to be trouble.”
She shrugged.
“Marry me, Danica.”
“You’re asking for something I’ve…” With her dream being realized, breathing—hell, thinking—shut down. Concentrating, she pulled oxygen deep into her lungs and blew it out slowly in an attempt to gather herself. Braydon didn’t breathe. “Something I’ve wanted for the last eighteen years or so.”
“So you’ll do it? You’ll marry me and travel with me sometimes and have my babies?”
She kissed the bottom side of his jaw near his pulse. “That’s not a traditional proposal, and I think you left something out, but yes, Braydon. I’ll marry you.”
With a whoop, he scooped her into his arms and headed toward her house.
“My bag.”
“Granddad will get it.”
She looked over Braydon’s shoulder and sure enough Byron was dancing his way down the sidewalk. She laughed and settled deeper into Braydon. “You realize he set us up?”
“I didn’t, but I can’t say I’m sorry for his meddling.” Braydon nuzzled her neck and kept going. “Not sorry at all.”
Hours later, tangled on her sheets with the moon slashing a bright beam across them, Braydon brushed her hair back and smiled. “I’m glad I came home and found you.”
“Me too.”
“I love you, Danica. Love you in ways I didn’t think possible.”
“I love you, Braydon.” She rolled him to his back and slid along his engorged cock. “Now, shut up and make love to me again.”
“Oh yeah. You’re going to be trouble. Wicked trouble.”
Epilogue
Drinks and laughter and dancing and boisterous music swelled within the pub walls and overflowed onto the deck. Men wore suits and ties, though many had discarded their jackets. Women fluttered like butterflies in their best dresses and flashiest jewels.
“It’s good seeing everyone back together and all fancied up.” Taryn, Hauk’s special-occasion hostess, smiled as she gathered the dirty plates from the table.
“Aye. The reunion is as good a reason as any for a fancy party.” Harold poured more rum into his and Errol’s glasses and sat back in his chair.
Byron nodded and tapped his right foot against the table leg. “Weddings are better.”
“Aye.”
“You have a wedding date yet?” The green-and-red lamp over the table cast a multihued haze over Errol as he petted the backs of his cards.
“Braydon’s holding out on a date. It’s as if he’s on to us.”
“Think he’ll tell the others?” Harold asked.
“Yeah.” Byron raised his glass in a silent salute to Braydon across the room. Braydon shook his head with a humored grin splitting his face, turned his attention back to his bride-to-be, and led her to join Brody and Trent. “If he knows. And they’ll scheme to keep any one of us from winning our bet.”
“So we tied on this one.”
“There’s the next one still,” Harold insisted.
“Yep.” Byron watched Braydon pull Danica close for an intimate dance. While the bragging rights of winning would’ve been fun, he was perfectly happy to see the young couples in love. Not that he’d admit as much to his buddies. “Like who’s the first to get us great-grandbabies.”
He happened to know Braydon and Danica were already planning their family. Once his boy had settled down, he and the doc had dived right in to their future plans. Except the setting-the-date part.
“I’ll take that bet.” Errol took a swig of his rum. “Ain’t no way my Katy will let me down.”
“Barnacle plucking ole goats.” Harold slapped the table. “My Andie and Brody will waste no time getting back to their old intentions.”
“Then we’re agreed.” Byron raised his glass in a toast. “Winner names the prize.”
Harold and Errol clinked their glasses with his and spoke in unison. “Agreed.”
“In the meantime…” Byron watched Sophie Michaelsen chatting with Victoria Hayes. “I know of some other young ones who need to get on with the business of families.”
Just then, Adam Collins escorted a young woman who didn’t match his temperament onto the dance floor. Errol nodded. “Yes. Yes. We have our work cut out for us if we’re going to ensure the right matches.”
“Today’s young need all the help they can get.”
“Thank the sea goddess they ’ave us.”
About the Author
Heart-stopping puppy chases, childhood melodrama and the aborted hangings of innocent toys are all in a day’s work for Nikki Duncan. This athletic equestrian turned reluctant homemaker turned daring author is drawn to the siren song of a fresh storyline.
Nikki plots murder and mayhem over breakfast, scandalous exposes at lunch and the sensual turn of phrase after dinner. Nevertheless, it is the pleasurable excitement and anticipation of unraveling her character’s motivation that drives her to write long past the witching hour.
Whether it’s romantic suspense or contemporary romance with a focus on the lovers, the only anxiety and apprehension haunting this author comes from pondering the mysterious outcome of her latest twist.
Learn more about Nikki by visiting her website at www.NikkiDuncan.com. Ni
kki is also on Facebook and Twitter at /NDuncanWriter.
Look for these titles by Nikki Duncan
Now Available:
Sensory Ops
Sounds to Die By
Scent of Persuasion
Illicit Intuitions
Tulle and Tulips
Tangled in Tulle
Coming Soon:
Tulle and Tulips
Twisted in Tulips
Her Miracle Man
Whispering Cove
Burned
Love could be their greatest liability
Illicit Intuitions
© 2012 Nikki Duncan
Sensory Ops, Book 3
Ava Malia knows three things. She was once a kickass covert operative. She will eventually adjust to her new team, the FBI Specialized Crimes Unit. And the only way to finally be free of her professional past is to solve her first case and get her hands on a game-changing technology. The only problem? Success rides on her ability to swallow her distaste for the persona she must adopt in order to earn the trust of a mysterious scientist.
Dr. H escaped childhood captivity with three things. His sister. Complete control of his gift. And an engulfing distrust of anyone in the government. Adjusting to a life of freedom hasn’t been easy, but he’s found peace in solitude. The sexy woman auditing his empathic studies, though, has a way of getting under his skin that’s both arousing and disturbing. Plus, his psychic ability warns him of secrets so deeply buried in her psyche, they’d be better left alone.
Yet their instant attraction strips away all their protective barriers, down to the foundation of a new, fragile trust. And a vulnerability that, when an old enemy opens fire, could blast away any chance of a future.
Warning: If you don’t like mysterious heroes who can see into strong heroines, sexy love scenes, empaths, or quirky characters… Oh come on, who doesn’t like those things?
Enjoy the following excerpt for Illicit Intuitions:
Do you easily connect to a lover? Do you easily become aroused?
“Do you easily orgasm?” Ava Malia—Ava Sebastian as far as Dr. H was concerned—flipped her heavy hair over her shoulder and offered up her most seductive smile. The one she’d mastered on her last case as a call girl.
“Excuse me?” A dark and unexpectedly sexy Greek Dr. H glanced up from his piles of reports, graphs and charts on the desk before him. His glacial eyes remained as stoic as his face.
“It seems to me you didn’t take this line of questioning as far as you could have.” She spoke low, not needing to raise her voice. She sat so near the PhD she’d been tasked to get close to that their knees brushed—and sent shocks of awareness up her thighs when they did. “I wonder why.”
A dark man with a buzz cut and muscles straining his shirt sat six rows back in the classroom. He choked and shot a shocked gaze her way. She ignored him for the sake of keeping Dr. H fully engaged.
“Your task here, Ms. Sebastian, is not to question me. Your task is to silently gather your data.”
He didn’t need pretense. He didn’t rely on posturing. He didn’t try to appear powerful. He was powerful.
“I am well aware of my task here.” To find out which Whitestone operative has been assigned to kill you, who likely is in this room.
She’d wanted to take a direct approach and ask Dr. H for his help, but her boss, Breck, team leader of the FBI Specialized Crimes Unit, had demanded a more clandestine advance. They had no hard proof Dr. H had the contact lenses Whitestone sought. And given his history with the secret arm of the corrupt agency and her former ties to them… Breck didn’t see Dr. H working with them. As far as Ava was concerned, the bastards at Whitestone had ruined enough lives. She was going to witness their fall.
“Isn’t your goal with this questionnaire to get to know your study applicants? To find out what makes people tick and how deeply connected we are to our emotions?”
“Your point?” His smooth-as-butter voice whispered across her consciousness like a gentle aubade, though lingering just below the surface was an almost indiscernible, adversity-forged superiority.
“It just seems you missed an opportunity by not asking people about their orgasms. What could be more closely tied to a person’s emotions, their psyche, than how they react during sex?”
“Sex is not…” He trailed off as his gaze locked on her like a targeted missile. The pulse at the base of his jaw thumped. “This is not a sex study.”
Moist awareness bubbled in Ava’s throat, but she refused to swallow it down. Just as she’d been trained to always sit with a clear view of a room, she’d been trained not to react to certain stimuli.
Dr. H tested her training.
She’d conditioned herself to not respond to the cover name she hated and the memories it evoked for her. His slightly flustered response and the arousal pulsing through her body that was stimulated by nothing more than a hard-eyed look made response impossible.
Maybe she was the one being engaged.
“No.” From what she’d learned of Dr. H he studied emotions, their triggers and effects. He seemed to be on a quest to find genuine empaths, especially young ones, to help them master their gifts.
“Then drop this line of pursuit and focus on your job.”
He was her job and focusing on him was no hardship.
“The questions make a girl think. They trigger internal signals…” She rested an elbow on the desk and moved her shoulders slightly forward. “And I don’t mean in the clinical ways of the posters in a gynecologist’s office on communicable diseases like, oh I don’t know…herpes.”
Buzz cut dude barked out a rough laugh. The perky blonde two seats over from him giggled. Everyone else in the half-full classroom shifted in their seats and pretended to be focused on their questionnaires.
Dr. H returned his attention to his papers. “Do your job, Ms. Sebastian.”
For her plan to work, she needed him on her side. Needed him to accept her rather than reject her as a problem. She shrugged and did his bidding.
Dr. H may think he’d kept a low profile since his escape from Eston White, a company she knew by their alternate name of Whitestone. He was cautious, and gaining access to his lab on short notice hadn’t been easy, but she’d gotten in. He wasn’t as safe as he thought.
She would wait until just the right moment to point out his weak spots.
After the study applicants had finished and left, Ava flipped back to the first page of the report Dr. H had passed her and skimmed through the data again. She’d had little time to prepare for this assignment, and didn’t want to disappoint her new team. Hoping she’d interpreted the information correctly, Ava jotted a few final notes in her journal and began packing up.
“I hope you got everything you needed, Ms. Sebastian.” Dr. H shifted through the papers without looking up. “Call if you need something more.”
Dismissed as easily as he’d swat away a mosquito. She rounded the desk and smiled. “I’ll be back. Soon.”
Smooth and slow he lifted his head. “I think I have to hear this.”
His face remained impassive, but his voice was humoring. She’d piqued his curiosity.
“Hear what, precisely?”
“Begin with what makes you so certain you will be allowed back.”
She sat on the edge of his desk, allowing her skirt to fall open at the slit just high enough for him to glimpse the bottom edge of her tattoo. He scanned her quickly. Almost quickly enough for her to miss the thump of his pulse. The pulse point that had thumped earlier. The pulse point hiding beneath his sexy, five-day beard.
He was intrigued.
“I know more about you right now than you could know about me or my ‘empathic’ abilities after studying my questionnaire for days.” She used air quotes around empathic to attempt to irritate him.
Humor warmed his eyes a tenth of a degree. “What could you know about me?”
“You don’t stop thinking. Ever. Which makes sense considering your chosen
profession. It also enables you to see all sides of an issue. While you can be objective, you have an experiential approach to life.”
“Conjecture.”
“I’m right. Just as I know you’ve likely received little support from family or mentors or whoever should have been there for you. So you’re independent. While you can cope with people being close—in your space…”
She bent at the waist, leaning into the space she mentioned. He smelled of barely there, old-fashioned musk. His pulse thumped again. Her palms heated. “You’re most comfortable on your own—personally and professionally.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. He controlled his responses well, but his heart gave him away.
“You chose this field of study because it’s emotionally satisfying. This is the one part of your life you don’t have to question.” She drew air deep into her lungs, pulling in his scent and absorbing the answering flicker in her belly. “You’re a good listener and though you have a sense of humor, you conceal it beneath the need to accomplish your goals.”
“You’re not as good as you think, Ms. Sebastian.” He eased back in his chair and rested his hands lightly on his thighs.
“I’m better than you think I am.” Though she hadn’t pushed the envelope too far by sharing her speculations on his choice of cologne—a cologne which reminded her of visits to their shared native country even more than his coloring.
For him, a seemingly modern man, it was likely a reminder of a simpler time in his life. Maybe it revived memories of a father or grandfather. Someone he hadn’t been allowed to know long enough.
Telling him what she read from his face and body language wasn’t an intrusion. Allowing what she’d learned about him in her research to leech into the conversation was, though more than real data she’d found gaps and inconsistencies. Unless she missed her mark, his life had started tough and gone downhill. Beyond hell.
