Poison Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  The silk adhered to her skin, glued by the dried muck. She tried to reach the zipper at her back, but her arm was sore. The blow from the machete. She closed her eyes against the memory. “I can’t…I can’t get my dress off.”

  He nudged her into the tiny shower stall, dress and all. The dress was beyond ruined anyway. She relaxed into the hot spray. The water felt heavenly on her skin, washing away the slime and smell. Mangroves might be vital habitat, but they stank to high heaven.

  Jack slipped off his shoes and emptied his pockets, removing the gun and cell phone. He then stepped into the shower with her and pulled the door closed.

  He took the massage showerhead from the cradle and sprayed her down, gently washing away the mud glue. She closed her eyes, enjoying his tender touch combined with the spray. The shower was so small, her body pressed to his even as he washed her.

  He replaced the wand, then unzipped the back of her dress. He spread the split wide, then let out a low grunt. “I should have hunted them down.”

  She must have quite a welt across her spine.

  His touch was gentle as he probed the mark with his fingers. She opened her eyes and saw his arms planted on either side of her on the wall. Not his fingers, then.

  His lips. He caressed her abused skin so gently with his mouth, heat unfurled in her belly.

  Exhaustion left her as adrenaline surged anew. Her body woke with the feel of his soft lips.

  She didn’t know this man. She shouldn’t feel this way.

  But it had been so long since she’d felt this way.

  The fear that had been with her from the moment she saw the armed men entering the garden washed down the drain along with the grime of the mangroves. She felt safe with Jack Keaton.

  And warm…and wonderfully alive.

  She’d been struck and choked. Those men might have succeeded in abducting her, if not for the man who was now running his lips down her spine.

  He’d defeated the men inside the ballroom. Then he’d raced back to the garden to find her, scaring her abductors off.

  She turned to face him. The spray filled her open bodice and the narrow straps slid down her shoulders. She swept the ruined silk down her arms and stepped out of the dress, standing before him in a satin strapless bra and panties.

  She pressed her nearly nude body to his wet, clothed one, and slid her hands around his neck, threading her fingers through his short hair as she pulled his head down for a very real kiss. Her tongue slid between his lips. Just one kiss. That was all she would take.

  He hesitated.

  For the space of a heartbeat, his body was stiff against hers and his mouth unresponsive. Then his hands slid across her wet skin, pulling her tight against his chest, as his tongue delved deeply into her mouth, stroking with a slow sensuousness that was as hot as the water that steamed up the tiny bathroom.

  The kiss went on for a perfect eternity, a long exploration of mouths and nothing more. His erection grew in scale with her arousal, but he made no move to touch her beyond where his hands rested at her lower back.

  She ended the kiss and pressed her forehead to his shoulder, taking a deep breath.

  She should let it end there. It would be simple to push him out of the shower and wash her hair. But she didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want to be alone.

  But she had her security clearance to consider. Sex with random strangers was…frowned upon, to say the least.

  But he wasn’t a random stranger. He’d saved a room full of politicians. Mara knew she’d bolted with Jack Keaton, and that Jack would hide her and CAM from the terrorists who’d escaped from the mangrove swamp. Curt was probably running a background check on him even now.

  Her body ached with arousal. She’d forgotten this part. How it was possible to want sex so desperately, she could make excuses for anything. But then, sex in the last months of her marriage had been perfunctorily procreative, even before Patrick’s cutting words destroyed her confidence in herself. She knew exactly why her libido had died. What she didn’t understand was how Jack Keaton had managed to resurrect it.

  And that was what she wanted to explore now. This feeling of being alive and desirable.

  But still, her rational side held the reins, and she reached for the shampoo. Jack’s hand covered hers, and he filled his palm with the mint-scented gel. He massaged the lather into her long hair, and she let out a soft groan at the feel of his fingers on her scalp.

  He used the shower wand to rinse the suds away, then started over with conditioner. His gentle touch was her undoing.

  She’d needed this for so long…and she’d had no idea. She’d forgotten how it felt to be cared for. To be desired.

  Hair rinsed, she turned and pulled his mouth to hers again, sinking into the pleasure of his touch, his kiss, his attention.

  She was reclaiming a piece of herself she hadn’t realized she’d lost. Her sensual side that she’d buried under pain and humiliation.

  His kiss was deep, sweet, and hot, but his hands never strayed from where they’d settled on her hips. He didn’t touch her breasts, which ached for attention. Nor did he leave her mouth to explore her neck or any other part of her awakened body.

  She needed his lips on her neck like an addict craves a hit. Musical notes without progression to melody was like hovering on the edge of a sneeze for eternity. Sensual, with ever-ratcheting tension, but hollow. Endless waiting.

  He was letting her know with his hot, stroking, magnificent tongue that he wanted her, but this would go no further if she didn’t want it to.

  She released his neck and began opening the buttons on his shirt. She ended the kiss and pressed her lips to his skin as she exposed him to the hot spray.

  Jack let out a low groan when she stroked the wet slacks that covered his erection. In one smooth movement, he scooped her up, pulled her legs around his hips, and pinned her to the wall beneath the showerhead, grinding his erection against her center.

  Yes. Oh yes.

  Her libido was back, riding into town on a rush of faded adrenaline. It brought tears to her eyes to feel this intense desire again after being dormant for so long.

  She purred as he kissed her. God, she wanted this. Him. Everything. She wanted him hard and fast and wild.

  She wanted him to pound into her until she was sore, so the violence of their coupling overshadowed the violence of the night. She wanted to hold off on her orgasm until she was certain she’d lose her mind and her body was shaking with need. Then she wanted him to take her from behind and finish her off with his cock inside her and his fingers on her clit. There would be no cuddling afterward. She’d pass out from sexual exhaustion, and in the morning, she’d thank him for his service by going down on him while she stroked herself to orgasm.

  She ended the kiss so she could tell him exactly what she needed, but he spoke first. “I don’t think we should do this, Ivy.”

  Chapter Five

  Why the fuck did he say that? He wanted her. God, did he want her. Plus, this would only help him in the long game.

  Yet some misguided sense of humanity stopped him. He was taking advantage. But hell, that was what he did. How he’d been trained. Look for an opening. Seize it. Why stop now when he could have it all? Ivy, her invention, and with it the chance to find the missing equipment.

  But that might just be the problem. He could have Ivy now, but tomorrow, she’d hate him.

  Well, tomorrow she’d hate him no matter what. Might as well take the hot screw while he could.

  But.

  Fuck. He kept coming up against that damn but. Using people pushed him deeper into the pit of self-loathing. It wasn’t who he wanted to be.

  But it was exactly who he was.

  He turned off the shower. He didn’t have to be that man.

  “Please? I need this. Need you.” Her breath hitched. “I—I…” She shook her head even as she held his gaze. “This just feels right. Like the prefect prescription to escape a truly awful night.” Her vo
ice was breathy, her lips wet from the shower spray.

  He wanted her mouth, her touch, her tongue. Her wet heat. He wanted all that she offered and so much more.

  “I don’t want you to regret this in the morning.” It was as close as he could get to warning her off.

  “I won’t. Listen, I know the deal. It’s a hookup. One-time thing. I’m good with that. In fact, I prefer it.”

  Hours ago, he’d approached her at the party, hoping to end up in exactly this position. But there’d been a sharp detour on the way, and if he had sex with her now, she’d find it hard to believe he didn’t have a role in the reroute once she learned the truth.

  Her hand stroked the crotch of his wet slacks, and logic evaporated in the wake of her touch.

  “Escape with me, Jack. We both need this.”

  She pulled his mouth to hers again. Her kiss was fierce. Hot. Hard. He slid his tongue against hers, drinking her in as he rubbed his erection against her scant satin panties. It was a good thing he still wore both slacks and boxer briefs. He was hard enough to go off on contact.

  He’d tried to stop. He’d been a good guy. Sort of. It wasn’t his fault she’d begged. He’d point that out to her right after she slapped him across the face when she learned the truth.

  He buried his face in her neck, pressing hot openmouthed kisses to pale skin that matched the peach-colored orchids that grew in the marina garden, being careful to avoid the dark purple bruises that had developed lower on her throat. The bruises he’d failed to protect her from.

  His eyes closed, and his mind filled with trampled flowers. He’d allowed that to happen. His fault. His failure. He ran his lips along her peach skin, across the line of her jaw, returning to her lips. The word “orchid” slipped out right before he delved into her mouth.

  She sucked on his offering, causing him to groan. Her laugh came soft and low. “What does that mean?”

  He pulled back and gave her a wry smile. “I’m not really sure. Just that you remind me of the peach moth orchids that are ubiquitous around here.”

  “I never knew hearing the word ubiquitous during foreplay could be such a turn-on.”

  He laughed. This moment of enjoying being with her, it was as pure as any he’d ever experienced.

  “Condoms?” she asked. “Please tell me you have condoms.”

  He shoved the curtain aside and slid open the door to the storage cabinet mounted under the mirror. “I stock everything for my charter clients. Take your pick.”

  “I don’t care, just hurry.”

  He chuckled and set her down, but instead of reaching for the condoms, he unhooked her bra. If they were going to do this, they’d do it right. He’d give her exactly what she wanted.

  He licked a nipple, then sucked it into his mouth. She threaded her fingers through his hair and groaned. His fingers played with her other nipple as he slipped his right hand into her panties and stroked her wet clit.

  She bucked against him. “Holy fuck, yes,” she said with a pant. “Now do that with your cock. Or your tongue.”

  He smiled as he licked her nipple again. “Your language surprises me, Ivy MacLeod.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  He dropped to his knees and pulled her panties off, then took in the scent of her wet arousal. He stroked her clit with his tongue. Her back hit the shower wall as she groaned.

  “Total. Fucking. Turn-on,” he said. He sampled her clit again and she let out another satisfying moan.

  “Good.” She gasped as he slipped a finger inside her. “It turns”—another gasp as he stroked deep—“me on too.”

  His tongue followed his finger, and he let out his own groan at her tangy taste.

  He could do this all night and not get enough.

  “Bring me to the edge,” she commanded. “But don’t let me come. Not until your penis is inside my vagina.”

  He grinned at her switch to proper anatomical terms. That was what he’d expected from brainy, scientific Ivy MacLeod. That she was comfortable with both raunchy and grammatical somehow made him even harder. And he was still fully clothed.

  He released her and stood so he could strip.

  She helped him, working his fly while he doffed his shirt. She nudged him back toward the head in the tiny space. She dropped to her knees while pushing his pants and briefs over his hips, past his knees, until they ended in a puddle on the shower floor and her mouth was level with his bare and ready erection.

  She grinned and licked the tip, then swirled her tongue over the head, tasting his precum before she opened her mouth and took him deep.

  He bucked at the sensation, caught off guard by how insanely good it felt to be in Ivy’s mouth as her hand stroked his balls.

  “Let’s move this to my bed,” he said as he slid his fingers through her long, wet dark hair.

  She tightened her throat around the head, then released him with a slow suck along the shaft. She licked the tip again, then said, “No. I want you to fuck me against the shower wall.”

  Again her language surprised him and turned him on.

  He tugged her to her feet. “Fine. My cock is yours to command.” He kissed her and pushed her back against the wall, kicking aside his clothes as his hand groped for a box of condoms.

  Condom acquired, he ripped open the packet. She took it from him and stroked his cock several times before rolling it down his hard length.

  Sheathed and ready, he picked Ivy up and braced her against the wall. “Are you ready to get fucked, Ivy?”

  “Yessss.” The word came out as both answer and approval as he thrust into her before she uttered the consonant.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked. “A hard cock deep in your pussy?”

  His words were fierce, coarse. Sexy. Exactly what she’d expect from the man who fought with such brutal grace. He drove into her again and again.

  “Yes,” she repeated. “This.”

  “God, you are so hot.”

  “And you are so fucking thick. You feel amazing.” She kissed him, her tongue sliding along his in a delicious dance. His cock felt so glorious, slick and hot as she took him deep. This was her first sex in two years, and she wondered how she’d ever given it up. How could her libido die when sex felt this incredible? How did she manage to forget?

  Pleasure built like a wave, with her riding the top.

  “Come for me, Ivy.”

  “No. I want to savor…” She gasped when he braced one arm under her ass so he could slip a hand between their bodies and stroke her clit. She gripped his shoulders and tightened her thighs around his hips, practically dizzy with the sensation. “That’s cheating.”

  “Come. I’ll make you come again with my tongue. You can savor that orgasm. But this one is going to be fast, and it’s going to be hard.”

  With the pressure of his thumb, she had no choice. He stroked her inside and out, and she crashed over the edge, tumbling into a hot sultry sea that left her breathless.

  Orgasm achieved, Jack shifted his hands and gripped her ass. He thrust into her with all the rough heat she’d wanted from the start.

  She kissed him as he came with a hard groan. They kept kissing long after he stopped thrusting. The ultimate make-out session as their heartbeats slowed.

  He lifted his head even as he rocked his hips into her one more time, sending shivers of pleasure shooting through her.

  “God, you’re beautiful, Poison,” he said, his voice reverent.

  She laughed. “Beautiful poison, or beautiful, comma, Poison as in a name?”

  He slipped his tongue into her mouth again, as if he couldn’t get enough of tasting her. “Both,” he said against her lips. “Many poisons are safe at low doses, but I have a feeling if I keep tasting, I’ll be a goner.”

  She grinned and stroked his cheeks, still smooth from his pre-party shave, and she wondered if she’d get a chance to feel his stubble against her skin.

  She barely knew this man. A meeting at a party followed by a vic
ious assault, and now he was deep inside her as they came down from what had to be one of the hottest screws of her life.

  “Well, I may be poison, but you’re Death Valley hot. And only a fool ventures into Death Valley unprepared.”

  “Sweetheart, right now, Death Valley is in you.” He ground into her again with his hips.

  She groaned at the joke. “I set you up for that.”

  He flashed a grin. “And I appreciate it.”

  She nibbled at his jaw. She’d never really gone for blonds, but he was an exception. Strong jawline. Prominent nose. The scarred brow. She’d guess his age around her own, mid-thirties.

  Good Lord, she’d just had sex with the man and she didn’t even know his age. “How old are you, Jack Keaton?”

  He slipped from inside her and set her feet on the ground. “Let’s get comfortable before we get to know each other.” He slipped off the condom and dropped it in the trash, then turned on the shower again and rinsed the residue of semen and spermicide from his cock before taking the wand and rinsing her intimately.

  The hot spray caused a quick, hard jolt of pleasure, which intensified when his fingers joined the water. She rocked on her feet and would have fallen if not for the wall at her back.

  He chuckled and shut off the shower and reached for a towel from a cupboard above the head.

  He wrapped the towel around her back and used it to pull her against his chest. He kissed her long and deep before saying, “I’m thirty-four.”

  He lifted her with an arm under her butt and one around her back and carried her out of the shower, then he boosted her over his shoulder and crossed through the galley and salon, finally reaching the captain’s stateroom in the stern, where he dropped her on the bed.

  She loved everything about the way he’d taken charge. She scooted back on the bed, and he followed, pinning her. “I’m a Pisces,” he murmured before he sucked her nipple into his mouth. “Not that I believe in that crap.” He sucked on her other nipple. “I was born in Montana. Moved to California when I was fifteen. Joined the Air Force after college when I was twenty-one. I was a pilot and retired a major.”