by Cassie Miles
“Go ahead.”
He rose from the table and stretched his right fist in one direction. “Over here is my professionalism. You’ve hired me to do a job, and I intend to do it well.”
“I should hope so.”
“On the left—” he held his left fist in the opposite direction “—I’m drawn to you in an unprofessional way.”
A shiver of awareness slithered down her spine. Jayne liked where this was going. She also stood. “Tell me more.”
“Are you wearing those red panties under that pretty white gown?”
“I am.” She took her last sip of merlot and set the glass on the table. “What do you want to do about it?”
“If I bring these two opposing forces together, they might explode.”
He put his two fists together and popped them apart. With one hand, he held the back of her skull. The other arm reached around her waist and pulled her toward him.
They kissed.
Chapter Fifteen
Jayne surrendered herself entirely to their kiss. His attention was all consuming, urgent, demanding her full response. She knew this kiss was nothing more than a normal physical process, but there was no room in her mind for biology. Instead of cataloging her response in terms of glands and limbic systems and secretions of hormones, she abandoned logic. Her mind went blank, happily. And she was floating on soft, billowing clouds.
The gentle pressure of his lips became harder, his embrace grew more intense and his tongue probed. From the first moment they’d met, this attraction had been building. This moment was inevitable. Her ears rang with amazing harmonies. His lean, hard body molded to hers, and she felt tingles of pleasure leaping from synapse to synapse.
Before she had recovered the ability to think coherently, Dylan scooped her off her feet. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she snuggled against his muscled chest as he carried her to the bedroom, lowered her onto her bed and slid under the blankets beside her.
Lit only by edges of moonlight around the window shades and the glow from the front room, the room was dark. She could barely see his face, though his lips were only inches away from hers. He reached to turn on the bedside lamp, and she stopped him.
“The lamp is too bright.”
“But I want to see those red panties.”
“There’s a candle in the bathroom.”
“Atmosphere,” he said. “I like it.”
His departure from the bedroom gave her a chance to catch her breath. She wanted sex with him. There was no question in her mind about that. But she didn’t want either of them to be hurt. Somehow, she needed to hold back, to stay in control.
She felt behind her head for the pillow and got a fistful of cat, instead. A hiss and a swat and the cat settled back, exactly where it had been before. One thing she was learning about cats: They knew what they wanted and wouldn’t quit until they got it.
Some people might say the same thing about her. She craned her neck. Hurry, Dylan. If he gave her too much time to consider, she might change her mind. And that would be a shame. Or would it?
Maybe she was making a mistake. Jayne wasn’t sophisticated when it came to sex. She was a klutz. She’d read all the studies about neuro-stimulation and sexual fulfillment. She enjoyed sex and achieved orgasm about 50 percent of the time. But she didn’t crave sex, didn’t need it.
Deciding to surprise him, she slipped out of her robe and nightie. Under the covers, she wore her sexy red panties and nothing else. Turning to the left and the right, she tried to find a sexy pose.
He returned with three candles that he placed strategically around the room. All were in containers, presumably to protect from cat attacks since the felines explored each candle he lit. The flickering light warmed the knotty pine walls and gleamed on the brass bed frame.
In this rugged cabin, the ambience reminded her of the Old West, and Dylan looked the part of a rugged cowboy in his jeans and long-sleeved shirt and vest, not to mention the gun he wore on his hip. He sat on the edge of the bed and took off his boots.
Somewhere between the bathroom and the bedroom, he’d removed his glasses, and she wondered how well he could see without corrective frames. “Are you wearing your contacts?”
“No. Is there something you wanted me to see?”
In a deliberately slow, languorous movement, she peeled back the blankets. A horrible thought crept into her mind. What if she looked silly?
No need to wonder. He gasped, and he gaped. His gaze stuck on her panties, and she felt like a regular femme fatale seductress. The hunger in his eyes was worth the price of her fancy lingerie.
She purred, “Do you like them?”
With his index finger, he tilted her chin up. Then he leaned down to taste her lips. In a low, husky voice, he whispered, “They’re even better than I imagined.”
He drew a line down the center of her body from the hollow of her throat to her sternum, passing between her breasts and ending below her belly button. It felt as though he was claiming her for his own, planting his flag.
His head lowered to the spot where his finger had stopped. He tugged at the lacy waistband of her panties with his teeth, and then he kissed lower. He spread her thighs.
Tremors of excitement shuddered through her as he fondled, licked and caressed. Her back arched. She clenched her fists on the sheets. Her toes curled. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Oh, my God, I knew you’d be good at this.”
When he sat up on the bed, he left his hand resting at her crotch as though he couldn’t bear to part with that precious part of her. “I’m just getting started, Jayne.”
In a moment, he’d unbuttoned his shirt and taken it off. Not an ounce of flab, his chest and abs were taut and sculpted. His jeans followed.
They were equally naked. She had her silky red panties. He had black jersey briefs.
He pounced. Shifting gears from slow and sensual, Dylan upgraded his passion to forceful, possessive and wild. His large hands pinned her wrists over her head on the baby-blue sheets while he covered her with nibbles and kisses, alternating hard and soft, fast and slow.
Straddling her thighs, his arousal was pressed hard and hot against her, and she wanted him. She yanked her hands from his grasp, and her fingers skittered down his torso with occasional pauses to feel the taut muscles and sprinkle of springy brown hair, darker than his sun-streaked ponytail. Her thumbs hooked in his briefs, yanking them down. At the same time, she struggled with her panties. Why wouldn’t these bits of clothing come off? She needed to have him inside her. Why was she so clumsy?
Dylan took charge, calmly undressing her and then slipping out of his briefs. He glided his hand along her torso. “You’re beautiful, Jayne, strong and beautiful.”
“You’re not bad yourself, and I’m an expert. Doctors see a lot of naked bodies, and yours is fine.” She swallowed with a gulp. Why would she say such a thing? “I mean, I’m not comparing you to a cadaver or an ill person. It’s just that...”
“I understand.”
She was glad when he covered her mouth with kisses, preventing her from making any other dopey comments. He held her close with their legs entwined. His fingers were doing wonderful, exciting things to the tight buds of her nipples, and the sensations rushing through her were electric. But she couldn’t wait. Her patience was gone.
Rolling across the bed, she was on top of him. Her fingers tangled in his long hair, and she held him so he couldn’t move his head while she kissed him hard.
“I want you,” she growled.
“Condom in the drawer of the bedside table.”
She lunged for the drawer, upsetting the orange cat in her rush to find the condom. And when she finally had it, she tore the package open with her teeth. One of the ferrets jumped up beside her, grabbed the package and dashed away. Condom
police? In seconds, she had Dylan sheathed.
“That was fast,” he said.
“I’m a doctor.”
“Okay, Doc, what comes next?”
“Foreplay is over. I want you,” she said. “Right now.”
He didn’t need a second invitation. His long legs tangled with hers. He separated her thighs and entered her, slowly at first and then faster and harder. At the moment when she thought she was about to explode, he’d pull almost all the way out and slowly start building the tension again.
It became a dance. She’d never felt so graceful in bed. They were meant to be together. They fit so perfectly.
Finally, he led her, floating and swirling, all the way to a killer climax. Her world shattered, and diamonds rained down from the skies. All her life, she’d scoffed at flowery, romantic descriptions of sex, but now she felt like every gushing word was true. She flopped onto her tummy and exhaled a giant sigh. “Best sex ever.”
He laughed and smacked her bottom. “One for the record books.”
She buried her face in the pillow. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Though her eyes were closed, she no longer wanted to go to sleep. Her sexual experience—limited as it was—had taught her that it took at least two or three attempts before she reached orgasm. She and Dylan had set the standard high, and she couldn’t imagine how it could get better...but if it could, she wanted to try. Was it possible to die from pleasure? As a neurosurgeon, she didn’t want to contemplate that possibility. There were far too many kinky scenarios.
He lifted the hair off the back of her neck and nibbled her earlobe. “More wine?”
“A half glass of wine and a full glass of water.”
“Feeling a need to hydrate?” he asked.
“Always good after vigorous exercise.”
Naked, Dylan had left the bed and walked to the bedroom door when he turned and looked back at her. The blankets were in total disarray. Still lying on her belly, she hadn’t bothered to cover herself. The candlelight cast golden shadows on her creamy white torso and shoulders, which were a marked contrasts to her shining dark curls. Her slender waist flared at the hips into a fine, round ass.
He took a mental photograph of her on the bed. The caption would be: Best Sex Ever.
He hustled through the living room to the kitchen. The lights were still on. After he took the wine bottle from the fridge, a beer for himself and a couple of waters, he turned off the lights. He usually left the curtains and blinds open—there was no need to protect from the prying eyes of strangers. No one knew their precise location, except for his brother.
He and Sean were very different people. Sean was six years older than Dylan and was definitely the alpha dog at TST Security. When he had been with the FBI, Sean had not only followed the rules but trusted them. It had been a shock when he quit.
Sean hadn’t approved of bringing Jayne up here. Actually, he’d favored turning her over to the FBI, which was something Dylan refused to do. The feds had to work within guidelines, as did Detective Cisneros. Dylan, as a private security specialist, had more leeway. If he could contact Tank Sherman—who seemed like their only real link to Koslov—Dylan wouldn’t have to arrest the little hacker.
Every spare minute since they’d got here, he’d been on his computer, actually on several different machines, trying to locate Tank. Slipping and sliding through the disgusting filth on the dark web, he’d learned that Tank had left town. But he hadn’t gone far. He’d thrown up a marker for Dylan.
“Wanna talk,” it read. And then the visual signpost faded out on the computer screen. Dylan hadn’t found it again.
Hell, yes, I want to talk. Frustrated, Dylan groped for a lead to finding Tank. The kid must have information that would help find Koslov or, better yet, figure out who Koslov was working for. Most likely, it was Diego Romero—the aging cartel leader reputed to be Koslov’s father. But maybe not.
Back in the bedroom, he handed her the wineglass. She was sitting up on the bed with the pillows fluffed up behind her. She had the sheet pulled up to her armpits and a goofy grin plastered across her face, but she was still sexy.
She raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to you. You’re the very best bodyguard I’ve ever had.”
He saluted her with his beer bottle and took a swig. “I don’t think your dad would approve of my methods.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Once this morning with you. And one more time before dinner.”
Her dad also wanted him to come into town and set up a meeting with Tank Sherman. Peter the Great, working with Agent Woody, was prepared to offer Tank a good deal of cash if he’d betray Koslov. Dylan had tried to explain that money wouldn’t do Tank any good if he was dead, but Peter wouldn’t change his mind. Dylan might as well be shouting at a fence post. “He wants you back in Texas.”
“Not interested, Dallas isn’t my home.”
“He wants to protect you.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure why I’m trying to give you your father’s viewpoint. I guess it’s because I understand how he’s feeling.”
“Do you agree with him?”
“Like your dad, I think you need protection. But that’s why you hired me.”
“It’s been a long time,” she said, “since I was a baby bird being pushed out of the nest. I can take care of myself. Without any help from Dad.”
From outside the house, the rhythms of the night shifted. The predator birds—hawks and owls—screeched as they swooped across the sky. The leaves rustled. The cats mewed. Horses stomped their feet and snorted. From the barn, the camel and two giraffes shifted in their stalls.
The atmosphere was different.
Someone was outside the cabin, walking fast, coming closer.
Chapter Sixteen
Dylan flicked the light switch and blew out the candles on the bedside table. Still naked, he picked up his gun, moved to the window and peeked through the blinds. A man strode up the gravel path to the cabin, not bothering to disguise his approach. He wore a black leather jacket.
“Sean,” Dylan muttered.
“Your brother?”
“Maybe he’s bringing good news.”
“That’s not how it works,” Jayne said as she flailed across the bed, looking for her nightie and her wispy red panties. “Good news can always wait until morning. Bad news comes at night.”
“What time is it, anyway?” He squinted at the clock.
“Almost eleven,” she said. “Time for bad news.”
Sean stomped up the stairs and across the porch to the door. He knocked hard and called out. No doubt he wanted to make sure they had time to get dressed if they were doing anything. For a moment, Dylan was tempted to leave his clothes off, just to irritate his brother. Not a good plan. Late-night bad news probably wasn’t the best time to play games.
“Dylan,” Sean yelled. “Open up.”
He unlocked the front door for his brother. Two cats dashed in. “What is it?”
“I need to talk to you, both of you.” Sean marched through the cabin and into the kitchen. “Have you got any food up here?”
“Half a cherry pie in the fridge.”
Dylan never left anything on the counter. If the cats didn’t get it, the ferrets would. It was only a matter of time before the beasts found a way to open the refrigerator.
Jayne emerged from the bedroom. Her puffy lips and flushed cheeks made a clear statement. Tying her robe over her nightie, she looked like a woman who had recently exercised her passions.
Pushing a wing of hair off her face, she asked, “Is everything all right? My patient, Dr. Cameron, isn’t having problems, is he?”
“I gave our office number to the hospital in case they need to contact you, and nobody has called.”
/> “Is Koslov in custody?”
Sean shook his head. “Cisneros isn’t making much headway. After that messed-up traffic jam in the hospital parking structure, the DPD kind of look like fools. On the other hand, there is progress being made by Agent Woody and the feds.”
“Sounds like a band,” Dylan said. “Here they are, ladies and gents, welcome them to the stage, it’s Agent Woody and the Feds.”
Jayne gave a polite giggle. His brother didn’t bother.
“Anyway,” Sean said. “Woody got a computer contact from that Tank Sherman kid, informing him that Martin Viktor Koslov was looking for Jayne.”
“Is that how he phrased it? Looking for me?” she asked. “Did he say why?”
“I don’t think so,” Sean said.
Dylan sensed something deeper buried underneath her question, something she knew. In the parking structure when Koslov had her in his grasp, they must have talked. “Did Koslov say something to you?”
“When?”
“In the parking structure.” He hated to remind her of those harrowing moments.
“I don’t remember. I was drugged out of my mind, and I’d been slapped hard.” Her posture stiffened as she slid into her doctor persona. “The blow to my face was nowhere near memory centers and, therefore, wouldn’t affect my ability to recall. But the drugs might be problematic.”
“You’re the expert on memory,” he said. “What can we do to bring back your recollections of that time with Koslov?”
Her lips pinched together. He had the feeling that she didn’t like being the subject of possible experimentation. Did she think he was going to saw off the top of her head and peek inside?
She cleared her throat. “I think he asked my medical opinion.”
“That makes no sense,” Sean said.
“I’m aware of that,” she snapped.
