“I know you’re a cop. Why were you at the bar?”
“Strictly business.”
“Were you undercover?”
He grabbed her hand. “I can’t really say.”
Her hand disappeared in his warm grasp. She felt the connection between them, like hot water flowing from his hand, into her arm, and straight to her crotch. She didn’t think she’d ever been this horny in her life, not for a man, not for anyone. Every nerve ending was screaming with need. Her breasts were swollen and ached. Her sex throbbed. She couldn’t help squirming in the seat, and she fervently hoped Baine hadn’t noticed.
When he looked at her and grinned, his white teeth shining in the dash lights, she knew he had.
Halfway to the bay, he turned off the road to the right and drove along a narrow lane with tall firs and cedars on each side. He rolled down the window, and the fresh scent of the forest, damp from the recent rain, flooded the vehicle.
Baine’s cabin was on a ridge overlooking the forest and the lights of a small town far below. “You can see the bay when it’s light out and there’s no fog.”
He helped her out of the Hummer, holding her close for a moment before letting her go. He took her hand, and they stared into the dark. He waved to indicate the bay. She made out a few scattered lights. Overhead, the clouds had cleared, and millions of stars glittered in the velvet-black sky.
“It’s beautiful out here,” she whispered. Somehow it felt wrong to shatter the quiet by speaking.
“I love it here. I feel like the forest rejuvenates and nurtures me.”
She smiled. “That’s a lovely way to put it.”
He led her into the cabin. Two cats greeted them at the door, walked right past their owner, and rubbed against her legs.
“Russell, Charlie,” Baine said. “What about me?”
Alex bent to scratch each cat. One was a huge tiger and the other a fluffy, orange Manx. “Don’t feel bad. Animals think I smell delicious.”
He pulled her into his arms. “So do I.”
She could swear he growled again. She didn’t care. His passion roared over her. His hands were everywhere. Her knit dress fell to the floor, followed by her bra, tights, and underwear. She tugged and pulled at his clothes as he kissed her throat, her neck, her lips, pulled her nipples taut and sucked each one.
Right there in his dining room, he tossed her onto the edge of the table, whipped on a condom, and entered her. She had to stifle a scream. He really was that big. He stretched her wide, her juice flowing, her legs opened and wrapped around his hips. As the delicious feeling of being penetrated fully hit her, she actually screamed, arched her back, and writhed beneath him.
He held her butt in his big hands, squeezing each cheek as he thrust into her, pulling her cheeks apart and pushing them back together. She clawed at his back as he bent his head to suck her neck and breasts. She knew he must be leaving marks, but it felt so wonderful she didn’t give a shit.
As he prised her buttocks open again, her first orgasm washed over her in huge waves. She was speechless, panting, and moaning. Her legs quivered and shook with the force. He sped up, his huge organ filling her like she had never been filled before.
He lifted her and carried her to the couch like she weighed nothing. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders and traced the curves of his hard muscles. He laid her on the couch and moved with her, pushing her legs higher, up over her shoulders. She normally hated this position, but with Baine it felt wonderful. His cock touched exactly the right spot, rubbed her clitoris in exactly the right way, and the ribs of the condom scraped the sensitive insides of her sex, stimulating the nerve endings. She was on edge, her legs stiff, and she knew she was going to orgasm again.
He bent to nip her shoulder, and she jumped. He nipped her neck, and she moaned. When he nipped the top of her breast, she came, gushing and moaning in a way she never had before. The sensations were so strong, she completely let go, forgetting everything, all reservations tossed aside.
Baine was still going strong. She felt her body melting and her legs quivering, all the strength draining from her body. He slowed his pace and kissed her lips, sucking the bottom and then the top one. He slid out of her and moved down, kissing her stomach and thighs.
Holding her legs wide, he looked at her sex in the light of the moon shining through the huge windows. His eyes narrowed, and he growled again. The low, primitive sound stroked her nerves. A new need grew, and when he buried his face between her legs, she gasped.
His tongue lapped and stroked her swollen clit. He sucked each lip into his mouth and licked it while he traced the inside of her sex with his finger—circling, tickling. In seconds, she was bucking and squirming beneath him.
He growled again and shoved his huge cock into her heat. She screamed as he pounded into her. Unbelievably, it had grown even bigger. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and rode with him, hanging on to every stroke, feeling him deep inside her.
When he came, he roared. The animalistic sound rolled over her, and the thick pulsing of his organ brought her over the top. She held on to him as wave after wave of pure pleasure swept through her. They collapsed on the couch, panting and gasping for breath.
It seemed like an hour later before he rolled off and stood up. She stared at his body in the blue moonlight. He had very little body hair, and his wide chest and stomach rippled with muscles. As he strode into the kitchen, she leaned off the couch to get a good view of his ass flexing with each step.
She heard the microwave running and, in minutes he was back with a warm towel and two glasses of wine. He gently wiped her stomach and sex, the warm towel soothing and exciting at the same time. His eyes on her naked body were appreciative.
“You have beautiful legs, long and sleek.” He rubbed each leg with the towel and then moved to her breasts. “These are perfect.”
“Not too small?”
“Perfect.”
They sat together looking out the huge windows. The moon lit up the bay far below. The dark trees separated the shining water from the sky.
After two glasses of wine, Alex was drooping.
“You’re tired. I’ll carry you up to bed.”
“Bed” was in a loft. Baine tucked her in between plaid flannel sheets. Minutes later, she was sound asleep.
* * * *
Baine left Alex sleeping in his bed and walked out onto the balcony. The moonlight hit him and he flexed, his shoulder muscles bunching. He could feel the change coming. There was no way to stop it.
His body contorted briefly; he roared with pain and joy as his other nature took over. His eyes took on a yellow-gold hue, and a tail rippled out over his skin as he leaped the railing and charged into the forest.
The cool air against his fur felt exhilarating. He reveled in his power and strength. Putting on a burst of speed, he shot between trees, leaped over rocks, and raced up the mountainside. The freedom he felt in his mountain lion body was incomparable.
* * * *
Alex opened her eyes and quickly shut them. Sun streamed into the skylight over the bed as her partner snored softly beside her. Her head pounded, and her stomach heaved once and then settled. Good stomach.
She slid out of bed as slowly as possible, terrified he would wake and want more. One touch between her legs was enough to tell her she was sore, really sore.
Her clothes were not in the loft. She climbed down the circular staircase and found her knit dress, panties, bra, and purse. No amount of hunting produced her tights. She groaned as she looked out the window. Calling a cab from this location would cost hundreds of dollars, if she even knew where she was.
She checked her cell phone. It was seven fifteen, and she already had twelve messages. She had to be at work at nine, and she sure wasn’t going to show up in this dress. Flummoxed, she brushed her hair, took three aspirin, made coffee, and sat drinking it with the two cats on her lap. The smell of Seattle’s finest brew woke up the animal.
“Alex, bring me a cup.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. For me to come up there, I mean.”
Baine stuck his head over the edge of the loft. “Why?”
She made a face. “I’m a little out of practice.”
“Sore?”
She felt her cheeks flame. “Yes, if you must know. And I have to get to work.”
“I’ll get dressed and be right down.”
Sighing with relief, she sank back on the couch and scratched Charlie the cat’s chin.
* * * *
As she walked into work six minutes after nine, she twitched the high-collared lace blouse under her chin to hide the dozen or so suck marks on her throat and chest. There was an extra kick to her step this morning, along with a smile that kept cropping onto her face for no reason.
Her flamboyant assistant, Lyle Morales, was the first to notice. “Girlfriend, what did we do last night?”
“Why would you think I did something, or anything, Lyle? Do you have the numbers I need for the Seabright Coffee account?”
Lyle handed her a file. “I heard this company is owned by Russians.”
She looked up. “Really?”
“The owner’s name is Maksim Rukovskya. That sounds Russian to me. I gave you his number. You going over there today?”
“I need to get in touch with him or someone who represents him. I have to get a package together by next Wednesday.”
“Who’s working with you from the art department?”
“Thad, I think.”
“That whore? You need to ask for Sheri.”
Alex whirled her chair across the wood floor of her office. “What happened between you and Thad?”
Lyle ran two fingers across his lips. “I’m not talking. Where were you last night? You never showed up at the Backlight. We were there until eleven.”
A rush of heat traveled from her head down between her legs as she thought about Baine. Should she tell Lyle? She closed her eyes and actually shook her head. “I stayed home. Jerry wouldn’t take Ollie.”
“That slime ball. You never get any time for yourself, dear one. He should be shot.”
“Life already did that for him, Lyle. He’s his own worst enemy. Give me Rukovskya’s number.”
Lyle opened the file, leafed through the papers and produced a form, laying it on her desk.
Chapter 3
Maksim Rukovskya, the head of Seabright Coffee, stood in conference with his second-in-command, a Turkish-named Ahmet Dilara. The two men stood beside a warehouse. From this distance, their lips were unreadable to the stranger observing them. He groaned in frustration as they kept their mouths covered and moved around, turning, walking, watching all four directions. Rukovskya’s bodyguards, two Russians, one tall and dark, the other thin, small-boned, and fair-haired, watched from twenty feet away. Each carried weapons bulging beneath their coats.
Baine focused his digital binoculars on the two men below and took their picture. He sat on a rooftop roughly two hundred yards from the men.
The warehouse he was staking out was part of a huge compound by the Seattle docks. It was surrounded by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Three huge buildings, hundreds of containers, and heavy maintenance equipment were contained inside the compound. The docks were on the far side of the buildings. Baine spotted two ships moored in the slips. At least fifty men hustled in and out of the buildings on forklifts, in trucks, and on foot. Dilara and the Russian stood in front of Seabright’s office, a smaller building attached to the giant warehouse.
Baine focused only half his attention on the men. The other half was absorbed in thoughts of Alex. She’d given him her phone number, but he’d tossed it, determined not to get involved with any one woman. He had enough problems with his shape-shifting, his job, and just staying alive. But his night with Alex seemed different. She was special. He wished he hadn’t thrown away her number.
Baine snapped back to attention as the two men below began yelling at each other. Snatches of their conversation blew in on the breeze: part of it Russian profanity, part Turkish profanity, with some English mixed in. Baine strained to hear as he watched the Russian rise up on the balls of his feet and poke the Turk in the chest with his finger. The Turk reacted by pushing the Russian. A silver Toyota Maxima pulled into the yard and parked in front of the office, effectively ending the argument. Baine was shocked to see Alex get out of the car, one long, black stocking-covered leg at a time. What was she doing here?
A pigeon landed close to his position, and he got an idea. It only took a second to strip down and morph into a pigeon. Flying was hard, but he managed to swoop over the heads of the two men and listen as they watched Alex enter the office. The two switched to English as they walked behind her to the building.
“Who’s that hot little piece?” the Turk asked Rukovskya.
“Don’t know. I’ve never seen her before.”
“With her coloring, we could sell her to the Russians. The Arabs might want her, but they like blondes.”
“Stop drooling, Dilara. I’ll go in and find out why she’s here.”
“Hey, before you take off, what about the shipment? We need four more to fill the order.”
“Henry will handle it. He has several prospects he and his men plan to harvest either this evening or tomorrow. The shipment isn’t scheduled to leave until Saturday morning. That gives us two nights to fill our special requests.”
“What are they looking for now?” Dilara stared at the woman walking toward the office with what Baine thought were hungry eyes.
“Eurasian, blue eyes, long legs. Hair color doesn’t matter, though they do prefer blondes.”
“Who ever heard of a blonde Eurasian?”
“No one, Dilara, that’s why we make the big bucks. Henry will find something.”
Baine had heard enough. He took off, flew low over the top of the Turk’s head, and took a well-aimed crap.
* * * *
Alex entered the small office of Seabright Coffee carrying a leather satchel containing her laptop and a folder filled with ideas for the Seabright ad campaign. She wiped her shoes on the mat inside the door. Even when it wasn’t raining, there were still puddles in Seattle. She’d never been to the docks before. Most businesses needing her company’s services were in office buildings downtown or somewhere within the city. This seemed odd.
But paying customers were paying customers. Seabright had authorized more than a million bucks to kick off this campaign. Times were tight, and Seabright had arrived on the scene at an opportune moment.
The receptionist behind the desk in Seabright’s office, little more than a construction-site trailer, was a man. Older, distinguished, wearing a sweater vest and a white button-down shirt, the nameplate on the desk said he was Sergey Kiryakov.
When she entered, he rose and bowed. “May I help you, madam?”
“My name is Alexandra St. John. I work for Seattle Advertising Solutions. I have an appointment with Mr.—” She consulted a card in her hand. “Rukovskya.”
The door opened, and a cold, damp wind blew into the office. A heavily-muscled man of about thirty and medium height with a shaved head and forearms covered with tattoos smiled. “I am Rukovskya. Please, call me Maksim.”
Alex allowed him to take her empty left hand in his.
“You must be Alexandra.” He looked at his watch. “Exactly one. Punctuality is a wonderful quality. Myself, I am always late. Please come into my office. We will talk.”
Still holding her hand, he led her to a small office at the other end of the trailer. The linoleum floors were slippery, so Alex was careful with how she placed each foot. The bottoms of her shoes were already damp. Taking a fall in front of this man would be too embarrassing to contemplate.
Once inside his office, Rukovskya led her to a metal chair, one of two in front of a military-style metal desk. The green linoleum added to the general seediness of the place. Alex was beginning to wonder if these people ha
d any money, or if the whole deal was a sham.
Perched on the rickety chair, Alex pulled her laptop out and laid the open folder on top of the desk. Rukovskya flipped off his sunglasses, revealing startling light-green eyes. Resting his elbows on the desk, he leaned forward with his chin on his hands and a strange smile on his face. Alex tried not to stare at the wicked scar traversing the left side of his face. It drew his eye down at the corner, and the left side of his mouth puckered where the scar crossed and moved on to his chin.
When the presentation was over, she packed the laptop and folder back in her satchel and handed Rukovskya a neatly bound copy of the presentation.
He rose from his chair to walk out with her.
“Wonderful job, Miss Alexandra, wonderful. So much work you put into this. It’s amazing and just for my little company.”
“Your company’s not little, Mr. Rukovskya. You’re proposing to spend a lot of money with us.”
“Please,” he said, placing a warm hand in the small of her back and lifting her coat. “Allow me.” He held her leather trench coat while she slid into it, his hands running along her arms intimately, giving her flesh a tiny squeeze.
Alex’s inner lie detector screamed at her whenever this man spoke. Maksim Rukovskya was full of shit. She tilted her head and looked into his sparkling lime-colored eyes. He seemed so sincere, but her alarms told her everything about him was false. But what was she supposed to do? He was a client, and money talked. Unfortunately, in her business, bullshit tended to speak just as clearly.
* * * *
Baine entered the Backstreet Bar around ten. His informant had told him this was the place Rukovskya’s men met, and two women had disappeared from this bar during the past twenty days. He had a sheaf of reports on his desk about other missing women in the last three months, some last seen in Capital Hill, some in a strip of bars close to the waterfront.
Baine took a seat at the bar. “Hey, Antonio, how’s business?”
“The weather keeps them coming in. You have to love a town as dark and dreary as Seattle.”
Baine ordered and looked around the bar. He recognized the regulars: some Yuppie dudes from downtown trolling for women, a few wannabe vampires dressed in black…and several real vampires.
The Secret, the Shifter and the Sex- Slave Shanghai Page 2
