He was too far gone, ready to bring her to her knees and take her for the first time right there, stockings and all. Damn, he loved stockings. They made up for the maddening sticker.
She pinched him hard on his pecs. “Bed. Now.”
Brat. The sooner he was inside her, the better. He circled her waist to pick her up and kicked open the bedroom door. He didn’t mean to jar her with the doorjamb, but it was her own damn fault they were going in there in the first place. And he’d kiss that better, too.
He set her on her feet at the bed and worked the double clasp of his pants. By the time they were wrinkling on the floor she was crawling across the mattress toward the pillow.
Grabbing her ankle, he dragged her back toward him. The bed was the only comfort she was getting now. Pillows later, if she were lucky.
***
Annabella rolled onto her back as soon as Custo released her. She caught a flash of his green eyes, his full mouth, and his incredible physique before he came down on top of her, his tight, smooth skin rippling with muscle and incredible warmth. She expected him to ravage something—anything would be good—but he stopped, pinning her to the bed with his weight to drag a lock of hair from her mouth.
“You drive me crazy,” he said. The vibration of his chest felt amazing against her body. She responded with a deep, petulant ache at her center.
“Right back at ’cha,” she said, lifting her head to nip at his mouth. She wriggled a little under him to let him know she was impatient.
He ignored her urgency and brushed his lips over hers, the texture smooth, the pressure hard, as if finding just the right angle to settle in. Then he kissed her so dark and hot that she forgot to breathe. It made her heart pound harder. There was only Custo, his body, and the strange climbing rhythm of the bass from the club below. She was liking his music more and more.
When he moved to her neck, stubble rasping as his mouth worked her sensitive skin, she gasped for air. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her gaze blindly casting upward.
He lowered to her breasts, which by now she knew he liked a lot. He couldn’t stop touching them. He nuzzled and sucked; the answering pull in her body was delicious. Her breath came faster as his hands traveled her contours, breast, waist, ass, thigh, branding her all over with finger trails of possessive heat. She blinked rapidly to clear her clouding mind, but his laves and strokes drove away coherent thought.
She couldn’t lose herself yet; he hadn’t admitted the truth out loud. With words.
Far off, a saxophone wailed. She grabbed hold of the sound as his mouth trailed down her belly. He climbed off the edge of the bed, hands sliding up her inner thighs, thumbs parting her.
The things the man could do with his hands.
“What’s this song?” she asked as her vision fuzzed, his warm breath both liquefying her and sending hot sparks into her core.
Custo paused, then kissed her where she ached. “‘Footprints.’”
The sax trilled up with his touch, as did the pressure rising within her. When the music fell to a lower register, she gripped the sheets, willing it to climb again. “I like it.”
Custo echoed the rhythm, coaxing the music higher against her with his demanding mouth. His kiss was wet, and hot, and hard. Maddening. When the band came together to climax, she did, too, shuddering against him on the last waves of the melody.
Every joint and muscle in Annabella’s body was happy-loose when Custo altered his hold on her, kissing her temple briskly.
“Up,” he growled, pulling her out of her languid pleasure.
Not that she was complaining. She wanted his weight on her, him inside her, moving slow and deep.
He nudged her toward the headboard, lifting her to her knees like an expert dance partner, her back to him. He took her hands, braced them on the wall, and held them there. At her ear, he said, “Arch for me.”
His voice, dark with desire, had her coiling inside again. Heart pounding, she tilted her hips back for him, feeling his length behind her.
“More,” he commanded, grasping her at her waist, forcing the curve of her supple spine deeper. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation.
She relaxed into the bend, and he filled her, his clever fingers building her pleasure again. Her hands dropped to the headboard, gripped, and rode the mindless, erratic rhythm from the club with him. The music was near formless, held together by beat and voice, the sax a whine and bellow of wind, all topsy-turvy and endless. Custo wrapped his arms around her to pull her back, joined them hip to hip in his lap. She was protected and claimed, at the brink of something new and frightening, but not alone. He tensed, groaned, and sent an earthquake of dark bliss through her.
He held her when her body gave against him. She gulped for air, her head resting back against his shoulder. Solid, safe. His raw strength came in handy when he expertly adjusted their position, turning her to face him, stretching out on the bed, and tucking her against his chest, heart to heart, heat to heat.
“So are you going to tell me or what?” she said, and bit his earlobe for encouragement.
He grinned. “What? So you can be more of a pain in the ass?”
“You like my ass.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “Yes, I must admit I do.”
“So?”
“This can’t work,” he said, voice husky with emotion. “You and I.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ve covered that.” But she kissed him quick on his lips, because the reality of their situation hurt her, too.
He lifted up a bit, so that their gazes joined. “I love you, woman.”
She laughed. “Woman? Oh you smooth talker, you.”
“My woman,” he corrected, tone now deadly serious.
“You’re mine, then, because I love you, too,” she said, daring him to contradict her.
He sighed heavily, definitively, the movement a deep, changing wave upon her, and answered, “Body and soul.”
***
Wolf gazed at the old woman sleeping on the bed. A false, cloying scent of flowers tainted her skin, near overriding the sour sweat that dampened her forehead. Her lids flickered and she strained restlessly against her nightmare.
Yes. Now. He growled low to rouse her.
When she gasped into wakefulness, he bared his teeth. Ready.
She had to see him first, had to break with fear, or the trap wouldn’t spring.
The woman pushed up to her elbows, breathing harshly. Blinking to clear her vision.
Wolf felt the weight of her gaze settle on him and grinned more deeply, lowering his head and bunching his great hulk to spring.
The woman screamed. Loud and cracked and perfect.
***
Courtesy of Jack, the Chinese food showed up not too long after, eight neat white takeout boxes lined up outside the apartment door, smelling like Heaven should but didn’t. Custo could always trust Jack. Chinese and a bottle of good wine.
Custo retrieved the food and they ate it mostly naked in bed. He’d found his briefs; she wore Adam’s tux shirt buttoned once, the cuffs rolled up to her elbows. Her sitting position in bed was a ballerina stretch, one leg long to the side, the other crossed in front of her for balance, and blocking his view. He wanted to see all of her again, but he’d get to that later.
“I have one question for you,” he said.
“Shoot,” she said, picking at her chicken and rice with chopsticks. The smell was sharp with soy and ginger. Her lips were shiny with it, tongue darting intriguingly.
“Your feet.” He lifted the one nearest him to examine her toes. They looked alien, knobby with calluses. With mock severity, he added, “Frankly, I’m concerned.”
She giggled and kicked him. “They’re supposed to be that way, or I wouldn’t last ten minutes en pointe. I’ve worked very hard for my ugly feet, and I won’t hear you say a word against them.”
“In that case,” he said. “I love them, too.” Guitar players got thick calluses on their fingers, so he could re
late a bit.
It was amazing, peaceful, to be with her like this. Happy, naked, laughing at inconsequential things.
Annabella was animated as they talked, her eyes shining, denying whatever hell tomorrow might bring, and he let her. They finished eating and made the bed their world, like a white island of happiness away from everything else. Annabella, sex, Chinese food. Couldn’t be more perfect. He wanted these stolen hours to last forever, too, though the club had closed some time ago and once again he was faced with an unwelcome dawn.
Inevitably, Segue came up. Talia and Adam and the babies.
Annabella lounged on the pillows, an arm behind her head, gazing at him with sleepy eyes, though neither of them wanted to actually sleep. “I was too mad to ask before, but what was with all the soldiers in our room?”
Adam’s room. “I was questioning them, trying to get the truth about our failed mission out of them. One of them is responsible for the wraith attack.”
“You were using your Spidey sense?” She flipped to her side, her hip and waist curving beautifully, tantalizingly, and she knew it. The shirt puckered and he could see her rose-tipped breasts, which by the gleam in her eye, she knew, too.
Custo shifted closer, parting the shirt. “Yes. There is someone inside Segue gunning for Adam. One of those soldiers had to have tipped off the wraiths to his position at the theater last night. Adam was almost killed.”
“At my performance?” She looked horrified and sat up.
“The informant’s actions are not your fault, Annabella,” Custo said, tugging at the shirt to bring her back down. “The wraiths would have attacked Adam anywhere.”
She resisted the pull. “Did you find him?”
“Nope. As far as I can tell, none of them went out of their chain of command.” Custo sat up, too. Annabella obviously wasn’t going to cooperate until she knew the whole story. He regretted bringing up the subject at all. “I figured it had to be one of them. There is no one outside the team who knew of our plans for the evening.”
“Except Talia,” Annabella said, a furrow of thought forming between her eyebrows.
“Okay, except Talia.” But she didn’t count. Talia would never betray Adam.
Custo put his hand inside the tux shirt to see if he could get Annabella’s nipples to harden. A couple flicks of his thumb ought to do the trick…
“And her doctor?” Annabella persisted. “Did you question him?”
“Her doctor is a woman, Dr. Powell.” Gillian had been with Segue almost from inception. She’d seen firsthand what Jacob was capable of, and she’d been there when the wraiths attacked Segue en masse. If not for Talia, Gillian would have never survived the day. She, more than anyone, would know how critical Talia and Adam were to the wraith war.
“Okay…did you question her?” Annabella made an exasperated face.
“She wasn’t privy to the details of the security for the night.” Now could they move on to better things? And then much better things?
“Well, did Adam discuss plans with Talia? With Dr. Powell present?”
“He shouldn’t have.” But Custo could picture Adam at Talia’s bedside, entertaining her, keeping her up to date on the goings-on of Segue, to which they dedicated their lives. Maybe he told her about the performance. Maybe he let slip his role in the night’s security.
“But did he?” Annabella pressed.
“It would be a stupid mistake.” Adam was always so careful. He was meticulous in granting access to information, everything coded and double coded with redundant measures on top of that. To speak freely in front of the doctor would negate all that, no matter how trusted she was.
Annabella smiled ruefully. “People make stupid mistakes all the time.”
“You’re saying Dr. Powell is the informant, the traitor within Segue.” Alarm zapped down Custo’s nerves. He’d have looked for a system hack next. Never in a million years would he have considered the doctor. Adam didn’t make mistakes; he would be scrupulous where Talia was concerned. Maybe he thought Talia, with her gift to read emotions, would be alert to Gillian’s intentions. But surgical gloves would take care of that. Of all the times for Adam to start screwing up…
“I think she should be questioned at least.” Annabella sighed heavily, looking forlorn.
Custo wanted to stay, too, shut out the world and be content. But the thought of Talia, helpless on bed rest at the mercy of her doctor had him scrambling for his pants to get his mobile phone. He had to ask Adam. Now.
Annabella rose and began picking through her clothes in the background, swearing at her bra. He wished he’d asked her before. Some things became so simple from a different perspective.
The traitor had inside information on Segue movements because Adam told her himself.
Custo punched autodial. It was well past four a.m., but he knew Adam would pick up immediately. Adam never slept.
“Here,” Adam said. His voice was low, so Custo guessed he was with Talia and that she was sleeping.
“What about Dr. Powell?” Custo asked without preamble.
There was a long pause on the other end. Too long. Then, “Oh, shit.”
CHAPTER 18
Annabella knew how cold and frightening the concrete cells under Segue could be, especially with that smell, which now she knew was arrested decomposition, wraith. The stench was particularly gag-tastic in the interrogation room where Adam had incarcerated Dr. Powell until Annabella and Custo could arrive and take a minute to change their clothes. Dr. Powell, green in the face, kept adjusting her lab coat over her blouse and fidgeting in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her ankles. The woman seemed both defiant and terrified.
From within the adjoining observation room, guilt nagged Annabella: she’d basically put the woman in the cell herself. But Adam was right: caution first, apologies later. Which meant Annabella probably had to forgive him for her own heartless incarceration. Damn it.
Custo asked a few pointed questions and sent Adam a slight nod. Traitor.
Mystery solved. Now to get at why. This would take longer, an ordeal of careful questions. Annabella and Adam would just have to wait until Custo was finished before getting the real story.
Custo relaxed into a thorough interrogation, careful not to tip off Dr. Powell to the fact that he could read her mind, or the doctor would go to her “happy place” and he’d get nothing usable out of her. Apparently minds could be pretty hard to read. A very small consolation, as far as Annabella was concerned.
Annabella’s stomach rumbled. If nothing else, her adventures with Segue were excellent for her dancer’s diet. The Chinese had been delectable, but she’d burned through it hours ago and was back to starving. The gravity of the situation and Adam’s rigid posture kept her from saying anything. Clearly not the time. And anyway, she’d been fighting her appetite’s demands since she was fourteen. She could wait a little longer.
She concentrated on Custo’s methodical disassembling of the doctor’s thoughts. Custo circled topics seemingly at random—background, education, choice to join Segue—then darted in toward the wraith connection, which the doctor still denied.
“Custo told me that it was you who suggested Dr. Powell,” Adam said, though he kept his gaze through the window. Even in profile, he looked sick and stressed and miserable. “I should have considered…but I thought…” He took a moment to regroup. “Couple years ago, wraiths attacked our West Virginia facility. We were made vulnerable by a traitor who stole our weapons and sabotaged our escape. I thought that Spencer was the only one involved, but it seems like he had a collaborator. Talia saved everyone’s lives that day, including Gillian’s. I am utterly shocked that she would try to hurt her.” Adam looked Annabella full in the face. “Thank you. If she had harmed Talia…”
“But she didn’t,” Annabella put in quickly. “Talia is safe. The babies are safe. And you have your wraith informant. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Poor Adam, soon-to-be father. He had to be blaming
himself for his mistake of blabbing while the doctor was present. Really dumb. He must love his wife a lot to lose focus like that, as if Talia were the only person in the room.
“Did you know Custo can play jazz guitar?” Annabella asked to distract him.
Adam blinked, gave a short nod. “Heard him play once. I had to hide in the back so he wouldn’t see me. He was very good.”
“He’s incredible,” Annabella corrected. No one in her presence would ever get away with calling Custo’s playing “very good.” Talent knows talent: the man, her angel, was genius.
Adam’s gaze narrowed, both scrutinizing and pitying. “You love him.”
Annabella didn’t want his pity. She wasn’t going to dwell on the hopelessness of their situation. After all, love was made of hope, and her association with the Shadowlands told her anything was possible.
“He loves me, too,” she said, defiantly. She didn’t say it for Adam really, she just needed to say it. The wolf notwithstanding, was there a future with Custo? He hadn’t said, and she hadn’t dared to ask.
“He must love you if he took you back to the loft. I haven’t been able to go there myself since it happened. I can see him right now, through this glass, but the pain is still too raw.”
A lump formed in Annabella’s throat. Adam was the only person she could probably ever talk to about this, and she might not have another opportunity. “The bullet holes made me…” she couldn’t find the word. “…they were so ugly and hurtful. I can’t imagine…”
“Custo would have been lucky to die by gunfire. Quick. Direct.” Adam’s jaw flexed, the little vein popping out at his temple. “But no, that Spencer piece of shit had to torture him. Ruin him first. Grind him down. And, of course, Custo would take it, stupid selfless bastard, so that Talia and I could get away.”
Tortured? Her chest constricted.
Annabella studied Custo’s face, his gaze drilling Dr. Powell. When he was done with the doctor, she was going to have to love him all over again, until the intensity of this revelation was blunted.
“He’s had my back from the first day we met,” Adam said, “taking the worst of everything. Fighting my battles.”
Bad Boys of the Night: Eight Sizzling Paranormal Romances: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set Page 40
