Deadly Games

by Karen Rock

  “Filthy bloodsuckers!” one of the women yelled.

  “Vampire husbands—stake ’em in the friggin’ heart.” A Brittany gutted a cherry with her plastic sword stirrer.

  “He didn’t deserve you,” another reached out and patted Katherine’s hand.

  Katherine nodded along and called up a less toothy smile.

  Fraud.

  Deep down, she knew she shared the blame for her failed marriage. Obsessing over hunting serial killers 24-7 had consumed her life. She’d treated her marriage, and Kevin, like an afterthought.

  Still, knowing her ex had moved on so fast scoured her heart. He’d found happiness while she was lonelier than ever. And transferring home from FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia, distancing herself from her ex and her divorce, hadn’t helped. When Megan called, threatening to drag Katherine out if she didn’t agree, she’d caved and said yes. But being around all these happy women somehow made her sorry ass seem even more pathetic.

  Should she leave?

  Drink herself to sleep with the half bottle of Pinot in her otherwise empty fridge? Her buzz was starting to fade. She preferred tipping over the edge in private, with no witnesses to watch her fall.

  “Who’s ready to rock?!” roared the DJ before transitioning into a headbanging tune. The crowd shrieked in answer as a leather-clad dancer swaggered onstage. His long, tousled locks flicked side to side, his hips rocking to the driving beat, tatted-up body glistening with sweat beneath the hot lights.

  One of the Brittanys flipped open a compact. “When’s Nash coming on?” she asked, peering at her reflection anxiously.

  At the name, the crew fell all over themselves, practically convulsing, their eyes feverish and glowing. They fanned themselves with the “Righteous Women Resist Temptation” pamphlets the minister who preached on the street outside nightclubs had thrust at them before they had entered the club.

  “Who’s Nash?” she asked, sipping her frothy drink with a head-rushing pull. Screw it. Her mother had warned Katherine to find more balance in her all-work-no-play life.

  Exclamations of disbelief rose from the group.

  “He’s a sex god!”

  “Total babe.”

  “Only the hottest man alive…”

  “Nash Hawkins is the club’s headliner. They call him Juice Pack because of his eight-pack abs and the way he makes us all…” Megan writhed in her seat, fanning her flushed face. “Juicy.” Her lips twisted into a wicked smile. “Something you need to be, by the way, miss Special Agent professional. Loosen up. Have fun. Get your groove on, babe.”

  Katherine nodded along gamely, striving to ignore the memory of her ex’s accusations. When she hadn’t been able to unwind enough after work to please him, he’d called her frigid. An ice queen.

  She was better off without him…. So why the hell couldn’t she get out of her own head?

  “This guy must really be some—”

  Katherine’s voice snuffed out, blown away like the rest of her when she glanced up at the stage and glimpsed the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. He was otherworldly handsome, with electric green eyes blazing above a straight, fine-boned nose and full, luscious lips. His dark, sculpted eyebrows matched the thick hair tangling to a square jaw so cut, it looked sharp enough to draw blood.

  As the DJ cranked a driving R & B tune, Nash’s enormous, powerful body, bronzed and muscular, gyrated in perfect, sinuous rhythm to the beat. He lifted his Army-green tank and teased the crowd with a glimpse of rippling and contracting eight-pack abs as his hips ground in slow, sensual movements.

  She flushed red, and her knees wobbled.

  “Nash’s something, right?” Megan’s voice was barely discernable over the group’s deafening collective screech for the club’s headliner.

  “And close your mouth,” Megan added with a wink. Her words barely registered as Katherine eyed Nash’s impossibly wide chest and shoulders and the firm curve of his ass in camouflage pants. He had the body of an Olympic swimmer, taut, muscled, and broad-shouldered. In his fatigues, he was strong and in command, the sexiest “soldier” she’d ever seen.

  I’d like to do hand-to-hand combat with you.

  A shiver chased that thought. A buzzing primal urge followed it, the adrenaline rush before she busted down doors and took down her targets. The thrill of the hunt. The nerve-tingling anticipation of anything-can-fucking-happen. Her legs shifted restlessly beneath the table, and her hands clenched around the seat’s edge to keep herself from joining the women reaching out to touch his smooth, glistening skin.

  Nash called to her inner beast, the animal who, before now, had only ever roared to life at work. Her ex had said he wanted a freak between the sheets, and after trying—and failing—to please him, Katherine had feared she could never be that woman…until now. As she watched Nash glide across the stage, every one of his defined muscles popping, she sensed what it’d mean to lose her carefully honed control.

  A hand slapped her shoulder.

  “Breathe, Katherine,” giggled a Brittany in her ear.

  Katherine managed to suck in half a breath. It burned its way to her lungs, her body tightening. A feverish damp formed on her temples and heat coiled at the juncture of her thighs. When Nash planted his large military boots wide and rolled his shoulders from side to side, the decibel level reached glass-shattering. In one seamless move, he ripped off his shirt, winked at Katherine, and tossed it to her.

  “Ooohhh…. He likes you!” a Brittany screamed in Katherine’s ear.

  Liked her?

  Doubtful.

  Women wearing miniskirts and crop tops ran their hands over his camo pants, his boots, anywhere they could touch. He had his pick of flamingos…why single out the sparrow? The lights must have blinded him. Still, she clutched the warm, slightly damp shirt like it was a lifeline—and maybe it was, considering she practically had no life outside of work. She brought it to her nose and the heady scent of sandalwood, soap, and a whiff of sweating male skin short-circuited her senses. She resisted the urge to bring it to her lips. Did he taste as good as he looked and smelled?

  He was sinfully delectable.

  And she was starving.

  “Glad you came now?” Megan hollered at her.

  Katherine nodded and sucked down the last of her drink. The cool concoction only fanned her flames. Nash dropped to the floor, grinding it with rhythmic thrusts she could practically feel. He jumped smoothly to his feet, all predatory grace as he stalked to the end of the stage and pointed into the audience.

  Katherine’s heart quit. Was his finger aimed at her? The one he now crooked in a beckoning gesture? His plump lips twisted into a slow, sexy smile, full of wicked promise.

  A Brittany shoved her out of the booth. Fixated on Nash, the movement caught Katherine unawares, and she stumbled, nearly losing her balance.

  Smooth, real smooth…

  A steely arm wrapped around her waist, the other sliding under her knees, lifting her against a bare, unyielding chest. Her heart base-jumped into a pool of molten want.

  “Give it to her good, Nash,” Megan screamed at the dancer. “She just divorced a cheating ex!”

  “Then he’s a fool,” Nash shouted back before he effortlessly carried Katherine’s five-foot, eight-inch body on stage. Her ex had called her a “He-Woman,” ordering her to cut back on her CrossFit training, which meant less muscle, which translated to weak…something she’d promised herself long ago she’d never be. Not ever again.

  Nash, on the other hand, made her feel all woman. And he was built. Not gym muscles for showing off. He had the kind of brute strength that got shit done, which aroused her even more.

  He deposited her in a chair on stage, ran his hands along the sides of her skirt, then met her gaze, his eyes smoky and filled with intent. When he placed her hand on his hard abdomen, he undulated again
st her touch. Her fingers wandered over the ridged flesh, and fast breaths scraped past her raw throat.

  God, he was sexy.

  She gripped his narrow hips as he straddled her lap, gyrating above her, an immense erection tenting his pants. Was it real? She heard some dancers stuffed their thongs, but the shape of his cock, straining against his fatigues, was unmistakable. A faintness stole over her as she imagined all of him buried deep inside her.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as he finished his erotic lap dance and hauled her into his arms again.

  “So are you,” she murmured, and a strange emotion flared in his eyes then disappeared, too fast for her to identify.

  He cupped her ass and bounced her against his hardness, the teasing motion a delicious friction. Ankles locked at the small of his back, her arms twining in his soft, full hair, she’d never felt so abandoned. Free.

  No man had affected her this way before. In fact, she’d thought it impossible for anyone to drive her to distraction given her job demanded all her focus, even when she wasn’t on the clock. Yet she wanted this stranger so badly she could almost taste his pillowed lips, warm and cinnamon-scented like his breath.

  Bending her backward, his mouth whispered against her jaw and neck, the palm of his hand skimming down the center of her torso. She moaned, her womb clenching with need. To her surprise, Nash groaned, too, as if this wasn’t an act, as if he desired her as well.

  “You’re so sexy,” he growled against her throat, his voice thick. “Meet me after?”

  “When,” she panted as he twirled them around the stage.

  “I’m off at midnight.” His fingers curved around her ass, his grip possessive, erotic. “I’m parked in the back lot.”

  He released her slowly, letting her enjoy every glorious inch of him as she slid along his length to her feet. “Maybe,” she hedged, tempted to do something completely out of character.

  Ice queen her ass.

  Yet she didn’t know Nash, and she’d locked up too many killers hiding in plain sight to trust someone so quickly.

  “Think about it,” he urged, skimming his hands up her sides, his fingers splaying just beneath the swell of her breasts before he helped her off the stage.

  Wobbly legs carried her back to her booth.

  “Oh my GOD!” screamed the Brittanys, collectively waving the religious pamphlets before their steaming faces.

  “He practically made love to you,” one of them sighed as Nash stalked from the stage, casting Katherine a final, probing stare. “You’re so lucky.”

  “He eye-fucked her, too,” Megan added, “And you were giving it right back. I’ve never seen Nash do that before with a customer.”

  “Do what?” Katherine leaned into the fanning Brittanys, so overheated, spots appeared on the periphery of her vision.

  “Lose control. His hands were all over you. They’re not supposed to touch us…not that we care, but he’s always professional. He could get fired if you complained.”

  “Then I better not mention what he said.”

  “What?” they screeched, leaning in as the DJ switched the tune to something low and sultry. A performer in a tuxedo tossed a red rose to the audience before slowly undoing his tie.

  “Tell us!” Megan scooped an ice cube from her drink, lifted her hair and slid it along the back of her neck.

  “He wants to meet up at midnight,” Katherine confessed, pleasure, warm and smooth as honey, pouring through her.

  “Then we only have fifteen minutes to get you ready.” Megan pointed to one of the Brittanys, eyes wild, resembling a deranged fairy godmother. “Pass over your lipstick. The coral shade. And we need mascara, eyeliner, lip liner, tweezers…” She paused. “When’s the last time you waxed?”

  “I’ve got a razor, but it’s more for touch-ups.” One of the women rummaged in her purse.

  Katherine held up a hand. “Wait. I’m not going with him.”

  Everyone froze, and a Brittany’s mouth turned down sympathetically. “Got your period? Some men don’t mind that…”

  “Ewwwww!” came the collective groan.

  “Hey.” Brittany shrugged and adjusted the slipping floral headband pulling back her blond hair. “Sleeping with Nash is a once-in-lifetime, people. Would you pass up a chance to see one of the wonders of the world?”

  “I don’t have my period,” Katherine interjected.

  Lines of disbelief and confusion furrowed their brows.

  “Then why…?”

  “I can’t drive off with a stranger.”

  “He rides a boss Harley,” Megan said emphatically, as if that settled it. She nodded at the waiting headband-wearing Brittany who began smoothing lipstick over Katherine’s mouth.

  “I don’t care if he drives the Batmobile,” Katherine said when Brittany moved on to her eyes with the same amount of intense concentration Katherine reserved for predawn raids or a hostage take-downs. “He’s a stranger. This is the kind of dumb choice victims make.”

  “You have a gun.” Brittany pointed her eyeliner stick at Katherine’s jacket, draped over the top of the booth.

  “And those guns.” One of the other women nodded at the curves of Katherine’s biceps, visible through her sleeves.

  “True…” Katherine pushed herself through grueling daily workouts so she’d never be outrun, overpowered, as she had on one horrible, destiny-changing night.

  “Hold still,” Brittany ordered, grabbing Katherine’s chin as she applied mascara. “I’m doing a smoky cat eye. It’ll make you look mysterious. Like Taylor Swift.”

  “Taylor Swift is mysterious?” Katherine bit back a smile.

  “Hello. She ghosted social media last year.” Brittany tilted her head and scrutinized Katherine’s face intently. “I cried for a week.”

  “For Taylor Swift…”

  Brittany shrugged. “My therapist says I have abandonment issues.”

  “My brother has a condo adjoining Nash’s,” Megan said. “He says Nash never brings girls home—so he’s not a player.”

  Katherine ducked, too late, when Brittany blew powdery glitter over her face and hair. “Less bitter, more glitter. That’s my motto,” she said with a wink, her eyes aglow. “It’ll make you sparkle.”

  Or resemble a tween at her first pop concert…

  Sheesh.

  “You might be the first woman Nash’s ever invited home from the club. Word is he has a ‘no dating customers’ policy. You’ve got to go and report back,” one of the Brittany’s implored. “I need to know how long it is.”

  “And thick,” another Brittany insisted.

  Megan arched a brow. “And what he can do with it.”

  The group laughed and groaned.

  “Come on, do it for us,” Brittany pleaded, leaning back to scan Katherine’s face.

  “No,” Megan surprised Katherine by saying. “Do it for yourself. Nash is the hottest man alive, and he wants you. Do you want him?”

  Katherine remembered his big strong hands on her, the chemistry crackling between them, a riptide pulling her from her dreary, ordinary life, and nodded.

  “Then go for it. I’ll text my brother and ask him to keep an eye on Nash’s place tonight. You have an emergency, call him or just pound on the wall. He’ll bust down the door.”

  Megan grabbed Katherine’s phone and added her sibling’s number. “Prove your ex wrong. What’d he used to call you?”

  “Ice queen.” The words tasted alien to her, as if one dance with Nash rendered them inert. What would a whole night with him do for her wounded pride?

  “You looked like a gorgeous sex-bomb up there.” Megan jerked her thumb at the stage. “Now go jump Nash’s bones.”

  Katherine loaded her weapon beneath the table, slid it into her bag, and scooted out of the booth. Back at Quantico, her
ability to read people had earned her the nickname “The Human Lie-Detector.” Her gut said Nash was safe. And if he wasn’t, she’d kick his ass then bust it. His condo’s proximity to another, forewarned officer lessened her reservations.

  She had little to fear and much, much to gain.

  “Okay.” Katherine nabbed a Kamikaze shot off a passing waiter’s tray, drained it, and slid him a couple of bills. “But if he so much as looks at me cross-eyed, he’s going down.”

  “Just don’t kill him!” Megan begged.

  “I’ll try not to,” Katherine joked, then slipped outside, both exhilarated and terrified. Was this going to be the biggest mistake of her life or the best thing to happen to her?

  She released her death grip on the exit door and shoved herself into the dark night.

  Only one way to find out…

  Chapter Two

  Nash’s handsome face lit up when she appeared in the rear parking lot, as if he wasn’t sure of her…as if anyone would say no to an invitation from Nash Hawkins, Sex God. Still, the glimpse of humility, vulnerability melted her.

  “What’s your name?” he asked. Wearing a leather jacket over a fitted white T-shirt, he was hot as hell. Faded jeans showcased long, muscular legs and a recent shower dampened the ends of his hair.

  “Katherine,” she barely managed, her voice full of air and want.

  “That’s beautiful.” His deep voice slid straight to her toes, leaving a trail of fire everywhere in between. “Like you. I’m Nash.”

  And again, the humbleness in his introduction, as if he didn’t think she’d know his name, as if every woman in the Dallas area didn’t lust for him, touched and enticed her.

  “Want to go for coffee?”

  Her expression of surprise and disappointment must have been comical since he chuckled, a husky, sexy sound. “Or frozen yogurt? I know a place with a big toppings bar. You can learn a lot about a person based on their um…topping choices.”