by Jaime Rush
“Violet,” he whispered her name this time. He meant it to sound like a call to logic, but it came out as more of a plea. For more.
His shirt was plastered over her firm breasts, clinging to her hardened nipples. Damn, she was hot, all sleek skin and toned muscle. With her eyes on his, she peeled off the shirt.
Kade didn’t stop to think; he just reacted. He dropped the hose, grasped her by the waist, and lifted her up. Her legs went around him, and their mouths collided. Her lips were soft against his, her tongue sliding in and tangling with his own. She made these little mewling sounds as she pressed closer, her legs tightening around his waist, her hands kneading the muscles of his shoulders and back. His hands slid from her hips to palm her perfect ass. Damn. Just damn.
She did some kind of sucking move with her mouth that traveled all the way down to his cock and made it twitch. His pants were the only thing separating them, and if she kept up this rodeo ride, it wouldn’t take magick to bust through that barrier. His fingers tightened on her smooth, wet flesh, and he switched to hold her with one arm, moving his other hand to her firm, round breasts. Her small nipples were pink, beaded, and his mouth actually watered at the thought of sucking on them. Before he could claim one of those glistening peaks, she was kissing him again so he plucked at her nipples instead. Her moan of pleasure vibrated through him, clear to the soles of his feet.
She was fire in his arms, a breathing, writhing enchantress. The sun beat down on them, burning his back and heating her dark hair, fueling the already raging fire between them. She ground against him again, increasing the friction. If he didn’t get inside her soon, he was going to lose it right there. With rough hands, he stilled her hips.
His mouth trailed kisses along her cheek and throat, and with a deep breath, he took in her scent, all nature and wild and free. His lips found her nipple, tugging on the bead. His free hand trailed under her firm ass. His fingers found her wet, hot center, making her hips buck against his cock and pushing him closer to the edge. Getting a woman hot and bothered was nothing new, but this was Violet. Wild. Forbidden. Somehow that made it astounding. He slid his finger all around her swollen nub, wringing a cry from her lips.
He had skills, magickal ones, too, but she flew apart before he had the chance to use them. He rode her through the tempest, touching and stroking in a way that maximized her pleasure. She arched and screamed, held him, no, hugged him close. Her head rested against his shoulder as she caught her breath.
Then her whole body tightened in a different way. “Oh, my gods, what are we doing?”
“Well, I just made you come and—”
She slid to her feet and stumbled back, grabbing up the shirt. “No, I mean, what are we doing? This is—”
“Crazy. Insane.” He raked his fingers back through his hair. “And amazing.” He still had a raging hard-on, and his body fairly thrummed with the need for release, but what…the…hell?
“No, let’s stick to the crazy insane part.” She pulled on the shirt, shock in her eyes. “If my brothers had come up on us…”
“That would have been awkward.”
“Awkward? They would have killed you.”
Chapter 4
Kade stood naked in Violet’s laundry room while his clothes banged around in the dryer. She was taking a shower. She’d offered him the use of her other bathroom, but he’d declined. Now if she’d offered to let him share hers…
Enough of those thoughts. He’d barely talked himself out of releasing all of that pent-up tension the handheld way as it was. He went to throw away a leaf he’d found lodged in his hair when he stopped dead. Whoa. Nothing like bloodied clothing stuffed in the trash can to kill a guy’s libido.
Ferro was convinced she was a killer. Maybe he was right, and this mission was warranted after all. Maybe it was simply libido that had him derailed. He’d certainly been derailed out in the yard. Not that a sexy woman had ever done that before. Using a hanger, he picked up a shirt. Yeah, lots of blood. He dropped it back into the can. Violet’s possible guilt should have lifted a huge weight from Kade’s chest. It didn’t.
He pulled his clothes from the dryer and dressed. Violet emerged from her bedroom, just as he came out of the laundry room, in a white tank top and black pants, her clean hair slick and combed back. She hardly looked at him, shifting her gaze away. He couldn’t decipher her expression, but he guessed a little wary, a lot guilty. A slight flush of embarrassment, and…heat. Damn, she’d been so responsive. So hungry for touch, for release.
And hell, you were the same way. Instead of stepping back, you had your tongue in her mouth and your fingers in her warm, wet—
Focus, Kavanaugh! “Care to explain the bloody clothes in the laundry room?”
Her face paled, but she did meet his gaze. “Arlo’s blood. That’s what I was wearing when I found him.”
“Sorry. It’s a habit to question signs of bloodshed.” Now he felt relief. Oh, boy.
He had to stop this heat between them, here and now. He wasn’t weak like his father. He wouldn’t go down that foolhardy path, placing a woman above his duty and the greater good. They didn’t even like each other. Well, parts of his body had liked her very much. His hands had enjoyed her, too, and his tongue…
He gave his head a small shake. But that wasn’t the point. She reminded him that he was more than a robotic soldier. He’d done edgy things based on his gut, and he’d always succeeded. Sure, he’d caught hell for breaking the rules, but he’d never been wrong.
And killing Violet Castanega would be very wrong.
“You’re thinking about what happened out there, aren’t you?” she asked.
Yeah, let’s go with that. “It was pretty—”
She put her finger over his mouth. “Don’t say ‘amazing.’ That can never happen again. You know that, right?”
He nodded. But what he really wanted to do was suck that finger into his mouth. Fortunately she pulled it away before he could again give in to dangerous impulses.
She stepped back and waved for him to follow her. “I’ll show you what I have.”
I’ve already seen it, babe, and it is amazing. But she meant evidence. Down, boy. He didn’t need for her to see his growing erection, one he shouldn’t be having in the first place. Evidence. Murders. Get on board.
He cataloged her home, small, but clean and uncluttered. There was nothing overly feminine, but it had a softness to the colors, the comfy couch, and the paintings of flower-filled courtyards in what looked like Italy.
His gaze went to a chair at a small desk in her living room, and he made a beeline over to examine the envelope-flap-shaped back of it with his hands. “You have an Arne Jacobsen Series 7.” He flipped it over and looked at the bottom. “Made by Fritz Hansen in the sixties.”
She observed him with the nonplussed expression one might have if he’d opened her fridge and helped himself to a beer. “It’s a chair. From a thrift sale.”
He scoffed. “A chair. It’s a classic. I have a 1966 Swan in my formal living room. That’s a sofa to the uninitiated.” She was clearly uninitiated in the realm of vintage furniture. He rose and waved his fingers in the direction she’d been going in. “Carry on.”
She pushed the door open and passed a cluttered desk. Bins marked Bills and Invoices contained a few slips of paper; the Processed, Now File bin was nearly filled. Sketches of what he thought were jewelry designs covered a drafting board. Beautiful designs, including a dragon with its tail wrapped around a gemstone.
He had a hard time reconciling all the aspects of Violet Castanega. Dragon. Entrepreneur. Vulnerable woman. Dismissed, yet proud enough to keep her chin up as she’d left Headquarters. No tail between her legs, this one. How many other sides did she possess?
Well, that sensual creature who’d gotten him totally hot was an interesting one.
She led him to a map of South Florida on the wall. On it she’d outlined the different clan territories in blue. Her wet hair hung to her mid-back, lea
ving a damp spot on her tank top. She had a long, lean torso, slim hips, and that nice ass that had felt so damned…amazing beneath his hands. He bet she’d look great in a bikini, sitting on the deck of his boat…
She pointed to the squares just south of Florida City and Homestead. Each square had a family name with which he was familiar. Her map also sported tacks, though not as many as Ferro’s.
“Your commander knows about the murders,” she said.
“Apparently. But this is the first I’ve heard about them.” Was another Vega assigned to investigate? Then why was he dispatched to take out Violet? It didn’t make sense. “I’m never privy to any case but the one I’m assigned to.”
She contemplated that, maybe the kind of cases those might be. Like killing people. “So the Guard knows but isn’t doing a damned thing about it.”
“Historically, we’ve not been especially welcome here.”
Her expression softened. “True. So they’re sitting back and watching us wipe each other out. Nice.”
Population control. He’d heard that term more than once, and now it seemed despicable.
She turned back to the map. “This was where the first murder occurred.”
“Hence, the number one next to it. Clever.”
She shot him an exasperated look. “I know I need to keep it simple for you Vegas.”
He snorted, because that was usually the Crescent sentiment when discussing the Fringers. And while he’d seen plenty of them with nary a lick of sense, Violet had been well educated. She might have been an alligator wrestling champion—and he believed it—but she used words like summarily dismissed. She wasn’t dumb marsh trash.
“As long as you don’t go any higher than eleven, I’m fine.” That earned him a smile, brief though it was. Holy hell, the sight of it, white, even teeth and faint dimples at her cheeks…He focused on the map again.
“How familiar are you with the Fringe clans?” she asked.
“Somewhat.”
“There have been three murders, unprovoked as far as I can tell. And three retaliatory murders. So here’s the thing: if I wanted to start a war in the Fringe, I would stir up trouble between the families who hate each other most. The Augusts found a handkerchief belonging to one of the Spearses’ boys. Bobby wasn’t the brightest bulb, but he was generally a good kid. So if he decided for whatever reason to sneak onto August property and kill the matriarch, why the hell would he leave evidence behind?”
“I could never pretend to understand how things work here. But yeah, it would make sense that he’d be very, very careful.”
“Ferro’s map had red pins roughly where each of the murders happened. It also had some yellow pins. What does yellow stand for?”
He had to be careful about giving away anything civilian Crescents shouldn’t know. “Could be a number of things, including possible targets. Years ago, we worked a serial killer case, a Deuce who was targeting flimflam psychics. We mapped out the victims with red pins and every Mundane psychic in Miami who might be a potential victim with a yellow pin. Then we looked for a pattern.”
She stared at the map, chewing the tip of her finger. “So if that’s what your commander is doing, then he is on the case. Which should make me feel better.” She turned to him. “But it doesn’t. Granted, I’m not a commander of the Guard, but if I had someone in my office who could offer me more information—inside information—I wouldn’t dismiss her. Or suggest, of all stupid things, that it’s solar storm disruptions. I’d listen.”
Yeah, that’s what bugged him, too. Not to mention the seemingly impulsive command to take her out of the picture. “Agreed. But I’ve learned over the years that things aren’t always what they seem. You have to trust the establishment.”
She grunted and turned back to the map. “If that works for you. I didn’t get to see his map long enough to imprint where the yellow pins were.”
“Imprint?”
“Photographic memory.” She tapped the upper right territory. “I think there was one in August land. Which makes sense, if he guesses that the Spearses would suspect the Augusts in Bobby’s death. But here’s the other strange thing. Okay, maybe there’s trouble between the clans. But look how many clans are involved.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying the map. “I think there was a yellow pin here, in Slade territory. Why would Ferro consider them a potential target? Though I think all the clans have had beefs with each other at one time or another, there’s no reason for him to think the Slades will be targeted by any of the families already involved.” She turned to Kade. “Unless he knows something.”
Ferro knew something all right. “You’re speculating that someone is purposely stirring up the clans. Inciting a war. Let’s look at possible motives.”
Kade saw something flicker in her eyes. Hope? Relief that someone was taking her seriously? The more she told him, the more he was taking it seriously. The details didn’t add up. His gut didn’t like the tidiness of “population control” and “Fringer” lawlessness. He didn’t see how assassinating this woman would prevent additional murders.
It seemed to take some effort to pull her gaze from his and turn back to the map. “The victims are being Breathed,” she said. “So it could be to gain power, plain and simple. But why target Fringe clans rather than the more anonymous Miami Crescent population? That would be stupid. And despite popular opinion, we’re not stupid. Getting rid of the competition businesswise could be a motive. Or maybe it’s a need for conflict. Some Fringers crave that. They grew up during a time of conflict, and some of them miss it—my brothers included. But they’d never incite war. They’re all too aware of how many innocent people die in the crossfire. Children,” she added with shadows in her eyes. “Do I have a case?”
“Definitely. I’m going back to find out what’s going on.”
“I don’t want you to think that what happened outside was some kind of persuasion technique.” She cleared her throat. “Just in case you wondered.”
“You didn’t need to persuade me,” he said, letting her know with his steady gaze that he meant that both ways. “But it was very unprofessional of me to, uh, indulge in that kind of behavior. Which I have never done before. Just in case you wondered.”
Her mouth started to curve into a smile, but she halted it. “Good to know. And we’re clear that it cannot happen again.”
“Perfectly.” Hell, this was complicated enough without his raging libido. He turned and headed down her hallway, a plan formulating in his mind that would salvage his career and keep Violet alive. Kade would convince Ferro that this woman wasn’t a psychopathic killer. Then, if he did have incriminating evidence to support his claim, he’d have to come clean.
“Vee!” A man’s voice outside. “We’re coming in.”
Hands shoved Kade from behind into the room on the right. She closed the door on him just as the front door opened.
“What’s up, brothers?” Violet asked, letting him know who was there.
If they knew he was in there, they’d go after him. Not that Kade could blame them. There were guys he would want to kill if he caught them in his sister’s house. He rubbed his fingers together. He might have one more taser in him, but not two.
“That’s what we came here to ask,” one of the men said.
“You said you’d give me two days.”
“I said one day,” the same man said. “You said two days, and I didn’t disagree. But knowing that son of a bitch who killed Arlo is out there burns my ass.”
“Mine, too, but we don’t know for sure who killed him. That’s what I’m trying to find out. Someone’s trying to incite the clan wars again. Come here.”
Kade heard their footsteps going down the hall to the office. He pictured the layout of the house and hallway. If he slipped out, there was a chance he’d get caught. He peered out the window. A truck sat outside, someone inside it. Okay, he’d wait it out.
He looked around her bedroom, more feminine than the rest of
the house. It reminded him of a margarita, crisp with light yellow walls and dark wood beam ceilings. Yeah, a margarita sounded real good right about now. While on his boat. Far away. With Violet in a bikini stretched out on the deck.
He took in the green spread adorning her bed, covered with an assortment of yellow pillows. Ah, this wasn’t such a bad place to be. Other than the murderous Dragons down the hall. Chiding himself for being nosy—no, he was investigating—he continued to peruse her room.
She had an assortment of framed pictures on her long dresser, mostly her family. He picked up one of Violet with her parents. He knew her father had been killed, and it hit him that both their fathers had died under mysterious circumstances. Hers had been on Garza property, though he didn’t appear to be poaching or doing anything wrong. Fringe-style, he’d been gunned down by a paranoid Garza. That was why the Castanegas had gone on a rampage, wiping out what was left of the clan.
He opened her drawers, finding one filled with panties made of strings and bras of various colors. He felt beneath the lace and silk but found no incriminating evidence. He closed it, trying not to imagine her wearing them. On his boat. Or not wearing them. On his boat. He already knew what her body looked like, felt like. How her eyes flashed when she came apart. Shit.
Other drawers contained the work clothing he’d seen her in before: old, tattered jeans, practical T-shirts, and the baggy kind of sun-blocking shirt he wore when he took the boat out in the heat of day. Her closet was jammed with dress pants and other business attire, as well as some intriguing things tucked in the back: tight black pants, a deep red shirt cut low enough to reveal cleavage, and a few short dresses. Less intriguing but interesting all the same, a little girl’s dress hung in the back, separated by several inches on either side.
Voices filled the hallway. He moved away from the closet into the center of the room, ready in case one of them had caught his scent. Some Dragons did that better in human form than others. His dagger tingled, ready to materialize.
