Live a Little!

by Nancy Warren

  A bucket of cold water couldn’t have doused her libido faster. “Oh.” She glanced down at her chest. “It’s really not all that exciting.”

  His voice teased. “Looks pretty good from here.”

  “That’s a marvel of modern engineering and underwire. Uncomfortable, too.”

  “Then, as a humanitarian gesture, I think we should release you. I can’t enjoy myself knowing you’re uncomfortable.”

  “It’s just so bright in here,” she whispered.

  “Why don’t we adjourn to the bedroom?” He kissed the back of her exposed neck, and even that simple little caress shivered along all her sex-starved nerve endings.

  “No. Really, I can’t—”

  “Hey, I’m the one being seduced. Don’t I get a say? I’d feel a lot more comfortable in a bed.” He shot her a sideways glance. “With the lights off.”

  Relief scudded through her. “You would?”

  “Absolutely. It’s more, um…well, I just would.”

  She didn’t really believe him. But there was a telltale bulge in his pants that suggested something was going right in her sex life for a change. “Okay.”

  “Get ready in the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

  She nodded agreement and slipped into her en suite bathroom. What exactly had he meant by “get ready?” She was on the Pill, but she’d still expect him to use a condom.

  She brushed her teeth. Then flossed. She popped two vitamin B stress tabs to calm her nerves. Was she supposed to get undressed? It would save all that embarrassing fumbling later. Ooh, but what if it wasn’t dark when she left the bathroom? She slipped out of her jacket and skirt and the fancy stockings, leaving just her bra and panties on, then took a deep breath, switched off the bathroom light and opened the door.

  He hadn’t been kidding about liking things dark. Her bedroom was pitch-black. Eerily so. The curtains were drawn, the door closed. She couldn’t see a thing.

  She knew he was there, though. She could feel him. Sense him through her pores, taste him in the air around her. “Jake?”

  From out of the darkness a hand brushed her naked belly, and she sucked in her breath, startled.

  He stroked her belly, her side, traced her breasts through the lacy bra, then snapped open the front closure. Everything inside her came alert, each nerve ending vying for his attention. She felt each separate pad of each separate finger as he stroked and caressed her exposed breasts.

  Only his fingertips touched her. Nothing else. Not his mouth. Especially not his mouth. And she wanted his mouth on hers so badly she could taste it. Each time she took a step toward where she thought he was, she met empty air. When she raised her arms, he put them back at her sides.

  “I thought I was seducing you,” she groaned.

  “You did.” His voice was a husky whisper. “You do.”

  Those clever fingers stripped her of her bra and panties, and she barely noticed. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the bed, placing her on her back.

  And, at last, he kissed her. Taking firm possession of her mouth with his lips and tongue, delving deep until she was mindless with the pleasure of it. He took her wrists in his hands and lifted them over her head. She felt glorious, as though she could fly on those wide-stretched arms.

  Somewhere, dimly, she was aware of the cold shock of metal on the heated flesh of her wrists, but he was kissing her so fiercely she couldn’t concentrate on this new sensation. Not until she heard the ominous tinny snap did she realize what he’d done.

  “No!” she cried, pulling frantically, but she was handcuffed securely to the bed. And bitterly did she know how helpless she was. “Jake! Let me go.”

  There was no other answer than the shifting of bedsprings as he left the bed.

  Next she heard the scrape of a match being lit. She followed the tiny bobbing flame of the match as he lit one candle, then another. She recognized her emergency candle stash, and soon flickering candles added a luminescent glow to the room, and to the man in possession of it—and her.

  She glared at him. “You read the magazine.”

  He bent to light another candle on her bedside table. He glanced at her and she saw twin candle flames like devil lights reflected in his eyes. “Yep. Personally, my favorite fantasy was ‘Servant Girl Washing her Master’s Plinth.’ But you’d highlighted ‘Helpless Virgin Ravaged by a Dark Dangerous Stranger’ in yellow marker, so I figured it turned your crank.”

  “You were wrong.”

  “Are you sure?” His voice sent a shiver over her flesh.

  “Yes.” She might be helpless, but she’d be damned if she’d be intimidated.

  “Well, you’re certainly helpless, and since I’m a gentleman, I’m going to assume you’re a virgin. But, just so it doesn’t get too frightening, I’m going to tell you in advance what I’m going to do, every step of the way.”

  “Couldn’t you just let me go?”

  He shook his head. “Not until I’ve ravished you.”

  Politically correct this wasn’t. But the thrill that shot through her was visceral. He might act the part of the fierce stranger, but she was sure he’d never really hurt or frighten her. Well, pretty sure.

  “Now, I’ve gone easy on you, seeing it’s your first time. Your legs aren’t shackled. But you give me one little bit of trouble and you’ll be spread-eagled. Understand?”

  She gulped. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “First thing I’m going to do is touch those pretty breasts of yours.” He moved toward her as he spoke, still dressed in his jeans, bare chest glowing in candlelight. “I’ll probably play with the nipples quite a bit, too.” At his words, her breasts, and most of all, her nipples, began to throb, longing for his touch, and she felt an echoing throb between her legs.

  He put his big, capable hands on her breasts, cupping and kneading the flesh, then pulling on her nipples until she gasped. “I’m going to put my mouth there now,” he told her softly. “I’ll be using my teeth on those little cherries, so brace yourself.”

  She moaned. It was as though each caress came twice. When he told her what he was going to do to her, her imagination played it through, while the part of her body he described ached and tingled in anticipation. Then, when he actually touched her, the excitement was almost more than she could bear.

  Everything from the palms of her shackled hands to the toes of her feet was subjected to this double caress. Everything except the desperately aching core of her.

  She was almost sobbing with need when he stood back, stripped off his jeans and slipped on a condom. The sight of that proudly jutting manhood was too much for her self-control. She whimpered, and the handcuffs rattled against the mahogany four-poster.

  He smirked. “Don’t be frightened,” he soothed, knowing damn well she wasn’t scared. “I’ll go slowly and try not to hurt you.”

  “Not slowly, no. Please.”

  “I understand you want to get this over with. But taking a man into your body can be painful the first time. Now, I want you to spread your legs open for me so I can see if you’re ready to take me yet.”

  And she did it. Lord help her, she parted her legs for him eagerly, and watched as well as felt him settle himself at the bottom of the bed and just look.

  He was so close his breath stirred the damp curls. She was heavy and swollen with desire, too wired to be embarrassed at the intimate way he stared at her. With his index finger he traced her opening and she hissed in her breath. “I’m going to put just this one finger inside you, to see if you’re ready.”

  She would have kicked him upside the head if she wasn’t certain he’d tease her for hours more if she did. Instead, she watched in agonized frustration as he slipped a finger slowly inside her. Unable to help herself, she cried out and bucked against his hand.

  The finger was gone in an instant, and with more phony concern he said, “I’m sorry, honey. I guess I hurt you.”

  “No. No!”

  “Shh. I know I hurt you. I’ll ki
ss it better.”

  Then he touched his tongue to her. Right on that needy little button of pure sensation.

  Her head fell back and she cried out as she began to shudder. She closed her eyes and saw stars. Her very blood seemed to sparkle as he played his tongue over and over her most sensitive part, sending her at long last soaring into the light.

  Maybe the game was over, or maybe he’d forgotten the rules, but he didn’t tell her what he was going to do this time, just rose above her and plunged. She was still shuddering on the tail end of her climax when he thrust into her, stretching her body and filling her as no one ever had.

  “You’re so tight, so soft, so sweet,” he murmured, holding her head in his hands and staring into her eyes as he began to move inside her, long steady thrusts that built her up again toward that impossibly high peak. With her arms cuffed, she could only use her legs to wrap herself around him, arching up even as he thrust down, and this time when she flew off that mountaintop, she wasn’t alone.

  Hours later, Jake woke suddenly, his well-developed senses warning him of danger. Instinctively he reached for the Sig 9mm under his pillow, but his hand wouldn’t move. He jerked awake to the sounds of metal clinking against wood, and soft, feminine laughter.

  This time, he was the one handcuffed to the bed.

  “If you’re very good, we might get to ‘Concubine Washing her Master’s Plinth,’” Cynthia promised. “Eventually…”

  He groaned. His plan to make Cyn quit her job had backfired. Resoundingly. He’d have to think up a new plan.

  But her tongue was drawing patterns on his chest, which made it difficult to plan. Then her mouth traveled lower, until thought was completely out of the question.

  6

  “WHAT ARE YOU LOOKIN’ SO happy about? Get laid last night?” Eddie from the loading dock shuffled past Cynthia in the corridor, a bleary-eyed leer on his face.

  “What kind of—” She stopped herself in the middle of a self-righteous rant, remembering Cyn would have those kind of earth-shattering experiences practically every night and not feel a bit embarrassed by her smug morning-after smile. She changed her tone to sultry, and threw in a little laugh. “What kind of girl kisses and tells?” She winked at Eddie and watched his complexion go even ruddier. Really, she was getting pretty good at this sexy stuff.

  “Mornin’, Mr. Percivald,” he said as he shuffled on by.

  “Good morning, Eddie.” Neville Percivald’s voice came from just behind her. She felt herself blush. Darn it, how much had he heard?

  “Good morning, Cynthia.”

  She was forced to turn around, hoping she hadn’t shocked him. He didn’t seem shocked, though. He looked…interested.

  She didn’t want Neville interested in her sex life.

  Last night, Cynthia Baxter had discovered she could have sex so mind-bogglingly fantastic she giggled every time she thought about it. She wanted to hold that special knowledge to herself, not bring it to the office with her.

  She’d had so little sleep last night, she should be exhausted this morning, but instead she felt invigorated. Empowered was a favorite word in those self-help books she’d been reading, and that was how she felt this morning. Empowered. She could do anything today!

  Which reminded her. She had work to do, important undercover work, and following Jake’s rules about doing nothing but her job hadn’t helped her get any closer to discovering whether Oceanic was involved in drug smuggling, and if so, how.

  Maybe it was time to use that newfound empowerment. Take a bit of a risk and see what she could find.

  Today she could risk anything, do anything. She was Cyn the Bold! And she’d been bold last night in bed—bold in a way that should have made her blush this morning. Instead she felt a warm, sexy and invigorating glow.

  She smiled to herself. Having a man like Jake helpless beneath her and literally begging was the best kind of empowerment a woman could find. She could probably get a Ph.D. on the subject.

  Which would involve finding a pretty broad-minded university. Perhaps she’d be better off continuing her research in private, her dissertation fit for nobody’s ears but Jake’s. Perhaps, instead of the traditional thesis, she could do more of a one-on-one, performance-art kind of thing. She licked her lips as scenarios filled her mind.

  She found herself back at her desk, her coffee mug still empty. How had she managed to walk to the coffee room and forget the coffee? Apart from her empty coffee mug, there was nothing more exciting on her desk than a routine stack of packing slips. She glanced at the first one. It was for another load of chopsticks.

  Oceanic seemed to be bringing in an awful lot of chopsticks, she thought idly, as she flicked through a stack of paper. She stopped and picked up a pencil, tapping the eraser end against her desktop.

  According to the documentation, these chopsticks had also come from Colombia. Excitement stirred in her belly. Were the drug cartels eating a lot of chop suey these days?

  The same boat had also shipped a large order of coffee. Her eyes widened in excitement. Jake had mentioned the practice of smuggling cocaine inside sacks of coffee, so the overpowering fragrance of coffee beans hid the smell of drugs from the dogs.

  She glanced up at the Grand Prix racing poster her predecessor had left behind, knowing she didn’t fit in at this company any more than that poster fit in her office. She had to take a more active role in this investigation or she’d be weeping from boredom. She stretched her legs out in front of her and admired the brand-new, strappy black heels. They were the most frivolous and expensive shoes she’d ever owned. She loved them. A woman in shoes like these didn’t worry about stepping out of the box.

  She rose.

  A woman in shoes like these made her own rules.

  She walked down the corridor and through the double fire doors into the warehouse. As she’d hoped, the guys were already moving the boxes, sacks and crates from the loading dock into the warehouse. She tripped up to Eddie, who was supervising a grunting, sweating crew, and gave him her best smile. She leaned against the wall of coffee sacks they were building.

  “Hey, Cyn,” Eddie greeted her.

  “Eddie, I don’t know what to get Marilyn for a shower present. I’ve seen you two together a few times, so wondered if you might have some ideas?”

  “Present for Marilyn. Hmm.” Eddie leaned beside her, his freckled arms crossed over his massive chest. Damp sweat rings circled his underarms.

  While he pondered, and it wasn’t a quick process, she began digging and twisting her brand-new, very expensive, pencil-thin heel into a burlap sack, trying to tear a hole big enough for the beans, and whatever else was in the sack, to come spilling out. It broke her heart to damage her brand-new shoes, but she was willing to make the odd personal sacrifice if she was going to help the FBI.

  Trouble was, when she’d thought up this maneuver she hadn’t taken into account how tough burlap was.

  “A tablecloth could be good,” Eddie said.

  “Do you know how big their table is?” She stabbed her heel harder, trying not to grunt.

  “No.” His attention was caught by the forklift, which held a pallet of coffee sacks poised in midair, one lone sack teetering at the edge. “Watch what you’re doin’,” he shouted, just as the sack toppled off and crashed to the ground.

  Cynthia beamed with delight as it exploded on contact, sending coffee bouncing and flying until the floor was thick with fragrant black beans.

  Eddie and Cyn both rushed forward, but Eddie’s feet slipped out from under him as if he were a man walking on ball bearings, and he landed on his butt with an oath.

  By planting those thin heels of hers, Cyn managed to reach the burlap sack first. Pretending to stumble, she upended it until the last bean had bounced to the cement. She felt like stamping her stiletto heels in frustration when no incriminating packages tumbled to the floor.

  There was nothing there but coffee.

  After helping Eddie to his feet, she said
, “I guess I picked a bad time to ask about wedding presents. I’ll catch you later,” and with a cheerful wave she returned to her office. Her mug was still empty, but she’d lost the taste for coffee.

  If the drugs weren’t in the coffee, they had to be hidden in the crates of chopsticks. As she reconciled invoices and drudged away with columns of numbers, a plan began to form in her head. As Jake was so fond of reminding her, she wasn’t a real FBI agent, she was a volunteer. And volunteers didn’t have to follow the same rules and regulations as real agents. In fact, as far as she was concerned, they didn’t have to follow any rules but their own.

  She was going to check out those “chopsticks.”

  “Are you free for lunch today, Cynthia?” Agnes asked just before noon. The two women had become friendly and Cyn hated to turn her down, but she had no choice.

  “I’m sorry, Agnes. I’ve got some errands to run today.”

  “I understand,” the bookkeeper said in the resigned tone of one who is used to rejection. Guilt smote Cynthia.

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “All right, I—”

  “Oh, no. Wait. I’m getting my hair colored at lunch.”

  “You’re so brave.” Agnes sighed enviously. “I wish I had the courage to color my hair. It’s always been mouse-brown, and now it’s mouse-gray.”

  “My true color is mouse, too. Come with me. It’ll be fun.” Really, Agnes was such a nice lady, it would be a pleasure to get her started in the right direction.

  “I couldn’t come back to work after lunch with a different color…” She patted her hair, with such a wistful expression on her face, Cyn had to smile.

  “Tell you what. I’ll change my appointment and we’ll go together Saturday morning. Then you’ll have the whole weekend to get used to the new you.” She thought about suggesting they go clothes shopping afterward, but she was probably pushing it to get Agnes to agree to the hair.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that.” Agnes turned with a half eager, half fearful smile. “Do you think I should?”