Always Look Twice

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  West finally arrived. Olivia opened the front door for him, and Samantha raced into the living room, meowing nervously at his feet.

  He set his briefcase on the floor and scooped up the shivering cat, stroking her fur. Then he gazed at Olivia, snaring her with those gunmetal eyes.

  “What am I going to do with you?” he asked.

  She frowned at him. “This wasn’t my fault.”

  He set Samantha down, soothing her with one last stroke. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  They entered Allie’s room and Kyle took one look at West and cursed at Olivia. “He’s that FBI dude, isn’t he? You called a frigging fibbie.”

  The special agent told Kyle to shut up.

  From there, West washed his hands in Allie’s bathroom and began treating the wound. He worked diligently, letting everyone know that the injured party would live. Kyle squinted from time to time, looking past the agent to glare at Olivia.

  She glared back at him. At least the “FBI dude” wouldn’t report it. He would keep their secret.

  “What the hell were you doing here?” West asked him.

  “Training Addle-brain.” Kyle expanded his muscular chest, trying to look macho, in spite of being confined to a frilly pink bed. “Surprise attack.”

  West continued his medical ministrations. “Addle-brain?”

  “Allie.” Kyle grinned, finally relaxing in the G-man’s presence. “I used a fog machine to make the place seem witchy. I scared the crap out of Addle-brain. Liv, too.”

  “Liv,” West mused, then glanced over his shoulder at her.

  She shrugged, trying to seem unaffected by those piercing gray eyes. But she couldn’t quite pull it off.

  An hour later things were back to normal. Or as normal as the situation would allow. Allie’s room had been swept, the bedding changed, the blood droplets on the area rug scrubbed clean. Kyle settled in on the couch, with his leg properly bandaged and the TV remote control at his disposal. Olivia invited West to sleep in her room, where they prepared to retire for the night.

  “I’m beat,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “No kidding?” He shook his head. “You get kicked by a satyr in the afternoon, then shoot an old lover at night.”

  “Sometimes Kyle is an imbecile.”

  “Then why did you date him?”

  “He taught me how to fight. And he’s got a big—” she paused, saw West raise his eyebrows at her “—heart. He’s been a good friend.”

  He moved closer. “Are you sure you want me to stay?”

  “Positive.” She removed the torn nightgown, changing into a lighter-colored one, knowing the see-through fabric would catch his eye. “I’m going to seduce you tomorrow.”

  He roamed his gaze over her. “That’s cheating.”

  “What is? Making you wait?”

  “Teasing me with the goods. You look hot.”

  “You think?” She modeled the slinky garment, turning so he could see every angle, the sheer fabric flowing like a transparent waterfall. When she reached underneath and removed her panties, he lost his breath.

  “Now I have a hard-on.”

  She tossed the lacy thong at him. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

  He caught her underwear. “Easy for you to say.”

  She smiled and coaxed him onto the bed, so she could discard his shirt, so he could hold her, so she could sleep in the refuge of his arms and listen to his heartbeat.

  Something was wrong. Still groggy, Ian opened his eyes and tried to leap out of bed, but his arms wouldn’t move.

  Someone had handcuffed him to the slats on the headboard.

  Someone?

  Olivia had done this. He frowned, rattled the cuffs, then cursed at the absurdity of his situation.

  He’d remained awake most of the night, spooning with Olivia, breathing in the fragrance of her hair, holding her, wanting her. Finally he’d crashed hard, falling asleep in his jeans, with her panties in his pocket, a trophy that had aroused him beyond reason.

  And now he was at her mercy. She’d unzipped his pants and tugged them down a little, leaving his boxers exposed to her bad-girl whim.

  But Ian was far from amused.

  A woman shouldn’t dominate a man, at least not to this degree. He deserved to keep his pride, to be seduced on his own terms.

  When she entered the room in her see-through silvery nightgown, he snapped to attention. Armed with a victorious smile, she carried a plate of food.

  He had to hand it to her. She’d managed to lock him up without him even knowing it, and probably with his own cuffs. He’d left them in his briefcase last night.

  “You’ve been parading around the house like that?” he asked.

  “No one is here except us. Kyle went home, and my sister had a class this morning.” She sat on the edge of the bed and showed him the food: pancakes smothered in syrup, strips of bacon, diced fruit.

  He gave her a curious stare, trying to predict her next move. “Why did you fix breakfast?”

  “So I can feed you.” She cut into the pancakes and held the fork out to him.

  He refused the offering. He wasn’t about to let her humiliate him. He wasn’t a baby. He could feed himself. “Take these damn things off.”

  “You don’t like your punishment?”

  “Punishment?” he parroted.

  “For using those cuffs on me in the biker bar.”

  “So that’s what this is all about?”

  She dipped a strawberry in the syrup and licked it. Her lips were as ripe as the fruit, glossed in a crimson color. “Yep.”

  He frowned, wondering why she was wearing lipstick first thing in the morning. “Okay, fine. You’ve had your fun. Now let me go.”

  “The big bad agent.” She ate the strawberry, sinking her teeth into it. “I just might have to pour some syrup over you.”

  His cock nearly jumped out of his fly. “That isn’t funny.”

  “You’re getting turned on.”

  “I am not.”

  “Liar.” She reached into the pocket of his jeans, aware of the trophy he’d hidden. “You slept with my panties last night. That’s kinky, West.” She leaned over to kiss him, to slip her tongue into his mouth, to drive him half-mad.

  When she tunneled her hands through his hair, he yearned for more, recalling every forbidden thing he’d ever dared to dream.

  Including his obsession with her panties.

  She pulled back, and he gazed at her, trapped in a web of heat, a tangle of heaven-help-me emotion. For a second, for one masochistic moment, he considered fighting the handcuffs. For the pleasure of trying to grab her, he thought. For the pain of not being able to succeed. But this was her game, her seduction, and suddenly he was willing to play by her rules.

  This time, when she offered him a forkful of pancakes, he took it, chewing, swallowing, tasting his own desire. She ate, as well, alternating bites between them.

  They didn’t speak. They didn’t say a word. They just put their mouths on the same fork, using it like a weapon, a sexual tool between soon-to-be lovers.

  After the food was gone, his blood rushed to his groin. He knew what came next.

  She turned the plate on its side and drizzled maple syrup over his chest, letting it trail down his stomach, marking a path to the waistband of his boxers and the unfastened jeans slung low on his hips.

  He all but groaned.

  She crawled onto the bed and tasted his skin, starting with his nipples. Her nightgown brushed his body, tickling him, sticking to the syrup.

  Ian wondered if he could con her into marrying him. Just for the sex. Just for wild, wicked mornings like this.

  After she undressed him, he opened his legs, hoping, praying…

  Yes.

  He gulped the air that rushed out of his lungs. She went down on him in one fell swoop, that luscious mouth sucking with feminine force.

  She didn’t mess around. She went for it. All of it, taking as much as she co
uld, using her hands and her throat.

  Lost in the feeling, he lifted his hips. “I’m going to propose to you.”

  She looked up, laughed, then rubbed her face all over him, branding him with her lipstick. Now he knew why she’d worn it.

  “You think I’m kidding?” He decided, right then and there, that Olivia Whirlwind was meant to be his wife.

  This was the best blow job he’d ever had.

  She took him in her mouth again, teasing every inch. He started planning their honeymoon: a bottle of Tequila, a warm ocean breeze, oral pleasure for the rest of his—

  She clawed his thighs, and he shivered.

  —life. The rest of his I-need-this-woman life.

  “Say you’ll marry me.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  His pulse pounded between his legs. “Just say it.”

  She flicked her tongue over the tip. “No.”

  “Please.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “It’ll make me come.”

  “So will this.” Her next bout of fellatio was so fast, so rhythmic, he didn’t have a choice.

  He ejaculated, hard and quick and liquid hot.

  He threw back his head and closed his eyes. Olivia remained there, letting him enjoy the warmth of her mouth, the intoxication of oral sex.

  Finally, she peeled off her nightgown and lay on top of him, her nakedness pressed to his. He longed to hold her, but his wrists were still locked to the headboard.

  She nuzzled his neck, breathing softly against his skin. She was sleek and warm and fragrant. Maple syrup and jasmine perfume. No wonder he fantasized about keeping her.

  “Are you going to let me do that to you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “How soon?”

  She snuggled even closer. “You’re impatient, Agent West.”

  “Ian. When we’re in bed, you can call me Ian.”

  She kissed him, and she decided that she liked his name, the English, Scottish and Muscogee roots that made him who he was.

  As sunlight dappled the bed, bathing it in rainbow hues, her heart thumped against his.

  “Now,” she said, lifting her head.

  He smiled. He knew what she meant.

  She didn’t remove the handcuffs. Instead she knelt over his face, bold and beautiful, offering herself to him.

  He looked up, anxious to arouse her, to give her everything she’d given him.

  Everything and more.

  She lowered herself onto his mouth, angling her body so he could taste her. He licked her, sweet and slow, making her warm and wet.

  She rocked back and forth, showing him how much she liked it. She wasn’t the least bit shy, and that turned him on even more.

  Steeped in her flavor, he delved deeper, penetrating her with his tongue. She gasped and threaded her fingers through his hair, riding the wave with turbulent pleasure, clawing at his scalp, thrilling him.

  He breathed in her scent, like a wolf claiming its mate. She looked incredibly erotic with her thighs spread over his face. A dominatrix, he thought, forcing him to do wicked things.

  No wonder she wore all those bondage-inspired outfits. She got off on taking control, on bending a man to her will. Her kitten-with-a-gun will. He didn’t mind a bit.

  “Ian,” she whispered his name, and their gazes locked.

  Deep, real, intimate.

  A second later he sucked on her clit, battering her senses, making her moan. Slick and damp, she climaxed, rippling like multicolored wax, melting all over him.

  When it ended, she climbed off his face and kissed him, tongue to tongue, tasting herself, making the aftermath of her orgasm even more erotic. He blinked through the haze, through the mind-numbing effect she had on him.

  “You’re incredible.” She removed the handcuffs and set him free.

  “So are you.” He looped his arms around her, dragging her next to him, holding her tight.

  They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, for what seemed like the tenderest moment of his life.

  “I borrowed a condom from Kyle,” she said.

  Ian couldn’t help but laugh. So much for tenderness. “He brought a rubber with him last night?”

  “He always keeps protection in his wallet.”

  “Maybe he isn’t such an imbecile after all.”

  “Will you check on him in a few days? Make sure he’s healing all right.”

  “If you want me to.” He smoothed her wild hair away from her cheek, wondered if he should be jealous of her old lover. “What kind of illegal activity is he involved in?”

  “What makes you think he’s doing something illegal?”

  “Aside from him not wanting his gunshot wound reported? He called me a fibbie.”

  “The government lied to the Indians, West.”

  He frowned. “I’m not part of that government.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No.” He trailed his hand down her back, felt the area he’d bandaged yesterday, the cut the satyr had left on her skin. “I go after bad guys.”

  “Kyle isn’t a bad guy.”

  “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

  “But you’re willing to use the condom he supplied?” She held up the foil packet, letting it catch the light.

  He took it away from her. “What do you think?”

  She smiled and sank her head onto a pillow. “I think you should touch me.”

  “So do I.” He filled his hands with her breasts, mesmerized by her nipples, by the dark-brown areolas.

  She was perfect, he thought. Long and slim with golden skin. A woman who lived by her instincts, who exuded passion and beauty and a sense of vulnerability she refused to claim. He wanted to ask her about the scar on her throat, but he knew this wasn’t the time, so he caressed her instead, molding her, shaping with his hands, like an artist creating a masterpiece.

  They kissed, their mouths melding, their hearts skipping erratic beats. Heat flooded his loins, pulsing through him like a river, a current of need.

  After he slipped on the protection, he entered her, slow and sleek and deep. She embraced him, holding him close.

  He looked into her eyes and made love to her. Both of their bodies were sticky, glossed with maple syrup, with the sheen of foreplay.

  Ian stroked her, the motion as slick and sweet as the sounds she made. The naughty little whispers. The girlish moans.

  For now, the dominatrix was his.

  He buried his face against her scar and tasted her skin.

  All his.

  Chapter 12

  Olivia and West relaxed, drinking sparkling cider from champagne glasses and listening to indigenous music. While incense sweetened the air, they faced each other in a claw-footed bathtub, an old-fashioned luxury that had drawn Olivia to the loft.

  The loft Glenn owned.

  “What’s wrong?” West asked.

  “Nothing.” She sipped her cider, allowing the bubbles to tickle her throat.

  “You always do that. You say ‘nothing,’ even though something is bothering you.”

  Did he have to be so observant? Did he have to trap her with those crystalline eyes? “I feel strange living here. I’m concerned that Glenn might have killed my mom, yet I’m renting a home from him.”

  “Allie trusts him.”

  “I know. And that makes things even more complicated.” She stretched her legs, cautious not to bump his, to let her emotions run away with her. “I just wish this nightmare would end.”

  “It will. I promise it will.”

  Olivia sighed. West tried so hard to be her knight in shining armor, but she didn’t believe in storybook heroes. He couldn’t save her, or himself, from the darkness that loomed in the distance. She could feel it, rolling like distant thunder, waiting to crack across the sky.

  “Do you think this was meant to be?” he asked. “Or did we defy fate?”

  Sh
e tilted her head. His eyes were changing color, going from light to dark to light again. “This? You mean us?”

  He nodded. “You had a vision about us kissing, but it wasn’t even us.”

  “I have premonitions about events that are going to happen. Moon didn’t plant that vision.”

  “No, but he conjured the clone you were kissing.”

  She reached for a washcloth. “That doesn’t matter anymore. We’re together now.”

  They sat quietly after that, inhaling the strawberry-scented smoke that curled in the air. She squeezed the washcloth over her body, wondering if they had defied fate.

  He interrupted the silence. “Tell me about the scar on your throat.”

  Olivia looked up, caught his gaze. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Is it from a thyroidectomy?”

  “Yes, but the tumor was benign. I didn’t have cancer.” She traced the four-inch mark, slicing her finger across it. “It’s no big deal.”

  “It makes you seem vulnerable.”

  Troubled, she frowned at him. She preferred to think that the scar made her seem strong, invincible, a woman displaying a war wound. She’d had surgery the same year her dad had committed suicide. The same year she’d started collecting guns, storing them in a case until she’d summoned the courage to learn to fire them.

  “I like what it did to your voice.”

  “I know. You already told me that.”

  “So I’m telling you again. It’s sexy.”

  “The nerve that supplies my vocal chords was damaged.” Feigning indifference, she shrugged. “That’s not particularly sexy.”

  “Yes, it is. Just listening to you gets me hard.”

  “Then maybe you should go home.” She slid her foot between his legs, not quite making contact. “And I’ll call you.”

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No.” He took her into his arms. No games, no pretense, just a man who wanted her. “I’ll buy a box of condoms today. I’ll keep some in my wallet.”