Yes. Don’t stop.
He’d pump in and out in a primal rhythm that matched the thick throbbing of her blood. Lapping the sweat and water from her skin like it was liquid candy. Whispering how he’d taste the cream between her thighs and make her scream his name.
Kenna moaned, rubbing the plumped bud harder and aching to feel his thick fingers inside her, not her own.
She’d fill her lungs with his seductive manly scent as his soft hair tickled the sensitive curve of her neck. The rasp of his stubble would scrape her breast as he strongly suckled her nipple into his hot mouth. Deep enough the tip would hit the back of his throat.
The exquisite pressure of her own fingers thrusting inside her and the continual stroking of her clit pulled every internal muscle taut in anticipation. Her belly swooped and the spasms began. Water streamed down her face and into her open mouth as the detonation inside her body sent her freefalling.
Lights burst behind her lids. Blood pounded in her ears.
After the throbbing slowed, Kenna blinked the mist from her lashes. Whoa. She reluctantly removed her hand from her swollen sex, still feeling delicious little pulsing aftershocks. She squeezed her thighs together.
Stunned by the intensity of her orgasm, she fell back against the tile shower wall. Her shaking knees knocked over the shower gel, releasing the heavy aroma of gardenias.
If the real thing with Agent March was anything like her fantasies…
Geez. Talk about quick on the trigger. Hadn’t taken her very long to get off. She snorted. When did it ever?
But what if he’d walked in on her?
So? the bad girl inside her countered. Would he have just watched her pleasuring herself with those steely blue eyes? Or would he have joined in?
Not only would he have joined in, he’d have taken over.
And would she have let him?
Well duh.
Kenna shook her head to banish the erotic thoughts. Water droplets splattered against the plastic shower curtain covered in daisies.
It’d be interesting to explore this potent attraction, which seemed equally baffling to him. Was it inevitable they’d do a little mattress dancing? Probably. Still, she had no intention of spending the entire week with him. She’d do her civic duty and get him into the private party, score a couple of primo orgasms. After that, he was on his own.
Would he really toss her in jail? Or call the IRS?
Most likely.
She shouldn’t chance it. But she needed the money and would do anything to stay in school.
The water ran cold but she was slow to move, knowing he prowled in her apartment, waiting for her to emerge. The real her. No wigs. No makeup. No revealing clothes.
Why was she stalling? Afraid he’d prefer the brash, take-no-shit Kenna—who could make herself come in two minutes—to the demure, sexually repressed Kaye Anne? She climbed out of the shower, toweled dry and wiped the steam from the mirror.
For several moments she stared at her reflection.
With shaking fingertips she fluffed up the funky layers of her chin-length hair. The bronze highlights gleamed beneath the incandescent lights. She smoothed moisturizer over her face and squinted at the dark circles beneath her eyes. Definitely needed concealer. She slicked a coat of black mascara on her lashes. Better. But still nowhere near the glammed-up version Agent March had seen.
Kenna slapped on some gardenia lotion, slipped into her clothes and shoved her toiletries into her travel bag.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.
*
Drake stopped pacing around the miniscule antique dinette set the second the lock on the bathroom door clicked. He had to force himself not to run.
His size twelve feet moved pretty fast anyway. When he caught his first real glimpse of her, he skidded to a stop on the Berber carpet.
For christsake. She had freckles. Freckles!
Man. He was in so much trouble.
Kenna had propped her slim shoulder against the door jam and crossed her bare ankle in front of her other shin. Her elfin chin came up. Her eyes snapped defiance. “Well? You disappointed?”
Drake’s mouth dropped open. “Jesus. Are you kidding me?”
Her hair was about a million different shades of blonde, brown, gold and red. Sassy, just like her. As he stalked closer he noticed that without all the face paint caked on, her skin practically glowed. Her smart mouth was the color of pink roses swirled in cream.
His groin tightened when he imagined sliding his cock in and out of that mouth. Finally he focused on her eyes.
That incredible lavender gaze stared back at him. Somehow he’d known those beautiful eyes were one hundred percent hers.
His hand cupped her neck. He brought her mouth to his. He kept the kiss easy even when his every instinct screamed to show her how frantic was his need to possess her.
“You’re kissing me again,” she said breathlessly.
“I know.” A heady scent of sweet soap and warm woman lodged in his nostrils. Burned into his brain. “You smell like an exotic flower.” Between flirty kisses he herded her toward the living area. “I’ll bet you taste even better.”
“Give me a break. I thought you were here to fill me in on the details of the case before we meet up with your partners.”
Drake took a mental and a physical step back. Exhaled. “Fine. Sit down and we’ll talk.”
“You want something to drink?”
“No. Let’s get this over with.”
Kenna decided Agent March’s rapid transformation from playful to persistent was nerve wracking. “Well, I’m thirsty. Be right back.”
She snagged a bottle of lemon-flavored seltzer water and leaned against the kitchen counter to gather her thoughts.
Tick tick. Hum. The fridge kicked on. Green light glowed from the digital microwave clock.
The galley-style kitchen sparkled. She’d scrubbed black crud from the stove burner rings. The steel sink shone. The butcher-block countertop wasn’t piled with junk mail and weeks-old newspapers. She’d even tossed the rotten carrots and mystery fruit from the veggie crisper. Good thing since she wouldn’t be around for a few days.
Time to quit stalling. She pulled the garbage from underneath the sink and plopped it on the linoleum. Then she wandered back into the living room.
Drake had made himself comfortable on her chintz sofa.
She perched on the arm of the wing back chair. “So, what do you want to know?”
“The basics. Do you live alone?”
“No. I have a roommate.”
“Who? Marissa?”
“No. Shawnee Good Shield.”
He frowned. “Where is she?”
She squinted at the calendar. She had no idea when Shawnee would roll back into town. “On an archeological dig in Harding County. In the summertime she’s only here a couple days out of the month.”
“Does she know about Jerry Travis?”
“No.” Shawnee would never have let Kenna go through with it last year. And if she’d found out Marissa was behind it… She shuddered to think how Shawnee would’ve reacted.
“Anyone besides Marissa know about your escort work?”
Her nose wrinkled. “It’s not exactly escort work.”
Pause. “Well, what is it?”
“Far out of the realm of my real life and personality.”
He seemed to ponder her words as his gaze took in every nuance of her face. “What is your real life like, Kaye Anne?”
Acutely conscious of her damp hair and her face free of makeup, Kenna fought the urge to fidget. “First off. No one calls me Kaye Anne except my mother.”
He grinned slow, easy, and oh-so-sexy. “She should’ve named you Cayenne. It suits you, hot stuff.”
After the initial rush of pleasure from his flattery, she shook her head. “Wrong. Kaye is introverted and horribly bookish. Out of touch with the latest styles.”
“I don’t buy it.” His introspective gaze swept ove
r her conservative clothes. “There’s more Kenna in Kaye than you’re ready to admit.”
She glanced at the sky blue sweatpants and matching camisole, complete with tiny satin bows and lace. Boring. Her original clothing choice—a funky red and white polka-dot halter sundress complete with shiny black “fuck me” pumps—hadn’t looked boring. But she was afraid if she would’ve worn it Agent March might’ve believed she’d been dressing for him.
“I doubt the sexy number you wore earlier tonight fell from the sky.”
“It fell on the floor actually.” She smirked at his frown. “Online shopping at eBay is a godsend. Click. Five new mix and match outfits from the sexiest store around without having to stand in the glare of fluorescent lights and suffer through the attitudes of seventeen-year-old anorexic salesgirls. Plus it’s cheap.”
“So none of the leather, spike heels, low cut shirts and miniskirts are your clothing?” he asked skeptically.
Kenna smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from the velour. “Kaye bought the stuff but Kenna wears it.” Would he understand the difference between Kenna and Kaye? She enjoyed playing Kenna, even when that wasn’t who she really was.
Or was Agent March right? Was she only fooling herself?
Her gaze drifted to the row of Snow Babies figurines symmetrically lined on the top of the entertainment center. For the first time in her adult life her choice of décor embarrassed her.
The urge arose to smash those sappy, happy pieces into shattered chunks of ceramic. Replace them with some risqué sculpture of engorged bronzed man parts or naked lovers entwined in a passionate embrace.
His sexy voice broke into her violent redecorating fantasy.
“It’ll be easier if I keep calling you Kenna. No chance of mistakes that way.”
“That’s fine.” She’d been thinking of herself as Kenna for days, anyway, in order to prepare herself. She blew out an aggravated breath. “I suppose you’re ready to go.”
Drake settled his muscular arm across the back of the mauve and crème floral couch. “In a minute.”
She uncapped the bottle and drank deeply. Concentrated on the cool water rushing down her throat. When he continued staring intently, she snapped, “What?”
“You seem to know an awful lot about wigs, makeup and changing your appearance.”
Agent March remained suspicious. Big surprise. “Didn’t I tell you? I graduated from spy school. Same class as Sidney Bristow. Except she always got the hottest clothes.”
He didn’t crack a smile.
“Geez. Lighten up. I was kidding. My first foray into higher education was beauty school. At the Mystique Edge I learned the tricks of the trade.”
“You still cutting hair?”
“Sometimes. Mostly for friends. On weekends I work at a couple of retirement homes, styling hair for little blue-haired ladies. Pays for my groceries.”
His eyes moved over her, lingered on her unstyled hair and bare face. “Although you’re hot as hell as a brunette and a redhead, I have to admit I like the way you look now the best.”
She couldn’t help it; she blushed. She didn’t believe him for a second, though. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Drake’s nostrils flared, and he leaned forward, as if hoping to catch a whiff of her scent. “Damn if you don’t smell sweet.”
“I’m not very sweet-smelling when I’m out in the field. Not many showers at the sites.”
His lips twitched. “Geology seems an odd choice.”
“Not when you consider I’d gotten sick of being on my feet all day. Sick of the stink of permanent solution. Sick of the never-satisfied customers and the itty bitty paycheck.”
“But why geology?”
“I dated a geological engineer for a while. Found out I had rocks in my head where he was concerned.”
He laughed.
“Fell in love with geology instead of him. I still won’t get rich, but my employment prospects are better.” She scowled at the water bottle she’d inadvertently crushed in her hands. “Provided I actually come up with the tuition to finish my degree.”
Drake shifted. He settled his strong forearms on his knees. “I told you I’d pay you.”
“I know.” Her gaze strayed to the quartz clock nestled between a set of blue geode bookends. “But that doesn’t mean I believe you.”
“Me specifically?”
The second hand on the clock counted off the time she was wasting. “No. It’s just…I’ve waited for grants. Personally, and for the geology department. Requisitions don’t mean squat to the government. Even if the appropriate agency does miraculously approve your request and decide to pay me, it may be months before I see a check. I need the money in my account now.” As the words spilled out she knew she sounded incredibly callous.
“Kenna—”
Her gaze whipped back to his. “Don’t try to placate me, March.”
“I’m not.”
“Good. Then if you’ve got enough dirt on me let’s go.”
Drake stood and bent to pick up her duffle bag, but she beat him to it.
“Hand it over,” he said.
“Nope. You really want to help out, grab the garbage in the kitchen.”
Grumbling, he slipped past her, returning with the tied white bag. “Anything else?”
“I’ve got everything I need.”
She locked the door. They moved out the front entrance and down the stairs leading to the Dumpster.
Kenna shivered in her skimpy top. Drake trotted ahead, throwing back the plastic black cover and tossing the bag inside. The lid thumped. When she caught up to him something cracked beside her ankle.
Fearing a stray animal, she spun toward the sound. Looked down. Then another ping, closer, this time next to her hip. What the hell?
Confused, she looked at Drake.
He yelled, “Get down,” and tried to shove her face into the concrete.
Chapter Five
“Goddammit, Kenna, get down!” Drake hissed, placing his palm on her head and pushing her to the asphalt.
She cursed, but stayed where he’d shoved her.
The stench of diapers, spoiled meat and rotten fruit registered before he automatically reached for the gun on his hip. Instead of the plastic grip of his Glock, his fingers connected with the smooth leather of his belt.
Fuck. Unarmed, zero back up and saddled with a civilian.
A fourth bullet pinged against the Dumpster. The fifth—a beat later—pounded into the container to their left. The sixth grazed the plastic lid on their right.
Nothing happened for several seconds…which crawled by interminably.
So they did have an advantage—the shooter couldn’t pinpoint their exact location.
But for how long?
Drake couldn’t outwait the bastard all night.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The utility light flickered, sending a strobe-like effect across the shadowed cement. A dog yipped and barked. The booming bass of a stereo reverberated from the parking lot before it was abruptly silenced.
He had no way of knowing whether the danger had passed and only one way to find out. Without moving his feet, he leaned over, placing his lips next to Kenna’s ear. “You all right?”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She nodded.
“Stay put. I’ll get my car. If I’m not back in ten minutes run to the manager’s office and have him call the police, okay?”
“No. Don’t go.” Besides a quick shiver, Kenna remained motionless. One small hand clutched the duffle bag. Her violet eyes were big as saucers.
“I have to.”
He studied the shadows, gauging which area would offer the most cover. A deep breath later he took off, aiming for a corner of the closest building. Sixteen steps and he flattened himself against the brick. Sweat flowed down his back in a river rivaling the Mississippi.
Silence. No shots rang out.
Adrenaline pumping, Drake crouched and ran the length of the complex, coming to an enclosed concr
ete courtyard where the sixteen units converged. Little cover there. The place was lit up like the Fourth of July. For security purposes it was great. For his intention to sneak around it pretty much sucked.
An eerie blue glow wavered from the community swimming pool. Three sides were enclosed by a redwood fence. He popped his head around the corner of one end, noticing the locked gate. Floral-printed chaise lounges stood empty. White resin lawn chairs were stacked. The striped umbrellas were tied shut.
The ceramic pots of petunias weren’t large enough to conceal a poodle, so the shooter hadn’t jumped the fence and hidden in there. Good. It’d be harder now for the son-of-a-bitch to get the drop on him from behind.
He listened to the sounds of the night. Traffic. The buzz of streetlights. Nothing out of the ordinary save the thumping of his heart. Ducking down, he scooted to the nearest edge of the parking lot, leaping from car shadow to car shadow on the balls of his feet.
While stopping to catch his breath, a car door slammed. He froze and hunkered against the rear wheel well of an oversized Dodge dually pickup.
Even though his pulse tripped, Drake forced himself to wait for the sweep of headlights. But the vehicle turned the opposite direction and didn’t give away his position. His relief was short lived as two women approached and lingered by the rusted-out Honda next to him to chat.
If they saw him, they’d scream. If he showed himself as a precautionary measure, they’d scream. Either way he wished they’d stop dissecting some asshole’s selfish attitude in the sack and get going or else he’d scream.
After they roared off, Drake stretched. His knees cracked like Rice Krispies.
He squinted. Across the back lot sat the black Jeep. The rental looked drivable. No slashed tires or broken windows. He frowned and dragged a shaking hand through his hair.
Why hadn’t the shooter disabled his car? If they’d been following him, wouldn’t they have tried to keep him from escaping?
Unless they’d showed up after he and Kenna had gotten here and had no clue what kind of car he’d driven.
Or…unless he wasn’t the target.
Shit.
Drake moved quickly, not wanting to leave Kenna alone and unprotected another second. He slipped into the seat, shoved the key in the ignition, keeping himself from burning rubber to get to her.
Running With the Devil Page 4
