**
At the end of the briefing, Tatiana gave her team of brutes homework assignments. Her demeanor serious, she announced, "Junjie, you'll be studying the sketches our artist has made of the perpetrator." She handed him a manilla folder. "Marcelo, keep working on that containment spell."
"I'm just about finished with it," the sorcerer responded. "When we catch them, we'll be able to hold them."
Her eyes fell on John, who asked, "What do you need me to do, Lieutenant?"
Something rose in her chest like a curling plume of smoke. John Groves might not be her type, but he appealed to her in ways she couldn't fathom. With a sly smile, she answered. "Your assignment is going to require some extra explanation. I'll need you to stay after the briefing." Perching on the edge of the table, she glanced over her shoulder at the other two men. "You two can go."
Junjie and Marcelo exchanged a look, but said nothing. Within moments they'd gathered their things and made themselves scarce.
Left alone with John, she returned her focus to him.
He leaned back in his chair, tucked his hands behind his head. "So, Lieutenant, what's on the agenda?" His tone said he knew what was coming was likely not work related.
"Oh, plenty," she said, surprised at the come-hither tone her voice had taken on.
A self satisfied smile raised the corner of his lips. "Is that a flirtatious tone I detect in your voice, Lady Tigress?"
"Maybe." She leaned in a bit, deciding she liked their banter.
He changed position, sitting forward in his seat. "I hope this means you've decided to quit running from me."
"A good friend reminded me of something a few days ago."
His bushy left eyebrow edged up with curiosity. "What's that?"
She swung her legs around and scooted her bottom until she was sitting on the edge of the table, directly above his lap. Crossing her legs in a slow, provocative manner, she drawled, "I can handle you."
He groaned low in his throat, obviously affected by her display. "Is that so," he said, his eyes focused on her thighs instead of her face.
She nodded. "Yes. I am, after all, a 'hair pressing, ass kicking, shape-shifting crime fighter'." She recited Ralph's words, thinking they sounded even better coming from her own lips. Ralph had been simply making an observation, but she was making a declaration of her own prowess.
John's eyes locked with hers, and before she knew it he dragged her down onto his lap and kissed her. Strong, well toned arms wound around her as if she were simply a part of his body, returning to the source. His lips were soft, much softer than she'd expected. They pressed into hers with such force and intensity it left her panting. His tongue searched the depths of her mouth through her parted lips until she felt she might melt into a puddle on the floor. Finally, he pulled back and allowed her a breath. The hard evidence of his arousal bored into her lower abdomen.
"We can't do this...not here, anyway," he declared, his breathing a little ragged.
"I know." It was all she could muster as she tried to compose herself. Her mind was left so foggy by their interaction, she was barely aware of her own name.
He slid the chair back, helped her stand up. She looked down, and could feel herself blushing as he pulled down her hiked-up skirt. "God, I can't believe I just did that. Every inch of this place is under surveillance except the bathrooms and locker rooms."
His eyes took on a mischievous glint.
She raised an open palm. "Don't even think about it."
Just then, a voice boomed over the PA system in the conference room. "Lieutenant, if you and Agent Groves are done pawing at each other like hormonal teenagers, perhaps you wouldn't mind doing a little work?"
Embarrassed down to her pink painted toes, she dropped her head. "I apologize, Dr. Black."
"I accept, Lieutenant, on the condition that the two of you get out of here before you set off the smoke detectors!"
A loud click signaled that Dr. Black was done speaking. She looked at John, and found him looking just as ashamed as she felt. She guessed the boss's sarcasm hadn’t been lost on him.
John broke the awkward silence. "Now that we've been caught and scolded, I think we should get out of here."
She nodded, and after they gathered their belongings, she followed him out.
When they exited the building, night had fallen like a heavy cloak. Looking up, she took in the stars, her view unencumbered by city lights and cell phone towers. Out here, there was nothing but the gentle chirping of the crickets, the cool breeze, and the Carolina pines towering over them like sentinels against the sky.
They strode out to his SUV, and he leaned against it. His dark eyes glistened in the moonlight, and she felt as if she were under a hypnotist's spell. The memory of his kiss was so fresh, all she could think about was being pressed against him again, letting him do as he pleased.
He asked, "Tatiana, what is my actual mission?"
Shocked out of her fantasy by his matter-of-fact question, she stammered, "Uh...well..."
He waited, his gaze trained on her.
Damn. Here she thought they were finally giving in to what was simmering between them, and he was asking her about the mission.
That annoyed her.
A lot.
She groaned. "You can use your extensive knowledge of historical facts and whatnot to see if you can gain any clues about who the robbers are, why they are taking these artifacts, and where they might be going."
He shrugged. "Okay, I can do that. I guess I'll start with the kettle."
She nodded tightly, folded her arms across her chest.
"What's the matter with you?"
"I thought we were going in a different direction, John."
"We are," he insisted. "But that doesn't mean we can't still do our jobs."
She huffed, 'What are you saying? That because I flirted with you instead of immediately jumping into logistics and work talk, I'm incompetent?"
His face changed in the shadows, eyes narrowing a bit. "I never said that, Tatiana."
"You implied it."
He smacked his hand to his forehead. "Okay, why are you jumping to conclusions?" He reached for her, and before she could step out of the way, he was holding her.
She squirmed, making a show of her annoyance. "Let go of me, Agent Groves."
"No way, Lieutenant," he husked out, holding her firm. "Not until you stop being unreasonable."
She frowned up at him. "Unreasonable? You better...."
Her words were muffled and lost as his lips crashed down on hers. As the warmth of his kiss spread through her, she went limp in his arms, surrendering to him. All thoughts of being angry fled into the night. God help her, she wanted this man, subordinate or not.
When he finally pulled away, her knees were weak with wanting. In the silence, she clung to him, and then whispered, "My place, or yours?"
CHAPTER 7
With Tatiana standing behind him, John slid the key into the lock on his front door. She'd followed him in her car, and now they were entering his home. Glad he'd picked up the laundry he'd had strewn around his condo earlier, he opened the door and stood aside. "Welcome," he said, gesturing for her to enter.
Once they were both inside, he closed and locked the door behind him. He hung their coats on the polished oak rack next to the door.
"Make yourself comfortable."
Watching her take a seat on his black suede sofa, he went to the kitchen to retrieve two glasses of iced tea. When he returned, she accepted a glass and took a sip.
"Not gonna try and liquor me up, huh?"
He shook his head. "I don't drink. And besides, I already possess everything I need to sway you."
She drew back a bit, eyeballing him. "What do you mean?
Chuckling low in his throat, he answered, "I can kiss you senseless, and we both know it."
That earned him a punch in the shoulder. "Your modesty becomes you, John."
"Just stating the facts," he said, down
ing the rest of his tea. "Would you like a demonstration?"
She smiled, easing closer to him on the sofa. Cupping his face in her hands, she whispered, "Why not?"
Gathering her into his arms, he let his lips touch hers. He teased her with soft, fleeting passes, then deepened the kiss as she melted in his embrace. Apparently, this is what it took to get past all that attitude and sass, and now that he knew it, he'd be sure to use the knowledge to his advantage.
He broke the contact. "If I don't take you into the bedroom now, we are gonna ruin this sofa."
He stood, taking her hand, and she followed him without a word.
In the confines of his bedroom, he led her to his bed. He wanted to see her, especially this first time, so he turned on the black lacquer lamp on his dresser to chase away some of the darkness.
She looked very appealing in the dim light, sprawled across his bed. As they locked eyes, her manicured hands undid the column of small buttons on the front of her blouse. Then, she rose a bit off her back, shrugging the garment off to reveal the blue lace bra beneath.
He inhaled sharply, wanting to touch the bared skin. The look in her eyes made him feel ready to embrace the night, and all it would hold.
As if reading his thoughts, she said, "Patience, Agent Groves."
Lying back again, she unclasped the black pencil skirt, and, lifting her hips in a provocative display, eased the fabric down her hips until she sat up and kicked it off. The tiny string bikini panties matched her bra.
She lay there, looking so tempting, he thought he might burst before he even got to touch her.
Finally, she beckoned with an outstretched finger.
He all but ran to the bed, removing his tailored shirt, and tee beneath it. He was bare-chested when he joined her on the bed, fitting his body over hers.
She sighed, wrapping her arms around him in welcome.
And he felt at home with her. She was so soft and feminine beneath him...even the fantasy of what her body would feel like didn't come close. He stroked her satin skin with slow reverence, enjoying the tiny whimpers she made beneath his questing fingertips.
He could feel himself growing and thickening against her softness. So he rolled off of her, landing next to her on his back, to shuck off his pants. His manhood stretched and protruded through the opening in his boxer shorts.
She made a sound filled with delight, wrapping her hand around his hardness.
Then it was his turn to be delighted.
He gifted her with heated kisses and fleeting strokes, taking her bra and panties from her as he worked her body into a frenzy of passion. Still kissing her he reached into the top drawer of his nightstand and removed a condom. He left her for a short time as he stood, ridding himself of his boxers and sheathing himself with the protection.
When he lay atop her again, she was panting.
He whispered, "Ready, Tatiana?"
She looked into his eyes, and for a moment, he could imagine being with her always. The thought didn't sit right with him, so he pushed it away.
Sincerity all over her face, she whispered back, "Yes."
He raised himself a bit, using his hands to coerce her to widen her legs. Seconds later, he entered her, and gasped. She was so tight he had to exert a lot of self control to keep it from ending right away. After a moment's pause, he started to move his hips.
She moaned low in her throat, and joined him in the dance, meeting him stroke for stroke, her hips rising off the bed in time with his thrusts.
His whole world became consumed by the beautiful woman writhing beneath him, and the exquisite tightness driving him closer and closer to orgasm. He gripped her hips as the intensity grew and built, hoping to leave a memory of his loving that she would never forget. Over the rising sound of her cries of pleasure, his own guttural groan rose as the release crackled through his body like a bolt of lightning.
**
Tatiana stretched, opening her sleep heavy eyes. It only took a moment for her to realize she was in an unfamiliar bed. A low, rumbling snore vibrated her eardrum, and a hard, muscled arm lay draped over her waist in a possessive fashion. Her foggy mind adjusted itself, and she realized where she was, and who she was with.
The bright morning sunlight filtered through the vertical blinds covering the sliding glass doors on the right side of John's bedroom. She could hear the cheerful chirping of birds outside, heralding the new day.
They were both still naked, she realized as his “morning glory” pressed into the small of her back. Shimmying from beneath his heavy arm, she sat up, perching on the edge of the bed. She looked back to see if she'd disturbed him, but he continued snoring away.
She thought back on the previous evening. Last night's flirting and subsequent lovemaking had been enjoyable, to say the least, but she hadn't really had a chance to see any of his apartment. I was a little distracted. She smiled to herself, remembering all the ways he'd made her feel like a woman.
Now, she glanced around his bedroom, taking in the scenery. The primer white walls made her wonder if he didn't have a chance to paint, or didn't care to. The space next to the sliding glass door was occupied by a tall, dark wood bookcase. On its loaded shelves, she saw such titles as W.E.B. Dubois' The Souls of Black Folk, a series of books about the Old West, and various history related titles. Not a single novel in sight. He's a huge history nerd.
Around the room hung various images of Civil War battle scenes. There was also an aged photograph of a mustachioed Black man with a bald head, wearing an official looking uniform. She didn't recognize the man, but assumed him to be one of John's ancestors.
The top of his dresser was very neat, with only a few framed photographs sitting on it. She was impressed; her own dresser top was always invisible beneath a layer of hair products, unopened mail, and other objects dropped there on a regular basis.
She picked up a small, black enamel frame holding a sepia photograph of a beautiful woman wearing a gingham dress. She was admiring the woman's long black braid when she heard John clear his throat. Surprised, she spun around.
He sat upright in the center of the rumpled bed, the dark blue bedspread pooled around his waist. “Any particular reason you're snooping around my room?” His tone was serious, but his eyes held a playful gleam.
“Sorry,” she said, casting her eyes down in a show of embarrassment. “Just looking around.”
He gestured to the framed picture she still clutched. “That's my grandmother, Fontella.”
“She's very beautiful,” she commented, returning the photo to its place on the dresser.
He smiled, and her insides melted. “Thanks. Maybe you can swing by my mom's place and tell her that yourself sometimes.”
She nodded. “I'd love to. How old is she?”
“Ninety- one, and still a pistol,” he proclaimed, climbing out of bed.
As he stood, stretching his arms above his head, she took in his naked form. What had been shrouded in shadow the night before was now displayed, in all its magnificence, in the sunlight streaming into the room. He was chiseled, not in the scary way a bodybuilder would be, but in a way that told her he worked out. Her eyes traveled over the dark nipples capping his pectorals, the flat, sculpted plane of his abdomen, and lower-- to the long, thick prize between his thighs that had given her so much pleasure the night before. Placing a hand to her chest, she drew in a deep breath, and did her best to refrain from licking her lips.
He chuckled. “Keep looking at me like that and I'll probably burst into flames,” he commented.
She averted her eyes, knowing she was caught. Better change the subject. Composing herself, she moved to the photo of the unfamiliar man hanging on the wall. “Who is this? Is he a relative of yours, or a historical figure?”
“Both,” he answered, stepping into his boxers and pulling them up to his waist. “That's U.S. Deputy Marshall Bass Reeves, my six times great uncle.”
“I've heard that name before.”
“I would h
ope so,” he said, coming over to where she stood. “Great Uncle Bass was not only one of the first black Marshals in the United States, he was also one of the best. His skill at tracking and capturing outlaws was unmatched.”
She watched the way his eyes lit up as he spoke about his ancestor, and it warmed her heart. “He sounds like an impressive man.”
He nodded. “Our family likes to think so. As a matter of fact, Bass is my middle name.”
It wasn't a middle name she would expect him to have, but she liked that he felt he could be open with her. Content to let him reveal himself bit by bit, she didn't press him further. Her rumbling stomach demanded her attention. "Can you cook? I'm starving."
He nodded, chuckling. "I'll make us something." He sidled over to where she stood, and his big hand grazed over her bareness, sliding across her abdomen and around her back as he pulled her into his arms. Pressing his lips to hers, he kissed her breathless, then eased away. "But you'd better get dressed, or the only thing on the menu...will be you."
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