Danger and Desire: A Romantic Suspense Anthology

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Her hips squirmed. “Careful.”

  Arousal surged in his blood as he brought her to the near-painful edge of her pleasure. “Always.”

  Eyes closed, Roxana nodded and gripped the side of the lounge chair. Her unsteady breaths and tight nipples urged him for more. Giving and taking pressure, he walked his thumbs along the tight arch. Her fevered grimace grew into a mewing, hungry pleading. “If you’re not careful,”—her throaty rasp went straight to his groin—“we’ll burn the potatoes.”

  He compressed a pressure point above her heel. “Do you care?”

  “No.”

  The sharpness of her voice ran through his veins like honey-fired lust. Jason repositioned his two fingers and squeezed the depression along the outer edge of her Achilles tendon. Roxana arched into the thick navy cushion and pillow, elongating her spine and tipping her chin to the sunset-tinted sky so that he could draw a line down her exposed throat to the bottom point of her v-neckline.

  Roxana Carter was the best thing that had happened in his life. He’d give and give and give so that she never wanted for what she deserved; a stable home, toe-curling sex, and whatever else fell between sanctuary and bliss.

  Jason laid her foot on the cushion, then moved onto his knees at the front of the lounger. The flagstone’s uneven edge bit into his skin, and his mouth watered to taste his woman. He pulled Roxana to the edge of the cushion and spread her feet. “Lift your hips.”

  Her ass lifted off the cushion. “And I thought steak would be the highlight of my night.”

  “You have no idea.” He laughed and hooked the waist of her shorts and underwear.

  “Bet I do.”

  “You never know.” He couldn’t hide his smile and yanked her clothes down her thighs.

  The backyard gate clanked against its unmoving lock before the familiar voice of her called, “Roxana, are you back there?”

  Jason froze and cursed. Roxana wriggled her shorts into place faster than he could suggest they not say a word.

  “No one answered the front door.” The metal gate handle caught with a series of clicks as the neighbor tried to gain access. “But, I could smell the grill.”

  “Some detective work,” he muttered.

  Roxana laughed and pulled his face to hers, smacking him with a loud kiss. “We’ll pick this up later.”

  He protested with a groan.

  Roxana playfully slapped his shoulder. “She doesn’t want us to burn the potatoes, and you know she’ll never leave.”

  Jason threw himself onto the lounger as Roxana smoothed her clothes and called, “Coming.”

  “That’s not what it sounds like when you cum,” he joked.

  Laughing, she stepped toward the gate. “Love that mouth of yours.”

  “Babe.” He curled two fingers and beckoned. “Least, give me a kiss.”

  Roxana tried to keep a straight face. “You’re pitiful.”

  He hooked his arm around her leg and dropped her to his chest, finding out once again, another kiss was never enough.

  Mojitos didn’t have any calories if a sexy man made them, right? Roxana swirled the mint sprigs at the bottom of her glass. With the arrival of August, the evening sky came earlier each day, a bittersweet reminder that, despite the sweltering days, fall loomed with its cooler, shorter hours.

  The back door shut as Jason took the two stairs onto the patio in one stride. He balanced two glasses in a palm and seared her straight to her toes with a devilish glint that promised to rehash what had been interrupted before dinner. He removed the near-empty glass from her hand and replaced it.

  Roxana rested the back of her head against the patio chair. “Is it my birthday?”

  The corners of his lips curled. Jason angled his chair toward her so that he could rest his drink close at hand. Roxana laid her bare feet on his lap when he relaxed. He lifted her foot and crossed it over the other. “Maybe it’s mine.”

  She only panicked for a nanosecond. “In your dreams.”

  Softy, his thumb caressed the indentation above her ankle. “Already living it, babe.”

  “Me too.” Fireflies danced over the grass and into the trees, turning the narrow yard into an endless expanse of dark night sparkled with glittering lights. She still marveled at the illusion the same way she had as a kid, and then she laughed to herself.

  Jason raised his brows.

  “There were so many kids on this block when we were little.” She took a sip of her mojito and set it down. “My mom was good friends with their moms, and during the summer, we rotated Friday night dinners in the backyard. One summer, all the moms wore matching t-shirts with fireflies surrounding the words ‘I’m lit.’” Roxana laughed. “We wanted those shirts bad, but they’d giggle like they had an inside joke, telling us we could get them when we were older.” The happy memory made her smile then laugh again. “You know how Dylan was so much older than Hagan and I? Half the time, he’d try to explain how everyone’s mom dipped into their wine cooler stash on Friday nights. But, ya know, whoosh.” She swooped a hand over her head. “We didn’t get it.”

  Jason chuckled, and she appreciated how well he listened. He’d never pushed her to talk about Dylan more than she wanted to. When she talked about her brother, who had died during his Secret Service detail, Jason somehow knew what she needed, whether that be a shoulder to cry on or a willingness to let her vent like a raving lunatic.

  “Your mom had another good week,” he pointed out.

  Roxana nodded, accepting that Hagan and Jason had been right. It was past time for Mom to live in a facility that specialized in long-term care of women incapacitated by strokes. If they’d had the financial means to put her in a skilled nursing facility, they would have. After Dylan had died in the line of duty, Dad had suffered a heart attack. Then a series of strokes came for Mom.

  The crushing weight of the American Dream had been saddled on her and Hagan’s shoulders when they were not more than kids. Pensions and life insurance offered pennies for every dollar they were magically supposed to know how to cover. A mortgage, funeral costs, home modifications for their wheelchair-bound mother who never spoke again… “She did.”

  “You did too,” Jason added.

  Roxana smiled over the lump in her throat. “Thanks.”

  He squeezed her ankle.

  “I don’t know how you and Hagan pulled it off.” The facility was out of their financial reach, but they’d made it work after she’d reached a guilt-driven breaking point. “But I’m forever grateful.”

  Roxana had served as Mom’s caretaker for years, filling the shoes of every specialist that they couldn’t afford as Hagan worked the best-paying job he could find on the other side of the world.

  Then came the flu.

  Or was it a cold?

  Allergies? Cancer? Gout?

  Roxana experimented with the thermostat like a mad scientist when Mom woke in sweat-soaked nightgowns. After noticing Mom’s suddenly thinning hair, Roxana tried special hair treatments and packed meals with vitamin supplements only to wonder the menu change could explain her mother’s weight gain.

  It wasn’t until a drizzling, early spring morning that the answer came. Roxana took her mother for a yearly gynecological exam. Without the complete list of unexplainable symptoms, the doctor diagnosed what was so damn obvious. Menopause.

  Roxana had fallen apart in the exam room. Not because her mother had entered menopause, but because menopause never occurred to her. Hampered by age, inexperience, and dwindling insurance benefits, she’d focused on stroke victim’s aftercare, playing the roles of physical and occupational therapists, dieticians, nurses, and medical aids, only to miss a basic life change. Crying, she’d apologized to her nonreactive mother through the drive home.

  She told Hagan and Jason that she was in over her head, and they moved heaven and earth to find Mom the facility that she’d always needed.

  Mom settled into her new space without a problem. Roxana, on the other hand, had to adju
st. From how she earned a living to what she did with her free time, care-taking had dictated much of who she was. Her personal journey required a torrent of reflection, introspection, and meditation. But after she’d had time to do nothing for anyone except herself, Roxana understood she loved her man, her home, and her job.

  She laughed. “I’m going to get a tattoo.”

  His eyebrow crooked.

  “Right here.” Roxana slapped her bicep.

  “You mentioned a bitch button last time you said that.” Jason innocently took a sip of his drink. “Whatever came of that?”

  She ignored him and lifted her other arm. “Or maybe on this side.”

  He snickered.

  Roxana dropped her arm and tried to think of a motivational quote that would remind her that she’d hit the rock star life trifecta. “Something snappy.” Nothing came to mind except the realization that maybe she had more of a buzz than she realized. “Like a haiku.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.”

  She half-groaned, half-giggled until a firefly landed on her outstretched leg. Roxana stilled, whispering, “Make a wish.”

  “Don’t need to.”

  “What? Why? Everyone wishes for something.”

  His shoulders lifted. “I have everything I’d wish for.”

  “Wow,” she whispered. “That’s sweet enough to tattoo that on my arm.”

  His laughter rumbled, and the firefly flew into the darkness. “You could just have Babe in big letters.”

  “No way.”

  “What about Sweetie?”

  Roxana wriggled her feet in his lap. “Are you insane?”

  “Teasing,” he admitted, protecting his lap. “Watch your heels, Babe.”

  “Much better.” She tipped her head back and enjoyed the late summer temperature, content to sit outside all night with her legs propped on Jason’s lap. “Tonight’s a great night.”

  Jason lifted her legs off his, set her feet on the flagstone, and cupped her cheeks before she could pout. The fullness of his lips brushed against hers, not quite a kiss; a taste and a tease of everything she wanted.

  “Roxana.” His eyes stayed open, locked on hers as if he couldn’t look away. “You are the perfect woman for me.”

  “I know.” She leaned for his kiss and added, “Thought you already knew that, too.”

  “I do, babe.” His laughter rolled. “Listen for a second.” His hands slipped off her cheeks and trailed down her neck. Jason took her mouth with a savoring slowness that made her head spin in a honeyed haze.

  She explained that it was hard to listen when he didn’t speak, but the velvet slide of his tongue against hers erased the thought. Electricity sparked down her spine as chill bumps rolled over her skin.

  “I love you.”

  “I know that, too.”

  He eased from his chair and kneeled, a rakish grin dangling off his chiseled face. “I met you, and everything changed.”

  “Bet the amount of times you ordered delivery dropped,” she teased.

  “Yeah, that was a change.” His hands took hers. In their world, Jason’s actions always usurped conversations. Tonight though, his words kept pace. “Amongst other things.”

  “Is that fancy accountant talk for crazy-awesome, grade-A sex?” Forget that they’d been interrupted before dinner, his teasing tone and a night of mojitos were a wicked combination. “Speaking of which, we should go to bed.”

  Jason licked his lips as if her brilliant idea had been a joke. “In a minute.”

  She pulled her hand free and pressed the back of it to his forehead. “Are you dying or something?”

  His eyes danced. “Give me your hand, Roxana.”

  “Are you going to bring me upstairs and—” She was suddenly, acutely aware that Jason wasn’t just perched in front of her, but on one knee. “Shut up.”

  His lips twitched. “Marry me, Roxana.”

  Roxana slapped a hand over the wild, joyful scream that pealed from lungs, and covered his for good measure. Jason belly laughed into her hand. She didn’t know what else to do except launch into his arms.

  Like a stud, Jason caught her superhero style and flipped over to rest in the crook of his arm. “Babe?”

  “I graded our sex life while you were trying to propose.”

  “Guess that’s how it goes when it’s grade-A?” He winked. “Anything else to say?”

  Her arms wrapped around his neck as if they had a mind of their own. “As if you don’t know my answer.”

  “Still gotta say it.” His mouth dropped to her ear. “I love you, Roxana. Marry me.”

  “Yes.” She melted. “Of course, I will. You’re the kindest, strongest man I’ve ever met.” Roxana kissed his cheek. “Now, will you bring me upstairs?”

  “Insatiable.” The curl of his sexy lips promised to blow her newly engaged mind with A-list orgasms. Jason stood with her in his arms. Roxana kicked her toes into the air, high on life and love, as he bound into the house and to her room.

  He tossed her onto the bed and ripped his shirt overhead. Roxana believed to the depths of her soul that Jason would still make her mouth water if he didn’t display a criminal amount of muscle. But he did, bonus points for her.

  “What’s that look?” He crawled onto the bed until his forearms rested above her shoulders and his powerful body blanketed over her torso.

  “Imagining your dad-bod.” Roxana tried her damnedest to dissolve their clothing into thin air. “I wish you were naked.”

  “Pushy.” Jason rolled to her side and jerked her t-shirt off.

  “At least you know what you’re getting into.” She fought to wriggle his shorts off his hips. “And I believe the politically correct term is horny.”

  Something changed in his expression, as though a wisp of concern had tried to sober their celebration. Whatever had crossed his mind had been intense. She touched his face, not deterring his concentration on her clothing or the way he removed each piece with a deliberateness that also tender.

  Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, Roxana saw cold uncertainty. Then it was gone, and she didn’t see anything in Jason’s face that should’ve scared her.

  His shorts dropped into the pile of their clothing at the side of the bed, and he returned to her again. Mojitos, steaks, and a marriage proposal were all the foreplay she needed. She pulled him closer, savoring the heavy weight of his erection against her slick mound.

  Jason teased her sensitive skin with the head of his cock. She searched for the worry that had shadowed his face and couldn’t find anything but his attentive hunger. Roxana needed to feel their connection and arched for him to enter her body, begging him to thrust. “Please.”

  He grasped her hand in his, and a cold, foreign sensation froze the world on its axis.

  Emotion caught in her chest. She fixed her gaze on his hand, holding hers, on the diamond ring that he’d slipped onto her finger. “Jason…”

  Her heart and soul squeezed. Roxana couldn’t explain why; she wasn’t wooed by shiny things. He’d already proposed. She’d already said yes. They’d torn clothes off, and she needed him to fill her more than she needed to take her next breath.

  Except, it was right now when she couldn’t breathe.

  Until that very second, Roxana hadn’t understood the importance of a ring. Of him putting the ring on her hand, physically marking her with a universal symbol of commitment. She had no words. Roxana clasped her hands to his cheeks and forced their faces together. She drank in the way his blue eyes offered infinite security and a stable family, not to mention Olympics-level sex. “God, Jason. I love you.”

  His forehead touched hers as his cock sank inside her body, inch by inch, stretching her with a slow-rolling thunder. Jason built her orgasms as if he had a lifetime of love to prove. One wave and then the next, each as blissfully brutal and sweetly demanding, he fucked her within an inch of her life, promising without a damn word that he’d give her everything she’d ever need.

  Ch
apter 2

  Roxana woke up alone, as she did most days when Jason had a contract scheduled. His position as a forensic accountant came in sporadic bursts. Some corporations only needed him to snoop through their books for a few days. Others could take a few weeks. She didn’t think he enjoyed the job as much as he appreciated the nature of the position. He once told her that numbers didn’t lie. With meticulous attention to detail, he could unravel secrets.

  Numbers didn’t hold the same lure for her, but she appreciated their standardization. One always equaled one. Five hundred dollars was five hundred dollars. A variation required detective work, which had to be more interesting than he let on to.

  Or maybe not, considering he had a ten-hour drive to Tulsa, Oklahoma today, while she planned to go completely off-script and take off part of the day in honor of her newly engaged status. Roxana held up her hand, still unable to believe what had happened the night before.

  The scent of percolating heaven wafted from the preset coffeemaker. Roxana jumped from bed as her cell phone rang with the recurring Monday morning call from her brother. She only wished she could tell him in person, but Roxana never knew when he’d be able to leave the Middle East. “Hagan,” she cried, certain he’d just pulled the phone several inches from his ear. “I have the absolute best news to tell you.”

  He laughed in that way that came with a roll of the eyes. “You scored Bieber tickets?”

  Thrilled that Hagan was in a good mood, Roxana threw herself back into bed. “Do you even know me—”

  “Baskin-Robbins brought back your favorite flavor?”

  Roxana had too much energy to stay in one place. She popped up and grabbed her housecoat on the way to the kitchen. Not that she’d needed the caffeine, but if anything, she appreciated their normal Monday routine of catching up while she had her coffee. Since Hagan had settled down with Amanda, he’d been less concerned with painting Roxana a rosy picture of his job. It wasn’t as if she thought he had been frolicking from tourist attraction to tourist attraction, but the gritty details took an adjustment on her part.