by Lexi Ryan
Everyone needed to recharge after that case, and nothing refreshed the old abilities like sex. Paige, in particular, needed to recharge, since Collin had drained what little she had left. Since Paige’s go-to source for sex was currently fucking another woman, she supposed she’d need to find a guy to take home. It’d been a month since she’d slipped up and slept with Darian, and her vibrator didn’t do as much to refresh her powers as actual sex.
After enough tequila, anyone would do.
“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” Pipsqueak asked.
Anyone but this guy.
He trailed his gaze from her toes to her breasts and back down, leaving a slimy feeling behind.
“Stop with the come-on lines,” she growled.
Pipsqueak somehow took that as a green light to begin first-date conversation. “Tate Kline. I’m in law school. Top of my class. My dad has a firm. I’m in law school. I’ll practically step right into being partner. You’ve probably heard of it—Feetly and Kline?” His words slurred slightly, and he looked her up and down again.
Paige shook her head. “Sorry. Can’t say that I have.”
He looked smug. And toasted. “I’m the top of my class.”
Paige sighed. “Yeah, you said that.”
“So, what do you do for a living?” the twerp asked, his alcohol-glazed eyes still raking over her. Was he just too drunk to remember he’d already done that—twenty times?
She smiled. “I’m a trained assassin,” she said, batting her lashes. “But, shh, it’s a secret.”
He licked his lips. “That’s hot.”
The woman in the corner with Collin moaned, calling more than a few curious glances their way.
“Who do you work for?” Pipsqueak asked.
“Pissed-off ex-girlfriends, mostly. You know the drill. Guy uses girl for sex, girl falls in love. Guy never calls like he said he would. It gets ugly. In fact, that’s why I’m here tonight.” She chewed her lip. “You haven’t seen a somebody-Kline around here tonight, have you?”
Pipsqueak’s eyes widened. “You’re funny,” he said, but his tone wasn’t amused as much as it was terrified. He backed away from the bar. “Listen, I’ll be right back. I mean, I have a friend I forgot I was meeting.”
Then he was gone.
Too easy.
She looked at her watch. She was due a little girl time, but if the girls knew who was playing exhibitionist in the corner, they would drag her sorry, heartbroken ass out of that club. They wouldn’t let her obsess—as if they could stop her—about the way Collin’s fingers dug into the redhead’s ass. They wouldn’t let her compare her own rather lacking ass to the other woman’s.
But if they didn’t see Collin, Paige wasn’t going to bring him to their attention.
Ecstasy shaped Collin’s features, and the woman threw her head back in a poor imitation of a climax. Girl could use a few lessons from Meg Ryan.
Josie sauntered up to Paige’s side, bringing several male glances with her. Only Josie could look as jaw-droppingly gorgeous in a tank and capris as in a ball gown. “What has you so entranced?”
Busted. Paige sighed. Now Josie and Chrissie were going to play the “make Paige cheer up” game. She didn’t have the energy for it.
“Oh,” Josie said, following Paige’s line of sight. “Crap.”
Collin’s hand was fisted in the woman’s hair now, his mouth latched at her neck.
“You warned me we might run into him,” Paige said. She’d thought she’d gotten that over with when Collin had caught her alone on the street.
“I’m sorry, Paige,” Josie said.
“Three shots of tequila.” The bartender pushed the shot glasses between Paige and Josie.
“Thank God,” Paige muttered. She and Josie simultaneously picked up their shots and threw them back.
Paige winced a little at the burn of eighty-proof tequila trailing down her throat.
“Whoa-ho!” Chrissie called, sidling up to Josie. Her blond-streaked black hair was in full-on punk mode again, spiking in every direction. “Why are you ladies starting without me?”
Josie nodded toward Collin. “The occasion calls for tequila.”
Chrissie turned up her nose. “I thought I smelled asshole in here.”
“Chrissie!” Josie hissed.
“Crap,” Chrissie muttered, grabbing her own shot.
“That seems to be the consensus,” Paige said.
“About that memory you got off the perp tonight—” Paige said.
Chrissie shook her head. “Un-uh! You’re not going to distract us from the spectacle in the corner by talking shop,” Chrissie said. “It can wait until morning. This—” she said, pointing to Collin, “—needs our attention right now.”
“I’m so sorry, Paige,” Josie repeated.
“Stop saying that,” Paige said. “I’m fine.”
“You should be.” Chrissie scowled at the couple. “I’m sure the idea of fucking in public is doing more for the redhead than Collin’s little dick.”
Josie jabbed Chrissie with her elbow. “I’m sure that’s really comforting to Paige, Chrissie.”
“What?” Chrissie looked at Paige. “Am I wrong?” She held up a pinkie finger and pinched it at the first knuckle. “Isn’t this about right? You can’t lie to me. I’ve seen your memories!”
“Yep, she’s seen your memories and she’s fucking his identical twin.” Josie smirked. “Tell me, how identical is identical?”
Chrissie shot Josie a glare.
Paige couldn’t help it. She laughed. The joy of having good friends didn’t fill all of her empty spaces, but it did cradle them a bit.
Josie turned away from the show. “Three more, please, barkeep!” she called with a grin and toss of her long blond hair.
“So, where to?” Chrissie turned, putting her back to Collin.
Paige turned away too. “Nowhere. We’re staying right here. Where have I gotten if I have to run away every time I see him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Josie crooned. “No woman should have to face her ex just two months after the break up, let alone watch him do the dirty with some skank—in public, no less.”
“She’s not a skank.” Paige felt bad for the redhead, whose only crime was bad taste in men. Had it been any other couple making it in the corner, Paige wouldn’t have thought twice. She wasn’t exactly conservative about public showings of sexuality. If she had been once, she’d gotten over it when Collin had discovered her as a Special and taken her to Eden.
“I heard the Blues Factory is fantastic on Saturday nights,” Josie said. She fluttered her lashes at the surfer-guy bartender who placed three more shots before them.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Paige insisted. She threw back her second shot. The burn was less noticeable this time. Still, she should have found time to eat dinner. The heat rushed down her throat only to return to her cheeks.
“Paige,” Josie said, “I know you want to be strong but—”
Chrissie covered Josie’s mouth with her hand. “We can stay.”
“What?” Josie asked, her voice muffled behind Chrissie’s hand. She turned to Chrissie. “Paige will—”
Chrissie shook her head. “We can stay if Paige will pick up a guy.”
Paige rolled her eyes. “I’m not some college girl who picks up random guys in bars to mend my broken heart, Chrissie.” Picking up a random guy had been her plan, but she wouldn’t be coerced.
“Do you think little dick came here on accident, Paige?” Chrissie turned to glare at the man in question. “He knows this is our favorite D.C. club. Do you think it’s a coincidence?”
Josie pushed Chrissie’s hand away from her face and sighed. “She raises a valid point.”
“Hooking up with a strange guy isn’t going to prove anything.” Even as Paige said it, she gloried in the idea of Collin seeing her make out with another man. Two could play his game. “I could do it if I wanted, but I’m not interested.”
“Really? When was the last time you picked someone up?” Chrissie asked, which was unfair because once Chrissie touched her, she’d know the truth.
Paige knew she was being goaded, but her competitive instinct rose to the challenge anyway. “Fine. What are my requirements?”
Chrissie gave a satisfied grin. “He just needs to have an above average cock, my love. Everything else will take care of itself.”
Paige looked to Josie, the kindest of their trio.
Josie shrugged. “It would probably be good for you, sweetie.”
Paige rolled her eyes. “What if no one catches my inter—?” She stopped short as Darian Lorring walked in the door. “What’s he doing here?” Just what she needed: two men who drove her crazy ruining her buzz. Not that there was much buzz left to ruin.
“Looks like Mr. Opportunity just walked through the door,” Chrissie said with a challenging raise of her brow. “So, what’s the score, Paige? Are we staying or going?”
Paige glared at her, then turned on her heel and strode to the door.
“Paige,” Darian said, a smile curving those infuriatingly perfect lips.
Why did he always have to look so damned pleased to see her?
She tugged his shirt collar, pulling him forward until they were a breath apart. “I need you to take me to the dance floor,” she whispered against his lips.
“So, you’re not mad about—”
She placed a finger on his lips. “No questions, Lorring.”
He nodded, studying her. After a beat, he took her hands in his and led the way.
The dance floor was teeming with bodies rocking, twisting, and rubbing to the techno beat. Darian pulled his arms around her, leaned against him, and settled her back into his chest. One hand on her belly and one on her hip, he moved with the music.
She closed her eyes. It felt so good to be touched after Collin drained her. Once, Collin had been the one to salve the wound of using his power on her. Not tonight. Tonight, he’d left her empty, depleted. Powerless.
Darian nuzzled her neck as they rubbed together in time to the music. The length of his hard cock rubbed against the small of her back.
He was a good dancer. Every move like melting butter. His body was hard and hot behind her, and she could feel his muscles move against her as they danced.
He lifted the hem of her shirt and ran his fingertips across her exposed skin.
She sighed. Such a small touch, and she was already beginning to feel like herself again. The small trickle of power made her hungry for more. She wanted to turn into him, to kiss him hard. To pull him out of the club and have him fuck her—against the building, in the back of a cab, hell, she didn’t care. Maybe she shouldn’t leave the club at all. Maybe she should have him spread her legs and fuck her on Collin’s table.
She just wanted to feel alive again, and Darian could do it.
She struggled to remember why she’d been irritated with him before.
Pressing closer, she tilted her head up so he could hear her. “Why were you following us at the ball?”
Under her shirt, he flattened his hand against her stomach and put his mouth against her ear. “I already told you.”
“Tell me again,” she murmured, but more because she wanted to remember why she shouldn’t drag him into the alley than because she wanted to hear his excuses.
“We had some intel that this case might be a little more than you could handle.”
“Why now?”
“You’re too valuable,” he said next to her ear, then his tongue was on her ear, tracing the top ridge before taking the lobe lightly between his teeth. “You’re precious,” he whispered.
She pressed harder against him, willing away every particle of air between them, wanting nothing but to be closer as he made sensation whip through her. She wanted to feel his body over her. Wanted the weight of it on her.
She rubbed against him. This was good. This was so much better than watching goddamn Collin.
She swallowed. She wasn’t done asking questions. She needed to know—
Darian’s fingertips grazed the bottom edge of her bra, and his arousal pumped through her. She struggled to control her mind.
Did someone in the SIA—someone high enough to give Darian’s unit orders—believe Stilettos, Inc. couldn’t do their job without getting themselves killed? If so, why did they believe that?
More to the point, why did they care?
She turned into him, putting a leg on either side of one of his muscular thighs, rubbing against him as she moved in rhythm with the music. She threaded her fingers in his hair and brought his head down.
Her lips touched his ear. “We can do our job just fine. And we’re not joining the SIA to be desk jockeys. If that’s why you’re keeping us alive, you might as well not waste your energy.”
Under her shirt, his thumb was on her breast, rubbing circles around her nipple, making it harden under her bra. “I don’t want to see you hurt, Paige.” The words were so soft she shouldn’t have heard them, and maybe she didn’t, but she felt them. To her very core, she believed him.
Her heart skipped a beat as she met his eyes. Was this what it would be like to be the one swooped onto the back of the stallion for once? Is this how it felt to be rescued instead of the one riding to the rescue?
A fraction of a second. A blip. But the thought was there.
She’d been rescued before. Many years ago, she’d been rescued. In retrospect, the rescue felt like an elaborate set-up to tear her apart.
“I don’t want to be rescued.”
“Even if you need to be?”
His mouth descended before she could answer, taking hers. He parted her lips with his tongue, explored her mouth. His thumb continued its sweet torture at her breast, circling her nipple, sweeping past it again and again. Until, finally, he rubbed the erect pebble of flesh. At the same moment, the sensation of his hands parting her legs swamped her, his palm cupped her, his fingers found her clit.
Like a blossoming flower, she opened, came alive. Healed.
Jesus. The things this man could do with his mind.
Even if you need to be?
She stepped away. Swallowed. “I don’t need rescuing,” she said before turning.
Chapter Five
Chrissie eyed the Three Stooges, then Collin, and sighed. Couldn’t a girl just a have a drink with some friends without worrying about stupid men getting in the way?
First things first. She shifted her gaze between Wiley and Fernandez and decided Fernandez was her safer bet. They wouldn’t reveal Wiley’s ability, and though Chrissie understood how that could be helpful when working with other Specials, she didn’t like going into a situation blind. Fernandez was just a glamorized puppet master. At least with him, the worst that could happen was that he could make her do something she wasn’t keen on. But since he was—presumably—working for the good guys, she wasn’t too worried about that.
She made sure her hips swayed with each step as she ambled past their table.
“You look a little lost,” Fernandez called in his deep, rich accent. His voice was smooth and thick and tempting. Chocolate mousse.
“Not lost,” she murmured, wondering if he’d be waiting for her to touch him. Would he let her, when he knew damn well she’d try to tap into him? “Drained as hell after tonight.”
Fernandez chuckled. “Ah, that I understand.” His laugh was as rich as his voice, inspiring warmth that started in the pit of her stomach and then blossomed through her.
Wow. A buzz cut through her as she met his dark eyes—they locked on hers as if trying to understand her, to know her from a single glance. No—as if they already knew her and were trying to drink her in after a long absence.
“I’m sorry,” she said, cocking her head to study him. “We’ve never formally introduced ourselves. Chrissie Elliott, Stilettos, Inc.” She extended a hand and waited for him to take it.
He studied her hand for a minute, a smirk on his bea
utiful Latino face. He was like the stereotypical pool boy from the naughty videos. Or the Don Juan.
A broad smile spread across Fernandez’s face. Hell, if Don Juan could smile like that, he probably hadn’t even been a smooth talker. What guy needed words when his smile could send women to their knees, entreaty on her tongue?
The knot in her chest melted to a malleable ball of putty in her belly.
“No, I don’t believe we have,” he said.
This was a man so beautiful her body was saying, Rider? Rider who? Which, of course, was absurd because Rider was her One and Only. Josie had seen as much. Maybe not recently, but shortly after Chrissie and Rider had started dating, Josie had seen a wedding. It was coming.
Chrissie’s only real problem was that she wasn’t sure she wanted it to.
Don Juan extended a hand. “Nicholas Fernandez, SIA.”
She stretched to touch her fingers to his, bracing herself for an onslaught of memories he’d throw at her. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to leave his guard down. He’d defend his mind with memories he wanted her to see. But even with him picking and choosing, she’d see something of him. What kind of life had this man lived? A soft, easy existence or a heartbreaking one? Would his most powerful memories be of suffering and cruelty or of love and tenderness? Since she’d first made sense of her power, she’d come to rely on this “first impression.” The memories a person held most dear day to day said a lot about him.
She slid her hand into his, felt the roughness of his fingertips against her palm, then pulled back as if she’d grabbed a handful of lava.
She took a breath.
Fernandez grinned, wicked. “What’d you expect? My first Christmas?”
Chrissie blinked a few times.
He held his hand out again, palm up. “Go ahead,” he whispered, his dark eyes daring her. “Take a look.”
She wasn’t exactly shy, and she be damned if she was going to back down from a challenge like that.
She placed her hand in his and threaded their fingers, locking her eyes with his as she took the memory in. It came in a rush at first, but she slowed it down and took it in piece by piece.
