Concierge

by Stella Barcelona

  He bent closer to the sketch, and narrowed his eyes. “But you’ve got a lot of details in the house. Even the initials in the wrought iron. MLB.”

  “Yes, but I’ve seen that house about a zillion times. The man who built it in the eighteen hundreds was instrumental in starting the New Orleans Cotton Exchange. Wealthy people had their wrought iron custom designed, often with their initials. So that detail is something I already knew. And I just spent a half hour working on all those scrolls. I’m procrastinating getting here.” Andi pointed to the blank part of the canvas, which had her stomach clenched into a hard knot.

  “Unfortunately, if someone asked me what kind of cars were lining the street, I wouldn’t be able to tell them the specifics. I know I saw a van, but I have no idea of the model, or identifying features. And a woman. I’ve tried to draw her twice now, in the sketches I did earlier tonight.” She lifted her arms overhead, and gestured to the two easels where the earlier sketches stood. “Each time I draw her, she looks more and more like Monica. And based on what Richie said, we know that’s my imagination, not actual memories.”

  “Maybe step away from it for a while?”

  Earlier, she’d indicated he’d get further the next time. His low tone, and the hungry, serious look in his eyes said he was damn ready to test the waters, but in keeping with his promise, he wasn’t going to push the issue. The first move had to be hers. Collecting her thoughts, she turned from him and the sketch that was going nowhere. She looked at the table where she’d laid out her tools. Straightened the pencils so that the tips were all in line.

  He took the pencil out of her hand. “Look at me.”

  As she turned to him, he stepped closer and lifted her chin with the crook of his finger. A glimmer of light shone in his eyes. A trace of a smile curved his lips. She was learning to appreciate that even though he was easygoing and endlessly optimistic, Gabe was always thinking. The currents in this beautiful river of a man ran deep. Really deep. She lifted her face to him, and then his arms closed around her. “This okay?”

  The weight of his arms, pulling her into his solid chest, felt better than right. It made her uncertainty a fleeting thing that quickly receded. “God, yes.”

  The first touch of his lips brought instant warmth. When his tongue slid along her bottom lip, sparks turned the warmth to fire. She wanted more. Everything. All of him, inside her. Locking her hands behind his neck, pulling herself up, she arched into him as she opened her mouth to him. Nipping at his lips when he pulled back to breathe, pressing harder against him when he moved too slowly, she encouraged each movement from him and demanded more.

  “Wow.”

  “More,” she whispered into his mouth, reaching for his hand, and pulling it to her breast. He got her not-so-subtle hint fast. Lifting both hands to her chest, he kneaded her breasts. Sizzling need surged through her, even though the sweatshirt and t-shirt she wore dulled the effect of his touch. “Not enough. More.”

  He slid a hand under her shirts, his fingers cold against the warmth of her skin. He cupped her breasts gently, then brushed his thumbs over her nipples. His touch on her bare skin, on the hard nubs of her nipples, ignited more than sparks. It was as though a wildfire ran through her body. There was no stopping the desire that the flames fueled. While one hand took possession of her breasts, she felt him tug gently at the waistband of her sweatshirt. “On or off?

  “Off.” Within seconds, the sweatshirt was off. Underneath, she wore a t-shirt.

  He tugged at the bottom of it, arching an eyebrow. She gave a nod. He lifted it, slowly. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He stepped back for a second, drawing in a breath as he got his first eyeful of her bare breasts. Her nipples, stimulated by his hands, were hard peaks. “Beautiful.”

  Leaning down, he placed his mouth on her left breast as he cupped them both. One long kiss there, then another on her right. He opened his mouth, drew in the nipple, and sucked in her flesh. Yearning need pulsed hard between her legs, radiating everywhere.

  “You know that thing we have,” she said, shivering, “about taking it slow? Being Brad and Sandy?”

  “Yeah.” He shifted from her left breast to her right. Tongued her nipple, then opened his mouth wide, drawing her into his mouth as his other hand kneaded her right breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple. Groaning, she gripped his shoulders and pulled up his shirt. “Forget about it.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Positive?”

  “Stop asking. Hurry.”

  “Nah.” He lifted his face from her breasts, and came in close for a kiss as his hands found her chest again. “Slow is way too much fun. I’ll get there. Slowly. Stop me at any point.” As she melted into him, with her back against a wall, she felt his fingers trace a line down her stomach. He didn’t stop at the waistband of her pants. “This okay?”

  “Yes. Right now, it’s…”

  He kneed her legs apart as he continued kissing her. It was a damn good thing she was leaning against the wall, because her legs couldn’t hold her up. He slipped his fingers into her panties, into her mound, parting her folds, then started circling her entrance. She gasped as he pressed hard on her clitoris.

  He groaned as his fingers swirled into moisture that was building by the second. All pretense fell from his eyes. He gave a deep, honest and hungry groan as he slid fingers inside her. “God. You’re so, so wet.”

  Two and a half years without sex had evidently lowered her threshold for orgasms. As he thrust his fingers in and out of her, she started coming. “Gabe. I’m—”

  “Yeah,” he said, as he continued the thrusting motion while pressing his thumb against her clit. “Want you to keep coming. We’re only just starting.”

  Breaking away, he lifted her and walked over to the couch, gently setting her there. He knelt in front of her, and lifted his shirt over his head. Her hands crawled along his tight, tawny skin, stretched taut over his rippling chest and shoulder muscles.

  As he peeled off her yoga pants, she reached for the waistband of his jeans and unbuttoned them. But she got no further with that because he moved his hips away. In a quick, steady move, he shifted his shoulders so that her knees were over them. As he bent his face to her mound, she froze at the thought of oral sex.

  She pushed him away. He looked up, shooting her an arched eyebrow glance. “Stop?”

  “Yes. But no. This is a different kind of problem.” One she hadn’t thought through. Hadn’t had the need. Until now.

  Oh, for the love of God, just tell him.

  “I don’t think I can let you do that. Because if you do, it begs the question of blow jobs. I used to. Before. But I can’t, now. And it isn’t fair, really—”

  “Oh.” His shrug lifted her legs with his shoulders. “Don’t worry, honey. This might feel good for you, but trust me, it’ll be better for me. I’ve been dying to taste you…and I don’t feel like telling you when I first had that thought. I don’t need a blow job in return.”

  The discussion ended when he rested his butt back on his heels, bent his upper body forward, and pressed his open mouth into her mound. Her body shook as his tongue worked through her folds. As she shut her eyes and gave into the explosions that rippled through her, she whispered, “You sure?”

  “Positive.” His deep voice vibrated throughout her. He took her clit into his mouth, and gently licked it as he sucked. Arching her back and pressing herself to him, she kneaded her hands through his hair. When he slipped a finger into her, she gasped. “Yes.”

  He slipped in another finger, swirled it, then started thrusting his hand so that his fingers went deep, deep inside of her, while his tongue and teeth worked her clit, taking her higher with each touch. “Oh God. Gabe. That feels so, so good.”

  Sparks sizzled up and down her body, racing along her legs, down her spine and to her fingertips. Building and building, without release. “Oh Gabe. Never. Never felt this good before.”

  If I did, I don’t remember it.
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  His answering groan as he used his teeth on her clit sent shockwaves from her mound throughout her body, and still her need built. Arching into him, she was panting as she tried hard to relax into an orgasm…that…impossibly…wasn’t… coming.

  Frustrated, she gripped his head tighter. And still her need built. Higher. Higher, as she thrust her hips with the need for release. Moaning, she suddenly knew she needed to feel him making love to her, while she made love to him.

  “Need you. Inside me. Now.”

  He lifted his gaze to her. “You sure?”

  “God, yes.”

  In a matter of seconds, he stripped off his jeans. Took a condom out of the pocket, opened it, and covered himself. Her right leg was against the side of the couch, and he was lying between her thighs, his penis poised at her entrance. He hesitated, with his weight balanced on his hands.

  She lifted both her legs, folding them behind his back, and arched into him. Reaching down, she gripped his shaft, shivering with anticipation. “Now, Gabe. Please.”

  “Going slow,” he said, between clenched teeth, as he pushed the head in, but not far. “You’re so…” He did a circling motion with his hips, swirling a few inches into her, then pulling out, and repeating the move. “Tight.”

  “That’s why it feels…so…good…oh…God, Gabe… Don’t need it that slow. Now. Hurry!”

  He thrust hard and deep, spreading her walls with a swift, decisive move. “Oh.” Low and throaty, his one word was enough of a statement. “God, but this feels great.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, as heat and warmth spread from him throughout her body.

  “Understatement. Worth. The. Wait.” With his eyes on her, he started thrusting. Gently. Pulling almost all the way out, slowly pushing back in. Going deeper and deeper with each move. When she started thrusting back, he picked up his pace. Slightly. She sensed he was holding back. But they were both panting, and the need that had built into a brittle pinnacle for her started crumbling where her walls clenched hard around him.

  “God, Gabe. So perfect.”

  Giving a long, slow groan, he buried himself deep inside of her.

  She could feel that he was close, but not there yet. Pent-up tension rippled along his chest muscles and arms as he held back the need he was fighting to restrain, while her release built into an orgasm that left her breathless and shaking.

  As her orgasm ebbed, she was gripped with urgency to make this as good for him as it was for her. Raising her hips, and shifting to her side so that she could spread her legs more, he sunk in even deeper.

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s—” he growled, pushing in deeper. “Even better.”

  She gasped with the heightened pleasure the shift in position brought. As another crest started building within her, she whispered, “Don’t hold back.”

  He moved faster and faster. And then he stopped. “I’m losing control. This feels too good.”

  “Let go. I can handle it. I want to feel your strength.”

  His low groan was a magical blend of frustration and desire. When he started thrusting again, using the force she was inviting, she said, “Yes. Like that. I love how you’re so deep in me.”

  “Come again for me.” Through slitted eyes, he watched her. With the couch creaking in protest, he slammed into her, propelling himself deeper and deeper inside with each hard, spreading thrust. He filled her with a power that her body absorbed. Her sighs became constant, while his moans became harsher, more guttural. He clenched his jaw and kept pumping into her.

  “Almost there,” she said. “Oh, Gabe.”

  She lifted her legs higher, and folded them tightly in the small of his back. Her inner muscles clenched along his long, thick erection, coaxing him into a deep and powerful orgasm. Flexing his hips so that he was even deeper inside her, she felt the throbbing pulse of his release. More of a groan than words, he mumbled, “You’re—we’re—perfect. Together.”

  Afterward, they lay, panting and sweaty, on the couch, chest to chest. “Strength,” she whispered. “It’s like you gave me your strength. I’ve never felt that before. Never,” she mumbled, lips parted on his rising and falling chest, “felt such power behind…the act. Everywhere. Throughout my entire body.”

  His arms tightened around her back, as his chest rose and fell with heavy, deep breaths. “Perfect. There’s more where that came from. But sleep first.”

  Answer enough, because his actions as they’d made love, tender at first and then with demanding, unrelenting passion, had said it all. His need for her made her feel like a woman again. His trust that she was ready for good, hard loving, and giving it to her, made her feel capable of being desired. Capable of receiving and—equally important—giving intense pleasure.

  As she chased him into deep, contented sleep, Andi felt whole. Healed. Still her post-kidnapping self, but a better, stronger version than she’d ever dared to hope.

  Sometime later, Gabe’s sudden jerking of his arms awakened her. He gently shifted her off of him and sat up. The sound of footsteps, running up the stairs to her studio registered. Gabe covered most of her body and some of his lap with a blanket as the bald-headed agent appeared at the doorway, then quickly backed away. “Sorry, sir. Ms. Hutchenson. We’ve got a problem.”

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Gabe

  Friday, February 19, 8:45 a.m.

  “Tyre. Talk to me.” Gabe brushed raindrops off his sleeve and out of his hair as he entered the guesthouse.

  “Richie’s still here,” Tyre said, stating the obvious. “Pic isn’t.”

  “Sure as hell need a bit more than that.” Taking his phone out of his pocket, he turned it on as he eyed Richie, who was wearing jeans and a green-hooded sweatshirt that Gabe recognized as belonging to Pic. A frisson of foreboding fluttered along his nerve endings as Marks shut the door and followed him into the living room.

  Gabe slipped his mic into his ear. “Stevens. Copy?”

  Why was Pic’s friend wearing his clothes? Even under normal circumstances, that would strike him as odd. But Pic was missing, and everything in him was saying something was off here. Way off.

  “Yes, sir. Accessing security footage now,” Stevens said, through the mic.

  Arms folded across his chest, Richie tried hard to look like he wasn’t bothered by Tyre, who stood in a wide-legged stance within an arm’s reach of Richie. Arms and shoulders tense, the two glared at one another, looking like they were getting ready to start throwing punches at any minute.

  “Details, Tyre. How did this happen under your watch? And where is Pic now?”

  “Six minutes ago, this asshole came to tell us Pic was late.” Tyre’s face was flushed, almost the same color as his red hair. “They pulled a switch on me, and I fell for it.”

  The agent was about to get his ass fired for his incompetence and he had the look of someone who knew it. Pic was important to Andi. And they’d failed her. Tyre’s screw-up was Black Raven’s screw-up. Pic better be somewhere safe, eating a donut as he checked out girls, otherwise both the agent and Pic’s weird friend were in for a world of hurt.

  Richie jerked his chin in the agent’s direction, but kept his eyes on Gabe. Smart move, knowing which man posed the most danger to him. “Dude, get the fuck over it. Pic’ll be walking up any minute, ringing the doorbell at the gate.” Richie spat out the words, then continued in a voice that was more like the nice-guy-voice that he’d used earlier with Gabe. “Ain’t necessarily a big deal. Despite all the weird shit happening these days, I’d say the most likely scenario is the kid blew his curfew.” He smiled. “Besides, Pic’s just a teenager, meeting his girl after a few months of not seeing her. Don’t know about you guys, but I’m not such a great timekeeper when my cock’s hard. Are any of you?”

  Both Marks and Tyre returned Gabe’s glance with enough unease in their un-amused gazes to confirm what his gut was telling him. Something a hell of a lot less benign than Richie’s story was happening.

  “Sir?” Steven
s said, in his ear.

  “Yes.”

  “Client’s headed your way.”

  Hell.

  With Andi present, there’d be no time for damage control. Marks and Tyre had been on the night shift. Gabe had technically been off duty on Andi’s official four-man detail, but he’d been up most of the night working on Operation Pic, which had taken his research to Mapleton. He’d filled Marks and Tyre in on his earlier conversation with Richie, so they were up to speed on everything he’d discussed with Andi and Ragno. In addition to monitoring Andi’s property throughout the night, Marks and Tyre had combed through NamUs, the Department of Justice’s database for missing, unidentified, and unclaimed persons, then correlated that information to New Orleans-related events. When Gabe was climbing the stairs to Andi’s studio at five-forty-five a.m., before he’d turned off communication with Marks and Tyre, he knew that their searches had turned up a solid string of LSI-NOLA.

  Last Seen In New Orleans. Maybe the events were in the range of normal for cities that attracted transient populations. But there were enough that Gabe wouldn’t want his own teenage kid roaming the streets, alone.

  Yeah. Maybe nothing’s wrong. Maybe the kid just wanted to be with his girl that bad and maybe he’s just a little late getting back. But this is too damn coincidental.

  “If you’d just move aside and let me outta here,” Richie added, “I’ll go get him.”

  Not in a million years.

  With a burst of cold, wind-driven air and swirling raindrops, Andi entered the guesthouse. While he’d yanked on his clothes and shoes, Gabe had asked her to stay in the main house until he sorted through whatever was going on. He hadn’t taken the time to be persuasive before jogging down the stairs, across the courtyard, and into the guesthouse. So, of course she hadn’t listened. He didn’t blame her.