Black and Blue

by Gena Showalter

  Desire burned him from the inside out, sparking a fire in his blood, driving him torward the car. He lifted her to the trunk and forced her legs to spread and cage his hips. With his hands on her lower back, he yanked her against him and directed her into a hard, fast grind against his erection.

  Hell yeah!

  She groaned, and it was the most delicious sound.

  The pleasure of her . . . it was almost too much. . . . Her breasts rubbed against his chest, and he could feel the stiff peaks of her nipples. All the while, he continued to feed her a down-and-dirty kiss that mimicked exactly what he wanted to do to the rest of her. Hard, almost punishing. Taking. Demanding.

  He couldn't get enough of her. The honey of her taste was a drug. Beyond addictive.

  Necessary to sustain life.

  Power seeped from his pores, and he suspected Evie could feel it, because little moans kept rising from deep in her throat, and her fingers kept brushing up and down the exposed skin on his arms . . . until her hands were tangled in his hair, her nails digging into his scalp; she angled his head just the way she wanted it. He liked that. Liked that she demanded and took with the same fervency he used.

  She sucked the piercing in his bottom lip, and a low growl reverberated from him.

  More. He needed more. He needed all. He needed her naked, and open. He needed to graze her nipples with his teeth. Needed to devour her between her legs, then pound inside her, deep, so deep she would feel him for days afterward. He needed to hear her cries of rapture.

  Yes. He reached for the hem of her shirt, ready to tear the thing off her.

  A siren wailed in the background, and Evie stiffened.

  "Wait. Stop." She drew in a deep breath and shoved at him. She wouldn't meet his gaze. "This is wrong."

  Wrong? No. He--

  Wasn't kissing his fiancee.

  Yes. This was wrong.

  A tide of disgust rolled through him, and with a step back--physically and emotionally--he increased the distance between them.

  Evie stood and did the same, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as if she couldn't bear to deal with his taste a second longer. "That shouldn't have happened."

  "I know." He wasn't in love with Pagan, true, but he'd given her a ring. He had rules. Rules he should have followed.

  He was ashamed.

  He had just betrayed Michael in the worst possible way. Michael, who had done so much for him throughout the years but had only ever asked for one thing in return. That he leave his daughter alone.

  I'm scum.

  Correction, I'm worse than scum.

  Blue had disrespected the man, and for what? Momentary pleasure.

  Perfect phrase. Momentary pleasure. That was all Evie could ever be.

  She wasn't like Pagan. She would never accept the fact that he had to be with other women, no matter the reason for his actions. She would murder him, and perhaps even murder the female, totally unwilling to concede that what he did was a necessary evil of the job.

  He--

  Liked that, he realized, a little dazed. Wanted a woman to fight for him. To desire him, and him alone. To crave his unerring devotion and insist upon it.

  Who are you?

  "It was the moment," Evie said, her voice hollow. "The rush of surviving the chase and explosion."

  Was it? "I know," he repeated, his own voice just as hollow.

  He didn't know.

  He'd been attracted to this girl from the beginning. Maybe she'd been attracted to him just as long. Maybe it had happened only recently for her. But the fact remained. They were into each other, no matter how wrong it was.

  They'd have to be careful.

  "Are you good now?" she asked.

  Was he? The leash on his power was reinforced, but his mind was in turmoil. Never again taste that honey? Never again feel those teacup breasts smashed against his chest? Never again rub between her legs?

  Never thrust his fingers deep?

  Impossible.

  "I'll be fine," he gritted. "Let's go before the cops arrive."

  They returned to the car, settled inside.

  As he reprogrammed the GPS, he said, "As soon as I rise from the dead, I'm telling Pagan it's over." He'd just cheated on her for real. Yeah, he'd told her there would be other women, but this was different.

  This had been of his own volition.

  He really was a he-slut.

  There was no way to make this right. No way to reclaim his honor, but he could do an honorable thing. He could set Pagan free, allowing her to find someone else. Someone deserving of her.

  "I hope you're not doing that on my account," Evie said, peering out the window, hiding her expression. "That was our first and last kiss. It's never going to happen again."

  He'd just thought the same thing--and yet, it still irritated him to hear her say it. "Don't worry, flower petal. Getting involved with you is the last thing I want to do."

  Nine

  I'M IN SO MUCH trouble.

  Before, Evie had only been able to speculate about Blue's sexual prowess. She'd told herself that all the women flocking to him were fools, and his skill completely overrated.

  Now she knew better.

  His skills were seriously underrated. He hadn't just kissed her. He'd screwed the hell out of her mouth. And all the while, waves of his power had cascaded over her, heating her, making it feel like a thousand hands were concentrated on her naughty bits.

  She'd never been so swept up in a moment, or so lost in sensation.

  How close she'd come to letting him take her in public, out in the open, for anyone and everyone to see. How close she'd come to being used--and discarded.

  I'm not going to be another conquest. I'm not!

  From now on, she would be more careful around him. Although . . . maybe she wouldn't have to be.

  Getting involved with you is the last thing I want to do, he'd said, and even though she'd agreed with the sentiment, the words had still managed to cut at her.

  How pathetic am I? she thought. I can't even get the world's most promiscuous man to want me unless he's desperate to release a little power.

  Whatever. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except Michael, John, and Solo. She wouldn't forget again. And if she did, she might just give herself a lobotomy.

  *

  While Evie set up an external perimeter around the rubble of Michael's decimated house, creating invisible walls that would keep everyone and everything out, including prying eyes, Blue tossed charred boards out of the way by using his power, clearing the biggest pieces of debris before picking through the section where Fry Guy had tried to cook him for dinner.

  He wished he could use his favorite ability. Or rather, he wished he could use a tweaked version of his favorite ability. Blue could stand in one location, any location, and force the last ten minutes to replay. He could watch everything that had transpired, like a movie unfolding across a television screen, whether he'd first borne witness or not. But the explosion had happened over a week ago, too far in the past for this capability.

  There was another talent he could use here, however. One he'd always considered useless. An azure glow began to seep from the pores in his hand, and he ran his palm over bits and pieces of scorched wood, metal, and paper, the char disintegrating to reveal whatever was hidden beneath.

  The glow could clean anything--except his dirty thoughts. His desire for Evie hadn't faded in the silence of the drive. Had only grown.

  He was more appalled by the knowledge with every second that passed. He was also extremely ticked.

  How had he gone from total dislike of her to this . . . seeming obsession?

  "Cool trick," she said, coming up beside him.

  He steeled himself against her honey-almond scent, saying, "Just one of many."

  She placed her hand at her heart. "So humble."

  "I seem to recall your aversion to lies. Or has that changed?"

  Ignoring the question, she said, "What, exa
ctly, is it that you think we're going to find?"

  "Not sure yet."

  "Ah. This is a we'll-know-it-when-we-see-it mission."

  "Yes. Now zip it and help."

  "Sir, yes, sir."

  The response was unexpected--where was her anger?--and he barely stifled his laughter. There'd never be a dull moment with this girl, that was for sure.

  She worked alongside him for ten . . . twenty minutes without a word, but his awareness of her never dissipated. There was something about the grace of her movements that continually drew his eye.

  Why did she have to be Michael's daughter?

  "Just say whatever's on your mind," she finally growled, her good humor gone. "I don't like the way you're watching me."

  Noticed, had she? "And how am I watching you?"

  "As if you'd like to eat me."

  I would. I so would. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then again for dessert. "Why don't you do us both a solid and get over yourself, butter buns." The best defense was a good offense and all that jazz.

  "Butter buns? That's the worst of the lot!" She threw a piece of wood at his head.

  He stopped it midway with only a slight thread of power, letting it hover a moment before he sent it flying to the side. Of course, she used his distraction against him and threw another. This one pelted him in the chest, nearly deflating his lungs.

  "Do that again," he growled. "I dare you."

  "Dare accepted." She did it again.

  Like the first time, he stopped it and sent it flying. "I'm warning you, Evie."

  "Oh, yeah? What are you going to do to me, huh?"

  She was panting, he realized, and so was he. They were staring at each other, just as they'd done after the explosion, looking for an outlet for their anger . . . and awareness of each other. Only, this time nothing had happened to provoke such a response. If they kissed, they would only have themselves to blame.

  He almost didn't care. His mouth watered for her. His hands ached for her.

  "Never mind." Her cheeks flushed as she stomped away from him. He thought he heard her mutter the word lobotomy. "We're here for a reason. Let's concentrate."

  How aggravating that Evie Black had become the voice of reason in their relationship.

  "Miracle of miracles, you're right." He returned his attention to the pile of ash, and his gaze snagged on a small cigarette lighter. The metal had melted, but after a quick cleanup the unique logo became visible. A naked blonde straddled a male that was half white knight, half black unicorn.

  The logo represented the Lucky Horn. A strip club he may or may not have visited . . . countless times.

  Was it Michael's lighter? Or could it belong to Fry Guy?

  "Ever seen this before?" he asked, holding it up for Evie's inspection.

  She looked it over, shook her head. "No. And to my knowledge, Michael has never visited the Lucky Horn."

  How'd she know the logo?

  "Like he'd really tell you if he had," Blue quipped.

  "Like he wouldn't. He doesn't think of me as a daughter but as an agent. Well, as a doctor now."

  Threads of deep inner pain stroked over him, cold and stinging. They'd come from her, he realized. When would he stop being astonished by that? "What are you talking about? Of course he thinks of you as a daughter. He's always spoiled you rotten, letting you get away with crap he would have killed other agents for." And it had always bothered Blue, though he couldn't seem to work up any kind of indignation at that particular moment.

  Her expression turned pensive as she mulled over his words. A few seconds later she said, "Why did he leave me in Westminster with Mum, then? Why did he visit me so rarely?"

  She thought . . . what? That Michael had never really loved her? Ouch.

  But she couldn't be more wrong. Hurt was coloring all of her memories.

  He had his own experience with that. He couldn't remember his biological parents, only his three older brothers and two older sisters. They'd lived on the streets, his brothers stealing every scrap of food and clothing, and his sisters . . . he didn't want to think about what they'd done. But then they all got sick, dying one by one, until, at the age of four, Blue was on his own. To survive, he ate out of trash cans.

  A sweet old homeless man noticed him and tried to take care of him for a while. But it wasn't long before Blue's pretty face drew the notice of the wrong kind of people. The homeless man was stabbed and killed, and Blue shoved into a car.

  That's when power first bonded with him and activated.

  Frantic, scared, he somehow caused the car to levitate and crash into a building. And when the survivors tried to drag him out, he caused them to levitate and crash into the building. Alone once again, he hid in the shadows.

  Michael found him two days later.

  After feeding him, cleaning him, and clothing him, Michael ensured that Blue was given to a good home. One with lots of children, so that he would have brothers and sisters again.

  At first, the parents included him in the family meals. He protested, wanting to be alone with his grief, and they finally stopped asking, allowing him to remain in his room. It was then that Blue decided they didn't really like him, and that they were glad to be rid of him.

  After that, every interaction was strained.

  Looking back, without the pain of loss, he could see the couple had only been trying to help, doing everything possible to let him heal.

  "Why don't you ask Michael why he did what he did the next time you see him?" Blue said, using his gentlest tone. "The answer might surprise you."

  Dark eyes probed him, as if searching for answers he couldn't give her. She offered him a small, sweet smile. "I will. Thank you."

  "Welcome." He got back to business before he did something stupid, like pull her into his arms. "We need to find out everything we can about the Lucky Horn. If the lighter belongs to Fry Guy instead of Michael, we might be able to ID him."

  "I'm assuming Fry Guy is the man who tried to torch you."

  "Yes. If we can ID him, we can link him to friends. Friends who might know where Michael, John, and Solo are."

  She heaved a sigh of dread. "I have a feeling that includes a personal field trip."

  Blue nodded, astounded by the amount of dread building inside him. For once, he had no desire to be pawed by naked strippers. He just wanted--

  Nothing.

  "Let's go," he snapped.

  *

  Five hours later, Evie invaded the Lucky Horn, claiming a table just to the side of the stage.

  Blue was the club's newest stripper.

  They'd found out the place was hiring, and he insisted she apply.

  "Screw that," she'd said. "You want someone on the inside. Therefore, you are responsible. I shake tail for no one. Besides, one of us has to pry information out of the patrons, and the more people look at your face, the more likely they are to recognize you. And let's be honest, up on the stage, no one is going to be looking any higher than your groin."

  He'd only huffed and puffed for a few minutes. "Someone is trying to either abduct you or kill you. Meaning you need a disguise. What better disguise than stripper?"

  Nice try. "Give me one hour and I'll show you a better disguise."

  And she did!

  Right now, her hair was so blond it was almost white, and streaked with pink. Her eyes were bright blue and her chest hugely inflated by a silicone-infused bra.

  Blue had taken one look at her and shaken his head in disapproval. Disapproval she didn't understand. No one would recognize her and she fit his preferred type of female.

  But on top of the disapproval, he displayed zero hints of arousal. And the lack, well, it disappointed her.

  Lo. Bot. Omy.

  Even with his scar and piercings, Blue was hired at first sight. No one had a body quite like his. Cut from granite. No one could move quite like he did. Every action was a sensuous mating call.

  Now, hoping she appeared awed by her surroundings, she scanned t
he club. Dark walls, dark carpet. Dim lighting, except onstage. At both sides of that stage, women dangled from wires, their naked bodies sparkling as they twisted and turned into different sexual positions. In the center, glitter rained from the ceiling, sticking to the exposed skin of the half-naked bumping, grinding brunette currently teasing the audience with the removal of her G-string.

  One of the patrons shoved a bill in her box--and, no, box wasn't a euphemism. Men weren't allowed to touch the goods until they'd paid, stuffing their money inside an actual box at the edge of the stage. The bills disengaged the shock line, allowing the girl to stroll up to the patron and settle a high-heeled boot on his shoulder, giving him the perfect money shot.

  A topless waitress arrived and asked for Evie's drink order. "Beer in a bottle. Don't pop the cap." There was no reason to think anyone would try and poison her, but she wasn't taking any chances.

  The brunette finished her show, and a husky voice spilled from the intercom. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, we are proud to introduce the newest addition to the Lucky Horn family. Give it up for the hard and horny . . . Jack Hammer!"

  This was it! Unable to contain her excitement, Evie clapped her hands and bounced in her seat. Sometimes agenting had its perks.

  The curtain at the back of the stage parted and out strode Blue, wearing nothing but a scowl and a pair of black leather underpants.

  Blimey. She lost her breath. She'd expected to be amused by his situation, but she was inexplicably aroused. He had muscle stacked upon muscle. His skin was pale, like all Arcadians', and yet, there was a shimmery golden undertone, as if he'd showered in fallen angel dust. He looked wild. Dangerous.

  And, okay, quite livid.

  The waitress arrived with the beer, and Evie waved her away. "You're blocking my view."

  As always, power radiated from him. Did anyone else feel it?

  He stood still as a statue as the music played. Someone booed. Someone else threw a chip at him. Gonna blow his cover.

  "Let's see your best moves, Mr. Hammer!" Evie put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. "Yeah, baby. Yeah! Show Momma what the good Lord gave you!"

  Somehow he found her in the dark and glared. Then, from one moment to the next, the tone of the glare changed. From anger to anticipation.

  Uh-oh. What just happened?

  He sauntered in her direction, and her hands began to sweat. At the edge of the stage, he tugged a bill from the waist of the underpants--if some skank backstage put it there, I'm going to . . . nothing--and stuffed it in the hot box, lowering the shield.