She tilted her hips and took him deeper as he found the rhythm that made them both gasp and groan and cling. Again and again, over and over. She did not want this to end. She would live in this instant for an eternity if she had the choice, poised on the edge, waiting for the crash that they both knew was coming. Her release made her cry out in pleasure as Max pushed deeper and harder and did the same.
Their heartbeats pounded against each other’s chests, and he drew her against him and carefully rolled them so she was sprawled on top of him.
“That was amazing,” he said quietly.
She nodded, not daring to raise her gaze to his in case he saw the tears of regret that started to form. Regret that she hadn’t been completely truthful with him. Regret that he’d leave soon. Regret that she might be labeled a traitor before this was all over. Max might hate her, and she wouldn’t blame him one bit.
* * *
Max got rid of the condom while Lucy dozed. Then he climbed back into bed and drew her against him, pulling the sheet over them both. He should probably get some sleep too, but damn if he wasn’t hard again.
It had been a while since he’d been involved with anyone but, even so, he wasn’t some randy teenager driven by lustful hormones looking for any chance to have sex. He was a grown-ass man.
He tried to count sheep, but his mind kept wandering back to the fact that Lucy was naked in his arms and his dick just wanted to know when they could do it all again. What was it about this woman that gave him such a buzz?
Her hand curled around him even though he thought she was asleep. “Hello.”
He groaned.
“Ready for round two, I see?”
She leaned up and kissed him and then she shuffled lower in the bed, straddling his body as she worked her way lower.
Every drop of blood in his body headed south and it was just as well he was lying down. Her lips kissed along the rigid length of him. Then her tongue came out to play.
The image of Lucy doing this to him, with her big eyes and innocent face staring up at him to see if he liked what she was doing, sent a shot of something strange and unfamiliar through him. A weird mix of lust and tenderness.
He sank his fingers into her hair when she took him in her mouth. It was so good he might explode before he was ready. His grip tightened on her hair. He wanted to let go and fuck her mouth the way he wanted, but he’d been raised with manners.
“Come here.” He pulled her off him and tugged her until she had moved all the way up his body.
“Hold on,” he warned her, and she gripped the headboard in surprise as he shuffled lower and settled her onto his mouth. He lapped and played until she was panting. He touched her clit, and she cried out as she came.
Then he grabbed a condom and put it on, moving behind her as she knelt facing the headboard. She was so wet he slipped easily inside. And then she was once again sliding over him, gripping him, driving him crazy. He bent her forward and wrapped himself around her, then clamped two fingers tight around one nipple while his other palm pressed against her clit, and she came again with a sharp cry. Her muscles spasmed around him, squeezing him, milking him until he couldn’t hold back any longer. He came with an explosive blast that ricocheted from his head to his balls igniting every nerve in between.
Then they both crashed, finally falling into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Something woke Irene. The stealthy pressure of a heavy foot on a creaky floorboard. The whisper of air moving outside her door.
A shiver ran over her spine.
Why was someone creeping around in the dark? Was it Kristen?
It didn’t sound like Kristen—it felt like menace rather than hope.
Could it be rescuers?
She sat up cautiously.
Her mind throbbed as much with sorrow as pain. She kept flexing her sore hand, expecting the missing finger to curl. It didn’t. It was nothing but a painful stump now.
She stuffed the trauma and worry of her situation down to the pit of her stomach and swallowed hard to keep it there.
Another creak.
Was it the wind on the old house?
Another groan of wood straining under the weight of a human being. Someone was definitely moving around. The hair on her nape slowly rose in awareness and trepidation.
The door to her room was pushed open, and the hinge ground out a protest.
She couldn’t see with the hood over her face, but she felt a male presence watching her.
The footsteps came closer, and someone knelt beside her.
They didn’t speak, and that was when she knew with certainty that this was not a rescue mission. A hand tried to push her down onto the floor, but she resisted.
“Acuéstese y no se mueva,” he demanded. Lie down and don’t move.
Her mouth went dry with fear. It was the demented kidnapper. He’d brought her food a couple of hours ago. This was the first time he’d ever returned before dawn.
Why the hell would he want her to lie down? She pressed back into the solidness of the radiator and refused to budge.
“¿Quieres que suelte las cadenas?”
Did she want to get out of these chains? “Si.”
And now he knew she spoke Spanish, but he hadn’t been trying to trick her. Alcohol was ripe on his breath. He was drunk.
Then she heard another set of footsteps come into the room, and her heart pounded and sweat bloomed. The second person closed the door, and the snick of the catch felt like a stab to the heart. She knew exactly what these two wanted.
“What do you want? Go away.” She curled into a tight ball. When she sensed one of them close to her, she kicked out at them, barefoot.
He yelped and scuttled away.
She could feel them both assessing her. Predators eyeing the caribou calf. Looking for an opening.
Why were they being so stealthy? Because they didn’t want someone else in the house to hear?
“Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”
The men swore and one of them threw himself on top of her but hit his head on the radiator and rolled to the side, groaning with pain.
Irene screamed when her assailant landed on her maimed hand. She twisted away from him but was brought up short by her restraints.
Then she felt fingers on her throat, squeezing, telling her to shut the fuck up or he was going to kill her.
One of them lifted her chains and unlocked the padlock that connected her handcuffs to the heavy links.
“Don’t worry, little one. We won’t hurt you.”
They dragged her to her feet and, for a second, she thought she’d been mistaken about their intentions, but then the other one nudged her across the room. He pushed her again and, this time, she hit the edge of the old musty mattress.
He shoved her and she landed on her front, dust from the bed rising in a cloud that choked her even with the hood over her face. She rolled onto her back as adrenaline flooded her. She cycled her feet to kick anyone coming close, but they split up, one of the men going to the other side of the bed and grabbing her cuffed hands. She cried out when he squeezed her wounded hand.
Bastard.
The other man used her distraction to climb on top of her and pin her with his weight.
Irene couldn’t believe this. Like they hadn’t already destroyed her life, butchered her body. How was that not enough for them?
“You are animals,” she screamed at them. “You are pigs.”
They spoke in Spanish, but she understood every word. “Shut her up in case the boss comes back and hears.”
She screamed louder until the guy above her head knelt on the mattress and planted his other hand over her mouth. The canvas of the hood made it impossible to breathe. She turned her head to the side, desperate to find enough air not to suffocate.
He opened her shirt. No. No. No.
They made comments of appreciation about her body, and she wanted to shrivel with humiliation. They were both laug
hing as one guy began undoing her jeans. She still fought him, but she heard something else in the background. She heard footsteps.
Kristen. Please god if it was her friend then run. Don’t try to save her. The odds were impossible. Run, and they might somehow both survive this nightmare.
The footsteps were coming toward her room.
Neither man heard as they prepared themselves to rape her. They struggled to get her jeans off her hips because the denim was so tight, and she wasn’t helping them.
They both froze when the door opened.
“El jefe, she tried to escape. We were—”
The sound of a silenced bullet cut her attacker off, and she felt him slump over her lower legs. Oh my god.
“That’s for being sloppy.” Another bullet, and she felt her attacker jerk again. “That’s for being a filthy pig.”
The other man was begging for forgiveness. She heard the scramble of feet and the sound of more shots. Somehow, the second guy was able to get to the bathroom and slam the door shut.
She lay there frozen as she listened to the guy with the gun, the boss, fire several shots into the lock on the door.
Irene could picture the scene as the dead man slid off her legs onto the floor. She heard the man with the gun kick in the bathroom door and then she heard what sounded like a scuffle.
Irene leapt off the bed and pushed the hood up enough to see. Then she ran. Fuck it. She didn’t stop to rescue Kristen. Remorse gutted her, but she knew she’d have one chance and one chance only.
Her jeans were thankfully so tight they didn’t fall down. She ran so fast she was already down the first flight before the lead kidnapper appeared to realize she’d made a break for it.
She heard him running after her but didn’t let it distract her. Get to the door. Get outside. Hide.
She slipped, and a bullet glanced off the wall ahead of her. She flung herself around the corner at the bottom of the stairs and headed toward the kitchen underneath her chamber, betting that the backdoor of the house was the most likely one to be unlocked.
She had no doubt he’d kill her if he caught her.
She hit the kitchen at full sprint, eternally grateful it was empty of people, and pivoted right. The doorway was in front of her.
She grabbed the handle and panicked when it didn’t open, but the key was in the lock.
She twisted it even as she heard her captor draw closer.
The key turned, lock clicked, and Irene threw herself out into the darkness.
* * *
Lucy awoke to the sound of the shower running. Max. She blinked at her alarm clock. One A.M.
Her stomach growled. She was starving. She needed to eat. She also needed to clean up.
She climbed out of bed and pushed open the bathroom door, walking into hot steam. Max was faintly visible behind the fogged-up glass, and her heart gave a little sigh.
Gorgeous.
The door opened, and his arm snaked out and pulled her under the stream of water with him.
She gave a little squeal, feeling young and foolish in a way she’d forgotten. He pushed her against the wall and planted an elbow either side of her head.
“I hope you wanted a shower.” His eyes were amused.
She ran her arms up his sculpted chest. “Funnily enough I did.”
She raised up on tiptoes and kissed him deeply. Then he lifted her off the floor, and she wrapped her legs around him and, once again, she was on fire.
The length of him rubbed along her clit as he leaned down to kiss her neck, her breasts. Driving her crazy. Driving her wild. If he didn’t get inside her in the next sixty seconds, she was going to implode.
“Wait,” Max ordered and slipped out of the shower. Then he was back with a condom.
Her nails dug into his back as he lifted her again. “Hurry.”
He positioned himself at her slick entrance and pushed inside, and it felt so good, so right, she bit her lip to hold back a moan.
She tipped her head back as Max filled her perfectly. She saw the pulse in his neck kick up a notch and then he began pounding into her, all raw power and honed male beauty. They were both wet and slippery, and his grip on her bit into her muscles with a delicious sharpness. It was incredible. It was amazing. Once again, she never wanted it to end.
He changed the angle, so he was rubbing her clit every time he pushed inside and then he braced her against the wall as he let go with one hand and pinched one of her nipples. Tight.
Her body electrified, and she spasmed and came in a rush of white light and pleasure that hit her like a tsunami.
He followed with a tortured groan and, when he was finished, stood there with his chest heaving. When they were both destroyed and barely able to stand, he let her feet slide slowly back down to the floor.
Then he pulled away, got rid of the condom, and grabbed shampoo, squirting some into her hair and lathering up a foam. He drew her more fully under the spray and rinsed the shampoo and applied conditioner, smoothing it gently over her scalp and to the ends of her hair. He took the shower gel and soaped himself and then her before rinsing her hair and their bodies. The gentleness was killing her.
Finally clean, both of them sated, he turned off the water and Lucy stood there staring at him.
He cupped her face. Kissed her. “You’re beautiful.”
She blinked stupidly.
Tiny droplets of water clung to his lashes. He looked magnificent and she couldn’t believe she was with him even for a short time. She did not deserve him.
She kissed his palms. “So are you.”
He reached outside for towels and wrapped one around her, and then tucked one around his hips. He stepped out and offered his hand to her, like she was getting out of a carriage. She laughed. His fingers tightened.
Her stomach growled again and this time he laughed. “Time to refuel.”
Lucy nodded. “I have frozen pizza. Or we can reheat the burgers.”
“Anything sounds good. Then we can maybe catch a few hours’ sleep before—” The sound of a cell phone ringing cut off his words. He grimaced. “Or maybe not.”
Chapter Thirty
Max strode into the Legat’s office and was taken aback by the number of people working at two in the morning.
“Are you guys here because the kidnappers called or is something else about to go down?” he asked an agent standing nearby.
“I can’t say,” she replied which was all the answer he needed.
He nodded a thanks and headed over to the Negotiation Center.
He tapped on the door before he entered.
Adam Quinn had been manning the phones on the graveyard shift when the kidnapper had called.
Jennifer McCreedy had already made it in from wherever she was staying. Max realized with a start he hadn’t even asked her what hotel she was in. Was that because he’d been hoping what had occurred between him and Lucy would happen? That for all his “I don’t hook up on a job” spiel, he’d been subconsciously hoping to change that with Lucy this whole time?
He didn’t regret them having sex. He wanted more. Shit, he was already wondering how they’d be able to see one another again when this was all over.
Lucy followed behind him, and he held the door so she could come inside. She wore black jeans and t-shirt and a dark red hoodie. Her hair was still damp from their joint shower and pulled into a tight ponytail that exposed her fine bone structure. Her glasses once again camouflaged her eyes.
She looked gorgeous. How did people not notice?
He spotted the ambassador and her husband, followed by Miranda and Iain Bartlett coming in the door to the Legat’s office. They all looked like they’d rolled out of bed and appeared as startled as he was by the feverish activity in the Legat’s office.
He pinched his lips together. He didn’t stand a pup’s chance in hell of keeping these people out of this stage of the kidnapping so instead he’d try to corral them and keep them busy. He ushered them all into his close
t and closed the door, blocking out the distraction of what looked like another major operation about to go down.
“Catherine, Phillip, please take a seat over there.” He pointed the parents to the camp bed. It might not be particularly swanky, but they’d have less distance to hit the floor should the worst happen. He wished he’d had the chance to review the tapes privately before they’d turned up. He turned back to Quinn and ignored the others even though he was intensely aware of every breath Lucy took.
“What do we have?”
Quinn looked at his notes. “They called twenty-four minutes ago with details of where to drop the money. They want one person to deliver the funds. They said they’d call back in thirty minutes with directions. They said no cops. No drones. No trackers in the money else the girls die.”
“What are the chances this is a trick? That they’ll take the money and not release the girls?” Phillip asked.
Max stared at the man. “Successful kidnappers have their own reputations to think about. I’m hopeful that the fact we came up with what they asked for will mean they will keep up their end of the bargain, but there are no guarantees.”
“Does the person delivering the money wait around for the kidnappers to hand over the hostages to them?” Miranda asked with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Max shook his head. “It’s not like the movies. We hand over the cash and then we hope and pray they release the girls.”
“What’s stopping them keeping the cash and the girls?” Catherine demanded.
“Not a damned thing, Ambassador. Except their desire to be paid should they ever pull this sort of job again in the future. If they kill the hostages no one will trust their word.” That reminded him that the Canadians still hadn’t called him back. Too late to follow up now.
“What’s to stop them taking our money and then selling the girls to someone else as threatened?”
Max shook his head. “Again, nothing, but we are out of choices and out of time.” He indicated the Legat’s room with a thumb over this shoulder. He couldn’t speak freely as not everyone here had been read in on the case, but Catherine Dickerson and Iain Bartlett understood the urgency. If the Legat was about to request arrest warrants be served for certain Russian oligarchs, it must mean they were doing the same in the States. Operation Soapbox was about to launch criminal indictments and the shit was about to hit the fan.
Cold Cruel Kiss: A heart-stopping and addictive romantic thriller Page 29
