Sinner (The Hades Squad #1) (29 page)

“I like the outfit,” Linc growled, his voice huskier than normal. He trailed a finger over the cleavage plumped by the corset she wore underneath the crepe silk.

“It's not as bad as I thought it would be,” she murmured and patted the white tape back into place. “How did it happen, Linc?”

“Later, Destiny. We'll talk later. So, are you getting naked?” he asked, slipping a finger under her neckline, rolling a nipple, then pinching lightly.

In Alaska, Linc had explained a soldier's reaction to an adrenaline surge, the craving for sex. Between the fact they'd been apart for five days and the danger that he had faced, she figured his desire was on a tight rein, and she wanted to tease the semen out of him.

Knowing she'd never get through the little routine the dance instructor at her gym had shown her if he kept distracting her, Destiny wriggled away from his questing fingers.

“I signed up for a pole-dancing class while you were gone.” She popped the iPod into its receiver and hit Play.

Linc's eyes bugged out when the first distinctive notes of the classic “The Stripper” echoed around the room.

She'd chickened out of wearing the long black gloves to the book launch, but with her back to him, she tugged them on while circling her rump to the music. Twirling around on a cymbal clash, she rocked in time to the beat, placed one foot forward, and did a slow shoulder shrug.

One hand cradling his neck, Linc's eyes widened and darkened. Desire dilated his pupils when she inched a dress strap down her arm. He stroked his dick, fingering the crown when she snagged a finger on the left glove with her teeth.

“Leave the gloves on,” he raised his voice, his order terse, tone husky.

She mouthed,
Spoilsport
, and winked. The gloves had been a big part of her choreography. Time to ad-lib. She bent over, stroking her breasts and giving him a wicked smile. Then she tweaked her nipples taut, pinching them the way he had. Her thong rubbed over folds that were swelling and aching; her eyelids drooped. When the silk hit her clit, she moaned and her vagina clenched.

Linc sat up, legs spread, gaze fixed on her hands. He stroked his dick faster. The crown seemed plumper than she remembered, his penis too thick to suck more than halfway down the length of him. Had she really managed to swallow him to the base?

Her vision blurred when the walls of her pussy did another clench and jerk. She reached behind for the dress’ zipper and eased the plastic apart. Doing a side-to-side bump and grind, feet planted wide apart, she let the dress fall to her waist. Destiny snuck her hands under the hem of the sheath, skinned off her thong, and sailed the black pantie into the air.

Linc caught the scarlet strip and brought the fabric to his nose. “You smell like paradise.”

An inferno burned inside her.

Linc's fingers clutched the glans of his dick. His nostrils flared in tandem with his rapid, rising and falling chest. His taut belly glistened with sweat.

She did a fast shimmy, and the crepe slithered to the floor, leaving her in a scarlet garter belt, sheer black stockings, a fake ruby nestled in her belly button, and a lacy corset that ended below her breasts.

He bolted off the bed, caught her in his arms, dropped her on the mattress, and then rolled between her legs.

“You shaved your pussy,” he rasped. His fingers slid between her legs, and one dipped inside. “Thank you, Jesus. Wet. Ready.”

He fucked her in time to the music, gripping her hips, slowing through the long horns, hard and fierce thrusts in time to the cymbals, tilting her so he went deeper and deeper. It was two minutes and twenty-six seconds of an eternal orgasm, which went on and on long after he roared and collapsed.

Limp, sated, she listened as his ragged breathing evened out, waited until the erratic heartbeat pulsing beneath her palm resting on his chest measured a steady rhythm.

“Welcome home, Lincoln Abraham Chapman.” She kissed his collarbone.

“I'll buy a pole tomorrow. That was sexy as all hell, woman.” His lips brushed her forehead. He flexed inside her, his hardness rubbing her sensitive walls.

A series of aftershocks ripped through her, and she moaned.

“It feels different,” he commented, doing a lazy in and out. “I can't wait to suck all those naked folds. I know exactly what I'm having for brunch on weekends.”

Weekends.

The Plaza.

“I finished the book I've been working on for the last five years.”

He drew back, gaze raking her features. “That's what you did in the Adirondacks.”

“Juanita stole it. It's her next blockbuster.”

Two days later, Linc twisted a thick strand of Destiny's hair around a finger. He liked the lemony scent of the new organic shampoo she'd used, but he missed the spring-like lavender aroma that evoked memories of their time in the cabin. Feeling as content as a wolf that had finally found its mate, he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Destiny'd been great.

She'd blushed all day, rose pink coloring her throat and cheeks when she uttered the words “I do.” Picking out the engagement ring had been a tussle. He'd wanted three carats; she'd balked and then jutted that stubborn chin. Finally, they'd settled on a two-carat princess-cut diamond, and damned if he couldn't help but pick up her left hand and kiss that one knuckle every time the stone winked at him.

All day long he'd sported an erection that wouldn't lie down and act civilized. The minute they signed the civil ceremony agreement, he hustled her out of the court building. She'd taken the day off work, phoning some automated system and claiming she had the stomach flu.

Lincoln knew he'd bullied Destiny a tad. Making love to her until the wee hours of the morning, waking her with an insistent arousal. He’d insisted she remain her naked since getting home after the wedding and allowed her to wear nothing but
his
ring. Carrying her, feeding her—fucking hell, he loved every single minute.

She was his now.
His
.

“I still can't figure out how Juanita stole my book.” He liked his wife this way, naked, sated, playing with his left tit. His nipple reacted to her frisky explorations, budding to the slight graze of her snowy teeth.

Concentrate. Juanita. He didn’t want her working with the bitch.

“You mentioned that you'd emailed a copy of the book to your work email and your Gmail address?” He traced her navel. Could he talk her into one of those sexy belly rings? His dick did a song and dance when he remembered the stripper routine she'd done, that fake ruby nestled in her navel. “And you'd copied the book to your work desktop?”

“You need a password to get on the desktop. IT programmed the system so it logs me out if I'm not working on it,” Destiny protested.

Jesus, he was a goner. He wanted to solve all her problems, maybe cause a few, like blowjobs in a moving car, maybe on the highway. Nah…truck drivers had great views, for miles. Focus, focus. “Let me guess—your password's your birthday.”

She squealed and pushed up onto an elbow. “Not many people know my birthday. But I guess that's an obvious thing to try.”

Did her nipples ever get soft? Go lax? Not when
he
was around, that's for damned certain. Where were they? Passwords—her book. “I'll get Lucifer to run his magic on your PC. With any luck we'll be able to pin the last access to a date and time.”

“Won't work.” She grimaced. “I cleaned up my folders a while back.”

Lucifer could wring tears from a computer. Most people had no clue what remained on a hard drive when they hit the Delete key.

“Stuff's still there, not to worry. Unless you've done a low-level format, there're ways of retrieving data you thought you permanently deleted.” He chose his next words with caution. “Did that guy from the sex tape ever spend the night here?”

An adorable stain washed over her cheeks. “No.”

Inky lashes fluttered; his gaze found the familiar half-moon shadows they cast. Maybe now was the time to suggest that lashes-tickling-his-dick fantasy.

She slapped his stomach. “The rat! Before you showed up in New York, he sent me a rose with a note asking if we could get back together. I went out for a break, and when I came back, he was sitting in my cube. Now that I think back on it, my display hadn’t gone to screensaver, and it’s set to do that after fifteen minutes. He knew my password. Damn it. I use the same password for everything. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know I’m not supposed to. ”

“And he and Juanita were together at the book launch?” He captured the fingers wandering circles in his pubic hair and shot a rueful glance at his stiffening dick.

Down, boy. We're in a talkative mode.

“Oh yeah. I bet he was the one who took Mrs. C to the Plaza for lunch. Kenny does PR for St. Paul's, and Jess mentioned he was the one who suggested the change of venue for the book launch to Steven.”

“And Mrs. C is one of the few people in New York who knows your real name.” Lincoln made a mental note to have a mugger run into Kenny within the next couple of weeks.

“Juanita knew about my book. I’ve been writing and re-writing the book since college. She’s read several versions of the book along the years. Why would she do this? She's a
New York Times
best seller, for cripes sake.”

“Writer's block?” he suggested, licking the center of her palm. He'd puzzled through the events more than once while he'd been away, and a theory had emerged. His hypothesis would only add to Destiny's sense of betrayal. Stifling a sigh, he forged on. “I overheard you when you were editing Nadine's manuscript. You basically rewrote her first chapter. Did you have to make as many changes with Juanita's?”

“Hmm.” She leaned over to tickle his ribs. “We worked on her book for two and a half months. I hardly remember the first version. We did a lot of brainstorming.” Her forefinger dipped into his belly-button cavity, did a lazy three-sixty. She glanced up. “Jess thinks Juanita's always used me, but Jess also thinks I'm talented.”

“Jess is right. You
are
talented. To get back to the point—what do you want to do about Juanita stealing
Fated Destiny
? I like the title, by the way.”

Destiny's jaw clenched. He knuckled her downy skin.

“I could go after Juanita. I gave Jess my first chapter of Fated Destiny—back then it didn’t have a title—when I first started with St. Paul’s. That, plus the computer dates, could maybe prove I wrote
Fated Destiny
. But you know what? Scandalous free publicity could just send Juanita's first book back to the best-seller list. And there's no way in hell that I'm going to let that happen.”

“You're just going to let her get away with it? Doesn't sound like my Destiny.” Lincoln tucked a wavy lock behind her ears. “There's gotta be something we can do. I spoke to Satan, and he's consulting with a couple of his lawyer buddies. Lucifer's researching copyright.”

“Really? That's nice of them.” She folded her arms on his chest and propped her chin on the backs of her hands.

“The squad and I are family, Destiny. They've got your back from now on. We'll tackle Juanita and her theft like we do any job. Develop a strategy and execute it.”

She shot up into a cross-legged position, and Lincoln near ’bout swallowed his tongue at the sight of her naked pink folds winking at him.

“I know what I can do. I can serve St. Paul's with an injunction claiming copyright infringement. They'll have no choice but to terminate her contract for
Fated Destiny
. Jess will back me.” Destiny rested her palms on the mattress, leaned closer, and her breasts bunched together. Linc fixed his stare on her face and forced his concentration to her words.

“It'll take years to sort out. But at least she won't be able to publish it. And St. Paul's won't want any negative publicity. They'll insist on her silence if she wants to publish anything else with them.”

“But you won't be able to publish your own work for years?”

“I'll write something else.” Her eyes narrowed. “I finished one book. I can damned well finish another.”

“That's my woman. Got any ideas?”

“I woke up dreaming about a thriller based on a woman who captains a supertanker. Terrorists take over the ship, and they intend to ram it into one of the busiest ports in the world.”

“Sounds terrific.” He grinned. “Great plot line. I expect my name in the dedication.”

“Lucifer was the one who told me about everything. You”—she pinched his forearm—“never uttered a word.”

“I inspired you, admit it.”

She glanced at the ceiling. “You are so full of it.”

After a slight pause, her top lip tucked in, and she worried the plump flesh. “What do you think? It's a different take on a thriller. Of course, it's going to be a romance, and the sex will be smoking.”

“Go for it.” He hesitated, yet every instinct compelled him to make the proposition. “Why don't you take a leave of absence? Concentrate on the book full time?”

Emotions chased across her face. She frowned, pursed her mouth, and a faraway look glazed her eyes. The lip she'd been chewing on took on a scarlet hue, and Linc's dick reared. He wanted her home full time, wanted her available 24-7, and he could taste victory. “Do you really want to continue editing, or do you want to write full time?”

She propped an elbow on the mattress and cupped her cheek. “I like editing. I really, really loved writing
Fated Destiny
. But there's no guarantee that I'll be a successful writer. And I do have to make a living.”

Linc sat up. “Destiny—”

“I don't want to be financially dependent on you,” she interrupted.

“On any man. You learned that from your father's betrayal.”

“Did I? Maybe.” A wary bottom lip plumped into a sexy pout. “Ever since I left my father's home, I've always supported myself. I bank as much as I can. I've fifty thousand in a CD. Ten ready to go into another. I use my bonus for government bonds, and I buy the stocks of companies whose products I use. Like Martha Stewart.”

“Sounds like you have a pretty significant nest egg there, Destiny Chapman. We're legally married now.” He picked up her left hand and sighed. “I guess the rock's gonna have to do for now. If Mom sees the wedding band, she'll hit the roof.”