Stripped (21 page)
He passed a hand through his hair as he watched the paramedics wheel the businessman out of the club. He didn’t know whether to be impressed, or whether he should fire Natalya on the spot.
He
wanted
to fire her. If Fantasia didn’t end up in the middle of a lawsuit over that stunt, it’d be a miracle. But the street-hardened cop that walked the edge of the law and tended to shirk policy more often than not, couldn’t stop chuckling. The sound stayed locked inside, despite the tickle in his lungs.
Damned impressive. He’d have to ask her where she learned that move.
Glancing at his watch, he cursed. If he didn’t hurry, he wouldn’t be asking her anything. She’d left forty minutes ago. By now, she probably assumed he didn’t intend to show.
She couldn’t have been more wrong. After that little display, a hurricane wouldn’t have kept him away from breakfast with the fascinating, sinfully sexy, Natalya Trubachev. Not to mention, seeing her manhandle the client had twisted his libido into overdrive. Although he’d had her less than an hour ago, his cock wanted more of that sweet treat.
He stamped down a rush of anxious energy, reminding himself he was investigating a possible killer. Despite his current inability to control his arousal, each moment he spent with her, he became more convinced she was hiding something that pertained to his case. Breakfast had been part of his plan to draw her out. Coax her into conversation, grill her about Russia, and hopefully, find a few links.
If he couldn’t find those links, he’d have to dig deeper. Pry her open a little more. His cock twinged at the thought.
Yeah… pry her open…
He scowled, perturbed with his body’s one-track course. Meeting up with her now had nothing to do with really wanting to get to know her better. Her body—fuck yes. The rest of it? Emotional baggage he couldn’t afford. He’d already exposed too much of himself in her office.
No, for the next several hours, assuming she hadn’t left the casino, he’d keep her talking. When they finished talking, he’d fuck her out of his system.
Spying Aaron near the stage, he waved a hand. “I’m off.”
The wry twist to Aaron’s mouth stirred Brandon’s annoyance. For whatever reason, his best friend found this amusing. For God’s sake, it had been Aaron’s idea to cozy up to Natalya. He
knew
better than to think this little get together was anything but investigation.
Yeah. Investigation of curves and skin and what all else would make her mewl like she had when he was fucking
her.
Brandon squelched the annoying voice in his head. Thoughts like that wouldn’t keep his focus any clearer. It was difficult enough to remember she was the lead suspect when he got within five feet of her. When he touched her—he damn sure wasn’t thinking. Period.
“Where are you off to, baby?”
Before Brandon could pull back from his thoughts and focus on the woman standing in front of him, Jill shimmied against his body. Still dressed in her short silk robe, the heat of her skin soaked through his lightweight dress shirt. Her thigh slipped between his, and she lifted her leg to rub the length of his cock. Strangely, he found himself completely immune. Though the woman drove him bat-shit crazy, his dick had still been aware of willing woman. Until now.
No. Until yesterday. When Natalya Trubachev arrived wearing power suits and the most enticing, sweet, lilac perfume known to man.
Must find out if it’s lotion.
He stepped back, annoyed with the thought and the woman in front of him. “To eat.”
One long red fingernail slid over the buttons on his shirt. “I know where there’s a buffet.” She dipped her chin, set her teeth into her lower lip, and looked up through unnaturally long eyelashes. “We can take turns helping ourselves to dessert.”
How had he ever slept with this woman? Good Lord, had he really
been that desperate? He set his hands on her shoulders and guided her out of his path. “I want real food.”
A shadow fell over her face, reminiscent of the dark cloud he vaguely remembered when she’d caught him staring at Natalya. It struck him then that Jill, when her true colors showed, wasn’t the least bit pretty. She looked almost… sinister.
Bracing one hand on her hip, she cocked her weight on one tall heel and jerked her chin toward the casino’s exit. “Running after a new piece of tail, Brandon? That one wags like all the rest, but it’ll cut you to pieces.”
He slowed to a stop and gave her a dubious look. “What?”
“She’s got money written all over her. If she’s working here, it isn’t
her
money.” A nasty laugh escaped Jill’s thinning mouth. “She’ll give you a ride. A good hard ride. Then she’ll buck you off in the mud.”
Too many years of necessary suspicion wrenched Brandon’s gut into a knot. Had Natalya lied when she’d said there wasn’t anyone else? He’d made the mistake of forgoing all the lessons street life taught him and taken her at her word. If she was their killer, lies would come easy. Hell, he hadn’t even been looking at her face when he’d accepted her answer.
But he’d been staring into her eyes when she’d told him she’d never been in a position to consider children. Unless this mysterious man Jill hinted at was in his eighties, or married, if she had a sugar daddy, she’d had plenty of opportunities to
consider
children.
On the other hand, if her blank file indicated witness protection, as the larger part of his conscious suspected, he could relate to her position. If she was on the run, she wouldn’t put two thoughts into kids and family.
He frowned, the clamor in his head too much after an already long and eventful night. He gave Jill his best, self-assured smile. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”
With that, he left Fantasia behind and fell into pursuit of the longest legs his hands had ever had the pleasure of touching.
Eighteen
T
Her shoulders slumped.
The press of a warm, hard chest against her back brought her upright. The scent of sweetened spice, combined with a faint touch of smoke, made her belly flutter. She knew that smell.
Brandon.
Her heart stumbled into her ribs.
His knuckles brushed the undersides of her arms as he slid his hands around her waist to grab the table. He leaned in, aligning his body with hers, pressing his weight against her from shoulders to thighs. His cock nestled between her buttocks. Warm, moist breath caressed the sensitive skin at the base of her ear. “That’s a pretty safe bet for a woman who just cracked a man’s chest.”
A ridiculous heat spread through her body, and she sucked in a shallow gasp. Oh, she wanted to touch him. Wanted to lean back against those corded muscles and draw his arms around her belly. Rub against that hard ridge between her cheeks and feel him deep inside her again. Turn and set her lips on his. He had such a soft, assertive mouth. She could kiss him for hours. Days.
“No more bets.”
The croupier’s call reminded Natalya of the unseen eyes that filled St. Petersburg’s halls. She fastened her attention on the spinning wheel and moved out of the direct heat of Brandon’s body.
He stepped up to the table at her left, the padded rail pressing into his loose black dress pants and smoothing the fine fabric against one thick thigh. The hand that had been under her right arm slid around her waist to settle in the small of her back. In his left hand, he held a one hundred dollar bill, which he wagged at the croupier. “One black.”
The croupier tossed him a black chip as the ball she’d bet on dropped into the red 16 pocket.
Brandon’s grin was instantaneous, as was Natalya’s light laugh. She wrinkled her nose. “Safe paid off. I doubled my money.” She accepted two, twenty-dollar yellow chips.
“But roulette’s no fun without risk.”
Brandon’s playful wink made it impossible to dwell on all the reasons she shouldn’t be standing next to him. She took a sip of the watery margarita she’d been nursing since her arrival and grinned over her straw.
The croupier picked his dolly off her winning number. “Open for bets.”
Brandon leaned over the rail and confidently set his solitary chip on the black 35 square.
She’d have sworn when Brandon straightened, he moved closer. His presence warmed her side, and like a heat-seeking missile, her body swayed toward his. She stopped herself from sinking into his chest seconds before her shoulder made contact, and she took another healthy drink.
His thumb stroked the base of her spine. Intentional or just an absent gesture, she couldn’t say. But damn, she liked the feel of his fingers moving over her body. If only things weren’t so complicated. If they could be simple people. A vacationing couple, like the man and woman across from her, who displayed open affection with a lingering good-luck kiss.
Her own lips tingled, the memory of Brandon’s kiss rising to the forefront of her thoughts. With that remembrance came another, one far more earth-shattering—Brandon’s body draped across hers, the feel of his cock gliding in and out of her pussy. Electricity arced through her veins, making her shiver.
“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” Brandon murmured as the croupier spun the wheel. He brought his free hand up to push her hair behind her shoulder. As he lowered his arm, his knuckles trailed down the side of her neck.
Natalya ignored the chill that followed his brief touch. She tightened her fingers around the padded rail and gave him a hesitant smile. “I keep my appointments.”
“Appointment?” Humor crinkled the corner of his eyes. “That sounds awfully formal.”
Absolutely. That way, if the man to her right, who had developed a habit of watching her, swore allegiance to Dmitri, this would still appear casual. Strictly business. Even if Brandon’s hand had slipped lower and that taunting thumb now swept back and forth over the waistband of her skirt. Her awareness honed in on the lazy stroke. Up, to glide over the muscles framing her spine. Bare skin tingled. Down, drawing her focus to the weight of his hand. Her womb tightened. Up. Down. Up…
“Figures.” Brandon let out a husky laugh. “Never bet your age.”
Zapped out of the blissful sensations ebbing through her body, Natalya looked up to find the roulette wheel stopped, the ball resting in the red 1 pocket.
His age. They were the same age. She should’ve remembered that from his file, but she’d forgotten. Why it mattered escaped her. Nevertheless, a foreign pleasantness crept beneath her skin. Giddiness. She hadn’t been giddy since college.
Damn it felt
good.
Like maybe, despite all the darkness surrounding her, hope still remained she could find forgiveness for the girls she’d
harmed. The lives she’d ended. Maybe someday, she could still reclaim innocence.
She turned to Brandon, releasing all the lightheartedness with a genuine smile. “Did you still want to get something to eat?”
Hot and laden with suggestion, his gaze raked over her body. The corner of his mouth quirked, and he bent his head to hers, his lips a heartbeat from her shoulder. “Are you on the menu?”
She backed away from the table, grabbed him by the wrist, and headed for the Simple Kitchen where the aroma of maple syrup hung heavy in the air.
He caught up with her in one easy stride. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Laughing, Natalya glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “I haven’t made up my mind. Feed the stomach. Then we’ll talk about the rest of me.”
His eyes sparked deep gold. A slow sensual smile curved his lips, and he took the lead, slipping his hand into hers and escorting her inside the sparsely populated buffet, where they claimed a booth in the farthest corner from the door.
B
He shifted in his seat. Spending the rest of the remaining hours of early morning tangled together had morphed from desire to fierce, aching need. Their banter drove him insane, though he was aware she purposefully tried to push him into insanity.
She’d done a good enough job of it. His cock was so swollen it hurt. If he could have gotten away with it, he’d have swiped their empty plates off the table, dragged her on top of it, and fucked her right here.
But he wasn’t the only one affected by their conversation that had,
to his shame, drifted nowhere near to the purpose he’d convinced himself he sought. He’d come no closer to answers about her childhood, her background, or that devastating knee. Instead, they talked about the mundane. What movies they liked. What books they read—he didn’t; neither did she. They both jogged, which explained the strength in her fantastic legs. They both hit the gym when schedules allowed.
They both liked Chinese food. And pancakes. With a double helping of fresh strawberries and one fat dollop of whipped cream.
And they both found sitting at home with a rental far more enjoyable than clubs, crowds, and the blinding lights on the Vegas Strip. A discovery that, for some strange reason, warmed Brandon from the inside out.
“So,” he murmured, mesmerized by the deepening color in her eyes and the heavy droop to her long eyelashes. They’d dropped the same way just before he’d kissed her.
“So,” she echoed.
They were dancing around the one subject that stood out like a pink elephant—mutual desire. Why the hell couldn’t he spit it out?
Come back to my place.
It wasn’t like he’d ever had a problem making the suggestion before. But no matter how he worked the thought around, he couldn’t get it to slip loose.