Stripped (22 page)
Because you’re afraid she’ll say
no.
She had earlier.
He opted for a different topic—one he should have been focused on all along. “That kick. Where’d you learn how to do that?”
For a fleeting instant, something passed across her face. Something he couldn’t recognize, but it had surfaced more than once over their short breakfast. As she dropped her gaze to her lap and plucked at her paper napkin, it hit him—shutters. That brief lowering of her eyes, the slight shift in her focus, blocked him out like someone might close shutters over a window.
He’d seen it before too. When he asked about Sergei. When she
talked about her parents. It had snapped closed when he brought up the subject of children.
She was hiding something. But what? The history
not
in her file, or something more sinister? Jill’s warning rose in his memory:
If she’s working here, it isn’t her money.
No, not that either.
He sighed inwardly. Whatever the secret, she hid it well. He’d have never noticed if he hadn’t been so damned interested in finding out everything he could about this seductive redhead. Another guy, one who hadn’t become accustomed to
looking
for lies, would’ve never given the insignificant tension that touched her soft lips a second thought.
“Self-defense classes,” Natalya answered as she reached for her juice.
Not in any self-defense class he’d ever taken. A kick, sure. Not to the chest. Not so precise, and certainly not so deadly. A hair more to the left, and she could have cracked that man’s ribs, punctured a lung, or worse, thrown him into cardiac arrest.
He let it slide. He’d find out. Maybe not tonight, but he’d dig out that answer one way or the other. Besides, experience proved he’d have better luck in the bedroom… er, on the couch. Or the floor. Or wherever he could have her, so long as his bed didn’t enter the game.
Glancing at his watch, he noted it was going on six in the morning. He reached across the table and captured one of her hands in both of his. His thumbs caressed smooth skin. He lifted his gaze to her face, his air strangling in the back of his throat when he observed her expression.
Lips parted, she studied their joined hands. Her long, slow blink told him her thoughts had found the same path his had wandered all night. But it also carried a curious touch of an emotion he couldn’t name. Pain? Remorse? Maybe fear? When she dragged her eyes to his, those shutters stood wide open. He gazed into fathomless jade green pools that rippled with a reflection of a woman who resided behind the
conservative clothes, the come-get-me heels, and the cool confidence. A dash of vulnerability, a sprinkling of simplicity, and a whole hell of a lot of femininity.
That
woman, whoever she was, cast a spell over him. And she only ever surfaced when Natalya forgot whatever she harbored and desire began to dominate her mind.
He cleared his throat to regain control of his voice. But his words still came out hoarse. “Want me to give you a ride home?”
Her fingers trembled against his, and she swallowed with visible difficulty. “Please. I walked to work.”
Walked? No, he absolutely wasn’t going to ask. More questions would mean sitting here longer, and right now, all he wanted to do was find the remotest, most isolated corner he could claim and feast on those parted lips. Her house suited that need perfectly.
Reluctant to let go of her hand, he slid his own away slowly, allowing their fingers to touch all the way to the tips of her conservative nails. He pulled out his wallet, tossed two twenties on the table, and eased out of the booth. It took all the self control he possessed not to fit his hands on her hips, pull her against his body, and steal the kiss he’d hungered for since the moment his lips left hers earlier that night. Instead, he gently took her by the elbow, and without a word, led her through the exit, out the casino’s front doors, and around the corner to where he’d parked his Mustang Shelby—the one luxury he possessed, though some might question the validity of
luxury.
For Brandon, who’d spent most of his adult life in the same red Chevy pickup he’d purchased at sixteen, the car defined opulence. He’d earned enough in the last several years to purchase it in cash. Not like he had a whole hell of a lot to spend his paycheck on anyway.
He opened the passenger door, and as Natalya slid into the leather seat, he caught a whiff of her sweet perfume. He closed his eyes, breathing it in. The desire flowing in his veins intensified. God, he liked that sweet scent. It made him think of springtime, and he loved spring.
Winter let go. The temperatures climbed. All the shit he waded through in narcotics undercover brightened.
Shutting her door, he fought the anxious hum bubbling in his veins.
Get a grip, man. You’re acting like a fourteen-year-old about to get his first blowjob.
At least his hands were shaking like they had on that fateful day.
He slid behind the wheel and started the car. “Where to?”
“Turnberry Towers.”
This time he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. With an incredulous blink, he asked, “You walked three miles to work?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell for?”
“To work some things off my mind.”
He gave her a dubious look. “What kind of things take three miles to work off?”
Natalya held his gaze quietly, those curious shutters once more wide open for him to look straight into the depths of her soul. A shiver coursed through him, despite the sudden warming of the air around them. His skin felt tight, his chest too narrow for his lungs. He knew what she would say, before her whisper slipped free.
“You.”
Brandon choked back a groan. Swallowing hard, he curled his fingers into the steering wheel, but clutching it in a death grip didn’t stop his voice from catching as he asked, “Did it work?”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. She licked her lips, lowered her eyelashes for a suspended heartbeat. Blood surged to his cock, and the racket behind his ribs intensified. His body coiled tight, a hair trigger ready to discharge with the slightest pressure of a steady hand.
The catastrophic squeeze came with her barely audible answer.
“No.”
He didn’t know who moved first, who breached the distance between them by leaning over the center console. But their mouths met
hungrily. His hands tangled in her hair, hers squeezed into his shoulders. She tasted like heaven. Sweet like the syrup on their pancakes, but beneath that sugary layer was a darker flavor. A tang that branded her as a woman who knew the meaning of passion and wouldn’t shy away if things got a little rough. A little out of control.
His teeth pricked her lower lip, testing the theory.
The low moan that rumbled in the back of her throat nearly made him come right there. He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away. The rasp of their breathing filled his ears. Tightening one hand at the base of her neck, he pressed his forehead to hers and concentrated on returning his heartbeat to a moderate level. “If I don’t get inside you soon, Natalya…”
I’m going to
die.
He couldn’t bring himself to voice the rest of the thought. It had to be an exaggeration. He couldn’t have become that desperate for a woman in such a short time. But damned if he could remember wanting someone the way he wanted her. The thought that he might
not
have her constricted his heart and filled him with crazy ideas of carving holes into the man who did.
Her hands shook as she slid them down his arms and slowly retreated into her seat. In the dim lights from the dash, he watched the hard rise and fall of her breasts, taking some relief in the fact she seemed to be as needy for him as he was for her.
“Turnberry,” he murmured to fill the quiet with something other than the sound of ragged breathing.
Dropping the car into gear, he navigated out of the parking lot.
N
If she possessed a shred of human decency, she’d tell him as soon as the doors to the elevator closed. Brandon was a cop. In her gut, she knew Sergei called him straight—he couldn’t be anything less than clean. Maybe a little unorthodox in how he resolved his cases, but he damn well didn’t work for Dmitri.
She didn’t want to believe in Brandon’s goodness because believing stripped away all the reasons she shouldn’t let desire have control. The truth, however, refused to stay behind her veil of ignorance. Beyond all of Sergei’s sound arguments, she’d witnessed the proof in the car, when Brandon had kissed her with wild abandon. Dmitri’s goons might have tried to set her up, out of envy for her position, or even because Dmitri asked them to test her loyalty. Yet, no one under his employ who actually
wanted
her, would dare risk his neck by trying. He’d be just as afraid she’d rat him out, as she was afraid of being ratted out.
But the raw hunger in Brandon’s kiss wasn’t fake. In thirty-five years, she’d never been kissed so recklessly. Nor had she ever returned
a kiss with her whole soul, as she had less than ten minutes ago. She’d thrown herself into the heady warmth of his mouth, the velvety caress of his tongue, desperate to return to that place of abandon he created in her office.
She stared at the closed elevator doors, excited and nervous.
It’s
his
choice, not yours.
Yes. She’d tell him. Give him the choice. If he walked away, it would sting. But maybe they could gain an ally. Lord knew they needed one. If Brandon wanted her to, she’d even confess her security breach to the agency and arrange some way to keep him sheltered, should the assignment go south.
The elevator dinged open. To her immense relief, the wood-paneled cubical stood empty. She took a deep breath, stepped inside, and thumbed the button for the forty-sixth floor.
Brandon hauled her into his arms the second the doors slid shut. Hard and hot, his mouth captured hers. His hands slid around her waist, his fingers splayed over her bottom. Urging her backward, he pressed her into the wall and sank his weight into her. Their bodies aligned perfectly. His hard chest warmed her heavy breasts. Powerful thighs brushed hers. His fingers curled into her bottom, lifting her, guiding her hips into his, and his thick cock fit neatly against her damp pussy.
An electric shock surged through Natalya.
Oh, wow.
That felt good. He felt perfect. The way his fingers kneaded into her buttocks, the firm grip that trapped her exactly where he wanted her and made his intentions perfectly clear. The slight undulation of his hips that stroked her swollen clitoris—he wanted entrance and intended to have it.
She arched her back, which scraped her aroused nipples against his firm pectorals. Her hands slid up his shirt, over the taut sinews of his chest, across intimidating shoulders, and into the cropped hair at the back of his neck. Her nails scraped against his scalp.
“You drive me crazy,” he murmured, leaving her mouth to trail his lips down the side of her neck.
Sharing his confession, she turned her head, her breathing hard,
and dragged her nails down his back. Clutching at what remained of her senses even as she clutched at him to bring him somehow closer. “We need… to talk…,” she managed through short, breathless, gasps.
The tip of his tongue traced the line of her V-neck collar and dipped into the valley between her breasts. “Later,” he murmured. “Can’t think right now.” His breath was hot and moist against her flesh. Her nipples tightened so sharply, she let out a soft moan.
“Just want to feel you.” He rubbed his erection against her aching center as one hand slid between them to pop the topmost button on her jacket and tug the lace of her bra over her hardened nipple. “Taste you.”
A gasp ripped free as Brandon closed his lips over the pert nub, and Natalya’s knees threatened to give out. She grabbed at his shoulders to stop the sensation of falling and let her head drop to the wall in surrender. He sucked hard, pulling sensation through the soles of her feet and into the depths of her womb. Her pussy clenched, moisture flooded between her legs.
He was doing it again, taking her to that scary place where she couldn’t think, couldn’t do much of anything but yield to what he wanted, and that loss of power frightened her just like it had earlier. What would happen if she let go? If she let him creep beneath the pleasure?
No, she couldn’t risk it. Not with Brandon—not with anyone. She couldn’t yield no matter how she wanted to. She needed to master him if she had any hope of surviving the sexual paradise he’d introduced her to in his office.
Using all her strength, she pushed on his shoulders, dislodging his glorious mouth, and shoved him into the opposite wall. As his breath left his lungs with a grunt, Natalya hit the elevator’s stop button. A blaring alarm rang out. Ignoring the ear-splitting buzz, she jerked at his belt and pushed his pants down his hips. She sank to her knees at the same time she took his heavy cock into her hands.
“Natalya,” he ground out as his hands slid into her hair.
Merely lifting her lashes to meet his heated gaze, she licked the swollen head of his cock. The desire that flared in his eyes and the line of tension around his mouth pleased her. This was how she wanted him—on the edge, subject to her will, imprisoned by pleasure.
Slowly, she closed her lips around his hard flesh and sucked as her tongue caressed the sensitive skin beneath. Brandon’s fingers fisted into her hair. His reaction, the sharp edge of arousal that shadowed his features, intensified the rising need inside her. Her clit was swollen, the rasp of her damp panties sheer agony.