The Single Lady Spy Series Boxset

by Tara Brown

  He raised his eyebrows. “I think not. And I thank her with a very large paycheck. Trust me, she is compensated.”

  “You could still be polite.” I drank back the wine and watched him. “You don’t look the way I imagined you would,” I said softly.

  “You don't act the way I imagined you would,” he muttered under his breath and stared awkwardly as if startled. “What do you remember about me?”

  I shook my head to stop from panicking. It was a tactic I had used before. “I meant as a man who orders people to kill others and does bad things.” The wine was getting to me.

  He studied my face as I answered. Seeming satisfied, he spoke nonchalantly, “How did you think someone like me would look?”

  “Like the fat man in the white suit, or Bin Laden, or Rush Limbaugh.”

  He grimaced. “The white suit went out with the mullet, and Bin Laden wore his beard far too long. If I do a beard it's always groomed.”

  “I have never seen you with a beard. You were so baby-faced as a boy.”

  He was up and out of the chair far faster than I would’ve imagined him able to move. He undid my seat belt and dragged me to the back of the plane. He opened a door and dragged me in, slamming it shut. “What do you remember of me from before?” His eyes were narrow and angry.

  “I-I-I re-re-remember you from be-be-before as a k-k-kid. M-m-maybe twenty-three.”

  His eyes scrutinized mine. He towered over me. I didn’t dare check out the small space. I stayed with him and let him lock my gaze. “You remember me from before?” He sounded perplexed.

  “When I worked—before the kids—I followed you for a time. They predicted you’d outgrow your arms dealing when you took over the company from your father. I recognized you when we met. I watched you for a couple of years.” He was killing my wine buzz.

  “Of course.” He licked his lips and lessened his vice-grip hold on me. My skin burned where he had touched it. He saw the welt on my wrist as he let go. He took a deep breath and chuckled. His face was a mixture of relief and confusion. I was a mess. I trembled and tried to back up, but I was against the counter in the bathroom. Why had he pulled me down there? Why had he not roughed me up in front of Steve?

  “What did I say about lying to me?” he asked softly.

  My stomach dropped. “I swear, I never lied. You never asked if I remembered you.”

  His hands trailed up my back, pulling me in. He cradled me against him. I didn’t know what to make of it. He was insane, that much was clear.

  He released me and reached for the door but the jet took off, and he was thrown against the wall behind him with me pressed into his chest.

  Servario viewed the helpless state of me as his hands roamed my back, eventually cupping my ass and lifting me up into his lips. I pressed on his chest, fighting the whole way but he won out, with the plane pushing me against him and the considerable difference in our strength.

  His mouth owned mine as his hands lifted my skirt, grabbing handfuls of ass cheek. His tongue slid into my mouth and immediately I felt him harden against my belly. He ground himself against me, rubbing me into him.

  Lifting me, he swung us around and sat on the toilet with my legs draped over his lap as his mouth roamed my neck. He kissed and sucked, nibbling at my tender skin. His huge hands rotated my pelvis against his, forcing a lap dance out of me.

  His soft lips nipped at my shoulder as he dragged my blouse to the side.

  “I can't do this,” I lied with a moan and tilted my head, letting him in.

  “I didn’t ask you for your opinion. I told you, I own everything, Evie. Right now that includes your pussy.”

  I gasped as a feverish heat claimed my entire face. He sucked the air from me with his kiss. It was passionate and demanding.

  He stood up with me in his arms and placed me on the counter while the pressure of the plane pushed him into me. He dropped to his knees and lifted my skirt, pulling my underwear to the side and licking hard. I cried out, gripping his head. He tugged at my clit in short, fast sucks and then licked the length of me, sticking his tongue inside.

  I bucked forward but he held me in place. He began the sucking spurts again and I lost the battle, lifting my feet to the wall behind him to better hold me on the counter. I let go of his head and leaned back into the wall. I let him lick and tongue-fuck me.

  Every inch of me was on fire when his finger was at the entrance of my pussy. I cried out a second time as he thrust his thick finger inside. I was well lubed from the near orgasmic state I was in, so his finger moved with ease, rhythmically working with his tongue flicks, sending me over the edge. My body clenched down on him, just as he slid a second finger in. He pumped into me, bringing me to climax.

  I made a sound I'd never heard leave my lips as even my ass clenched. The wave of bliss was in my toes, but before I could even finish it, he was standing between my thighs and sliding his cock head up and down the length of me. He pushed inside, finishing my orgasm with his cock pumping hard.

  He leaned over me, all-consuming, as he growled down, “Tell me who owns your pussy, Evie.”

  I was flabbergasted and dizzy, lost in the turbulence of his ravaging me. He ripped open my shirt and tore off my bra, then grabbed behind me, pushing my bare chest into him.

  The strange sound escaped my lips again. He dragged me down the counter more and bucked harder. I pushed my feet into the wall behind him, so he could get deeper. His balls slapped against me, spanking my ass.

  “Do I own your pussy?”

  I nodded, catching a glimpse of his devilish smile through his lashes as he peered down on me.

  “Do I own you?”

  “You own me.” The words slipped out.

  He gripped my hips, jerking me into the counter and mirror as something I had never experienced before was building inside me. A second orgasm. I dug my hands into his hair and dragged his face down to mine. Hungrily, I sucked his lips tasting myself on them. He kept his pace, making my body tighten again.

  “You want another orgasm?” he broke our kiss and murmured in my ear as he nipped at my lobe.

  I nodded my sweaty face against his.

  “What do you say?”

  “Fuck me!” I panted.

  He gathered me up in his arms and spun me again. My back slammed against the wall. I wrapped my legs around him, gripping his huge shoulders. His hands dug into my ass as he did as I asked and fucked me against the wall, harder than I had ever been.

  He bounced me on his cock, spreading his legs to make a plateau for me to rest against. I clawed at his skin, trying desperately to keep at the angle I was at. I came, biting down on his shoulder at the moment he grunted and moaned into my nape. He pulsated and filled me. He jerked his orgasm into the wall and me. His legs twitched. “Goddamn,” he whispered.

  “I think—I think God had a hand in that.” I gasped.

  He laughed but I was serious. There was no way one man could make me feel like that. Nothing on the planet had ever made me feel like that. It was a release like I had never had.

  I slapped myself mentally and reminded my filthy brain that I had just let a criminal screw me. I stifled a laugh as he kissed me softly and helped me stand on my own, pulling his cock from me.

  “What's funny?”

  I eyed my underwear on the floor, torn off, not recalling the moment that had happened.

  “What?”

  “We just joined the mile-high club.” The blush, still on my face, reddened. Inside, however, I was freaking out.

  What had I just done?

  It was the age of HIV, Ebola, and herpes. I’d had unprotected sex with a drug dealer. Inwardly, I gagged a little as he brushed off my mile-high comment, “Oh that.”

  I bit my lip as I realized he had joined the club long before I came along. He was probably the chair of the arms-dealer sector. I almost turned my eyes skyward and begged God not to let me get a disease as penance.

  I tried to straighten my clothes, but I n
oticed the rip in my skirt and lack of buttons on my blouse. I grabbed the destroyed ends of my expensive lace bra and gave him a hostile look. He did his pants up and left the bathroom. He returned seconds later, passing a robe through. “Just come eat in the robe.” He closed the door again.

  “I'm not eating dinner in a robe,” I shouted through the door but he was gone. I picked up my clothes and began to clean up.

  Looking into the mirror, I didn’t know the girl staring back at me. If I stared too hard I would see me, and I would have to let in some of the shame I was so bent on repressing.

  7

  New you means new shoes

  “I wish we could put you in something classic. You’d make a beautiful widow.”

  I frowned. “He told you my husband was dead?”

  Roxy offered, “I overheard him talking about it. Anyway, this will be amazing on you.”

  She passed me a charcoal leather mini skirt and I pictured myself as Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, only the movie was going backward.

  I checked the label and coughed. “Silvia Eisele? Is this for real? It must’ve cost a thousand dollars for this skirt.”

  She smirked. “I know, right? He always has the nicest shit.”

  “Does he bring a lot of women on board?”

  “No.” Her eyes were wide. “I think you're the first. He doesn't bring anyone but Steve—well, and me. I live on this damned thing, I swear. Well, and the yacht too. That’s where the ladies come and then they come. You should hear the dirty shit that’s said in those hallowed halls.” She winked. Was she oblivious to the fact he’d just shredded my clothing in the restroom? Did she think I went in there like Superwoman, but realized after I had shredded my clothes that my costume was at home?

  She did up a zipper and nattered on, “The women's clothes are for me. We stop everywhere so I have clothes for my off time.”

  “Rough.” I tried not to focus too hard on the likelihood he was a walking STD.

  Her face became serious. “I am probably going to get cancer from this bloody plane. You know how much radiation flight attendants are exposed to?”

  “No.”

  She rolled her eyes. “A lot.”

  I scanned around the back room for a shower. “There isn’t a shower in here, is there?” I wanted him off my skin. I wanted him out of me.

  She laughed. “This isn’t an RV.”

  “I smell.”

  She laughed and pointed to the clothes set out. “Just dress. He wants us back out there in a minute.” Her bright glossy eyes narrowed. “We don’t make him angry, ever.”

  I nodded. I had sort of assumed that with the profession he had undertaken. He was a bad man.

  A bad man my vagina crazy loved.

  And I was back to the Pretty Woman analogy.

  I hiked up the skirt and pulled on the black lace underwear that shaped perfectly around my ass. I checked the tag. French, of course. They were probably hundred-dollar underwear.

  A crazy notion crossed my mind.

  Did James buy these for Mel?

  Did they laugh at me clipping coupons when they pretended to be at work but were really spending crazy amounts of money and living it up with his millions?

  Did she have millions too?

  Was I the only idiot who had missed the affair that was suddenly so obvious from every angle?

  I sighed and pulled on the charcoal leather pushup bandeau that matched the skirt, attaching the clasp and scrutinizing myself long and hard.

  Suddenly, I saw something James must have missed.

  Regardless of having his kids, I was sexy. My stomach was flat, not perfect thanks to the scar and few remaining stretch marks, but flat. I ate well and I worked out hard. My legs were long and toned from the running. And although they weren’t perfect, my boobs looked hot in the bra.

  But now, here in the back of a drug dealer’s plane, on the payroll again for the CI, I felt dirty. Everything here was bought with drugs, guns, and blood money. I looked at myself and remembered what my dad always told me, “When running an intel op, you have to remember that you aren’t the person you were when you woke up. You're the person you need to be. You're whatever your country needs you to be, and that is the hard part of the job, Evie. Can you be what they need and not who you want?”

  I would nod and he would say, “Because I can tell you, those two or three or four people will never be the same as the person you want to be. This job can rot you from the inside. You gotta let it hurt for a second and then you gotta turn it off.”

  In my green eyes, I saw his.

  I saw the pride he’d had when I graduated with top honors.

  I saw the way he used to introduce me.

  I saw the way he had accidentally groomed me for the job when he was raising me.

  And in that second I let it hurt and then I turned it off.

  As I glanced down at the Christian Louboutin ankle boots, I was certain my back would kill me when I got those on, but I had to be the girl for the job. Rushing through grooming, I styled my hair with mousse, resembling Eurotrash, as if I were receiving a CMA award with that hair. I fluttered my eyes and coated my lashes in mascara, drawing a backline with liquid liner before gluing the false lashes on. I filled in the spaces with a final stroke of liner, dabbed the MAC Russian Red lipstick across my mouth and slid gloss over that. Seeing myself, I was stunned.

  I hadn't looked like this in a long time.

  My brain, the dirty, cheap, fighting bitch she was, made a snide asshole comment about that being the reason James had strayed. But I was sure he’d been straying from the start and no low self-esteem would convince me otherwise.

  I slipped on the boots, getting my balance before attempting anything else. Then I pulled on the leather halter top and called to Roxy who had gone in the other room.

  The curtain pulled back but the hands that touched my back were not hers. I glanced into the mirror as he cocked a grin. “You look like trouble.” He zipped me up before sliding his arms around me.

  I forced a smile and tried not to get any Russian Red on my teeth.

  His hands grabbed my hips, pulling me back into his groin. “I like your ass at this height.” He rubbed himself against me again. Was he hard already? My body had a response for that; I may or may not have agreed but the response was there.

  He moved my huge hair to one side and nestled himself in my neck. “Odd, I just had you and now I want you again. Maybe it's because I still smell sex on you.”

  “I was hoping to take a shower.” I didn’t want to have that conversation in front of a mirror while he dry humped me and made me watch.

  He never even tried to fight the shit-eating grin that crossed his delicious lips. “You smell as you should for the job you're about to do.” I shuddered when he spoke into my nape and left a single kiss.

  “Won’t it be too late for a hooker to show up at a room?”

  He chuckled and kissed me softly. “No. We gain several hours back and he has the order in for one in the morning. We land just in time.”

  “But that’s four in the morning to my body. I’ll be dead on my feet.”

  He licked my neck. “You’ll be on your back I imagine.”

  The fire inside me tried to lash out at him. I had loads of smart-ass comebacks. I fought them all.

  He winked. “Your daddy trained you well, Evie.” He spanked my ass as he strolled out of the room.

  My lower lip trembled. I smeared the gloss on, one more layer thick, and followed him out. I sat in my perfectly made up chair. It was like I had never been there. “Roxy must have OCD.”

  “Yes.” He laughed. “She does. Best qualities in a cook and assistant.”

  I sat and crossed my legs, trying to loosen up as I grabbed my wine. It was the only remnant of my meal. I drank the glass back in a gulp.

  “So I really have to wear this?”

  “We won't negotiate on your clothing, ever.” He lost some of his humor.

  “Yeah,
whatever.” I lost some of mine too. “I’m a yoga pants sort of girl. You and I will be hitting us some Lulu at some point. You think my ass looks good in this skirt, you should see it in Lululemon yoga pants.”

  “Yoga?” He acted confused. “You are truly an odd woman.”

  “No, you’re just used to being around twenty-year-olds. They lack the I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude that hits when you reach your mid-thirties.”

  “Maybe I could get past that because everything else has been quite entertaining.”

  I scoffed. “Wait until I get a hot flash and scream at you because you have a sweater on that’s making me itchy. I had a hysterectomy when I was thirty that put me directly into menopause. How hot is that?”

  “Quite hot if you run about ripping your clothes off when you get one of those flash things.”

  “No.” I laughed. “No. I basically turn red and sweaty and yell a lot. Hot yoga keeps them at bay. Yoga and saunas. I basically need to sweat them out.”

  “I can make you sweat,” he muttered and leaned closer to me, running his finger down my bare arm. “Do you realize how odd it is that you believe I had your husband and his lover murdered, and yet you let me make you come with my mouth and cock?”

  He was goading me.

  I smiled. “He was never really my husband though, was he? Not really. And I don’t think he or his lover are dead. Besides, the sex was nice.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I think it was much more than nice.” He adjusted himself and spoke to Steve, “Go sit up front and tell Roxy we don’t need her until we land.”

  Steve stood and walked to the front of the jet. He closed a door, leaving us alone at the back of the plane.

  I sneered, “You've got to be kidding me. What are you—seventeen?”

  “Stand up and shut your mouth, unless I tell you to open it.”

  My heart raced as I paused and watched to see if he was kidding. I stood up when I realized he wasn't. He admired me and nodded. “Turn around.”

  I saw his huge erection and turned slowly.

  “Take your underwear down slowly and bend from the waist, no knees.”