Seduction Game

by Pamela Clare

  “Easy for you to say.” Holly glared at Tessa. “Look who you married.”

  Tessa smiled sweetly and took a sip of her coffee.

  “If you’re not going to eat your beignet, I will,” Natalie said. “Now that I’m not feeling sick all the time, I’m starving.”

  “Take half.” Holly cut her beignet down the middle and gave a piece to Natalie, then took a bite for herself, savoring the fried pastry taste and the sweetness, her gaze traveling to Nick’s sliding patio door. “He came over last night after I got home from work and asked to borrow a cup of laundry detergent. It was a ploy, I know, just an excuse, but I thought it was cute.”

  “That’s something to consider.” Kat got up from the table with a plate that held a bite of everything they’d eaten and set it down in the shade—part of a Native spiritual tradition that Kat, who was Navajo, observed. “He’s your neighbor. Wouldn’t it be awkward if the two of you hooked up and it didn’t work out? You’d have to see him almost every day. You’d have to watch as he brought other women home.”

  “That’s a great point,” Kara said.

  Everyone nodded, agreeing that Kat had just said a very wise thing that Holly would do well to consider.

  Then Nick’s sliding glass door opened—and all conversation at the table stopped.

  He stepped outside wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, a cup of coffee in one hand, his newspaper in the other. His hair was uncombed, his face unshaven. He looked like he’d just crawled out of bed after a night of wild sex—or so Holly imagined.

  He saw them, did a double take. “Morning, ladies. Looks like a party.”

  “Oh!” Kat whispered, resuming her seat at the table.

  “You’re welcome to join us if you want,” Tessa called. “We’ve got lots of food.”

  “And beignets,” Natalie offered.

  “And mimosas,” added Sophie, lifting the bottle of champagne.

  “There’s an extra chair here.” Laura pointed.

  Kat scooted over to create a place for him.

  He flashed them a smile. “Thanks. Maybe next time.”

  With that, he sat at a slatted wooden table, his back facing them, and began to read his paper.

  Kara leaned in, rested her hand on Holly’s arm, lowered her voice to a whisper, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “Go for it.”

  * * *

  Nick bit his lower lip, fought not to laugh. There wasn’t anything funny about this situation—except that he’d heard every word they’d said and could still hear them whispering about him.

  Okay, it was funny.

  It didn’t hurt his ego, either.

  He’d worked most of the night dealing with a program that kept crashing. He’d had to drag his butt out of bed when Holly’s friends had arrived so that he could make sure the surveillance was running. He’d been on his second cup of coffee before he’d realized Holly was hoping he’d make an appearance. He’d obligingly stripped off his T-shirt—who knew women were such horndogs?—and come outside to be ogled.

  You’re just a piece of meat, Andris; beefcake, to be exact.

  Somewhere, Nguyen was laughing his ass off.

  Now that Holly had the approval of her friends and had had some time to move beyond Dudaev’s murder, perhaps she’d warm up to him a little.

  He needed her to respond—and soon. Bauer wanted results yesterday, and it was Nick’s job to procure them. If she didn’t open up to him in the next week or so, he’d be forced to drop all pretext and resort to rougher methods.

  The thought wiped the stupid grin off his face.

  Just how far was he willing to go to make Holly Bradshaw talk?

  * * *

  Nick poured the last of the wine into their crystal glasses and set the empty bottle on his coffee table. “Can I ask you something?”

  Piano music drifted from his speakers, part of a Pandora channel he’d seeded with songs from the “Romantic” playlist on Holly’s MP3 player.

  “Sure.” Holly’s lips curved in a smile. “I have no secrets.”

  “Oh, babe, I’d bet my life that’s not true. All women have secrets.”

  “We don’t have to talk. If you want to kiss me, just kiss me.”

  The woman knew how to cut to the chase, but he couldn’t let her take control of the moment. “How can a woman as beautiful and smart as you still be single?”

  He hoped she’d talk about her job—the one at the newspaper and then the other one, the one no one else knew about.

  “Have we reached the ‘probing questions stage’ already?”

  “Shouldn’t that come before kissing?”

  “That depends on what you really want.”

  “Answer the question. I really want to know.”

  They’d finished dinner an hour ago. Although they’d moved from the dining room to his sofa, neither of them had so much as mentioned turning on the TV or watching the DVD she’d brought over. Dinner and a movie was turning into dinner and something else, as he’d hoped it would.

  But Nick wasn’t sure which one of them was in bigger trouble, him or Holly. The woman was a sensual onslaught. Every move she made, every glance, every touch, even the way she breathed was feminine in a way he hadn’t been prepared for. He wasn’t even certain it was deliberate. It’s just who she was—or who she’d been trained to be.

  He’d been afraid he’d hate her too much for his body to respond to her. But his half-hard cock told him this was a non-issue—and he hadn’t so much as kissed her yet.

  She took a sip of her wine, seemed to consider his question. “I guess I’m waiting for the right man to come into my life at the right time. How about you?”

  “I thought I’d found the right woman once.”

  “What happened?”

  “She died.”

  Holly’s brown eyes went wide. “I’m so sorry. I . . . I can’t imagine. What happened? I mean . . . if you don’t want to tell—”

  “She was shot and killed during a robbery.” That was the truth.

  “Oh, God. How horrid. I’m so sorry.”

  “That was two years ago.”

  She’s the one who’s supposed to be talking, Andris, not you.

  He locked away his grief. “So tell me about this Mr. Right of yours.”

  She watched him for a moment, then shifted against the couch cushion so that she was facing him, bare feet tucked beneath her. “He’s tall, dark, handsome.”

  Nick gave a nod. “That’s a given.”

  “He’s got a strong appetite for adventure, a sense of purpose about his life, and he loves me to distraction.” She was smiling again. “Oh, and he has to be a good lover, a man who can match or beat my libido.”

  Those last words hit Nick in the solar plexus. “So, once a week?”

  She laughed, looked up at him through dark lashes. “Sure—when I’m eighty.”

  “Which is more important—quantity or quality?”

  She raised a blond eyebrow. “Can’t a woman get both?”

  “That depends on the man, I suppose.”

  She smiled again, touched his hand. “Exactly.”

  “Sorry, but I have to ask. If that’s what you want, how in the world did you end up with that old guy? If you tell me it was his money, I’m going to be disappointed. He was old enough to be your father. He couldn’t have had it going on between the sheets.”

  Her smile disappeared, and she looked away. “I didn’t sleep with him. I didn’t even want to sleep with him.”

  There it was—the first bit of intel he’d gotten from her. It didn’t tell him much, but at least he knew she was being genuine with him.

  He waited to see if she’d say anything else, and when she didn’t, he pushed a little harder. “Then why bother going out with him? It’s not like anyone forced you.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time my curiosity has gotten me into trouble.” She played with one of the buttons on his shirt.

  She’d turned the subject away from Dud
aev to sex so deftly and subtly that it took Nick a moment to catch up. He decided to go with it. He was too distracted for much else anyway.

  He took her wineglass, set it on the coffee table together with his own. “How curious are you feeling right now, tonight, with me?”

  “Curious enough to get us both into a lot of trouble.”

  “Good.” He slid his hand through the hair at her nape and drew her to him, brushing his lips over hers.

  At first contact, she gave a little gasp, but he’d felt it, too—a jolt of heat arcing between them, shooting straight to his groin.

  He drew back just enough to see her face, found himself staring into surprised brown eyes. “Holly.”

  And then instinct took over.

  Their lips met in a kiss that set him on fire—and made his brain go blank. He forgot he didn’t really want to kiss her, because, oh, hell, yes, he did. He forgot his mission, the entire reason he was here. He forgot everything but the feel and taste and scent of her—her warm lips, her soft body, the sweetness of her skin.

  She gave a hungry little whimper, her tongue teasing his, the fingers of one hand fisting in his hair, the other clenching in the fabric of his shirt. He responded with teasing of his own, taking control of the kiss as he lifted her to straddle him, bringing the two of them even closer, her breasts crushed against his chest.

  This isn’t real, Andris. Don’t get lost in it.

  But the warning was drowned out by the pounding of his heart as she wrapped those long, silky legs around his waist and let her head fall back, exposing her throat.

  He took what she offered, pressing his lips to her pulse, licking her silken skin, nibbling her ear, the faint scent of her perfume leaving him intoxicated. He found himself lifting the cloth of her dress in fistfuls, drawing her upright to pull it over her head. She stretched up her arms to help him, watching him as he tossed it aside, her blond hair tousled, her lips wet and swollen. For a moment her gaze met his, and he saw that her pupils were dilated, black against deep brown.

  She wasn’t acting.

  Neither was he.

  He rested his hands on her slender shoulders, ran them down her arms, let his gaze rake over her as they each caught their breath—the swells of her breasts, the tight buds of her nipples beneath the red lace of her bra, the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

  With a little smile, she reached behind her, unfastened her bra, and dropped it over the back of the sofa.

  The breath left Nick’s lungs as he drank in the sight of her. He cupped her breasts, stroked her pebbled pink nipples with his thumbs, and felt her body tense in response. With a groan, he splayed one hand across her back, lifting her to his mouth, suckling first one nipple and then the other, tugging them to tight peaks with his lips.

  Little tremors shuddered through her, her fingers twisting and curling through the hair at his nape, her breathing ragged. Soon, she began to squirm, her hips restless, her thighs tightening around his waist.

  And that was it.

  He slid both hands beneath her panties, gripped the firm flesh of her bare ass, then rose to his feet and carried her to the bedroom.

  * * *

  This was what Holly had needed, this crazy rush of sexual arousal. It made her forget everything else, the world around her fading until there was nothing but breath and lips and skin—his and hers.

  And, God, he was good.

  She felt small and feminine in his arms—out of control, overwhelmed, on the edge. When was the last time a man had made her feel like this?

  He lowered her to the bed, peeling off her panties in the process, his gaze fixing on her bare labia, his pupils going wide. She got onto her hands and knees and crawled up toward the pillows, giving him a more enticing view, playing with him.

  “Jesus!”

  She heard clothing hit the floor and looked back over her shoulder—just as strong hands grasped her ankles and dragged her toward the foot of the bed again, flipping her onto her back. Her breath caught—and then seemed to stop.

  He stood over her, gloriously naked, his cock jutting upward from a thick patch of dark curls, the masculine sight of him flooding her with heat.

  His weight came down on her, his hot mouth reclaiming hers, while she explored his beautiful body with her hands—satin skin, ridges of muscle, sensitive valleys. Then his mouth strayed to her nipples again, his lips, tongue, and teeth making them painfully hard, the ache between her thighs both sweet and agonizing, his erection just inches away from where she most wanted it.

  She took hold of him, stroked him, pleased by the way he more than filled her hand, hot and hard.

  He groaned, one big hand reaching down to cup her, his finger teasing first her clit and then the entrance to her vagina. “You are so wet.”

  She was dying. That’s what she was. Dying.

  Had she just said that aloud?

  He blew hot breath over one wet nipple, chuckled.

  Yes, she had.

  “Let’s take care of that.”

  She expected him to grab a condom and put it on. Instead, he began to kiss and nip his way down her ribcage and over her belly.

  Her pulse skipped.

  He was like a lover from a girl’s wet dream, someone conjured out of her fantasies. He licked and nibbled his way to her inner thighs, her skin now so sensitive that she jerked as if burned at the contact. She tried to relax, but her hands clenched in his hair in expectation, anticipation coiling inside her.

  She didn’t have long to wait.

  He tasted her with a few bold strokes, then, with a groan took her with his mouth, suckling her clit, teasing her with his tongue, penetrating her with his fingers.

  “Oh, God, yes!” She gave herself over to it, her hips arching upward, her fingers still clenched in his hair.

  The combined sensations of lips and tongue and fingers were part bliss, part torment, the craving for completion at odds with the need to make it last. But he was just too good at this. The tension inside her drew to a shimmering crest—and then exploded, flooding her body with pleasure.

  He stayed with her, sucking and licking and stroking her until the tremors inside her subsided and she was too sensitive to take more. Then he kissed his way back up her body and gazed down at her, grinning. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got.”

  She smiled, her body floating. “Not on your life.”

  “Good.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand and took out a condom.

  Holly liked a man who didn’t have to be asked.

  She took the little package from him and opened it, bending down to lubricate his cock with a few slow licks that made the muscles of his belly jerk before sliding the condom down his length. Already, she could feel it—the stirrings of renewed desire.

  He grasped her hips and drew her beneath him, his hands sliding down her thighs to wrap her legs around his waist. Then with a single slow thrust, he filled her.

  Their gazes locked, and for a moment he held himself still inside her. “Think you can come again?”

  She was really starting to like this guy. “Think you can last?”

  He grinned—and began to move.

  His slow, silky thrusts felt incredible, but what turned her on even more was the intensity on his handsome face, his brow furrowed, his jaw tight, his gaze still fixed on hers. Then he grinned—and shifted his weight so that the base of his cock and his pubic bone put pressure on her clit.

  She sucked in a breath. “That’s cheating.”

  “Hey, I do whatever I need to do to get the job done.”

  But Holly wasn’t really complaining. What he was doing to her felt so incredibly good, stretching her, satisfying the emptiness inside her, bringing her to the edge. She couldn’t keep her hands off him, her palms taking in the feel of him, of his muscular back, of his biceps, of the hard mounds of his buttocks, which contracted and released as he fucked her.

  She came fast and hard, crying out as he drove her climax home with stro
ng thrusts. Then his rhythm and angle shifted, and he pushed into her again and again, faster and harder than before. His breath caught, his body seeming to shake apart in her arms as climax claimed him.

  They lay in the bed in a tangle of limbs, her head resting on his chest, both of them breathless. She tilted her head back, looked up at him. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got.”

  “Just give me . . . a little while . . . to reload.”

  * * *

  Nick awoke the next morning to the sound of someone pounding on his door.

  “Holly, are you there?”

  What the hell?

  A man’s voice. More pounding.

  He came fully alert, found Holly still asleep in his arms, lashes dark on her cheeks. “Hey, honey, I think we’ve got company.”

  “Holly, it’s Julian!”

  Her eyes flew open, and she sat bolt upright. “What time is it?”

  Nick glanced at his alarm clock. “A little after nine.”

  “Nine? Oh, no!” She tried to get out of bed, but they were tangled together with the sheet, and she would have pitched headlong onto the floor if he hadn’t caught her.

  “Holly! Open up!” a second male voice demanded.

  Nick kicked away the sheet, steadied Holly as she got to her feet, then rose and went in search of a means to cover his bare ass. He found his jeans at the foot of the bed where he’d dropped them. “Don’t they know it’s Sunday morning? People sleep in on Sunday morning.”

  Especially people who’d been fucking all night Saturday.

  “They’re taking me to the police range to teach me how to shoot my new handgun, and I forgot,” she said, darting naked around his room as if searching for something—her clothes. “Well, I didn’t forget, exactly, I just didn’t think I’d still be here. I was supposed to be dressed and ready to go.”

  Nick ought to have remembered this himself. Thanks to the tap on her cell phone, he knew about the Glock 19 she’d bought, knew her cop friends had agreed to take her to the police range this morning to teach her to shoot.

  You’re slipping, Andris—in more ways than one.

  He didn’t want to think about that just now.

  He stepped into his jeans, found her panties, and tossed them to her.