by Amy Atwell
Iris smiled.
“What?” His eyes crinkled in response.
Her heart fluttered at his reaction. “I knew you’d never shoot a cop. You’re too good a person.”
“Iris, listen to yourself. I’m a petty thief.”
“No, you’re much more. And I want to experience it all.” God help her, who was this wanton possessing her body? Apparently, adrenaline had a better kick than alcohol. She stepped back into his arms.
This time he accepted her without argument. As their bodies melded, she marveled at how well they fit, her head nestled beneath his chin as she drew in the rugged scent of spicy cologne mingled with male skin. His large hands smoothed down her back, then repeated the motion, only this time they stripped away her suit jacket.
Her fingers found his shirt buttons, moving slowly. Anticipation built within her to see those defined pecs and that flat, muscled abdomen. She hadn’t been able to erase the vision of him naked in her shower from her memory.
His hands stilled her fingers. “I can’t make you promises, Iris.”
She lifted her gaze to his while a bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. “I don’t need promises. I just want tonight. No strings, no expectations.” Her fingers resumed their downward trail.
“Don’t sell yourself short. You deserve promises. You deserve—”
“Mickey? Shut up and kiss me.” She cupped the bulge in his jeans, proving to them both that despite his hesitant words, he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
He reacted with a sharp intake of breath, a growl, and then his lips captured hers, hungrily, painfully—biting, licking, sucking on her mouth until she gasped for breath. And then he gentled beneath her hands, his hips rocking into hers with a need that matched her own. She pushed the shirt from his shoulders, enjoying the heat of his skin beneath her fingers. Feeling his hands at the small of her back, unzipping her skirt, she barely refrained from shouting an exultant “Finally!”
She couldn’t recall ever wanting to be naked with someone so much. This wasn’t just desire. This was destiny.
Her skirt slid down her bare legs to pool at her feet. Mickey’s gaze slid down her body. “God, I love your legs.” He lifted his eyes to hers, the predatory gleam sending a thrill through her. “Let me see all of you. Take your top off.”
Swallowing, she ignored the self-conscious doubts. She grasped the hem of the tank top and slowly pulled it over her head. It tangled in her curls, but Mickey’s fingers helped free it. When she shook her head clear, she saw his other hand was busy unfastening his jeans, releasing his erect penis to the air. That glint in his eyes had turned positively carnivorous.
Her body shuddered with anticipation as he stepped toward her.
With a feather-light touch, Mickey’s thumb stroked her breast in an ever-diminishing orbit until he brushed her erect and very sensitive nipple. She gasped at the ripples coursing across her flesh, straight down her belly and between her legs. In the muted light, Mickey’s jaw tightened as he tried to hold back a smile. Leaning forward, he captured her other breast in his mouth, laving the nipple with his wet tongue until she writhed in his hold.
“Touch me.” God help her, she was already willing to beg.
She felt his smile as he moved his attention from one breast to the other. “I am touching you.”
“No,” she said. “Touch me.” To drive her point home, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and squeezed gently.
“Easy there, tiger.” He pulsed in her hand. But he got her message, because he dipped one hand between her legs.
Her brain went positively blank when his hot fingers worked past her panties and stroked her wet folds.
He groaned out loud, and in reply, she leaned against his chest and captured his lower lip for a quick kiss. A short squeal escaped her as he picked her up, cradling her to his chest, and strode for the bedroom.
He perched her gently on her bed before yanking his jeans off his legs. He stopped long enough to root in a pocket for his wallet, and from there he withdrew a small crinkly packet. As he pulled off his briefs, Iris snagged a thumb in the elastic of her silk panties.
“Don’t take those off,” he warned. “I want to do that myself.”
She hid a smile as he rolled the condom onto himself. He might be a petty thief, but he obviously took responsibility seriously. And he cared about her. She sensed it in his touch.
And now he touched her in a whole different way, leaning down to grab her panties with his teeth, nipping at her thighs as he drew the skimpy fabric down her legs. Stealthily, he worked his way back up, stoking the anticipatory fire within her as he tasted the skin at the back of her knee, scrubbed her inner thigh with his bristled jaw, bent to study then taste her in that most intimate of places.
She knotted her hands into his shoulders. “You’re killing me, you know that?”
“Is that a complaint?” He skewed a brow at her.
“Honestly, about now you could do anything you wanted.”
He raised his head to look at her. “Do not tempt me like that.”
Her skin tingled, but she was unsure of his meaning. Without a word, she slid down, bringing her face level with his. “What is it you want from me?” she whispered.
“You.” He bent his head and captured her lips again. “Like this.” Sliding his fingers into her slickness again, he whispered, “And like this. You want me. That’s more than I deserve.”
Tears stung her eyes. Without flowery words, this man made her feel more wanted, more precious, than any other ever had. David, for all his eloquent protestations, had never made her feel so coveted. Banishing her fiancé to the furthest corner of her brain, she summoned her strength and rolled Mickey onto his back until she straddled him.
Pushing her hair back from her face, she grinned down at him. But words eluded her.
That swashbuckling smile spread across his features as he stretched his arms over his head and folded them on the pillow.
Iris bit her lip at the oh-so-tempting landscape of muscle presented to her. Raking her fingers down his shoulders, across his chest and ribs, she gripped his hips and, in one tempestuous movement, she impaled herself on him.
This time, it was Mickey who gasped with surprise. His eyes widened, darkened and he gripped his lower lip with his teeth. His fingers laced with hers, and he supported her hands as she adjusted slightly.
Her muscles stretched to accommodate his heat, his girth, her every sense attuned to him. She blanked her mind to all conscious thought. Tonight was about feeling, experiencing…
Sharing.
Beneath her, Mickey ground his hips in a motion so slow, so tantalizing, Iris thought she might go quietly insane with her need. As she was about to open her mouth and beg again, he took both her hands in one of his.
His other hand crept to where their bodies joined, making her breath hitch. His thumb made contact with her highly sensitive flesh, and she couldn’t control her hips as they started to rock.
“Ride me, Iris.”
Warmth flooded her cheeks at his invitation, but her momentary embarrassment was no match for the storm building within her. She rocked with his rhythm, lifting and sinking with his thrusts, spurred on as he increased the tempo of his thumb. A wave built within her, seeking escape, seeking voice. She gasped for breath. “Oh, God. Mickey—”
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
His forehead was dotted with perspiration, his eyes glowed up at her. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Come on, give it to me, Iris. Give yourself to me.”
She bent to kiss him, but the new angle pushed her beyond the physical world. Her core exploded in a rainbow of sensation, like a prism shooting light in all directions. For a few seconds she was the light, the color, the power.
Mickey gripped her hips with both hands, pumping into her with a roar that overshadowed her fractured yelp of release.
When the room stopped revolving, Iris realized they’d both stilled. The only s
ound in the bedroom was their heavy breathing. Steeling herself, she glanced down at Mickey. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw tight, and he held his thin lips closed.
God, what was she supposed to say now? In fact, what the hell had she just done?
And then she noted the tear at the corner of his eye. Iris leaned down and gathered him into her arms.
He clutched her tightly. Long seconds passed before he cleared his throat. “That’s the first time since Brian…” He drew a breath and exhaled sharply. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever want…”
“Shhh.” Pushing aside her own insecurities, she rolled to his side and cuddled him close, stroking his hair, smoothing his brow. “What you need is a good night’s sleep.”
He grasped her fingers and kissed them. “What we need is a shower and some food. And I want you again, Iris Fortune. Tonight’s not over yet.”
***
They shared the shower. Mickey scrubbed Iris’s back, then soaped and rinsed her chafed and bruised wrists. He lingered over washing her skin, memorizing the play of muscles across her back, the soft curve of her rounded breasts, inhaling the fragrance of her skin and hair. Later, they raided the refrigerator, where Iris found a bag of baby carrots and chopped them up with some greens for a salad for Edgar. Mickey filled a bowl of water for the rabbit, and they watched Edgar eat while they stuffed their mouths with deli turkey and Brie.
Mickey drew a long sip from a water bottle, his gaze roaming this kitchen, this woman. Even the rabbit. It all felt so domestic—so homey. His life had been far from normal ever since he arrived in Las Vegas. Domestic moments had no place in petty thief Mickey Kincaid’s world. But then, domestic moments had become uncomfortable for him since Brian—
“Turkey?” Iris stood at the open refrigerator door looking over her shoulder at him.
“What?”
“Do you want any more turkey?” she repeated.
“No, I’m good.” He watched her bend over to put things away. She wore nothing but his unbuttoned shirt, and she’d probably hate him for saying it, but in the open chambray with her hair all mussed up, she looked adorable.
Tell her.
Mickey popped a last bite of cheese into his mouth. That damn voice hadn’t shut up all night. As much as he’d like to tell her the truth, he could also list a litany of reasons why he shouldn’t. Sure, she’d come back to help him tonight. That had shown courage and faith. It’s not that he didn’t trust her, but where would a confession like his leave them?
“Brian promised me he’d always be there for me. He lied.” Suze’s bitterness over her husband’s death had been summed up that briefly.
Iris had set the boundaries—one night, no strings, no expectations, no promises. The least he could do was honor that and not offer her unwanted complications. He took another sip of water, letting his gaze wander the kitchen again. Was it wrong to steal a few hours of peace…of happiness? Christ—was that what he’d been feeling around Iris?
Happy. He’d almost forgotten what that was. Then he realized another subtle difference. His headaches, which had been chronic since Brian’s death, had abated. Despite the stress of this weekend, Iris managed to ease everything that was painful in his life.
“Okay, tell me what you’re thinking.” Iris stood at the other end of the kitchen, her arms folded in an unspoken challenge. “Because this silence is getting really awkward.”
Tell her. “Come here.” He opened his arms in invitation.
She approached without hesitation, then squeaked as he pulled her against him, sliding his arms inside her shirt and enveloping her in a warm hug, bare skin to bare skin.
He studied her for long seconds before speaking. “You may not want promises, but I propose we make a pact. No secrets between us in bed. Deal?”
His heart drummed beneath her hand as she traced the planes of his muscled chest. “Deal. Of course that might leave us with very little to say.”
“We’ll talk in the morning,” he murmured before pressing his lips to her earlobe. Words were overrated, he decided. “For now, let me show you what I’m thinking.”
They returned to the bedroom for more lovemaking, this time teasing and exploring, ravishing and cherishing each other slowly, erotically. Afterward, they fell into an exhausted slumber, their bodies tangled together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Chapter Eleven
Cosmo eased the Trans Am slowly down the street. The vehicle’s tinted windows made night vision even more of a risk, but it helped ensure his anonymity. His buddy Bernie had smiled broadly when Cosmo asked to borrow a car for a little overnight reconnoitering.
“Got just the thing for you.” The smile, the words, the tone were nothing less than Cosmo had expected from a used car dealer.
“Nothing flashy,” Cosmo cautioned. “I need to blend in with the landscape.”
Bernie pointed him to the vintage red Trans Am with jacked-up oversized wheels. A giant phoenix painted in gold sprawled across the hood.
“I said blend in, not hold up a neon sign.”
Bernie stuffed his cigar between his teeth. Didn’t stop him from talking around it. “At this hour that will blend anywhere in Vegas. And if someone does make you, they ain’t never gonna catch you.”
Cosmo had eyed the car suspiciously, but now had to admit it did blend in. Souped-up rental cars were the rage nowadays amongst wealthy tourist gamblers. This car carried a hint of drug dealer or street gang, but with the dealer plates on it, the cops had left him alone. Even now, the officer standing by his squad car at the curb didn’t pay him any attention.
He’d stopped at Lying Eyes earlier, but the gems he’d stashed there were gone. Only Iris would have found and moved them. But where? And where had she disappeared to all day?
The engine purred as he pulled into the parking deck next to her building. Three o’clock in the morning, and here he was defying all common sense so he could see her. He’d had a ticklish feeling in his stomach all evening telling him something was wrong. It had gotten worse when he called Iris’s cell from a pay phone—she hadn’t picked up, and he hadn’t left a message. But that had spurred him to visit her store. It was a risk to keep letting himself in there, but he’d wanted to collect the gems. So much for that idea.
Now instead of tickled, his stomach felt like beavers were in there stripping the bark off trees. And the fact that Iris’s car wasn’t here didn’t help. His intestines cramped up—stress getting to him—so he parked the Trans Am and cut the engine. He’d never before thought he was getting too old for this kind of thing, but maybe he needed to reconsider. Sixty-five was still pretty spry, but now that the girls knew about each other, maybe he should stay home more. Reconnect. Be a better father.
He sure as hell hadn’t ever wanted to involve his daughters in his schemes. That had backfired, too, thanks to Mickey. That boy—
A shadow moving along the next row of cars caught Cosmo’s eye. Human, male, tall, and within another three strides, Cosmo had him pegged. “Turner.” He hit the automatic door locks just to be safe. The tinted windows would make it impossible for Turner to see him, but what was Donovan’s hired gun doing here, so close to Iris’s apartment?
Turner examined a rather nondescript dark hatchback. Giving the car a more thorough perusal, Cosmo gulped in a breath. What was Mickey Kincaid’s Prelude doing here at this hour?
He screwed his eyes shut against the obvious answer, then peeped one eyelid open. Cosmo had hoped Mickey and Iris would click, that the boy might show her a whole world existed out there beyond the safe environs of David-dom. Mickey always had been a hands-on sort of guy.
Cosmo pushed Iris and Mickey to the back of his mind. If she had Mickey with her, she was safe. But Turner wouldn’t be prowling around an upscale residential neighborhood unless he was on the hunt. Was he after Mickey? Or Iris? Or both? At the moment, it looked like Turner was trying to jimmy the trunk lock on Mickey’s car.
What Cosmo needed was a de
coy. Something that would pull Turner off Mickey’s scent. Get him out of Iris’s neighborhood. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the gems, real or otherwise. All he had was a souped-up Trans Am.
And himself.
“Well, Bernie, let’s see what this mother will do.” Cosmo cranked the engine and revved it.
Turner hunkered down behind the Prelude.
Cosmo switched on the high beam headlights and rolled forward. He lowered the tinted window. “Hey, Turner! You looking for me?”
Turner recognized him immediately. Jumping to his feet, the man pulled out a gun with an obscenely long barrel length.
Silencer. Cosmo ducked and hit the gas. The back window exploded in a rain of glass as he popped the clutch and peeled around the corner out of the line of fire.
He slowed down as he left the parking deck, waiting to be sure Turner would follow him. By the time he saw headlights in his rearview mirror, he’d already mapped out his route.
And Bernie was right—in this car, Turner was never gonna catch him.
***
Iris woke to find sunlight infiltrating the plantation blinds to leave narrow slats of brightness striping the carpet. Pushing the hair from her eyes, she tried to roll over but hit a solid wall of muscle. She held her breath as memories of their night assaulted her.
Realizing her companion still snored softly, she dared to glance his way.
Mickey sprawled across her pink sheets with the sinewy allure of a sated jungle cat. With one arm flung above his head, the planes of his face now relaxed in slumber, he had the guileless quality of a small boy. This was his triumph, the ability to be strong yet ingenuous, to pull in someone’s emotions and gain confidence. He was a criminal who made you want to believe the best in him.
She must have been insane to make love with him.
A smile cracked her lips. Maybe, but insanity never felt that good.