Kill Me Twice

by Roxanne St Claire

  She stretched to take him, rising up with a soft gasp at the size of him. He moved slowly, taking a lifetime to slide in all the way. Fully hilted, he held perfectly still, as though to torture her to the brink of insanity. Jazz thought she’d explode with need.

  He closed his eyes and breathed. His hard-on pulsed, his heart hammered, his muscles tensed.

  “Feel this,” he whispered. He thickened inside her, but didn’t pump. “Feel me in you.”

  Her inner walls clutched at him. “Alex.” Her breath was ragged, torn from her chest. “Please. Please.”

  Still he didn’t move—except to kiss her tenderly as if it was the last gentle thing he was able to do. Then, he started to rock. Slowly, easily, rhythmically sliding in and out of her at a maddening, leisurely tempo.

  With each stroke he murmured in Spanish and English, his lilting voice crooning her name. As control started to slip away, he began to pound into her. His arms grasped her in a vise grip that tightened with each pump. His hips ground against her as he plunged. Faster, harder, deeper, wilder.

  “Más, más, más,” he repeated.

  She rose to him, also wanting more, more, more. She dug her fingers into his flesh as a shattering orgasm began to coil inside of her. The world blurred and every sense failed her as the need became an all-consuming burn.

  Somewhere in the faraway world something beeped, but the blood pounding through her head deafened her. Blissful, unstoppable release clutched her and drowned out everything but how much she needed Alex.

  “Come with me, querida,” he demanded as he pounded into her. “Come with me.”

  He threw back his beautiful head of hair and cried out with the force of his release.

  As he lost control, so did she, the sight and sounds and smell and feel of Alex colliding into one shattering surge of pleasure that wiped out any chance she’d ever had of not needing him.

  Chapter

  Twelve

  A cool trickle of water slithered between her bare breasts and jolted Jazz into consciousness.

  “Your phone rang.” Alex lay next to her on the towel, his hand cupping pool water that he dribbled on her naked body. “Do you want to see if there’s a message?”

  Couldn’t they just lie here under the stars and bask in the afterglow? Couldn’t they sleep here, wrapped up in each other as they rested for the next round?

  “I fell asleep.” She turned toward him. He lay on his side, his head propped on one arm, his wet hair skimming the rise of his bicep. He looked like a Mayan god, carved from stone and master of all he surveyed.

  “You love to sleep,” he noted, dripping more water on her.

  “I do. Sleep is divine. I crave hours and hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

  “I crave hours and hours of uninterrupted sex,” he said with a laugh. “I see a problem in our future. You want sleep. I want…” He leaned over and flicked his tongue over her nipple, hardening it immediately. “You.”

  She closed her eyes, not sure if the thrill that fluttered through her was a result of his talented tongue or the very idea of their future. “Get my phone and stop torturing me.”

  “Torture?” His hand slipped between her thighs. “You want torture?”

  “I want my phone.” A complete lie. She wanted his hand. And his mouth. And him…again. “Maybe it was Jessica.”

  As though on cue, the digital melody of her phone sounded again. Without a word, he rose to get it. Jazz rolled on to her stomach to watch him walk across the patio in the moonlight. No, the Mayans never had such a god.

  On the third ring he handed it to her and she flipped it open, too intent on him to even look at the caller ID. “Hello?”

  “I know who you are.”

  The man’s voice sent a shudder rippling through Jazz, and she rose to her knees, jerking the phone in front of her face and squinting at the number. Jessica’s office. She pressed the phone to her ear. “Who is this?”

  “Oliver Jergen.”

  That gave her a small measure of relief. Ollie. “I was planning to tell you tomorrow.”

  He snorted lightly, giving her the distinct impression he didn’t believe her.

  “I need to find my sister, Ollie. She’s missing.”

  Alex watched her carefully, but she concentrated on listening to Ollie. “You only need to talk to Miles Yoder,” Ollie said. “He knows her every move.”

  Miles Yoder again. “I tried. I failed. How did you figure out who I am?”

  “I found the picture you took off Jessica’s desk and hid in the drawer.” He sighed softly. “She talks about you all the time. I knew she’d never put that picture away. She’s so proud of her identical twin.”

  Surprise and gratification and guilt scrambled in her chest. Jessica was proud of her? “I came here to help her out for a week or so,” she told him as she made room on the towel for Alex to sit next to her. She mouthed “Ollie” to him, and he nodded, listening.

  “Well, you’ve certainly helped her.” She heard the hint of a threat in the subtext.

  “I want to find her,” she said simply.

  “She never told me you were coming.” The threat morphed into irritation. “But she’s told me everything about Miles. I know everything.”

  “Well, I don’t,” she admitted quickly. “Including how I can talk to him.”

  “Miles Yoder is a billionaire philanthropist.”

  “Who’s on the board of Yellowstone,” she countered. “But why does he know so much about Jessica? What is their relationship to each other?”

  His laugh was low and dirty. “Their relationship? Obviously your sister hasn’t been completely honest with you, Jasmine. Or can I call you Jazz?”

  Distaste rolled through her. “I don’t think it was a matter of dishonesty. We just haven’t had the time to talk. And she hasn’t been around since I got here.”

  He laughed lightly. “I would guess that’s the whole idea, right? That’s why you’re standing in for her?”

  She hated his condescending, know-it-all tone. “Do you know where she is, Ollie?”

  “I have a few ideas.”

  Damn him. “Do you know what her connection to Denise Rutledge is?”

  He waited a few dramatic seconds before answering. “She’s the source on the story. Jessie’s met with her.” Jessie. Her sister loathed being called Jessie.

  “What story?” Jazz insisted. “A story about the rights of porn actors?”

  “Good God, Jazz. You can’t be that naïve.”

  At his words, she swallowed hard and looked at Alex. “Ollie, you obviously know a lot about this situation and this story. I really want to talk to you in person. I’ll meet you anywhere, anytime.”

  She watched a frown darken Alex’s face, but she reached over and threaded her fingers through his, shaking her head a little to tell him not to worry and, please God, not to try to stop her. He closed his hand over hers, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed her knuckles.

  The gesture was so protective, so unifying, that it broke her heart.

  “I can meet you tonight,” Ollie countered.

  “Tonight?”

  Alex’s frown deepened into a scowl and he gave his head one negative shake. Okay, maybe not so unifying. She pleaded with a look. This is important, she mouthed.

  His expression softened ever so slightly. She lifted their joined hands to brush her fingers against the coarse stubble of his beard.

  “Yes, I can meet you now,” she told Ollie, holding Alex’s gaze. “But I’m bringing my bodyguard.”

  “I don’t care who you bring, as long as you don’t breathe a word of this to Jessica’s boyfriend.”

  Her boyfriend?

  “Meet me at Crandon Park in Key Biscayne in two hours,” he demanded, before she could ask who he meant by her boyfriend. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  Two hours? It had to be nearly three in the morning. Her gaze fell on Alex’s bare chest, and slid down his stomach, to his clearly interested manhood. T
he very last thing she wanted to do was leave.

  “Do you know where that is?” he asked when she didn’t answer. “It’s Jessie’s favorite beach.”

  Jessie again. “I’ll find it. Where at Crandon Park?”

  Alex closed his eyes in disgust at the mention of Crandon Park.

  “At the north end, two palm trees form the entrance to the beach parking lot,” Ollie said. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Crandon Park, north end of the beach. Two hours.” She looked up at Alex, who just watched her, their fingers still laced together. “I’ll see you then.”

  He clicked off without saying good-bye.

  “I’m not sure he knows where Jessica is, but he has a good idea,” she said, steeling herself for the inevitable fight. “He can lead me to Yoder. He can lead me to Jessica.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I figured out that much from listening.”

  “How far is Key Biscayne?”

  “Fifteen or twenty minutes from here.”

  She searched his face. “We have two hours. What would you like to do until then?”

  “Teach you how to operate my other gun. Have you ever shot a Glock twenty-six?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I learned on one.” Then her heart sank with a sickening sensation. “You are going with me, aren’t you?”

  He smiled. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Relief nearly choked her. “Good. Let’s get dressed and get your guns. I want to be there long before he is to check the place out.”

  He stood up and reached for her hand. “Spoken like a true Bullet Catcher.”

  She let him pull her into his chest. “Actually, it doesn’t sound like a bad gig.”

  “It’s not.” Putting his arm around her waist, he kissed the top of her head and pressed their bare bodies together. “Except for the fact that we’re not allowed to get involved with the principal.”

  She tipped back and gave him a disbelieving look. “No sex on the job?”

  “Not with the person we’re protecting. Ever.”

  But he’d just…“I thought you were the man who didn’t take risks. What if Lucy finds out?”

  “Then I’m finished.”

  “You are?” He had to be kidding. He’d risked his job to make love to her? “Why did you do it? Just to break rules? Just for the conquest? Why?”

  His eyes bored through her, black and serious. “Because I wanted you more than I wanted…job security.”

  Her heart turned over at the words. An image of poverty-stricken cousins in a Cuban fishing village flashed in her head. “That’s a crock,” she said. “You thought you could have both.”

  “I want both.”

  “Do you always get what you want?”

  “Always.” He tipped her chin with one finger, guiding her face closer to his. “But I’m not delusional, Jazz. I don’t have you. I just had your body.”

  And that’s all she would ever give a man like Alex Romero. A man who would never be satisfied unless he had all the power and control. “My body’s all that’s available. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it.” He lowered his head and kissed her mouth lazily, his erection stirring between them. “I’ll take whatever you offer, any time, any place, and as often as possible.”

  The warmth and security of the fluffy comforter vanished as someone pulled it away from Jessica’s bare body. With a cry she barely recognized as her own, she bolted upright and blinked into the unnatural light in her room.

  A blond woman stood next to the bed, wearing jeans and a navy blue sweatshirt. “You gotta pee?” she asked Jessica, a grimace forming wrinkles on what would otherwise be a passably pretty face.

  Jessica stared at her, inhaling a whiff of cloying perfume mixed with the lingering stench of cigarettes. “Who are you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please.” She threw a ball of tan-colored fabric on the bed. “You gotta get dressed, but I figure since there’s no bathroom in here, you need to pee.”

  Jessica looked at the lump of material on the bed, then back to the unfamiliar woman. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought the terror.

  Jessica Lynn Adams.

  Every time she woke up, she recited her name. Because that was all she could remember. Just as things would start to crystallize in her mind, she’d sink back into sleep. And when she woke up, whatever she’d remembered was gone. Like a dream she knew she’d had, but couldn’t recapture.

  Maybe this time she could stay awake long enough to commit something to memory. “I could use the bathroom, yes.” She reached out to touch the woman’s arm. “Where am I?”

  Her eyes widened. “Man, that stuff works. He said you wouldn’t remember anything.”

  He? Who? Jessica shook her head. “I don’t. Please tell me where I am. And who you are, and who he is.”

  “No can do, pussycat. You not remembering is the whole deal.” She raked Jessica’s naked body with an appraising glance. “I didn’t realize you were so stacked. Are those puppies real?”

  Jessica covered her breasts, a shiver of warning raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Were they real? “I guess so.”

  That earned a snort. “You guess so? Well, I guess I’m gonna find out, huh?” At Jessica’s appalled look, she leaned in closer. “Don’t worry, honey.” Her tone was truly, genuinely kind. “It’s so much easier with a girl. We don’t hurt each other, and I’m totally disease-free. Promise.”

  Nausea turned her stomach. “What—what are you talking about?”

  The woman’s brown eyes softened even more. “You’ve never been with a chick, have you?”

  Had she? A scream threatened to tear from her throat. Why couldn’t she remember anything? “No.” Nothing about the idea had any appeal for her.

  The woman shrugged. “It’s no biggie, honest. And man, chicks eating each other out, that sure sells movies. Guys just can’t get enough of that shit.” She reached over and gave Jessica a little push. “Get up. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

  Bile rose in her throat and Jessica willed it away. She stood, glanced down at her naked body. “I need something to wear,” she said, looking at the clothes dropped to the bed.

  The woman scooped up a beige dress that looked vaguely familiar. “That’s for you to wear in the movie. That’s what you start the scene in, at the anchor desk. Then you get it on with the weather girl.” She smiled. “Me.” She handed the dress to Jessica. “I guess it won’t hurt for you to put it on now. But you don’t need it; there’s no crew on this shoot.”

  Jessica slid into the coatdress, still shivering and as scared as she’d ever been in her life. In the hallway, she could see a soft light at the other end, but the woman steered her into the first door on the right.

  Alone in a tiny powder room, Jessica closed the door then turned to stare in the mirror over the sink.

  Jazz.

  She frowned at the thought. Why would she look in the mirror and think Jazz?

  She gripped the porcelain sink and leaned closer to her reflection. She knew that face, knew those gray eyes. She touched her cheek, grazing her fingers along her chin, touching the dark beauty mark under her jaw.

  Jazz doesn’t have a beauty mark.

  Jessica closed her eyes. They were there, for her to find and remember. She just had to work hard.

  She had a twin sister named Jazz who didn’t have a beauty mark. She was Jessica Lynn Adams…an anchorwoman.

  She almost laughed out loud with the joy of remembering. Opening her eyes, she stared intently at her reflection, ignoring the dark circles under her eyes, the sallow tint to her skin, and the moppy mess of hair. She concentrated on her eyes and tried to pull out a memory. Any memory. A recent memory.

  Steak. She remembered handling a filet, stirring…marinade. For…someone.

  “Is she in there?”

  She startled at the sound of a male voice in the hall. It scared her, that voice.

  She heard the woman answer with an affir
mative. “I’ll have her ready in a few minutes,” she said. “She needs some makeup.”

  “We can’t do it now. Something’s come up.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “It doesn’t matter what time it is,” he said sternly.

  He was mean, this man. Jessica covered her face to listen without any visual distraction, trying desperately to pull a picture of him…or a name…into her crippled brain.

  “I have to go meet someone,” he told her. “Get her back to sleep for a while. Can you handle that?”

  Oh God, no. Not sleep. Not that dreamless, frightening sleep. Whenever she woke up, she was so lost.

  “I don’t want to be here all goddamn week,” the woman said. “I told you I’d do this job, then I want my money and I want to get the hell outa here.”

  “Put her back to sleep,” the man said. His voice was low, demanding, and so frustratingly familiar. “Use this.”

  The image of a needle flashed in Jessica’s mind and she instinctively looked down at the mud-colored bruise on her thigh. This time she couldn’t stop the bile in her throat. Turning to the toilet, she vomited, the force of it bringing her to her knees. She gagged over and over again, with no idea how much time had passed.

  Then she heard the door open.

  She looked up to see the woman’s face in the mirror over the sink. The sight tugged at a memory, but she couldn’t pull it out.

  “Please,” Jessica choked, wiping spit from her chin. “Please. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll pay you more than he’s paying you. I’ll give you anything, please.” She sobbed, tears soaking her cheeks. “Please…”

  The woman gave her head a slow, dubious shake. “I don’t know, Jess. You promised me that once before.”

  She had? Jessica searched the face, digging deep into her very soul for a memory. “Who are you?”

  “They call me Desirée.”

  Des—“Denise!” she almost screamed the name as the memory smacked into clarity. “I remember you!”

  Denise laughed quickly. “Well it’s about time, baby-cakes.”

  Then she remembered something else. The thing Denise wanted most in the whole world.