Caro climbed onto the bed and settled herself next to him cross-legged. “How is it that you’re so mellow all of a sudden?”
He thought about it for a moment. “I’m just glad we’re both alive,” he said finally. “I burned all my paranoid energy up, I guess. There’s not enough left to stay tense.”
Caro gazed at him. Smiling like a fool. So head over heels in love with this guy, it wasn’t even funny.
His eyes took on that focused, faraway look they got when he was reading her mind. “I love it when you do that,” he said softly.
“Do what? I’m just sitting here, chilling out. Feeling happy. Thinking about how awesome you are. How crazy I am about you.”
“Great,” he said. “Keep it coming.”
“Couldn’t stop if I tried.” Caro lifted his scabbed, scraped hand, examining his torn up knuckles. She bent down, careful to kiss unhurt skin.
Her robe was gaping open. She glanced down, wiggling strategically. Grabbed a small bunch of red grapes, and slowly ate them. Took a sip of her wine. Licking her lips. Making them gleam.
His cock had thickened and flushed with readiness. She gave him a dazzling smile and looked her fill. It got thicker. “Mmm. That looks delicious, too,” she murmured.
“Uh…thanks.”
He looked so hopeful, she had to mess with him a little, just for the hell of it. Caro reached over to the rolling tray and snagged a zucchini flower stuffed with melted cheese and then batter fried. She savored it, moaning softly.
“Oh, yum,” she moaned. “So good.”
He stared at her lips as she carefully set down the wine glass on the bedside table.
“And now that I’m fortified…I’m going to give you a long, juicy, lazy blowjob,” she told him.
His expressions brightened. “Now you’re talking. Where do you want me?”
She stretched against the pillows, arching to flaunt her breasts. “After all the mortal combat, I think you should just relax exactly as you are.” She rolled up onto her hands and knees and swayed over him, letting her hair drift teasingly over his thighs, and then over his thick, gorgeous cock as she pressed hot kisses to his belly. She reached down, cupping his balls. Gripping him.
He caught his breath, biting his lip. “Oh, man. Not fair.”
“Deal with it.”
“Hey—whoa. The news just came on. I can’t right now,” he said. “But please. Hold that thought. Don’t let it go anywhere.”
Noah’s attention had been caught by the newscast. The Palazzo Bellocchio’s façade filled the screen, still luridly lit up by police flashers and crime-scene floodlights. The image dwindled into a small box, and a buxom redhead with collagen-plumped lips took over, speaking in Italian. The only words Caro caught were “Palazzo Bellocchio” and “terroristi.”
Noah listened intently to the redhead. Finally Caro nudged him with her bare foot. “Translate,” she urged. “Please.”
“They’re saying an anonymous source revealed that Lella was brainwashed and radicalized while imprisoned in Africa,” he said. “Which is total bullshit.”
“And you know that for sure? How?”
“I just do,” he said. “The guy was modded up the wazoo. Massive brain stims and implants. And someone was pumping a bad freq into him at the end. But no one will ever know, because there’s nothing left to autopsy. Too bad they can’t question Konig. This whole thing must have been his idea. They shouldn’t be blaming Lella.”
“You have to tell Stefano all that.” Caro jerked up suddenly in the bed. “Hey! There’s Stefano now! What’s he saying?”
Stefano had joined the redhead on the screen. He looked tired, even with makeup that didn’t quite conceal the facial cuts and bruises. The news anchor simpered, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
“He looks good on TV.” Caro slanted Noah a meaningful glance.
“Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” Noah said sourly.
The redhead was talking, so Caro prodded him again. “Translation?”
“She’s asking how it feels to be a hero and find himself suddenly famous. From the looks of her, she’s probably massaging his dick under the table while she does it.”
“Just translate, please. Cut the snarky commentary.”
“Stefano’s saying now that he doesn’t feel like a hero,” Noah said. “That he just did what anyone else would have done.”
“Nice, standard reply,” Caro said.
“He’ll choke on it, though,” Noah said.
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“I know Stefano’s type. He’s a macho man. Taking credit for something I did will stick in his craw forever. He’ll be overcompensating for the rest of his life.”
“You sound way too pleased about that,” Caro said, trying not to smile. “What have you got against Stefano?”
“Nothing. I respect the guy. He kept his head on straight in a crisis. But this is gonna bite his ass. And I don’t mind.”
“Oh, shush.” She flapped her hand at him. “What’s he saying now?”
Noah listened. “That he had an instinct and had to act on it. He says he felt compelled. Goddamn right he was compelled. By me.”
“Uh-huh.” Caro tried to figure out the rapid-fire Italian on her own, but no luck. Stefano and Red talked even faster.
“Now the redhead is gushing,” Noah went on. “Telling him he’s a national hero. That all of Italy is proud of him for staving off a terrorist attack, possibly the worst in recent history on European soil, blah blah blah.”
Stefano looked intensely uncomfortable. Poor guy.
“You’re right,” Caro said. “He is suffering. Still, I bet this makes his career.”
“Better him than me,” Noah said.
“You’re being awful,” she told him. “He did us a solid.”
“We did him one, too. Like you said, he’s Italy’s favorite son.”
“Yes. He deserves it. You did the heavy lifting, but still, he’s got what it takes.”
Noah was eloquently silent.
Caro gave him a sidewise glance. “Of course, nothing like you,” she added demurely. “But it’s unfair to compare him to you. It’s unfair to compare anyone to you.”
“Quit it,” he growled. “My ego isn’t that fragile.”
“Sorry,” she murmured. “But since you won’t accept being celebrated as an international hero, will you consider a consolation prize? Say, for instance, having your cock licked, sucked, and played with for hours. Until I climb on top of you and take you inside me. And then just ride you while you go crazy, bucking underneath me. Until we both come…really hard.”
“Yes,” he said swiftly. “To everything. You’re on.”
* * * *
Buzzz. Buzzz. Noah’s smartphone vibrated on the bedside table.
Noah made a sleepy sound of dismay and rolled away from Caro, staring at the thing. “Damn,” he muttered. “Should have turned it off.”
Caro propped herself up onto her elbow and looked at the buzzing phone. “You should see who’s calling, at least,” she said. “You don’t have to answer.”
Noah reached for the phone and studied the display. “Unknown number,” he said.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“Answer it,” Caro urged. “I’d rather know.”
He tapped Talk. “Chi é?” He listened for a moment. “Stefano,” he said, glancing at her.
Noah swung his legs over the bed and sat up, hunching over as Stefano talked. Noah responded in Italian and they talked for a while, her own name frequently in the mix. It sounded like Stefano was coaxing him, and that Noah was resisting.
Finally, his eyes met hers. “Fine,” he said into the phone, switching to English. “I’ll pass you to her and you can ask her yourself. But first, about Lella. He wasn’t a traitor. Someone implanted stuff in
his brain. He fought it really hard in the end, and that’s why we’re all alive.”
He looked over at Caro, who only nodded. Listening in. Trying to look like she wasn’t.
“So,” Noah went on, “don’t blame him, and don’t let anyone else blame him. Konig’s your man. The one on the bull’s horns. Good luck figuring out what his game was. But if you want to find the real Cross of Orazio, you should start there.”
A burst of impassioned words from Stefano. Noah frowned. “Yeah, but he didn’t act alone. The people who messed with Lella will be after you next, so watch your back.” He listened again. “I know, and I will. But I do not want to be seen with you under any circumstances. You’re way too fucking famous. Hold on…here she is.”
Noah handed her the phone.
“Me?” Caro was startled. “Why the hell does he want to talk to me?”
Noah just shook his head, holding out the phone. “He’ll tell you himself.”
She took the phone reluctantly. “Ciao, Stefano,” she said. “You look good on television.”
“It is extremely embarrassing,” Stefano muttered. “Please do not speak of that. It is a very uncomfortable position you have put me in.”
“You mean, being still alive?”
Stefano let out a grudging laugh. “Point taken. I have a favor to ask of you, Mrs. Gallagher. On behalf of the Italian government.”
“What could I possibly do for the Italian government?”
“Let me explain. A trove of paintings lost for decades was recently discovered near Venice. They had been hidden from art looters after World War II, and those who hid them were killed. There are works by Raphael, Vermeer, Goya, possibly a Rembrandt. At the moment, none are fully authenticated. The consulting experts disagree on certain important points.”
“That sounds fascinating, but I still don’t understand.”
“I would be deeply grateful if you would come to Venice and look at them,” Stefano said. “I value your opinion. More than any of the others.”
Caro was at a complete loss for words.
“Of course, you will be generously compensated for your time and expertise.”
“It’s not that,” Caro said. “Stefano, I have no formal credentials as an art critic or authenticator, so I don’t know if I can actually—”
He interrupted her. “I understand that you need time to recover from the shock of last night.”
“That’s not what I was going to say, Stefano.”
“No? But please. I urge you to consider it. As a personal favor.”
“Ah—yes,” she stammered. “I suppose I could consider it. Although—”
“Thank you. Forgive me for interrupting your evening. Arrivederci, Mrs. Gallagher.”
“Arrivederci,” she echoed.
Caro set aside the phone and sank down on the bed again, rolling over to face Noah. “He wants me to authenticate priceless art that was hidden from the Nazis,” she said, bemused.
Noah just blinked at her. “No fucking shit,” he said evenly.
“His timing is…well. Interesting.”
“I’ll say,” Noah said, with feeling. “And? So?”
Caro hesitated for a long moment. “I think,” she said carefully, “that we should discuss this much, much later. After we’ve both recovered.”
Noah made a scoffing sound. “Recovered, my ass. Hah. Don’t hold your breath.”
She stroked his hair. Smiling at him. It seemed to make him nervous.
“Should I be worried?” Noah demanded.
“No,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. I like you mellow. Stay mellow.” She gazed into his gorgeous amber eyes. “I almost lost you tonight. Scared me out of my wits.”
“Me too.”
“I love you, Noah Gallagher,” she announced.
He pulled her closer. “I love you too,” he said, his voice rough.
“I just found you,” she said. “And I’m keeping you. I know we both said ‘til death do us part.’ But I don’t want to hear about being parted. Not for a long, long time. Understand?”
His white teeth flashed in a big, delighted grin. “Perfectly.”
“Good,” she said. “So let me tell you how it’s going to be. For the next few days, we’re not going anywhere. Not for any reason. We’ll sleep, loll in bed, order room service ten times a day if we want to. We’ll take long, hot baths. Give each other sexy massages. That kind of thing. Super mellow.”
Noah’s eyebrow tilted up, hopeful and expectant. “And…?”
Caro sat up, rolled over. Flung her leg over Noah’s muscular thighs and wiggled forward. She gripped his stiff, thick cock. Squeezing it tenderly.
“All I want right now is to be really, really close to you,” she whispered.
Noah sat up, embracing her. He kissed her with hungry urgency.
“I’m counting on it, babe,” he said against her mouth.
If you liked Light me Up, keep reading for a peek at the first three full length Obsidian Files books, Right Through Me, My Next Breath, and In My Skin, all available now!
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Right Through Me
Stranger, speak softly...
Biotech tycoon Noah Gallagher has a deadly secret: his clandestine training as a super-soldier gives him abilities that go far beyond human. Yet he’s very much a man. When Caro Bishop shows up at his Seattle headquarters with a dangerous secret agenda, his ordered life is thrown into chaos. Caro is a woman like no other—and her luminously sensual beauty cloaks a mystery he must solve.
Caro’s lying low, evading a false charge of murder. She means to clear her name, and she’ll do whatever it takes to survive—but seducing a man like Noah is more than she bargained for. His amber eyes have the strangest glow when he looks at her—she could swear he sees the secrets of her heart. The desire smoldering in Noah’s eyes awakens her own secret hunger, but Caro has to resist his magnetic pull. Anyone close to her becomes a target. The only right thing to do is run, far and fast, but Caro can’t outrun Noah’s ferocious intensity—or deny the searing passion that explodes between them.
Nothing else matters—until a vicious enemy bent on the ultimate revenge puts his murderous plan into play. Noah and Caro must battle for their lives . . .and their love...
Get Right Through Me here!
https://shannonmckenna.com/books/right-through-me/
Chapter 1
Someone just cut the lights. What the hell?
Noah Gallagher put down his pen and looked around, startled, as drums began to thump from the hidden sound system of the penthouse conference room. Some exotic instrument joined in, throbbing and wailing.
The door to the conference room opened to a shimmery jingling sound, then a flash of fluttering purple. Everyone at the table was staring and murmuring.
Oh, Christ. Not possible. Noah rose to his feet, but the belly dancer was already halfway through the door, her hands weaving in a hypnotic pattern. Wide, light-catching green eyes laughed at him brazenly as she shimmied straight toward him, leading with one pulsing hip.
Her eyes caught him . . . and held him.
The world narrowed down. Whatever he was going to say or do stopped. Words were gone. Air was gone. Air didn’t matter. Nothing moved while she moved.
She had commandeered all movement. With that smile. Those eyes.
He was sitting again, with no memory of deciding to do so. His mind had gone blank. The woman was like a walking, breathing stun code, personally keyed to him. He’d always wondered how it would feel to be one of the unlucky chosen few at Midlands who’d gotten stun and kill codes embedded in their minds. His own brain implants had been bad
enough. Stun and kill codes were worse.
But this dancer wasn’t a goddamn stun code. She was just a random woman, shaking her stuff. When her act was done, he’d pull it together. Exert the fucking authority he was entitled to as the CEO of Angel Enterprises.
He had exactly until the music stopped to get control of himself.
Simple enough to figure out who’d dreamed up this unwanted birthday present. His younger sister Hannah lurked by the door. The wide-angle enhancement of his sight made it possible to see the gleam in Hannah’s eyes without looking away from the belly dancer for a single second.
Not that he could have looked away.
He saw his fiancée Simone’s face with his peripheral vision. She’d chosen to sit at his side for this important meeting. It was painfully obvious from her tight, expectant smile that she was waiting for him to turn to her, to smile and laugh and make light of this stupid situation. Not just for her. For everyone in the room.
He couldn’t do it.
Try. Do an analog dive. Grab a hook. Concentrate.
A spotlight from somewhere gilded the dancer’s body, highlighting every perfect detail. Silver anklets that jingled over her small, bare feet. Golden toenails. Shapely legs flashed between purple veils that floated from a low-slung, glittering belt. The belt and top were swagged with shining chains and dangling beadwork. Still more chains, draped from an ornate headdress, dangled over her forehead and under her chin, creating a constant soft shimmer of sound.
High, full breasts quivered, lovingly presented in the spangle-studded velvet bra. She arched back, floating a purple veil edged with spangles high in the air above herself and swishing her thick fall of of glossy black hair around. Had to be fake hair, falling to well below her ass. It brushed the curve of her hips. Fanned out as she twirled.
Everything he’d monitored in his peripheral vision was gone now. He no longer saw Hannah, or Simone, or anything else. His inner vision was too busy with the vivid fantasy of that woman straddling him. Imagining her bold, sensual smile as she swayed over him, teased him. Running her fingers through her hair, lifting it, tossing it. Coiling it around her waist like a slave rope.
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