Quinn, Jane Leopold - Undercover Lover (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Jane Leopold Quinn

  But it isn’t Sam.

  Between horrific memories of the trauma and the sexual frustration, Lord knew she needed sleep.

  The jangle of the phone startled her out of her reverie. Who’d be calling at this time of night? Probably her parents or Miry. They worried about her and hadn’t wanted her to travel alone. But she’d needed to be alone.

  “Hello?”

  “Liz.”

  Her stomach dropped, and she had to sit again.

  Sam.

  “Um…hello, Sam.” Oh, God. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Your parents told me.”

  “Okay…”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her heart pounded so hard surely he could hear it through the phone.

  No, I’m not all right.

  “Well, I just wanted to make sure.”

  “I’m fine,” she said in a clipped voice. “Just taking a little vacation. A little R and R.” Nerves frazzled, mouth dry as dust, she could hardly get a deep breath. Just hearing his sensuous, husky voice sent shivers down her back. Thank God she was sitting down, because her knees would never have held her up. How had she ever thought the vibrator could take his place?

  Damn him.

  She had to say something. The silence stretched on and on until she wanted to scream. “Is that all? You just called to see if I’m okay?”

  “Yes. Well…no.”

  He wasn’t any more glib than she. A ray of guarded hope flickered through her heart.

  “Um.”

  She giggled uneasily, both of them tongue-tied. Doubling over her knees, she folded her arms around her achy stomach. God, she wanted him.

  “Liz?”

  His husky voice played with her senses. “Yes?”

  “Can I come up?”

  “Up? To my room? Where are you?”

  “In New Orleans.”

  “New Orleans?” she whispered.

  “Downstairs in the hotel bar.”

  “The bar?”

  “Yeah, are you going to repeat every word I say?”

  “You’re here at the Monteleon?”

  “Yes. Can I come up?”

  She panicked. “Um…no.”

  “No?” He sounded surprised.

  Oh, God.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Liz, please. I don’t want to talk down here surrounded by people.”

  “I’ll meet you.”

  “Unh…okay. I guess that’ll be all right.”

  “It’ll have to be. I’ll be there in five minutes…unh…ten.”

  “I’ll be here.” His laugh sounded strained.

  “Unh hunh.” She hung up.

  Thank God, she’d said ten. Nine of those minutes would be needed to pace the room to shake off her nerves. “Oh my God, Sam’s here. Here in the hotel,” she muttered. Excitement bloomed in her heart, suffused her skin with heat. This wasn’t a coincidence. He’d gone to her parents, found out where she was, and came after her. Fighting for a deep breath, she needed to lower her heart rate to normal, or as normal as she could get it knowing Sam Bolt waited downstairs in the bar.

  Twenty minutes later, she stalked out of the elevator doors and into his arms. No one wore jeans as well as he did, and the black T-shirt hugged his muscular chest. Incredibly, his hands shook when he slid them around her waist. His strong arms tightened around her, and he signaled his intent with parted lips and dark lashes layered on his cheeks. His mouth covered hers in a kiss full of sweet wonder and desperate need.

  She melted into him. The tighter he drew her to him, the steadier he grew. His harsh groan when he deepened the kiss reverberated through her skin. She responded with a whimper. His soft beard tickled her cheeks, and she angled her face to snuggle against it. He ravished her mouth with his tongue, and she ravished his in return.

  Then oblivion. She surrendered. She knew him, knew his body, knew his desires.

  And hers. He’d come after her. It had to mean he cared. She wanted to forget the hurt and confusion of the past and focus on the intense ecstasy of this moment, but, still, she wondered why he’d come.

  He lifted his head. She could see his pulse beating at the base of his throat.

  “Come on.” Plastering her to his side, he pulled her into the dim recess of the bar. He seated her at a small table in a dark corner, drawing their chairs together so their knees touched. He held her face in both hands, urging her chin up with his thumbs. “Liz…”

  She tried to control the dizzying storm inside her. She’d missed him, had ached for him.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  Right or wrong, she wanted him. Wanted to be with him, feel his naked body next to hers. On top. Beneath. He’d come after her. At this moment, that was all that mattered.

  But a shred of sanity forced its way into her mind. “What are you doing here, Sam?”

  “I…”

  “May I get you a drink, Miss?”

  She blinked, reminded they were in a public place. How could she think when he looked at her with that much intensity?

  The lust rolling off him in waves was barely held in check. His lips were swollen with their kisses.

  And the waitress stood there.

  Oh, God.

  “Whatever he’s having.”

  “Draft,” he said. “Two.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He scooted closer and hung his arm around the back of her chair, his fingers teasing her shoulder. She angled her neck like a cat when he ran them up and massaged her ear. He grinned, a victorious show of white teeth, and then his lips pressed her cheek. “Mm. You smell fine, lady.”

  “Huh.” Her breath came out in a huff. His warm lips brushing her cheek was a huge distraction. “I bought it here.”

  “Well, it’s turning me on.”

  “Bal à Versailles,” she sighed, surprised she could remember the perfume’s name under his seductive nips.

  “Hunh?”

  He probably didn’t care about the name of the perfume and was using this as a distraction. “Sam, you haven’t answered me. Why are you here?”

  He let her shift away from him, but he kept his arm draped along the back of her chair. “I was worried about you.”

  “You weren’t worried enough about me to call those first three days. Why now?” She pressed her lips together, folded her arms across her chest, and scowled.

  “I didn’t know if you suffered from any after-effects.” His intense gaze was unnerving.

  “You mean like post traumatic stress?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, uh huh, I do. I wake up in the middle of the night sweating and shaking thinking about what almost happened. What did happen. I can still feel his hot brains coating my arms. I can still feel the tape stuck over my mouth. That was almost the worst. I was afraid I’d smother to death. So, yeah, I suffer from after-effects.”

  His eyes met hers, tremendous guilt shimmering in them.

  “I deserve an explanation. After all, I was almost…killed, and I don’t even know why.”

  The waitress returned with two tall glasses of beer. Her mouth dry as dust, she took a sip.

  He gulped his. “I’m sorry, Liz.”

  “What was between you and that man. That Dominguez?”

  “What’d he say?” he asked evasively.

  Oh, so we’re going to play a game, are we?

  “He said you beat him up, and it had something to do with your brother.” She drew a shaky breath and looked away, the memory of Dominguez’s foul breath and spittle spraying her face haunting her.

  He sat back in his chair, putting distance between them.

  Talk about body language. “Listen, your business is your business, but I was almost killed because of it. But hey.” She lifted her arms in the air in an I’m through with this discussion gesture. “We can end this right now. We had a good time.” She rolled her eyes. “But we don’t owe each other anything more.”
r />   He crossed his arms over his chest. More telling body language.

  “I’m going to my room. We go our own ways. Maybe if we see each other in Chicago, we wave and that’s it.” She didn’t get this. He flew all the way to New Orleans but now wouldn’t talk. She’d been an idiot for caring about another guy who didn’t care about her. Sex didn’t a relationship make, and that’s all they’d had. She’d tried to get him to talk, to explain it all. Whatever they meant to each other, there was no hope of anything deeper if he couldn’t tell her the truth.

  Drained of emotion or maybe full to bursting with too much emotion, she rose to leave. “Good bye, Sam.” Before she got two feet from the table, he caught her, his hand clamping around her wrist.

  “Can we go upstairs and talk?”

  “No. Talk here, Sam.”

  “Will you come back and sit down? Please?”

  She followed him back to the table wondering how much more of this she could take.

  The waitress started to approach them, but he waved her away. He pulled their chairs close together and began. “Dominguez was a drug dealer who provided drugs to my younger brother, Petey.” He paused. Looking toward the bar, the front window of the bar, he seemed to be gathering himself. “I beat him up.”

  “He said something about that. When did this happen?”

  “A long time ago. I was eighteen.”

  So this is it. Dominguez had told her some of this, but now she saw how it affected Sam. “I’m so sorry. Is Petey okay.”

  “He’s not on drugs any more.” His abrupt answer seemed designed to end the conversation.

  “Well, that’s good then.” She wasn’t ready to end it, sure there was more. “And Dominguez waited all these years for revenge?”

  “I’d been hunting him since I joined the force. He recognized me the day I was shot and obviously figured out I was a cop. I thought I got away, but somehow they found me, and I led them to you. I’m sorry.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, and met her gaze, his eyes shimmering with emotion. “You can’t know how sorry I am.”

  “What a mess. Are you in trouble with the department?”

  He met her eyes again and nodded. “Yes, my career’s in jeopardy. That’s minor compared to the harm I’ve caused you, though.”

  “It means a lot that you told me about it. If I can do anything with your bosses to help, I will.”

  He took another gulp of beer, his expression so forlorn, so lost, his mouth tight and grim.

  She wrapped her hand around his. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.

  He paused, studying her face for a long moment. “Can we go upstairs now?”

  “Oh, God.” She closed her eyes. “You are single-minded, aren’t you?” She was too easy when it came to him, but he’d been honest. That meant so much.

  “I’ve missed you.” He pulled her hand to his jeans and placed it on his erection. “In fact…”

  She swallowed convulsively. Her fingers closed around a penis as hard as the beer glass, with his heat penetrating all the way through the thick jeans.

  “Liz,” he hissed, drawing in a sharp breath when she squeezed.

  She felt the surge, the pump of blood beneath her palm. Her fingers wandered to the curve of the tip. When he growled, she petted him. In a haze of flirtatious, sensual fever, she purred in a mock Mae West voice, “Why, sir, is that a…gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?” She stumbled a little on the word gun but managed to wiggle her eyebrows. Her smile turned weak as the intensity in his very beautiful, dark eyes signaled how aroused he was.

  “Glad to see you, baby,” he rumbled through clenched teeth. “Can we go up yet?” He braced one of his arms on the table, the other rigid behind her on the back of the chair and surrounded her with his heat.

  Whatever the hell brought him here, she didn’t care where it ultimately led. She just wanted him and that lovely, thick cock inside her. She leaned into the shelter of his arms, against his chest, and lifted her face to kiss his neck .

  “Come on.” She gave his cock another all encompassing squeeze from the tip all the way to his groin.

  Chapter 15

  The door slammed shut, harder than she’d intended, but it didn’t matter. His hand on her bottom propelled her into the room and pushed her onto the bed. She kept her grip on his belt, caught a loop in her fingers, and brought him down with her. “Sam.” She groaned his name, his weight blasting the breath out of her.

  He pulled up, his knees on either side of her hips and stretched her arms above her head, holding her wrists with one hand. His other hand rested on her chest. “Breathe.” For a minute he gently pushed, helping her even out her breathing. But only for a moment. Cupping her breast through her sweater, his fingers flicked and massaged her nipple.

  “Even through your sweater, I can feel this hard little puppy,” he said in a silky purr.

  She whimpered, arching her back. She could feel the electricity racing through her veins, all the way to her clit.

  He leaned in, taking her nipple between his teeth, through sweater, through bra, and nipped it, the sting a lovely torture.

  “Sam, take it off. I want your mouth on me.” She twisted her body, stretched out under him, vulnerable and desperate. She strained, stiffening against the hand holding her wrists above her head. The position, the same as in the attack, didn’t terrify her this time because this was Sam, but she couldn’t help feeling a moment of panic.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Somehow he knew about her fear.

  “He pulled my arms above my head and held me down,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry.” He hesitated, guilt evident in his eyes.

  “It’s not the same,” she reassured him. And it wasn’t. “I want this.”

  His eyes blazed with emotion. His free hand flicked open the buttons of the sweater and spread the edges apart. “Jesus.” It sounded like a prayer. His lips traced the lace of her bra, slipping his tongue under the scalloped edge. He nipped at the inner curve of her breasts, then closed his teeth over a lace-covered nipple, rolling the other between an expert thumb and forefinger.

  She bucked, the sensations rippling through her body. She’d missed him so much. Missed the sexual, passionate woman he’d found in her. “Sam.” His name was her mantra. She wanted to tell him to fuck her, to suck her, to please her in every way. And she wanted him flat on his back with her bending over him, sucking his long, hard cock into her voracious mouth.

  He released her hands, leaning back.

  “No,” she whined when he stopped plying her nipples.

  He just gazed down at her, one eyebrow raised, his lips quirked. The ambient light from the city filtered into the room, illuminating the face hovering above hers, his dark hair drooping over his forehead, midnight eyes glittering. God, he looked diabolical. Seductive. Addictive. This was Sam. And she wanted him. His eyes flashed with an emotion she recognized. Desire. She arched reflexively, slipping her hands up his neck into his hair, and demanded, “Fuck me, Sam.”

  Nodding, he removed his clothing, then her sweater and bra, and slid her skirt off her hips. “Oh, baby.” She was left in panties and thigh highs. “You’re killing me with these,” he groaned, flicking the elastic band of the panties.

  “I’m sorry,” she panted, the sharp snap arousing. “I’ll never wear them again.”

  “You’ll wear ‘em every time,” he growled back, nipping at her bare skin above the stocking top. He pressed his cheek on her, blew heated breath against the thin silk over her mound. “What the hell were you thinking wearing these without me around to see ‘em?” He traced the lace. “Would you have slept with another man, Liz?” His voice grated menacingly.

  The implied jealousy, and especially the uncertainty in his voice, thrilled her.

  He swept both hands over her breasts, wrapping his palms around them, brushing his thumbs close to, but not quite touching, her nipples.

  She watched the pebbled tips tighten, moan
ed at the ache, at the sensitivity that felt like a band around her chest.

  He licked and kissed her belly, dipping his tongue into her belly button. “Hunh? Liz. Answer me,” he commanded, his teeth sharply nipping the tender skin just above her mound.

  “Sam. No. Never.” She’d say anything to keep the amazing feelings coming. “God, do that again.” Even the pain aroused her. She flexed her hips in invitation.

  In an instant, he pulled her panties down her legs. “This, hunh?” He tugged her pubic hairs with his teeth.

  “You’re driving me crazy,” she moaned. She wanted him, wanted the cock jutting from its thick, dark nest between his thighs.

  “That’s the plan, sweetheart. You’re not going to do this with any other man. Are you?”

  “You damn bastard,” she snarled and pushed her fists against his shoulders, both aroused and angry with his possessiveness.

  “Oh, ho, you want to play rough, do you?” he chuckled wickedly.

  At least that’s the way it sounded, and she loved this side of him.

  * * * *

  Sam hovered over her, balanced on his elbows. He closed his mouth around a nipple, suckling and tasting her, the scent of her skin, of her perfume wreathing through his brain.

  He wanted his cock inside her but couldn’t resist first licking his way down her belly. She squirmed, arching, pushing her pussy in his face. “I know what you want, baby.” He dipped his tongue into her folds, hearing her gasp when his tongue touched her clit. Jesus Christ, he loved her clit.

  His tongue washed and teased the stiff nub, his fingers gently tugging at the lips surrounding it, rimming her hole until she moaned loudly.

  “Sam,” she whimpered.

  “What do you want, honey?” he teased.

  “Suck it, baby. Please…”

  He obediently drew her clit into his mouth and ravished it.

  “Oh, oh…too…”

  At the distress in her voice, he gentled the pull of his lips and used the flat of his tongue to drive her pleasure. Without slowing, he peeked at her.

  She watched him, her eyes wide, her fingers clutched in his hair.

  “Do you want me to fuck you, baby?”