One-Click Buy: March 2009 Harlequin Blaze

by Alison Kent

  Richard Van Dorn aka Spike had only recently been in prison. Exactly where Callie masquerading as Gina had put him for gunrunning and loan-sharking. He was pretty sure that Spike didn’t know it had been Callie who had played him and put him behind bars.

  Allie recognized him from the photo Drew had shown her that morning. She seemed to freeze, then surprisingly she loosened up. Spike took her by the arm and started to drag her away from the others. They were heading for the back alley that ran the length of the street. Drew doubled his efforts to get to her, but by the time he got to the mouth of the alley, they were nowhere in sight.

  AT FIRST Allie let the guy drag her, but then remembered that Gina Callahan wouldn’t allow anyone to drag her anywhere. She dug in her heels and snapped her arm out of his grasp.

  “What do you want?” she asked, some of the anger in her voice real.

  “To talk to you. I haven’t been able to find you since I got out. It’s too noisy back there.”

  “I don’t want to talk, Spike. It was fun, but now it’s over. I have other things to attend to.”

  “I like the blond hair. When did you decide to go Valley Girl?”

  “Right after the police busted you. I felt the need to look different, less like Spike’s girlfriend.”

  She turned to head back up the alley and back to Drew when Spike grabbed her arm again.

  “Actually, Gina, what I really want to talk about is the hundred thou you owe me.”

  Allie frantically tried to recall the whole incident that had to do with Gina and Spike and when it came to her, she felt utter relief.

  “I lost a lot of my own money that day, and the guns. The Feds took it all. I was lucky to get away. I had to run, Spike. I hate to run. You know that. I think we both have to cut our losses.”

  “I heard you’re doing pretty well. Thought the rumors of you cut down in France were true—finally, the hand of death caught up to you. But here you are, whole and healthy. I think you still owe me.” He pressed her against the dirty wall and Allie gasped as his wiry body slammed into her.

  Self-preservation had her reaching for the knife in the skirt’s pocket and with a desperate flip of her wrist it opened with a whirling sound. She pressed it into his stomach and said very succinctly. “I have…a…a knife.”

  She sounded too hesitant and weak, so she tried again. “It would be a terrible shame to have to gut you, Spike. Let me go. Now!”

  He laughed, which wasn’t exactly the effect she was going for.

  “I love it when you play rough, Gina.”

  His head descended, and Allie decided kissing him was not an option, so she did the only thing she could think of, because gutting him was obviously not an option, either. Allie was sure she wouldn’t be able to handle all the blood involved with such an act.

  She brought up her knee and it connected solidly with his groin. He was writhing on the ground as Drew came running out, almost colliding with Allie in the dark.

  While they stood there, she flicked her wrist again and turned her back on Spike. “Breaking up is hard to do, Spike. Consider this your break-up call.”

  “You owe me, bitch!”

  In the two seconds before Allie answered, she did something amazing, something Drew wouldn’t have thought any raw recruit could have done in such a short time. It was all so subtle that if he hadn’t been fixated on her, trying to get a clue as to how freaked she was right now, he would have missed the actual transformation. As it was, he saw the whole thing take place in the space of a single breath.

  Turning to face Spike, she put herself between Drew and Spike in an I’m-in-charge stance—so subtle, so smooth and so damned unexpected.

  “I don’t freaking owe you anything. Cut your losses, Spike, or I’ll cut them for you.” Her tone was pure menace.

  “Gina!”

  “Screw you.”

  He couldn’t have scripted it better. She inclined her head to Drew and they both walked away, leaving Spike cursing and holding his nuts as if they were shattered into a million pieces.

  As soon as they were out of sight of Spike, Allie folded like a table after a reception. Just simply dropped. Drew caught her against him and cradled her like something rare and precious.

  ALL THE WAY back to his loft, he kept glancing at her as she slept in his front seat. Still amazed by her performance, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

  He stopped the car at the curb in front of his loft and just sat in the seat and stared at her. She reminded him of how she had looked in the bathroom at the government building. A heartbreaker in the very true sense of the word. Damn good at getting herself into jams and getting herself out of them just as easily without his help, mind you.

  She looked like hell, sleepily drunk with mascara tracks down her cheeks and her deep red lipstick making her lips look all the more red, all the more kissable.

  “It’s not polite to stare,” she said.

  “I’m not that polite,” he responded.

  “No, you’re not.”

  Swinging around to the passenger side, he reached for the door handle, then stopped. He needed to remind himself—again—that he was here to train her and nothing else.

  He opened the door and simply stared. She was doing something so amazingly simple. Stretching, but it became something more when a woman in a too-short skirt arched her back and lifted her hands over her head, yawned and pressed one of her two-inch boot heels into the floor-boards.

  He called it arousing. Mesmerizing. She was nothing but silken, golden tan all the way up to her…he averted his eyes with effort, getting angry all over again that she’d gone out in public without underwear. He didn’t dare think that the tattoo—whatever it was—was bare to anyone who happened to flick up the edge of that skirt.

  “Come on, ball-buster. Let’s go,” he said, but actually getting her out of the car proved to be another of the night’s long list of challenges. The tequila had turned her body into a Slinky, and the harder he tried to hold on to her, the slinkier she got.

  “Hell,” he muttered, finally just bending his knees and lifting her over his shoulder. He clamped his arm across her thighs, locked his car and headed for the loft elevator.

  “Man, I was scared,” she said, her voice kind of raw and throaty.

  He heard a distinct sob. It was the aftereffects of fear. He knew clinically that it was extremely natural, but he didn’t like to hear her voice go all watery. Crying wasn’t one of the things in his operative manual. He’d rather go one on one with a guy with a very sharp knife.

  “Things got out of control, but you handled it.”

  “I did. Like a pro with a switchblade in her fluffy, girlie skirt. I’m sure I looked real tough.” Her words were slurred and Drew figured that the tequila was kicking in.

  He set her down because he was sure she’d flash whoever happened to be out and about. Once she gained her feet, he held her against the elevator wall as it began its smooth glide up to his apartment.

  Suddenly, the lights went out and the elevator ground to a halt. Power outage. Damn fine timing. He was trapped in the elevator with a crying woman.

  She let out a squeak and rammed into him so hard it knocked the breath out of him. The emergency lights came on in the elevator and bathed her upturned face in a dim, warm light.

  With her makeup messed up, her face had lost some of its dramatic contrast, but none of its beauty. Her lashes weren’t so dark. Her lips were now a softer shade of pink. He could see a light dusting of freckles across her nose, which made her look younger—a lot younger than she had a right to look. Her hair was wild, absolutely wild, as if she’d been dragged across the pillows, and was he…crazy, or lucky or simply out of his ever-loving mind?

  The tracks of her tears took hold of his heart and just wouldn’t let go.

  “Yeah, especially telling Spike to eff off.”

  She opened her eyes all the way and laughed. “Yeah, that’s me. Tough girl.”

  “Ha
ve you ever said fuck?”

  “No. As a matter of fact I haven’t said that word and I don’t intend to. It’s vulgar.”

  “Interesting. You won’t say the word, but you’ll go commando in public.”

  “I’m not naked. I have on a thong. I couldn’t quite bring myself to go all the way.”

  It was his turn to close his eyes and let that information wash through him. She might as well be naked beneath that skirt. A thong, for Pete’s sake.

  “Allie, you’re killing me by inches.”

  “I’m dying, too. Every time you look at me with those intense, secret-agent eyes. What hides in them I wonder? How did you get here?”

  “One step at a time, Allie.”

  She smoothed her hand over his face. “You’re so beautiful, so amazing. All I want to do is touch you. All the time.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “You keep saying that. Drew.” She breathed his name, her hands going to the buttons on his shirt and starting to undo them one by one.

  “I’m not fragile and I’m not fickle. I understand what it takes—what kind of character it takes to protect your country. My brother, Max, is a warrior through and through. You have the same look. He thinks that to protect people, you have to keep everyone at arm’s length. It just isn’t true. It only isolates you from the very people you’re trying to protect. I think you lose something. Something important.”

  He didn’t stop her. Neither her words, nor her hands. He was too busy thinking, remembering and wondering if she might have learned some black magic in that bar. He felt a little bewitched, as if he were under some kind of spell. He also remembered the taste of her mouth, and her in his arms, and yeah, that was probably enough to get him into deep trouble—quicksand trouble.

  “It’s not that easy, Allie. It’s never that easy.”

  She was pulling the rest of his T-shirt out of his pants and unbuttoning his cuffs, pushing his dress shirt off his shoulders. She was gone, over the edge, hopped up on adrenaline and tequila. Part of him wanted to go over the edge with her. She was scared, hungry and she needed him.

  Needed him inside her.

  Needed him to anchor her world.

  And that was something that he couldn’t do. He couldn’t anchor anyone’s world because he was always on the move. He had to remain rootless. Hell, even the loft belonged to Watchdog. He owned nothing and liked it that way.

  Relationships were like possessions, they got in the way. He’d learned his lesson the hard way in Afghanistan, the hardest way, and he knew better than to kiss her.

  He moved his hand up to cup her cheek and smooth his fingers over her skin.

  Hell, they wouldn’t still be together after this mission anyway. She’d go back to her safe life and he’d continue to do what he did best. Move on.

  Yeah, he knew better than to kiss her, but he did it anyway—just let go of every freaking thing he’d believed in forever, tilted her face toward his and brought his mouth down to hers.

  Heat, as pure and simple as anything he’d planned, washed through him. He groaned with the pleasure of it, gave himself over to it. Her skin was damp, and he was breaking out in a sweat, and he suddenly knew that nothing mattered. She wanted him, and deep inside where he’d locked away his own emotions, his own needs and desires, he wanted her, too.

  One of her hands slid through his hair, across the nape of his neck, cupping his skull, keeping him captive for her kiss. He reached for her leg and drew it up around his waist, pushing up her skirt, getting her closer, reveling in the silken softness of her thigh beneath his fingers. Her other hand was siding under his waistband, going downtown, driving him wild, and the anticipation of her taking him in her hand and stroking him made him groan.

  The elevator lights came on and Allie sighed. Drew swore and the elevator door opened with them standing there with her hand down his pants.

  “Let’s go, Captain,” she said. Pulling her hand out of his pants, she grabbed a handful of his shirtfront and pulled him out of the elevator toward his loft door.

  “Key,” she demanded, holding out her palm.

  He pulled his keys out of his pocket and found the right one.

  “Come on,” she said, doing that gimme motion with her fingers.

  He gave her the key and, without letting go of him, she opened the door. He’d never been manhandled by a woman in his life, never been given orders or followed them, but Allie was magnificent in her need for him, and he couldn’t deny her the pleasure of anything, including his body.

  With the door open, she pulled him inside, dropped the keys on the floor and bumped the door shut with her hip.

  “No phones,” she searched for his cell and found it in his front pocket, way too close to his engorged cock. But that wasn’t her focus…yet. His whole body went hot just thinking about that.

  She flipped open the phone, pressed the off switch and flung it onto the couch. Way out of his reach. Even if he wanted to dial 911 in this particular emergency, he couldn’t. Not that he wanted to.

  “No clandestine meetings, no training and no excuses.”

  She turned the lock on the door and threw the dead bolt.

  “No interruptions.”

  “Allie—”

  “No,” she said, interpreting the tone in his voice all wrong. He was just going to suggest that she sit down. She was shaking and holding on to him as if her life depended on it.

  “I have never had such a hard time getting what I want, Drew. Now, maybe if Jason hadn’t been gay…wait a second, that’s right. He’s not gay. It doesn’t matter anymore. I should have seen it. He’s so much like you.”

  “In what way?”

  “Cute, but with that edge all women love. We love the danger. Who doesn’t dream about getting hot and heavy with James Bond, or, in Jason’s case, Vincent Valentine?”

  “I don’t.”

  She ignored his comment.

  “Who’s Vincent Valentine?”

  “Final Fantasy.” She reached out, and the muscles of his stomach flexed as her cool, slender fingers caressed the heated skin of his belly.

  Final fantasy? There was nothing final about the way her hand traveled up his body but there was his every fantasy about her fingertips grazing his tingling skin. Nothing final about the way she encircled his nipple, leaning forward and putting her slick, wet tongue against the tip.

  His head dropped back. She swirled her soft tongue around his hard nipple, grazed the length with her teeth, and nibbled the tip before taking him deep into her mouth and sucking hard.

  His breath hissed out between his teeth, and he slid his hands into the silk of her hair, kneading her scalp.

  Moving to the other nipple, she nipped him again, making him twist in the agony of the pleasure she was giving him with her sweet mouth and teeth.

  She flattened her hand in the center of his chest and skimmed her cool palm downward, her fingers dragging over his ribs and taut abdomen. She didn’t stop there, and he gave a raw moan of pleasure as her fingers curled along the thick length of his erection confined behind denim.

  His body jerked in response when she stroked him, and it was all he could do not to rip her clothes off and take her right there, on the floor.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his mouth down to hers to finish the kiss she’d started in the elevator. The pressure of her mouth parted his lips and her tongue slipped inside to tangle with his. Her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck, her leather-clad breasts crushed against his chest, and the carnal mating of their mouths generated enough heat to make them both spontaneously combust.

  He slid his hand down her side and over her hip. Bunching the tulle in his hand, he methodically raised it until his hand encountered her bare thigh. His hands cupped her firm bottom and she thrust her hips forward in an uncontrollable movement that set them slightly off balance. Catching the waistband of the thong with his crooked thumbs, he pulled it down her legs far eno
ugh for her to toe it off. Cupping her creamy thigh, he lifted her leg, dragging it over his hip and brought the core of her heat right against his groin.

  She gasped against his mouth as he thrust against her, the sweet friction making him crazy for her bare, slick skin against him.

  He used his back muscles to springboard off the wall and start to move toward the bed, releasing Allie’s thigh. She did a one-eighty and pushed him toward the bed until the mattress hit the creases of his knees.

  Her hands went to the waistband of his jeans. Desire darkened her eyes as she pulled at the button and lowered the zipper.

  “Tight fit,” she said, her voice husky and soft.

  Taking both denim and brief material in her hands, she pushed it off his hips. “Oh, man. Man, oh, man, you’re beautiful,” she breathed. “So beautiful.”

  He leaned forward, touching his mouth to her temple, kissing the soft skin. His breath ruffled the wisps of hair along the side of her face, and pure, undisguised sexual energy crackled between them, a rare and irresistible chemistry that intensified with each moment that passed.

  Her body responded, automatically readying itself for his possession. No words were spoken—none were needed—as she lifted a hand and curled her fingers around the nape of his neck. She pulled his lips to hers and kissed him deeply, avidly. His mouth was equally hot and eager, his tongue bold. And greedy, consuming her with rich, unadulterated pleasure.

  They pulled back just long enough for him to quickly strip off her bustier. Their mouths met again, lips open, teeth nipping and nibbling, tongues touching, tangling. Her hands swept over the broad expanse of his chest, and she plied his nipples with her thumbs, and then strummed her fingers downward to his taut belly. With a groan, he smoothed his hands along her shoulders and filled his hands with her breasts, rolling her nipples back and forth between his fingertips.

  He felt out of control, and he embraced the untamed sensation along with the freedom to do things with and to this woman that he’d never explored with another lover before.

  He felt as if she were a piece of him he’d never known he’d been missing. When he’d first laid eyes on her, thinking she was Callie, the connection had been that sudden, that intense.