by Julie Miller
But this time Mitchell wasn’t buying it. The paper crumpled again. “I’m the same way. Now take off your jacket.”
Logan held his breath, his search temporarily forgotten.
There was a shuffle of paper, the creak of a leather chair. Was she obeying his command? Shit. She didn’t have anything on under that jacket except that lacy little tank top and the bra with the microphone chip. And she was taking it off for him?
He heard the double click of Grace’s mechanical pencil and remembered to breathe. “Shall we get back to work?” she asked in that husky phone-sex voice of hers.
No, no, no! He’ll get the wrong idea, Logan warned her with a useless thought.
“You go ahead.” Mitchell seemed to have gotten the very idea Logan hadn’t wanted him to. “I like watching you.”
A few moments later Grace moaned. Logan inched his way toward the closet door. “What’s that for?” she asked.
“I’m helping you relax.”
“Mmm. That feels nice.”
He was touching her. Logan’s blood boiled in his veins and pounded in his ears.
Teach me how to seduce a man.
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
He heard a wet, gloppy sound and a short hiss of breath. The leather chair creaked and skidded across the floor as either Grace or Mitchell moved it too quickly.
“What are you doing?” Panic had raised Grace’s pitch a notch.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all night.” Harris’s voice remained eerily calm. “Acting like you don’t care. Wearing those come-screw-me pumps and practically daring me to break your cool facade.”
“Um—”
No, baby. Logan was out the door at the familiar stutter of nerves in Grace’s voice. Rule two. Stay in control.
His hand strayed to the gun he now wore strapped to the back of his belt. After passing Tanya’s initial inspection, he didn’t intend to be without it again. He slipped through the empty wing of rooms and made his way down the back stairs.
The scene he was forced to listen to continued to unfold.
“I know I’ve seen those breasts before.” Harris was trying that lame line again. Logan could envision Grace standing there, folding her arms around herself, hiding her generous bounty and blowing her cover. “Where was it? A centerfold?”
“No, I never posed—stop that!”
Logan heard a slap and froze. His lungs seemed to press against his ribs as he fought to keep a slough of expletives inside him.
“So you like it rough, do you?”
“What?” She was scared. Logan ran. “No!”
Shit. He might as well be a hundred miles away. How was he supposed to get to Grace without breaking her cover? How was he supposed to help her without putting her in even greater danger? He suspected Mitchell’s wrath would be a far more ominous threat than his lust.
He heard the crash of pottery breaking. “Get worked up for me, Grace,” Mitchell ordered. “Let me see what you’ve got.”
“No.” That was Grace. Logan recognized the sounds of struggle. Bodies slamming into things. Little grunts of sound.
Cover be damned. Grace was out of there. Now.
He wheeled around the corner into the servants’ hallway and slid to a stop. He backpedaled a step and ducked behind a wooden settee as two women strolled past, dressed in workout clothes and headed for the gym.
One was the cook, Gertrude, a big, beefy foreign woman with a lusty laugh and biceps nearly as big as Logan’s. She’d be a pain to take down if she spotted him. The other was the raven-haired chauffeur, Raisa. She packed a gun like the two bodyguards.
Damn the man and his eccentricities!
“You want to throw me down again, Grace?” Mitchell’s voice sounded winded and excited at the same time.
“No, I don’t.” Logan took heart. He recognized that prim, go-to-hell tone in Grace’s voice. Had she bested the bastard in a fight?
“Sure, you do.” There was a squeal from Grace and a muffled oof as one of them hit a piece of furniture.
Gertrude and Raisa exited into the kitchen, and Logan was off again.
“Stop it.” More struggle.
“You know you like it.”
“Stop!”
Dead silence filled his ears as he hurried into the east wing. His feet made no sound on the marble-tiled floor. He had the double doors of Mitchell’s office in sight. Damn. Ilsa was on watch.
Logan faded into the shadows and silently cursed the woman. How could she sit there, reading a magazine, while there were sounds of a struggle on the other side of that door? As long as Mitchell wasn’t the one in trouble, she’d probably sit through rape and murder.
Thankfully, the sounds of heavy, erratic breathing filled his ears once more. Grace was all right. She’d been through a fight, but she was all right.
For now.
He heard Mitchell’s deep breaths, too, playing like low-pitched static in his ear. “I thought you understood what I meant about special projects.”
“I did,” argued Grace. “I do.”
“You don’t want me to kiss you gently. You don’t want me to kiss you rough.”
“I don’t want you to kiss me at all.” No, no, Grace, Logan thought. You’re going too far. He heard her catch her breath. “It’s a little eccentricity I have.”
Logan dared half a smile. Good girl. She was thinking on her feet. Tell a lie and make him believe it.
Her voice slipped back down to that irresistibly husky pitch. “I don’t like to be touched on my mouth.”
“Where do you like to be touched? How?” They’d gone back to the hated silence. “Like this?”
“Sure.”
“How about this?”
“Uh, okay.”
Logan sensed her panic. Damn it, sweetheart, play along. Should he announce himself to Ilsa? Tell her he needed to speak with his boss? Would his untimely arrival be enough to end the groping session? Or would his black-on-black outfit raise too many suspicions and jeopardize Grace’s safety?
There was that wet, sloppy sound again, almost echoing in Logan’s ears. That meant the sound was closer to the microphone. Closer to Grace’s breasts. Too close.
“Harris, wait.” Logan’s thoughts halted at the precise command in Grace’s voice. He hoped Mitchell’s did, too. “You’re right. We’ve been working all day. If this is how we’re going to cap things off, then I’d like to freshen up.”
“Wash me off your lips?”
Logan ran his tongue around his own mouth, remembering the sweet, soft taste of Grace there. It made him sick to think of Mitchell defiling that sweetness. Sick to think of Mitchell having anything at all to do with Grace.
“Yes. We each have our own little fetishes, don’t we,” she lied.
But, oh, thank God, Mitchell was buying this. “Of course. And if I’ve offended your sensibilities, you’ll have to punish me somehow.”
Logan shifted his attention from the voices in his earpiece to the sound of the doorknob turning beside Ilsa. “When I get back. I’ll think of something appropriate for you when I get back.”
Ilsa stood as the door opened. Grace was framed in the doorway. Her skirt was wrinkled, her hair bounced about her head in a scattered disarray, and she’d stripped down to that stretch of lace material that clung to each curve like a second skin.
Mitchell had had his hands on her! On his woman!
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Harris,” she cooed.
“I’ll be waiting.”
GRACE STUMBLED blindly down the hallway, searching for the first empty room she could find. When a bathroom appeared on her right, she went inside and closed the door behind her. With her steps guided by a night-light beside the vanity, she went to the sink and ran cool water to splash on her heated face and neck.
Then she took a drink. She rinsed out her mouth and spit. And rinsed and spit again. Now if she could only wipe the man’s touch from her breasts.
Grace shivered with re
vulsion at the scene that had just played out. Harris massaging her shoulders. Kissing her neck. Grabbing her breasts and kissing her mouth. She’d slapped him then.
And when his hand moved up between her thighs, she’d lost it. She’d simply reacted, smashing his instep and taking him down to the floor.
But he’d liked that.
She rinsed her mouth again, almost choking as she stood and watched the reflection in the mirror. The bathroom door opened. She jumped. A black wraith slipped inside with her and the door closed.
“Gracie?”
At the sound of that low-pitched voice, a wave of relief so profound that she could no longer stand swept through her. On weak knees, she threw herself into Logan’s arms, linking her hands behind his waist and snatching up handfuls of his black sweater in an effort to get closer to his warmth and security.
“Oh, Logan.” She buried his nose in his chest, inhaling his leathery, male scent on a silent sob. “You were right. I can’t do this.”
Logan bundled Grace up in his arms and cradled her head against his chest. He shushed her gently and rocked her back and forth, trying to absorb each hurt and insult and insecurity.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered against her ear. “I heard everything. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
“I can’t go back there. He thinks…” Her body shook against his in a silent sob and Logan held her even more tightly. “He thinks I like what he’s doing to me. He thinks I’m getting turned on.”
Logan wouldn’t torture himself any further by asking for details, and she didn’t offer any.
“Are you okay?” He had to ask. “Did he hurt you?”
Grace shook her head against his chest. “Not like you mean. I might have a couple of bruises on my legs from when he threw me on the sofa.” She shivered in his arms. “He actually wanted to fight with me.”
Logan swore, softly and viciously, in her ear.
Here was the perfect opportunity to take Grace home. To sneak her past the guarded iron gates and whisk her safely away from Mitchell’s grasp. Grace was finally surrendering to the horrible demands of this assignment.
“Take me home, Logan. Please, just take me home.”
Logan backed toward the door, pulling Grace with him. He had every intention of granting her request. All he had to do was slip past Ilsa. Climb over the gates without tripping the alarm.
He could do it. He could get them out of there. He knew he could do it.
This wasn’t just about possessive jealousy, about sharing the body of the woman he craved with another man. This was about some deeper emotion, one that twisted around his heart and made him think about Grace and home all in the same thought. She shouldn’t have to do this. She was shy and self-conscious, damn it! Except with him. She hadn’t transformed and come out of her shell for anyone else but him. It was his right to guard that gift. His need to keep her and her insecurities safe from slimy predators like Harris Mitchell.
“Someone else can take care of that damn program of mine,” she murmured into his sweater. “Someone else can do it.”
That program of mine. Mine.
And that’s when Logan knew that he couldn’t take her away.
He backed against the wall and let her lean against him, taking strength in her need for him. Offering his own strength to revive her unquenchable spirit. He saw her disappearing goals through his jaded eyes and knew he couldn’t live with himself if he allowed her to give up. Not Grace. Tougher than a pitbull and sexier than his wildest dreams, yet fragile as a butterfly, she needed this victory. She needed to complete this mission.
And as much as he wanted her out of here, he wanted to see her happy and proud and so full of confidence that he knew she’d still be okay when it was finally over between them and he had to leave.
This was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.
“I have to send you back to Mitchell, sweetheart. I can’t let you quit.”
Logan loosened his hold as she backed away. With his eyes having adjusted to the dim light of the room, he could see her own emerald gaze, dark with emotion and wide with shock. “What do you mean? Isn’t that what you wanted all along?”
He framed her face in his hands, holding her still when she tried to get away from him. She had to understand. He had to make her understand. “You know it is. But this isn’t about the case. This isn’t about me. This is about you. About proving yourself to the world. That’s what you’ve wanted all along.” He brushed a strawberry-gold curl off her cheek and willed her to understand. “What kind of partner would I be if I let you work this hard for this long, and then suddenly let you quit?”
“You’d be the partner I want right now.” She pushed away from his touch, hugging herself up in that protective stance of hers. “How can I go back in there? He thinks we’re going to end up in bed together. How can I act sexy? How can I look like I’m enjoying it when everything he does makes me want to either laugh or puke.”
“I’ll give you the look.”
“What?”
The idea was crazy. The idea was wild. But the idea might just work.
“Take off your skirt and hose.”
“Why?”
He turned her around, searching for a zipper to start undressing her himself.
But Grace’s hands batted at his. She was fighting him. She didn’t understand.
“Grace, let me.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re not a quitter. Not the Grace I know.” She ceased to struggle for a moment, trying to make sense of what he was telling her. In that moment, he found the zipper and slid it down. “The Grace I know is sexy and confident and full of attitude. And she’s at her best when she’s making love with me.”
He pulled the skirt and panty hose and shoes off her in one sweeping move. Then he picked her up beneath her bare bottom and set her on the vanity ledge beside the broad porcelain sink. He kissed her once, briefly, deeply, scattering her confusion beneath the instant haze of passion that flared between them.
“You and I always seem to end up in tight spots. Tonight I’m going to do something about that.”
She slipped her hands up to frame his face. “You’re crazy. Even if I stay, I said I’d only be gone a few minutes. We don’t have time.” She scraped her palm across his cheek. “Besides, Harris would be suspicious if I showed up with beard burn on my face.”
“Relax.” Logan smiled gently, then wickedly. “I can make you come without kissing you. Without entering you.”
Her pupils dilated at the erotic arrogance of his statement. “How?”
“You’re cheeks are already pink with that flushed, turned-on look just talking about it.” Her hands flew to her face to test the temperature change for herself and Logan seized the opportunity to move in between her legs. “Just close your eyes and let me do my magic. Close your eyes and listen to my voice. Feel my touch.” He flattened his hands against her breasts, doing nothing more than squeezing the nipples in his palms. The tips tightened and shot out in instantaneous reaction. “That’s it, baby. Just feel.”
Just feel? Grace’s breath squeezed out of her chest as a bolt of instant heat shot from her nipples straight down to the juncture of her thighs. It was always like this with Logan. Instant and hot and sudden. But how? There wasn’t any time. Harris was waiting for her.
Logan tugged at her nipples now, rolling them between his fingers, pulling on that invisible string that jerked a dampening reaction between her legs. The porcelain was cold beneath her bottom. Cold and hard and impersonal. But she could feel the heat building inside her, coming out of her, making at least one strip of that porcelain very, very hot.
She knew he was right. That she couldn’t leave. That she’d never be able to hold her head up again if she quit this case. And Logan believed in her. For whatever reason he’d done this about-face, he believed in her.
“Ah!” She cried out loud when the nip of his
teeth replaced his hands.
Quickly, his hand covered her mouth. “No, baby.” He reached for the hand towel behind her. “Someone might hear us.”
“It’s taking too long,” she whispered, just before he stuffed the rolled-up towel into her mouth. Logan grazed his lips across that sensitive bundle of nerves at the base of her neck and she bit into the towel.
He’d said this would be fast. He’d said there’d be no kissing, no intercourse. Without this slow build of sensual heat, could she ever possibly come before Mitchell or his guard became suspicious of her extended absence?
Logan’s chest expanded in and out beneath her hands. He’d come so quickly on his Harley the night before. Fueled by lust and need and simmering frustration, he’d pumped into her before she was ready. It had been a glorious meeting of the heart, though. He hadn’t been able to help himself. His need had been so intense, he hadn’t been able to resist her. And though her body had been left unsatisfied, her heart and her mind were content.
Was that what this was about? Did he mean he would bring out that caring, nurturing contentment again? Or could he truly give her an orgasm? The clock was ticking.
She pulled the towel from her mouth. “Logan, the time—”
He pushed the towel back in and whispered roughly against her ear. “Touch yourself, Gracie.” He moved her hands from his hard, solid chest to the softer, straining contours of her own. The pattern of the lace was a rough caress against her palms. He moved his hands over hers, silently instructing her on just the right way to pluck and squeeze and rub and excite herself. “Stay busy up here, baby. I’m going south.”
She moaned into the towel as he touched her intimately. He pushed her thighs apart and squeezed them in his palms, rubbing the pad of his thumbs against the sensitive nub between her feminine folds. “Keep touching yourself, baby.” He continued to rub. “I get all crazy when I watch you like this.”
She made him crazy?
“I’m going inside, Gracie,” he warned her a split second before he dipped a finger inside her. Then two. Her thighs automatically clenched against the electrically charged zap of pleasure and pain.
But she couldn’t close herself. Logan was there. His hips penned her knees apart. She could only squirm and push against his hand to try to ease the torment.