Trust No One

by Jayne Ann Krentz

“Doesn’t mean someone didn’t hire them to take me out of the picture,” Julius said somewhat absently.

  She stared at his reflection, shock and horror shifting through her as his meaning sunk in.

  “Because of me,” she whispered. “I’m the one who brought those two down on us.”

  He met her stunned eyes in the mirror.

  “No,” he said. “Not another damn word about being responsible. Those two thugs and whoever hired them—if it turns out that they were hired—are responsible. No one else. Understood?”

  The words held the implacable force of a command.

  She looked at his reflection. “Julius.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. His mouth came down on hers. He kissed her with a ruthless, driving need that acted like an accelerant on a flame.

  She did not try to resist. She did not want to resist.

  “Yes,” she said against his mouth. “Yes.”

  She clutched at him, trying to wrap herself around him. She heard the torn seam of her dress rip farther up her thigh.

  Julius took the kiss to a deeper, even more explosive level. She felt his hands at her waist and then they went lower. He found the ripped seam, gripped delicate fabric and tore it all the way to the top of her thigh. He pushed the tattered hem of the garment up to her waist, exposing the thin triangle of lace and silk.

  The next thing she knew he was cupping her bottom and lifting her up against his erection. She could feel the hard length of him beneath the fabric of his trousers.

  She was breathing faster now, in the grip of a rush that was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She needed the release that she knew Julius could give her. A part of her was shocked by her volatile reaction but another part—the part that was in the ascendant at that moment—was thrilled. This was a new side of herself, a side she had always suspected existed, one she had searched for from time to time in the past but never found. This was real passion, the kind that made lovers do mad, crazy, over-the-top stuff in the heat of the moment.

  She struggled with the front of Julius’s shirt and finally got it open. Fascinated, she spread her fingers across his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin and the contours of the muscles beneath. He held her easily, as if she was weightless.

  He set her on her feet again just long enough to lower the zipper at the back of her dress. He peeled the front of the gown down to her waist and tugged the long, narrow sleeves off her arms.

  He had her bra unhooked before she realized his intention. His hands closed around her breasts, his palms deliciously rough on her nipples.

  She was intensely aware of everything about him. She could tell from the harsh rasp of his breathing that he was fighting for control and she gloried in her own feminine power. But at the same time she was lost in the waves of excitement. She could not wait to see what awaited her at the end of the wild ride.

  He got his fingers inside the bikini panties and moved his palms down over her hips, sweeping away the lacy scrap of fabric. He tossed the panties aside and wrapped his hands around her waist.

  He lifted her up again and set her on the edge of the counter. The shock of the cool granite against her backside made her take a sharp breath.

  “Cold,” she said.

  “Not for long,” he promised.

  She heard the whisper of leather against brass and knew that he had just unfastened his belt. The next thing she heard was the slide of his zipper. When she looked down she saw the hard, heavy length of him. For the first time she experienced something that might have constituted a qualm.

  “Oh, my,” she said.

  He opened a nearby drawer and took out a small foil packet. He got the packet open and quickly sheathed himself.

  He put his hands on her knees, parted her legs and moved between her thighs. When he found her melting core she shuddered and clutched his shoulders. He stroked slowly, deliberately against her clitoris. She strained toward him, trying to capture his fingers inside her. She needed him inside her. He teased her unmercifully until she was so desperate, so sensitized that she could scarcely breathe.

  “You are so wet,” he said against her throat. “So ready for me.”

  “Now,” she ordered. She used her grip on his shoulders to urge him closer. “Inside me. Do it now.”

  She made it an order, not a plea.

  He guided himself into her, taking his time so that she was aware of every inch of him. Never had she felt so stretched, so full. She hovered on the brink of a release that she knew would change everything. All the questions she’d had about this secret side of herself were about to be answered.

  She tightened around him. Her head tipped back. She closed her eyes against the glare of the bathroom lights and dug her ruined nails into the muscles of his shoulders.

  Julius groaned, anchored her rear with his hands and began to piston within her. She fought him when he retreated, closing herself ever more tightly around him in an effort to make him stay deep inside her.

  But he was as determined to control the cadence as she was and he was so much stronger.

  Stronger—yes—but she knew that he was also vulnerable. She could feel the rigid tension in the muscles of his shoulders. She knew that every time she strained to hold him he was forced to use more control to master himself.

  A moment later the wildfire of her release flashed through her. Julius was pulled into the vortex. She held him close as he drove into her one last time.

  The hoarse growl of his exultant satisfaction echoed against the tiled walls. He throbbed heavily inside her for an endless moment.

  When it was over he sagged over her, bracing his hands on the counter on either side of her hips. He sucked in deep breaths for a moment. Then he raised his head.

  “That,” he said, “was how I had hoped the evening would end.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Julius eased out of her body. She winced a little because she was still so sensitive and he was so big. He searched her face and then lifted her gently down off the counter. Her legs felt weak. She grabbed the edge of the sink to steady herself.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She managed a weak smile. “Aside from the fact that I look like I’ve been run over by a truck, do you mean? Absolutely.”

  “Got an affirmation for this?”

  “How about The truck that doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger?”

  He nodded with a sage air. “A very uplifting thought.” He checked his own reflection, grimaced and started to peel off his rumpled and stained shirt.

  “You may have been hit by a truck,” he said, “but I look like I was standing on the tracks when the train went past.”

  The crazy urge to laugh rose up inside her again. She managed to control it but she could not help smiling at Julius’s reflection.

  “You don’t look so bad for a man who caught a bad guy this evening,” she said.

  “Only after you took him down with that shot to his balls. And in stilettos, no less.” For the first time, Julius smiled with icy satisfaction. “I hate to say this because I sure as hell don’t want to encourage that kind of exercise, but we made a damn good team tonight.”

  She smiled, too. “Yes, we did.”

  Julius’s smile vanished. He watched her intently. “Where did you learn those self-defense moves?”

  “It was part of the therapy that Mom prescribed after I stumbled into the Trager murder. I was having trouble sleeping. Nightmares.”

  “Sure,” he said, as if sleep that was ripped apart by images of blood and panic were commonplace and only to be expected.

  “I saw a shrink for a while but Mom thought the self-defense classes would give me a sense of control. I’ve kept up with the training.”

  “It shows,” Julius said. “You move like someone who has stu
died dance or gymnastics or martial arts.”

  “I’m not the only one who has had some training,” she said. “You’re good. Very good. The Marines?”

  “That’s where it started. Afterward I did some martial arts to stay in shape. Like you, I keep up with the exercises.” Julius paused. “Back in the day when I was Harley’s fixer—”

  “You mean when you were his executive administrative assistant,” she put in smoothly.

  That surprised a short, harsh laugh out of Julius.

  “Right,” he said. “What I was about to say is that fixing things for Harley Montoya occasionally got complicated. Some of his development projects were located in regions around the world where you could not always count on the support of local law enforcement. In addition, whenever Harley traveled to foreign job sites he was a target for kidnappers. Grabbing foreign executives and holding them for ransom is a big business in a number of places around the globe.”

  She nodded. “You were Harley’s fixer and his bodyguard. That explains a lot.”

  “First time I’ve gotten into a fight here in Seattle, though.” Julius glanced down at his crumpled shirt. “Can’t remember the last time I had trouble in a parking garage.”

  She smiled faintly. “They do say that parking garages are dangerous places.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that.” He studied her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She turned back to her image in the mirror. “I need a shower.”

  “So do I.” He glanced at the big, elegantly tiled shower with its array of gleaming faucets, hand sprayers and water jets. “I think there’s room enough for two.”

  “You think there’s room for two?”

  “Never actually conducted an experiment.”

  She smiled, pleased. “No time like the present.”

  Thirty

  Millicent pulled the tumbled sheets up around her waist and watched the vampire dress. The sex had been every bit as good as she had known it would be, fueled by the knowledge that, even though she controlled him for now, he was still dangerous.

  Burke finished fastening his belt and came to stand at the side of the bed.

  “That was definitely interesting,” he said.

  “Yes, it was.” She stretched her arms high over her head and yawned. “Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”

  He smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  She settled herself more comfortably on the pillows, not bothering to cover her breasts. She had, after all, paid a lot of money for them. They were works of art and she liked to display them in the best possible light.

  “One last question,” she said.

  He paused at the door of the bedroom. “What is it?”

  “I know that you were blackmailing Witherspoon but I wasn’t able to find out what you had on him. Care to satisfy my curiosity? I must admit he always struck me as squeaky clean.”

  “No one is squeaky clean.” Burke smiled. “Least of all Sprague Witherspoon. Shortly before I started dating Nyla, I did my research. I stumbled into the family secret almost by accident.”

  “Well? What is the Witherspoon family secret?”

  “Long before he reinvented himself as Sprague Witherspoon, rising star of the motivational seminar world, Witherspoon was someone else—Nelson Clydemore—small-time con and, eventually, ex-con.”

  It took a second before the penny dropped. Then she started to laugh.

  “Oh, that’s rich,” she said. “That’s just so entertaining. If only Kristy and Grace knew. They both believed that he was the real deal—a true believer in the positive-thinking crap.”

  “Clydemore did three years for fraud,” Burke said. “According to the court records, he ran a pyramid scheme. It all fell apart when some of his clients got suspicious of results that were too good to be true and contacted the Feds. Clydemore went to prison and served his time. When he got out he assumed a new identity. He became Sprague Witherspoon.”

  “Amazing. Does Nyla know about her father’s past?”

  “No. She was born after he metamorphosed into Witherspoon, Motivational Guru. There’s no indication that Nyla’s mother or Sprague’s second wife knew the truth, either.”

  “That explains why Witherspoon paid blackmail,” Millicent said. “You threatened to reveal his past. It would have destroyed his business.”

  “Sure. But that’s not why he paid off on time every month.”

  Millicent smiled. “He wanted to keep the secret from Nyla.”

  “He knew that if he was exposed as an ex-con who had once run pyramid schemes, she would have been devastated and publicly humiliated. Their relationship was already tense. He didn’t want her to become any more bitter and resentful toward him.”

  “I see.” Millicent made a face. “Family dynamics can get very weird.”

  “Yes,” Burke said, “they can. But sometimes they can be quite profitable.”

  He disappeared into the living room. A moment later she heard the door close behind him.

  Definitely dangerous, she thought. But then, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if there was not some risk involved.

  She pushed aside the covers, rose and went into the bathroom to clean up. When she was finished she put on a robe and slippers and settled down with her laptop. Managing a lot of money in various fake accounts designed to throw the authorities off track was hard work.

  The security intercom buzzed some time later. She smiled. He had come back for more. No surprise there. She was very good at sex and men got addicted very quickly to good sex.

  She closed down the laptop, got to her feet and crossed the room to welcome back the vampire.

  Thirty-One

  Julius stood beneath one of the showers and watched Grace enjoy the blasts of hot water that were striking her from all directions. She looked sleek and sexy with rivulets running off the points of her delicate breasts and disappearing into the crease that divided her buttocks. Her hair was plastered to her head and her eyes were closed against the force of the water.

  He wanted to brace her against the wall and lose himself in her again but he knew that she was exhausted. He should have been exhausted, too. And he would be, eventually, he assured himself. The hard, fast, amazing sex had taken off some of the edge but it would be a while before he could sleep.

  He was coming down from the wildfire high generated by the combination of the brutal encounter in the garage and the primal mating act that had followed. But now he was aware of another sensation, one that was equally elemental.

  “I’m hungry,” he said. “And I’m ready for that drink. What about you?”

  Grace opened her eyes. He could see her taking stock of her current status. A trace of surprise crossed her face.

  “I’m hungry, too,” she said. She wrinkled her nose. “Weird.”

  “Not when you consider how much energy we expended this evening.” He moved out of the shower, allowing himself one last survey of his private mermaid. She looked so good standing there, nude, in the artificial waterfall.

  He made himself turn away and finish toweling off. When he was done he wrapped the towel around his waist. Absently, he used his fingers to rake his hair straight back from his forehead. A sense of unfinished business made him pause.

  Grace turned off the shower. He handed her a fresh towel and watched while she hastily wrapped it around herself. When she realized he was still looking at her she raised her brows.

  “Something wrong?” she asked. “Aside from the fact that we got mugged tonight, that is.”

  “Not sure yet.” He opened a nearby closet and took out the brown, freshly laundered robe inside. “Here, you can use this.” He eyed her left knee, which was still oozing blood. “We’d better cover that. Have a seat.”

  She tugged on the robe. “Thanks, but I can deal with the bandaging.”
>
  He was not in a mood to argue. He picked her up and set her on the edge of the counter. She sighed but did not protest.

  He eased aside the flap of the robe and examined the raw scrape on her knee.

  “It doesn’t look too bad,” he said. “But I’ll bet it hurts like hell.”

  “A little,” she admitted. “But there’s no permanent damage.”

  He opened a drawer and removed a tube of antibiotic cream. She stiffened when he used a cotton swab to dab the cream on her injured knee but she didn’t say anything.

  He took out a box containing several sizes of bandages and selected one that looked like it would cover the scrape. He plastered it neatly in place.

  When he looked up from the task he found her watching him with a very intent expression. The soft, seductive intimacy of the situation stirred his senses. He tried to shake off the rising tide of desire. She had been in a fight. She was hurt and would soon be feeling a lot more pain. She had to be exhausted. The sex would have to wait.

  “That should take care of the wound,” he said. “You’ll probably be bruised tomorrow but I can’t do much about that.”

  “Thank you,” she said. There was a husky rasp to her voice and a sultry heat in her eyes.

  He had to be strong for both of them, he decided.

  He lifted her down off the counter and set her on her feet. “I’m going to make a couple of sandwiches and dig out the whiskey bottle while you’re finishing up in here.”

  “Okay.” She fiddled with the sash of the robe, managing to briefly expose one dainty breast. “This robe is . . . big.”

  “It’s mine,” he said. “Sorry, I don’t have one your size.”

  She appeared pleased by that information.

  “Good,” she said.

  “Good?”

  She smiled and looked a little smug. “Never mind.”

  Women. Sometimes a man needed a translator.

  “I’ll go make the sandwiches,” he said.

  When in doubt, talk about food.

  He left the bathroom and crossed the bedroom to the big walk-in closet. He opened a drawer and pulled out a clean black crewneck T-shirt, briefs and a pair of well-worn jeans. He did not bother with a belt.