by Tawny Weber
Ambition stirred, intense and edgy in her belly. Big breaks were few and far between. This one had fallen into her lap. This was meant to happen.
The story was hers.
Excited again, Marni jumped to her feet and pulled one of the suitcases out, setting it on the crisply made berth, and flipped it open.
“Oh, Carrie.” She sighed.
No wonder she’d looked so smug. She hadn’t packed for Marni to travel across the country to the theme of film noir. She’d packed for Marni to manhunt her way into hot-and-sexy’s bed.
All of Marni’s best lingerie, silkiest underthings and most provocative clothes were tucked in here. Fitting in was one thing. Looking as if she was on the forties stroll was another.
Suddenly exhausted as the chasing-a-hot-story adrenaline drained from her body, she decided to worry about it in the morning. Right now, she just wanted sleep. With that in mind, she showered in the itsy-bitsy excuse of a bathroom, then slid into an even ittier and bittier excuse of a nightie. Her face freshly scrubbed, her hair tidily brushed, she slid the suitcase under the berth and pulled her own tablet out of her purse. Read, or sleep? Realizing she wouldn’t manage to read two pages, she set the tablet aside and turned off the lights.
She cued up her tiny MP3 player to her favorite subliminal recording, “Ambition Made Real” set to relaxing music. Tucking her earbuds in, she scooted down under six-hundred-thread-count sheets and moaned in delight.
A good night’s sleep filled with subconscious messaging and she’d be in prime investigative reporting mode first thing in the morning. Time to make her dreams come true.
* * *
WHAT A FREAKING NIGHTMARE.
As he got on the train, just before the departure whistle blew, Hunter cursed. Every cell in his body throbbed in painful unison, from his hair follicles to his toenails.
Hunter cursed as he made his way painfully through the train’s corridor, looking for the dining car. He needed food. Food, a shot of whiskey and about thirty hours of shut-eye.
He’d settle for the food, though.
“Are you still serving meals?” he asked the tuxedo-clad host who met him at the door of the dining car. “Can I get a burger?”
“Of course, sir. Right this way.”
It was a sad state of affairs that Hunter wanted to ask for a table near the door just so he didn’t have to cross the room. Instead, he gritted his teeth and followed the guy. Always alert, he scoped out the other diners. A dozen people in the high-income range from the bling and quality of their clothes. Couples, except one lone woman who was looking at him as if he might be more tasty than the piece of prime rib on her plate.
Now that he had a gauge on the room, Hunter ignored them all. Including the hungry-looking brunette.
“Burger,” he repeated as he dropped into a chair, his back to the wall and the room in full view. “Medium, along with whatever you put on the side. Add a bowl of that beef soup, rolls and a Cobb salad. In whatever order they cook fastest.”
Rolling a car tended to make him hungry.
“And to drink?”
He debated.
Technically, he was off duty. He was also under doctor’s orders to take the next twenty-four hours off and recuperate. He couldn’t work the case until they reached Chicago and he got the files.
“Whiskey, neat.”
While he waited, he’d go through his own notes and list a few priorities. He barely had time to pull out his notebook before his drink arrived, quickly followed by the rolls and his soup. Hunter dove into the meal with gusto, jotting down notes between bites.
Saving Beverly Burns had been a godsend. For the FBI as much as her, probably. A trophy wife with a brain, she’d made the fatal mistake of telling her husband off for having an affair. Charles Burns, figuring divorce proceedings might be headed his way, had thumped her over the head and tossed her into one of his warehouses, then set the damned thing on fire.
Hunter read over his outline of events, jotting down notes here and there as he ate. By the time he wiped the last crumb from his lips, he was comfortable with his plans for the case, full and totally exhausted.
“Can I get the bill?” he asked the waiter who was clearing his plate.
“No charge, sir. Meals are included in the cost of your trip. I just need to note down your berth number.”
He hadn’t seen the berth yet, hadn’t even checked to see where it was. Hunter pulled out the train ticket from his pocket to check, impressed despite himself. He hadn’t figured Murray for the type to book a luxury trip. The guy doubtless had no choice, though. The cattle cars were probably all full.
“I’m in seventeen.”
“Very good.” The man made a note before asking if Hunter wanted anything else.
“Just some sleep.”
It wasn’t until he stood up that Hunter realized his aches were gone. He blinked a couple times to bring the room back into focus and wondered what the hell kind of whiskey they served here.
Then he winced. Hell, the doc had poked him with a needle or two, probably some kind of painkillers. Too bad he hadn’t remembered that before he’d thrown back a couple fingers of alcohol.
He wasn’t impaired. Just a little foggy.
No problem. He wasn’t driving, wasn’t working the case. His only objective for the rest of tonight was to get some damned sleep. He’d walk a little slower to compensate for the slight haze the room had taken on. Hunter never let anything stand in his way.
Sleeping berth seventeen was easy enough to find. Not bothering with lights, he stripped naked, tossing his clothes over the back of a chair. Thankfully, Murray had had someone deliver a change of clothes to the hospital, but it was all Hunter had until his luggage was delivered, along with the case files.
Soft fingers of moonbeams peeked through the window, lighting the bed curtain enough for him to find the opening. The bed was turned down, welcoming as he sank into its comfort.
His last thought before he dived into sleep was a mild feeling of regret. He’d really been looking forward to his naked romp with the redhead. So much that he could smell that rich, floral temptation that was pure feminine delight.
Not a bad thing to go to sleep with.
3
HUNTER WASN’T SURE what woke him up.
One second, he was down so deep, even his subconscious was sawing logs. The next, he was floating on a sea of pleasure, his entire body stirring with passion more intense than anything he’d ever felt while awake.
Gotta love the dream life.
And he was loving it enough that he didn’t even try to surface. Instead, even as his conscious mind nagged and poked at him to deal with...something? A problem? An issue? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He was feeling way too good.
It was rare that he mixed painkillers and alcohol. He didn’t know if it was the quality of the hooch or the fact that his meds had been injected, but this was all new. Instead of fuzzy and zoned, he was horny and hard.
He liked this experience a hell of a lot better, he decided as his hands curved over some sexy imaginary ass.
Might as well ride with it. A smart man knew better than to try and wake himself from an erotic dream. A smarter man took control of the dream and dived in for all he was worth.
So Hunter grabbed on to the fantasy—by the sweet cheeks, no less—and dived in. He buried his face in the soft cloud of hair, breathing deep the floral scent. Then he slid lower, until his lips encountered warm flesh.
Soft, silky warm flesh. His mouth skimmed a slender throat with hot, openmouthed kisses. One hand still cupping a lushly curved butt, his other slid upward. Over a deliciously curving hip, along the sweet indentation of her waist covered in a slippery satin fabric, and up to the full—oh, baby so full—round flesh of her breast. For one delightful second, he simply held her. Then he brushed his thumb once over the satin-covered nipple.
It hardened with gratifying speed.
God, he loved a responsive woman.
Revel
ed in the instant pleasure her body offered when it reacted to his touch.
Fingers, as soft and light as a breath of air, skimmed over his shoulders, leaving a trail of pleasure everywhere they touched. So delicate, so tempting.
His body, so miserable the night before, was awash with passion. It was like floating on a sea of pure sensation, every breath, every touch feeling better than the last.
Hard, throbbing and ready to rock, his dick signaled its approval of the fantasy.
Now, this was how a guy should recover from almost being blown up.
* * *
MARNI’S HEAD SPUN with delight, falling back against the pillow as she sank deeper into the best dream of her life. Had she ever felt this good? She didn’t need to do a body check to know the answer. The delight, the power of desire, they tangled and swirled through her sleep-heavy mind. She’d fallen asleep to her subliminal messaging and the gentle rocking of the train, exhausted by nerves and adrenaline.
And this, she was sure, was her body’s way of thanking her for a wonderful night’s sleep. By giving her a hot, juicy wake-up fantasy.
Her dream lover’s lips trailed over the sensitive curve of her throat with hot, openmouthed kisses. She shivered when he buried his face in the curve of her shoulder, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair. The strands fell like silk over her flesh.
His hand, firm, yet tender, cupped her butt, squeezing the full flesh. The other was doing magical things to her nipple, teasing and tweaking. Spiraling around, then pinching. Pleasure pooled, hot and wet, between her thighs. Marni shifted, sliding one leg up her dream lover’s rougher one. The friction added an edgy delight to the already incredible feelings swirling low in her belly.
He moved lower, sliding his lips over her chest. His mouth was wet on the satin of her nightie, leaving a damp trail until he reached her aching nipple. His fingers worked the other one with skillful precision, keeping time with the swirl of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth.
Marni shifted, pulling his thigh between hers, pressing the throbbing, swollen wet heat of her clitoris against his leg, trying to relieve the building pressure.
His teeth nipped, then he pulled back to blow a puff of air over the tip of her breast.
Marni’s body exploded. It was a pop of an orgasm. Quick and intense, a prelude to the banquet of delight yet to come. She shuddered, her fingers digging into his hair as she held his mouth close, wanting more.
So much more.
Her dream lover moaned.
Out loud.
So loud, so real, the sound reverberated against her nipple. It felt so good.
Except, dream lovers didn’t do that.
Alarmed out of her delightful reverie, Marni forced her eyelids open.
Her dream lover was solid.
Real, even.
Black hair swirled like silk over a head—a real, live head—currently snuggled up against her breast.
“What the hell?” she gasped, both hands releasing their passionate grasp of his shoulders to shove at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Dream lover’s head shot up, his dark blue eyes snapping with emotions so intense, so violent, Marni recoiled against the wall. Terror pounded in her head as her fingers scrambled to find her nightie’s straps and pull them into place. To cover her nakedness, even though her body was still clamoring for more.
As quick as the fury had flashed, his eyes mellowed. Turned calculating, assessing. Not cold. A blue that rich could never be cold. She didn’t know why, but the feeling of threatened terror eased, drained away. The embarrassed shock was still there, though, along with a huge dose of what-the-hell?
She pushed again, her hands tingling as they slid over shoulders as hard as iron but smooth as silk. Whiskers shadowed a strong jaw, and midnight hair, mussed from her very own fingers, fell over sharp brows to emphasize the tiny line between them.
Her eyes skimmed lower, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the skin golden even in the dim light filtering through the shaded window. His chest was a work of art. Her fingers itched to touch it again, to comb through that light dusting of midnight-dark hair and see if it was as smooth as it looked.
Still on tour, her gaze continued south, following the tempting path of hair. His belly was flat, lightly dusted so the hair emphasized, rather than hid, the sexy six-pack.
Feminine curiosity, and her body’s craving to know if it was as big as it felt against her thigh, tempted her eyes to wander just a little lower.
Whoa. She yanked her gaze back to his face. Strange man in her bed. Ogling him topped her stupid-things-to-do list.
“I know this train is all about luxury and indulgence, but I don’t think this is the wake-up call I expected,” she finally said. She’d hoped for humorous sophistication. She had to settle for a breathless squeak.
* * *
WELL, THIS WAS ONE HELL of a way to wake up.
All traces of sleep, painkillers and whiskey cleared from his head with a blink. Hunter was left with surprise and an overwhelming degree of passion.
Waking up horny was one of the perks of being a guy, like peeing standing up. But in all his years of appreciating his masculine advantages, Hunter couldn’t recall waking up quite this horny.
Then again, this was the first time he’d ever had a fantasy come to life.
As still as a cat gauging its prey, Hunter inspected the woman next to him. She looked like a cross between a porcelain doll and a sex kitten.
Flaxen blond curls waved around her face, floating to pale white shoulders. Her eyes were huge, the color of a cloudless sky and surrounded by a lush fringe of dark lashes. Heavy with passion, clouded with dazed shock, they had an intelligence in their depths that warned Hunter not to underestimate her. The rounded cheeks, flushed pink, and cupid’s bow mouth completed the picture of adorable confusion.
Figuring it was only fair since she’d taken her own visual tour, he shifted back a little to take in the rest of the view.
Damn.
She was as deliciously curvaceous as she felt. Perfectly rounded breasts pressed against the glistening satin of her nightgown, her skin so pale it almost glowed in the morning light. The fabric clung to her, emphasizing her tiny waist before disappearing beneath their shared blankets.
He should get up, give her some space. But he liked it here. Liked the warmth still radiating off her lush form. Liked to think his large body, his intimidating presence, were putting her on the defensive.
Except she didn’t look very defensive.
Amusement danced in her pale blue eyes. Her full lips curved now, as if she knew he was trying to intimidate her and she wasn’t impressed so far.
Well, then.
Time to be impressive.
“You don’t make a bad wake-up call yourself. What have you got on tap for Snooze?”
She arched one perfect brow, then shifted back toward the wall. For some women, that might look like a retreat. Others, an escape. On Blondie, it just looked like she was getting a better view of the situation, so to speak.
“I’m not much of a snooze kind of gal.” She slid into a sitting position, taking the blankets with her as if to emphasize her point.
Well, it seemed the fun was over.
Which meant it was time to find out what the hell was going on. That sort of figuring was his specialty, but he’d never had to use his deductive skills and analytical talents to figure out why a gorgeous woman was in his bed before.
This should be interesting.
Not caring that he was nude, Hunter tossed the blankets aside and slid from the bunk. His lips twitched at Blondie’s appreciative gasp. He met her eyes, liking the heat there. This was a woman unafraid of her own passions, eager to embrace and explore life and avail herself to its sensual offerings.
And he wasn’t just thinking that because she was looking at him as though he was a hot fudge sundae, topped with extra whipped cream. Or because her nipples were once again stiff peaks beneath t
he satin of her nightgown.
He was too busy taking in the rest of her body, exposed by the blankets he’d tossed aside, to care if she was liking what she saw. Because he was loving the view himself.
The tiny nightgown was a rich berry shade. The same color as her nipples? He couldn’t tell through the satin, even though the wet fabric still clung to her hardened peaks.
“Do you mind?” she protested, holding one hand up as if to block the view of his dick. Hunter gauged the size of her palm, then his own impressive erection and shook his head. She was going to need a few more hands to block the sight of this baby.
“Sweetheart, you sneak into a guy’s bed, you have to expect to see a few things you wouldn’t catch sight of over drinks and dinner.”
* * *
MARNI SHOULD BE OUTRAGED. Shocked, even.
But she was too busy visually gobbling up the delicious view.
Oh, sweet baby. What a body.
“I didn’t sneak into your bed,” she finally responded, her tone more absent and offhand than angry and dismissive.
“No? My bed.” He pointed to the bunk, then shifted his finger to her. “You. Since I didn’t invite you in, I’d say sneaked in is a good term.”
That cut right through Marni’s foggy passion. Irritation chased back desire. Not away. There was no chance of not feeling desire when a guy as gorgeous as this one stood naked in front of her. But her brain was starting to override her body. Or, at least, trying to.
“Let’s think about this,” she said, sitting up straighter and offering a chilly smile. “When I arrived in this cabin last night, mine was the only luggage here. There was no sign of anyone else using the room. When I climbed into bed, it was empty. You weren’t here. I’d say that makes you the one sneaking around, don’t you think?”
His laugh was as appreciative as it was sardonic.
Then he turned his back toward her. She couldn’t quiet her approving moan at the site of his perfect—not just great, but perfect—butt. Her gaze slowly meandered up the golden planes of his back, and since he wasn’t looking, she wiped her lower lip to make sure there was no evidence of drool.