Passion's Prey tss-3

by A. C. Arthur

  “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into here, Caprise. I’m not who you think I am.”

  Her response was to toss her head back and chuckle. He watched long sheets of hair dripping to the floor, flowing behind her. Just as she’d said, he was unable to resist, so X lowered his head and kissed along the exposed line of her neck. When her hands slapped against his shoulders, her long nails scraped along his skin, she whispered in a husky aroused voice, “And you have no idea who I am. That makes us even.”

  No, X thought as he pushed her down to the floor so that she was on her knees in front of him, they were not even. She was a well-bred, beautiful woman even if she had denial issues. And he was more dangerous than she knew.

  He leaned over her, put his palm to the base of her back, let his fingers trickle down between the crevice of her bottom. He stopped at her anus, felt the tight bud and the persistent jutting of his dick. On a coarse oath, he squelched that thought, figuring she was nowhere near ready for him that way. Using both hands to spread her wider, X thrust his dick inside her ready opening.

  Caprise screamed with the stretching of her skin and simultaneously arched her back, pushing back to take even more. This was how she liked it. She wondered how X knew. Soft and slow didn’t work for her, hadn’t in a very long time. Now she craved fast and hard, long deep strokes that she felt throughout her entire body, vicious climaxes that took her breath away. This was what she needed. Especially tonight.

  Through the shower door she’d seen him stripping, watching as every inch of his deep brown skin was exposed. That skin was covered with beautiful artwork that she suspected he took time and consideration to select. Every tat would mean something to a man like X, would symbolize some part of his life, some part of the man. After she’d stepped out of the shower the front of his body was even more alluringly visible. Across his chest was a tribal-type tat with its swirling lines coming to a sharp sword-like peak. Lower, on the left side of his abs, was a jaguar, long and sleek, majestic. His biceps sported more tribal insignias that wrapped completely around the width. She’d noticed them specifically because she was into tat work as well. What she hadn’t seen was the emblem of the Topètenia, but she knew it was there; somewhere on his body would be that icon, the human marking that her brother and his two friends had gotten as a symbol of their loyalty to the tribe. A symbol of the animalistic part of themselves—the part Caprise continued to deny.

  His body was as gorgeous as she’d imagined each time she saw him. Thick, toned muscles, oozing masculinity and power. He was exactly what she thought he was, despite what he said; she knew this man, had known him for years. He was the one of the three who was least expected to be smart and cunning. While Nick and Rome had achieved good grades and headed straight to college, Xavier had graduated with minimal honors and immediately dedicated his time to the US Marines. Upon his completion of those four grueling years of training—as she remembered him explaining to Nick one night—he’d applied to the FBI. Three years in the field and X was elevated to special agent status. That wasn’t the norm, but then again, neither was X. And it was no mistake that Caprise had paid close attention to him, even then.

  As he lowered her all the way to the floor, covering her from behind, something primal was unleashed in her, something as natural as breathing as she arched her back and accepted him inside her. She reared back, her head lifting, mouth opening wide as she screamed his name. Against her bottom lip, sharp incisors pricked and her body sizzled with desire.

  On the surface it might seem strange that she was here, in this position, with this man she hadn’t seen in years. But she and X had been making their way to this point for a long time now. She wasn’t surprised, nor was she disappointed. He was an excellent lover, and that’s all she needed.

  “Your cat is hungry. She’s been asleep for much too long.”

  His voice was deep, as deep as his strokes inside her. She didn’t care much for what he’d said but wasn’t in the mood to argue.

  “Fuck me!” she ordered instead. If she stayed focused this would go just like before and she would survive again.

  Strong hands clasped her hips, holding her while he pounded inside her. She kept her palms flat on the tiled floor, her knees planted firmly, and rotated her bottom to match his strokes. Every brush of his dick made her tremble. There was something on his shaft, she’d felt it when she’d held him in her hands at the club, some sort of barbing or piercing that rubbed along her sensitive skin with precision and pushed her closer and closer to the brink.

  Her nails scraped along the tile as her breathing hitched and her breasts slapped together, matching the sounds of their sexes meeting. Their combined scent was heady, and permeated her senses so that when she licked her lips she swore she could taste him; closing her eyes she could see his warrior’s body strong and powerful behind her. He surrounded her, not only because she was in his bathroom but because his aura was that strong, that all-consuming. That was unanticipated.

  They reached their climax simultaneously, again. Both of them trembling, taking precious seconds to catch their breaths. Caprise’s heart pounded in her chest, sweat peppering her forehead. She focused on her breathing and growing steady enough to stand and walk away from him. But that wasn’t working out too well.

  “Let’s go,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her up.

  “I’ve already showered,” she said when she saw that’s where they were headed.

  “Yeah, but you need another one now.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” she replied snidely, taking the loofah she’d just used and reaching for the soap as he turned on the water.

  Like her, he liked the water hot, almost to the point of pain. There were more than a few things she and X had in common, but Caprise wasn’t about to comment on them. Saying them aloud might allude to something … something she didn’t want to think about.

  “You’re too thin” was his next compliment.

  She tried not to bristle, really she did, but it just wasn’t in her nature. “You’re just full of nice things to say to me tonight. Is that how you usually treat a woman you’ve had sex with?”

  Turning her back to him, she lathered her front and waited for his response.

  It didn’t come in the form of words, but his strong hands grabbing her shoulders, turning her to face him.

  “You’re not like them” was all he said.

  Caprise didn’t take that to mean a good thing, but didn’t reply, either. To keep this line of conversation going would mean she cared what he thought of her, or of what they’d done together. And she definitely did not want that. Caring would make this so much more than it was. So much more than Caprise figured she was ready for. Her get-it-together plan didn’t include falling for a man, especially not for X.

  * * *

  He’d never slept with a woman before, never wanted to. Having sex with them was like a ritual he’d practiced over the years. Whether it was a hard intense session, or a quickie, X always left first and he always returned home to his own bed where he slept alone.

  Yet here it was, a little after two in the morning, and he was lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Beside him Caprise slept with her long, lithe body curled into a fetal position facing him. Her hair was only partially dry, spreading across the pillow like tentacles. She was lovely when she slept—and that was a thought X had never had before. With only his night vision to go on she had a soft glow to her skin; thick eyebrows were arched perfectly, framing alluring eyes even in sleep. Her nose was small, lips pert; she had high cheekbones and a soft jawline.

  Something inside X shifted, as if his cat, too, was trying to acclimate itself to this new experience. A thought crossed his mind—he could touch her. Right now, at this moment, as thoughts of her filled his head, he could reach out and touch her cheek, or her arm, or her leg and she would feel him. She’d probably awaken hurling smart-ass words or cursing at him, her eyes sparking wit
h anger. X’s dick hardened at the thought.

  Her anger, as well as her angelic sleeping trance, intrigued him, touched him on some level that was probably foreign to them both.

  With a grunt, X abruptly turned his head so that he couldn’t look at her. He remembered the text he’d seen on her phone and the fact that he’d been so distracted he’d forgotten to ask her about it.

  More predominantly, X remembered … he remembered everything about his life. Every moment that made him the man he was. And he cursed because that man could never reach out and touch a woman like Caprise, or any woman for that matter. He could never afford to simply lie and watch her sleep, to even dream about a life with her.

  It simply wasn’t possible with a man like him.

  Chapter 8

  A man like Xavier Santos-Markland should never have been allowed into the Bureau.

  He was a liar and a fraud and now, Special Agent Dorian Wilson had reason to believe, a murderer. As a professional courtesy he’d tried calling Markland a couple of times yesterday and last night. Dorian figured he’d set up a meeting, toss out a few questions, and get a feel for where Makland’s head was. But he’d never reached him; voicemail picked up every time. If he was a guilty man, that was probably on purpose; if he was innocent … well, Dorian wasn’t really considering that.

  Admittedly the evidence he had against Markland was circumstantial. Still, his gut told him whatever had happened to Diamond Turner was connected to Markland. It was also likely connected to the murder of Senator Baines and his daughter months ago, and those two prostitutes. In addition to these brutal killings, there had been half a dozen other deaths in the last three weeks involving an unknown drug. The DEA wanted to know if Roman Reynolds was somehow linked to the development and distribution of this killer substance. After their initial investigation into Reynolds’s law firm they’d found nothing connecting him directly to any cartel in Brazil. But there was definitely a lot of movement coming out of South America. One cartel they were specifically watching was Cortez, even though informants couldn’t pin this new drug to that long-running drug empire. It had to be Reynolds, and Markland was one of Reynolds’s most trusted confidants.

  Some would say Dorian was obsessed. He wouldn’t quite take it that far. So what, he’d had this growing file on Roman Reynolds and the law firm he owned, Reynolds & Delgado, for almost three years now. It didn’t matter that he’d made a point to get a copy of the Metropolitan Police Department’s file on every murder that had occurred in the city in the last twenty-four months. Hell, it was a stroke of luck that his sister was married to a lieutenant in the homicide division or that wouldn’t have even been possible. And just because he worked for the Drug Enforcement Agency didn’t mean he couldn’t also investigate a murder, especially if that murder may very well be connected to a homegrown drug cartel. But none of that meant he was obsessed. Just really, really interested in what Reynolds and his crew were doing.

  He parked his car across the street and walked toward the high-rise condominium building that had only been built about three years ago. It was twenty-five stories of glass and steel and futuristic in its crisp and angular design. Reportedly it had cost more than ten million to build and was touted as the new direction of the city. Dorian thought it was a waste of space and money. Why couldn’t they have built another school or a recreation center? In his mind there were at least ten million other more sensible things to do with this space and that type of money than to build more homes for the rich.

  That fact, to Dorian, solidified Markland’s unlawful involvement with Reynolds. He lived here, on the top floor. How did an FBI agent afford such sweet digs? he thought, slipping one hand into his pocket, using the other to open the double glass doors at the entrance.

  His shoes made a clicking sound as he crossed the glossy marble floor. He liked dress shoes, liked dressing up for work, period. That was something that had been instilled in him when he was younger. Yolanda and Stuart Wilson made sure he and his two sisters dressed impeccably for church and wore only the cleanest starched uniforms at the strict Catholic schools they’d attended. Besides, Dorian knew he received more respect than a lot of the other agents because he was always professional about his work and his appearance. This morning, visiting one of his own on suspicion of murder, was no different.

  Flashing his badge at the young attendant, he said simply, “Xavier Markland.”

  The attendant was shaking his head negatively before Dorian could finish saying his name. “No guests after midnight or before eight AM.”

  Dorian almost chuckled, but he wasn’t really in the best of moods right now. “What’s this, a frat house?”

  First response was a shrug, then he said, “Rules. Besides, you’ve got to be on Mr. Markland’s approved list of guests or we’re not to let you upstairs anyway.”

  Dorian nodded, pulling a wad of money out of his pocket. He wasn’t rich, but he tended to carry some extra cash just for situations like these—when, as a sign of the times, the badge wasn’t working as well as it should.

  He lay three twenties down on the counter with his badge, then pushed his jacket lapel back to expose the nine-millimeter sitting quietly in its holster.

  “Let’s try this again. Xavier Markland,” he said, his voice low and hard as steel.

  With a lick of his lips a slow smile began to spread across the attendant’s face. He reached for the money but Dorian slapped his palm over it.

  “Mr. Markland?”

  “Take the second elevator up to the nineteenth floor. There are two elevators all the way to the back of that hallway. Take one of those to the penthouse. He’s the only one on that floor. And if he asks, tell him I wasn’t at the desk when you came in.”

  Moving his hand away from the cash, Dorian retrieved his badge, pushing it into his pocket. “Won’t you get in trouble for not being on your post?”

  “Probably get written up,” the attendant told him. Then he looked straight at Dorian, a serious expression marring his face. “But Mr. Markland will kill me if he finds out I took money to let you in.”

  Dorian nodded, letting the words Mr. Markland will kill me play over and over in his mind as he headed toward the elevator.

  * * *

  “Where the hell is she?” Nick Delgado asked Eli and Ezra Preston the moment he saw them in the dining hall.

  They were the twin guards assigned to Nick and Rome. Last night, however, they’d been called away from Havenway to assist at some nightclub in the city named Athena’s. Nick hadn’t grumbled too much because it was two in the morning when he’d received the knock at his bedroom door and the announcement that there’d been a Rogue sighting. On any other night Nick would have happily climbed out of his bed and headed out with the two Lead Guards, but Ary was just entering the sixth week of her pregnancy and since neither of them had ever experienced this miracle before, Nick was inclined to stick as close by her as he could.

  It wasn’t until this morning when he’d spoken to Rome that he’d learned the full extent of the story. Rogues had indeed been sighted at Athena’s, where Caprise had apparently been working as a stripper.

  That last fact was still hard for Nick to swallow, and his temples throbbed incessantly with the effort. Rome was sitting at the desk in his home office. Both of them lived at Havenway now, their refuge from the city and all the attention that had come to Rome’s estate just about a month ago. The facility was still undergoing construction, but to date was coming along nicely. Nick, however, did not plan to stay here indefinitely. He wanted his own house for Ary and their family. And he definitely did not want to remain in hiding from the world they deserved to live in just as much as the humans. Still, he understood that, for now, the safety of his wife and child came first.

  “She’s not here. We checked her room and she didn’t come home at all last night,” Eli replied, slipping his aviator jacket onto broad shoulders covered by the fitted T-shirt he wore.

  Eli was the more so
mber twin. While his green eyes, mocha skin tone, and cleft chin mirrored Ezra’s, he wasn’t as flamboyant and outgoing as his brother. That was most likely the reason he’d been assigned to Rome as soon as he’d been appointed Faction Leader. With Nick’s enigmatic personality and previous popularity with the females, Ezra was the best pick for his guard. Even though, right now, Ezra was keeping a tight lip, probably because he knew Nick was very close to going off totally.

  “Where the hell is Seth?” he asked, keeping a tight rein on his temper. Once upon a time this would have been a task for Nick, but since finding Ary again, his temperament had taken a less volatile edge. Today remaining calm was proving difficult. And who could blame him? Caprise was his little sister. Before a month ago she’d been gone for five years and he hadn’t known where she was or what she was doing. Then she just showed up, with secrets in her eyes and a chip on her shoulder as big as a damn boulder. Now she was missing. They couldn’t blame him if he wanted to break something or someone in two to find out where she was.

  “Seth checked in already this morning. He says she’s safe,” Ezra told him.

  The guard stood across from Nick, about four feet away. He wore black slacks and a white silk shirt. His jacket was probably in the car. Since Ezra accompanied Nick everywhere, he tended to dress for the occasion. Today being a workday, he would be in a suit going to the office. The diamond studs in both his ears sparkled even as his gaze toward Nick was serious.

  “Did he say where she was? Where they are?” Rome asked sitting back in his chair.

  Rome had been the Faction Leader for almost ten years now. He’d been Nick’s best friend for even longer. Rome knew Nick’s moods just as Nick knew his. Right now the FL was concerned for Caprise and reserving judgment on this current situation.

  For about two seconds Ezra looked uncomfortable. The guard exchanged a look with his twin, and they both finally shrugged.