Deadly Secrets

by Ann Christopher

  Jayne broke free of his kiss. He felt the loss as a knot in his belly. But he recovered pretty quickly when she stared him in the face, reached for the hem of her nightie and swept it off over her head.

  Holy shit.

  Her titties were fantastic. Perfect ovals, long and heavy, with pointy little nipples that were like dark chocolate treats. Her hips were curvy and wide, sexy, and she wore a pair of black lace panties that were clearly the best that some high-end lingerie store had to offer.

  “Great panties.” He let out a shuddering breath and gripped his dick. “Take them off.”

  Holding his gaze, she wriggled out of them and lay back on the bed, right on top of what looked like a pretty expensive duvet, as she spread her plump thighs for him.

  He grunted out some kind of crazy noise—he was no longer in charge of what he said or did tonight, not even nominally—and joined her, lowering his head to feast on every part of her that he could see, touch, smell or taste.

  Breasts first. He pushed them together and circled the tips with his thumbs, starting wide and then zeroing in on the nipples until they were so dark and pointy he had to dive in for a taste. He suckled hard, working her against the roof of his mouth until her surround-sound cries filled the room and her hips surged against him.

  He laughed with triumph, burying his face in the valley between those unbelievable titties, pressing them against his cheeks and reveling in the voluptuous warmth until he was half out of his mind. When she gripped his head to keep him where he was, he turned into her palm, nuzzling his way to her thumb, which he sucked deep into his mouth.

  Another thrilling cry, surprised this time, from Jayne.

  He worked his way south, learning the span of her hips and the way her belly curved and quivered for him when he dipped his tongue in her belly button.

  By then he could smell her arousal, a fresh musk that saturated his senses and left him dizzy with need. His heart pounded everywhere at once, in his chest, throat and ears, and the excitement—Jesus, he was shaking with it—threatened to make his lungs seize up.

  She was bare down there, ruddy and petal soft. He made love to her with his mouth, pouring everything he had into his lips and swirling tongue and urging her to wrap her lush thighs around his head. Writhing, she cocked her hips and urged him on until he was so drunk with her that the pleasure seemed likely to kill him.

  When she was wrung out and limp and he was strung out with need, he got up on all fours and stretched out on top of her. She crooned with approval, accepting his weight with ease, as he’d known she would. He’d had some vague idea about slowing down and taking this first time nice and easy, but he’d lived his adult life thinking that time was short, and time certainly didn’t seem to be on his side now. When she angled her hips and locked her legs around his waist, he could no more control himself than he could grow grass for hair.

  He thrust inside her, all the way to the hilt, and damn near came on the spot. She was hot and tight, so sweetly slick and vibrant that he knew he was experiencing the birth of an addiction.

  He didn’t care.

  Nor, if looks were any indication, did she.

  They both cried out, stunned by the connection, their mouths agape. He balanced on his elbows and took her hands, which were resting on either side of her head, as he waited for his pleasure-fogged vision to clear enough for him to see her.

  He’d heard her come.

  Now he was going to watch.

  She stared up at him with lowered lids and lust-glazed eyes. Her skin was dewy. If she’d blushed before, it was nothing to the bright color in her cheeks, neck and titties now.

  “You’re glorious.” Utter disbelief at his good fortune made his voice hoarse as he dipped his head to kiss her. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Her perfect lips curled into a hint of a smile, and then she opened for him and kissed him deep. Down below, her hips rose to meet his and began to rotate. With that, his head emptied out and his grip on sanity sifted through his fingers like sand. He meant to pick up a steady rhythm and ride her long and hard. He wanted her wild and deconstructed, as out of control as she made him. But when she sucked on his tongue and scratched his back as she flexed her thighs around his waist, her tight inner muscles constricting around his dick, he was the one who tipped his head back, shouted out a name and blew apart as though a bomb had detonated inside him.

  The pleasure ripped through him in endless waves, layer after layer of mind-emptying ecstasy that made his body buck and his breath stop.

  It was too soon. He knew that. He’d been selfish. Over the years, he’d worn many unwanted hats, but selfish lover had never been one of them.

  So it was a tremendous relief when her face twisted with unmistakable rapture and she arched her back, holding him in a death grip.

  They rode it out together, their shuddering cries and gasps in perfect sync, as though they’d trained for this event.

  Or been born for it.

  The last thing he saw, before he pressed his face to her neck, rested his weight on his elbows and fell into semi-consciousness on top of and inside her, was the drowsy smile of a well-satisfied woman.

  37

  Wanda hurried Henry and his dog inside, got them settled on the sofa and sped into the kitchen for coffee, her heart pounding a mile a minute. She put her shrimp fried rice and egg roll in the fridge, the Judge Judy marathon she’d planned to watch on the back burner and focused on this unexpected and thrilling turn of events.

  It wasn’t some guy named Henry who’d shown up unannounced at her door tonight. Oh, no. It was opportunity.

  Normally she wouldn’t invite a strange man into her apartment. What did she look like? A fool? Nor would she discuss her precious Kareem with a stranger. She and Kareem had always been private folk who kept their business close to the vest and looked out for each other.

  But tonight felt different. Hadn’t she experienced that prickle in her bones that always told her when something important was going to happen? Hadn’t she asked Jesus, night after night, to send some help her way? Hadn’t Kareem, God rest his soul, told her she might expect a visit from Miami if something happened to him?

  It had been three months since he rose from the dead, showed up on her doorstep bearing the bullet hole Kerry Randolph had given him and demanded that she stitch him shut with her sewing kit. Three months since he revealed he’d faked his own death to escape the charges filed against him and hidden out in Miami. Three months since he’d walked out on her again—she’d begged him not to go—and set out for revenge against Kerry and Kira. He’d promised Wanda he’d come back.

  Instead, he’d had his head bashed in by that bitch he’d married.

  Before he left, though, he predicted what would happen. She remembered it like it was yesterday. They’d been in the bathroom, and he sat on the counter while she tried to stop crying (her son was alive!), pretended she was a surgeon and mended the raw edges of his bullet hole with her black thread and needle.

  “You understand me, Mama?” Panting, sweating and bare-chested, with dried blood trailing from his shot shoulder and down the side of his trousers, he leaned his head back to close his eyes. She pushed the needle through his brown flesh one final time, tied a knot and cut the thread, all without vomiting up the bile in the back of her throat. “What did I say?”

  “The same thing as always, baby.” Straightening, she reached for a cotton pad, soaked it with alcohol and dabbed the wound. He flinched and snarled, smacking her hand away. “Keep my mouth shut. I don’t know nothing.”

  “You don’t know nothing about me or where I am, nothing about my organization and nothing about my plans. Especially if someone from Miami with crazy-ass bulging eyes and ears like a llama comes sniffing around—”

  “I don’t know anything, baby,” she assured him.

  “And I was never here,” he said, a wild and feverish light in his eyes. “You never saw me. I’m still dead. And I ne
ver gave you the key to my PO box.”

  “Okay, but…Kareem…” She gestured to her floor, where a trail of red droplets led down the hallway and out of sight. “Your blood is everywhere—”

  “Clean it up, goddammit!” He winced and clutched his shoulder as he stood, then gripped the counter to get his balance when he wobbled. “Don’t bother me with this petty shit! I’ve got enough to deal with right now!”

  “And I don’t have any money, Kareem.” She grabbed another tissue and wiped her eyes. “I’ve been struggling since you’ve been gone. You didn’t leave me any money and all I have is my little pension. Your life insurance didn’t pay up because the explosion looked like arson. The bank came and took my Mercedes as soon as you didn’t make the first payment, and I had to sell all my jewelry just to keep this terrible apartment and get a little used Buick—”

  Incredulous, Kareem swept his hands up and down over his body. “You want money? Do I look like I have money right now?”

  “Kareem,” she said, sobbing again because everything about that night—his resurrection; his gunshot; his thinly veiled panic when he’d always been the coolest cat in the world—scared her. “I can’t make it on my own. You have to come back for me—”

  “You know what? Here!” Fumbling in his back pocket, he produced a fat money clip, peeled off some bills (not very many, though), and thrust them at her. “Here’s three large. That should hold you.”

  Wanda took the money, her heart falling. What was she supposed to do with this? First of all, it was smeared with blood. Second, Kareem used to give her thirty thousand every month. This wasn’t even enough for a down payment on a decent car.

  “But—” she sputtered, crying worse than ever.

  “That’s all you get! You just remember what I told you!”

  The next day he was dead. Again.

  And now the money he’d given her was long gone, but everything would be okay because opportunity had knocked on her door tonight and all she had to do was figure out how to take advantage of it.

  So she put together a little tray, set it on the coffee table and sat on the other end of the sofa while Henry’s stupid dog stretched out at her feet.

  “Cream?” she asked, pouring Henry a cup. “Sugar?”

  “Black is fine for me, ma’am.”

  “Call me Wanda.”

  “I appreciate that. Oh, and these are for you.” He passed over the flowers.

  “Thank you. They’re beautiful. I feel so special.”

  “Well, my boss—”

  “I didn’t catch your boss’s name.”

  Henry hesitated. “I’m not at liberty to say. But he wanted me to tell you how sorry he was to miss Kareem’s second, ah, funeral, and he hopes you’ll take this small token as a sign of his respect and best wishes.”

  Wanda watched, a little dazed, as Henry reached into a breast pocket, produced a fat white envelope and gave it to her. She looked inside and gasped. It was stuffed with hundreds.

  Kareem had given her envelopes like this before.

  So she knew she was holding at least fifty large in her hands.

  See? Her prayers to Jesus were finally being answered!

  Still, she couldn’t act greedy or tacky.

  “Oh, I couldn’t accept this—”

  But Henry held his hands up and leaned away. “Please. I can’t go back and tell my boss I couldn’t convince you to keep his gift. It’s his great pleasure.”

  Well, that took care of that.

  Swallowing her smile, Wanda patted her heart. “Tell him thank you. I can’t thank him enough.”

  “And if there’s anything you need—ever—he wants you to call me.”

  Another reach into that breast pocket produced a white business card with nothing but a phone number on it.

  “I will.” Well, thank the good Lord. Opportunity sure had done right by her this time, hadn’t it? No more throwing herself on the mercy of the church, where they called themselves Christians, but half those bitches whispered about her behind her back when she needed money for her blood pressure medicine or a car repair. “I certainly will.”

  “Good.” Henry nodded with great satisfaction.

  They sipped their coffee.

  The dog snored.

  Wanda waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “There is one small thing we were wondering about, Wanda.”

  She tried to look surprised and helpful. “Oh?”

  “Yes. Kareem and my boss had a project in the works, but now that Kareem’s gone, it’s in limbo. We don’t have all the information we need.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “For a man in my boss’s position, delays can create huge operational problems. You understand.”

  “I do,” she said with an earnest nod.

  “Kareem didn’t leave any, ah, instructions with you, did he? Any, I don’t know, safe deposit boxes that maybe the feds didn’t know about? Any passwords or computer codes or flash drives? Anything that might have information on it?”

  She furrowed her brow to make it look good, then frowned. “I’m so sorry. I just don’t know—”

  “Think, Wanda.”

  She thought.

  Then she shook her head. “I just don’t have any idea. My son was very private, and he didn’t like to talk about his business with his family. He wanted to protect us.”

  “Of course,” Henry murmured sympathetically.

  “He kept everything separate. He had a few things at the house—a computer and a safe—but the DEA seized all that. And then the explosion destroyed all the rest…”

  “I…see.”

  Henry’s expression glazed into a faraway what the hell do I do now? look.

  And that gave Wanda an idea. Whatever Miami wanted, she doubted it was anything good. And wouldn’t it be nice if Miami dealt with Kerry Randolph for her?

  “You’ve checked with his associates, of course,” she said, and took a delicate sip of coffee.

  Henry’s gaze sharpened into laser focus. “His associates?”

  “Well, there’s Kerry Randolph,” she said softly. “His right-hand man. Not many people knew about him. He flew under the radar, but he knew everything that was happening with my son’s business. And he’s still in town, from what I hear.”

  Henry gaped at her. “I thought Randolph was dead. I thought Kareem stabbed him to death three months ago.”

  “Oh, no. Kerry recovered.”

  Henry lapsed into a stunned silence that seemed to last forever. Until a sudden hard smile crept across his face and provided just the balm that her grieving mother’s heart needed to heal.

  “I can’t thank you enough for this information, Wanda,” he said. “You’ve made my work so much easier.”

  38

  Jayne woke to the thrilling feeling of a warm body wrapping around hers. She sighed, still half-asleep, noting the broad shoulders and back as she let her hands explore. The rippling arms, heavy with muscle. The warm, satiny skin. And a skilled mouth that kissed her lips and drifted lower, tasting her neck…nuzzling the sides of her breasts…and closing over her nipple.

  “Hmmm.” She made like a dove and cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips.

  That mouth grinned, making his cheeks swell against her.

  And then, without warning, that mouth suckled, hard, as the hand between her legs worked some voodoo magic that had her choking off a moan like a porn star.

  “God, Kerry!”

  “There you are.” He lifted his head and scooted up beside her. In the moonlight filtering through her blinds, his eyes were as mischievous as they were sexy. “I wasn’t sure you were awake.”

  “I am now,” she grumbled, distracted by that skilled hand and the way it could own her so easily. Like Kerry had owned her since the day she noticed he was a human being. “Some people let sleeping people sleep.”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t work for me.” Propping his head on his hand, he leaned in and wen
t back to work on the throat she was only too happy to expose to him, nipping and sucking as though he had a PhD in the erotic arts. “I did mention I was going to fuck you all night. I seem to remember you challenging me…?”

  “I did that?”

  “You did. You won’t question my credentials again, will you?”

  “I will not.”

  “Good.” There was a hint of a smile as he gave her a soft kiss that dissolved her a little more. Then he stroked her cheeks with those gentle thumbs and, honest to God, there was nothing left of her that didn’t belong to him. “Good. Now I have a question for you.”

  “What?”

  He watched her closely. “Are you on the pill?”

  She blinked, coming up to speed way too late for a woman who wasn’t trying to get pregnant. They hadn’t used condoms. Which made them both irresponsible idiots.

  “I… Oh my God.” She smacked her forehead, undone by this additional reminder of how little common sense she had left when it came to him. “Yes.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. Profound relief, mostly likely.

  “Okay. I’m clean. Just so you know. I got tested last year.”

  “So am I. Oh my God. I’ve never forgotten condoms before.”

  “Me either.” A sudden shadow hovered over his face. “Not my finest moment. I got carried away. You probably noticed.”

  The shadow cleared, and for once his expression wasn’t quite so unfathomable. It was glowing. Intent. Implications hung in the air and drifted all around them like snowflakes.

  Butterflies fluttered to life deep in her belly.

  “Watch what you say to me right now,” she warned. “As a lawyer, I’m bound to remind you that women put way too much faith in pillow talk. They consider it a binding contract.”

  “They?”

  “Some women do, yeah.”

  “What about you?”