by Fobes, Tracy
“You don’t want to make that same mistake a second time,” Jake said.
“No. We don’t,” Nicholls admitted.
Several seconds passed while Jake tried to digest this new piece of information. He’d been increasingly astounded by each revelation, and now his entire world seemed to have turned upside-down. But the idea that he’d spent years reviling his father unjustly felt the worst of all. It filled his heart with a deep, piercing regret. “Who killed my father?”
“Someone involved with the mafia. We don’t know who. A hit man, most likely.” Nicholls hung his head. “The day we found his body was a dark one. I’m sorry, Jake.”
“Why wasn’t I told? Or my mother?” Jake demanded. “It would have made such a difference to me. To us.”
“As I said, it would have compromised your safety, and the safety of other agents,” Nicholls insisted.
“Why are you telling me now, then?”
“Because you’ve agreed to help us. You’re already compromised to a certain extent. And Sophia thinks that you should know.” Nicholls glanced toward Sophia. “Sophia became aware of your father’s involvement through Koschei’s organization, and demanded the truth from me about it. She left me no choice but to explain your father’s role in the task force. She’s been petitioning me to show you the award letter from the moment you arrived home. She can be mighty convincing when she wants to be.”
Jake turned to lock gazes with her. He realized how difficult it must have been for her to convince Nicholls to reveal this information, and wondered why she’d gone to so much trouble. But then he saw something warm and adoring behind the sympathy that glittered in her green eyes, and he understood.
“I’m sorry Jake, but I’m going to have to ask you to keep the information to yourself. Can you promise me that?”
Jake gave Nicholls a tight nod. He still felt angry. Betrayed. And yet, at the same time, he felt a sudden buoyancy, as the new information sunk in--his father had actually been one of the good guys. Sophia had given him a priceless gift: She’d helped him remove the long, heavy chains of a stained past. His heart swelled with love for her.
“Yes, I promise you,” he murmured, wanting with all of his being to take Sophia into his arms, and hold her, and show her how much she meant to him.
“So...will you join the Guardians?” Martin pressed.
An unwilling smile curved Jake’s lips. “Is there an initiation ritual?”
“Yeah, Jake, there is,” Sophia chimed in. She was smiling now, too. “It’s back at my apartment. Are you ready for it?”
Jake’s smile widened to a grin. “More than ready,” he agreed. Barely able to contain his eagerness, he jumped to his feet. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jake left the Guardians’ clubhouse with Sophia right behind him. They shoved their helmets over their heads, flipped their visors down and took off into the night. Sophia led the way, her Hayabusa screaming down the road. She wasn’t easy to catch, but Jake had no intention of ever letting her go again. He managed to keep her in sight, and they both slowed down when they reached the railroad tracks and turned right onto Jersey Avenue.
Jake tailed Sophia as she drove down Jersey, made a right onto Shoreside Road and then a right onto a little street that led through her apartment complex. They parked outside her place and she led the way to the door, pulling her helmet off as she did so, and treating Jake to another sight of her silky brown hair spilling out of the helmet.
They went inside. Jake set his helmet on a side table, next to hers. He noticed she’d cleaned up since this morning--washed the dishes and put them away, picked up the living room--but now that seemed a million years away. So much had happened in the course of a day--in a few hours, in fact—that his entire view of the world, and of Sophia, had changed.
She stripped off her jacket, kicked off her heavy motorcycle boots, and stripped her motorcycle pants off too, revealing a pair of leggings that hugged her long, slim legs. Jake feasted his eyes on her as she smiled at him and walked into her little galley kitchen.
“Did you eat dinner?” she called out from the kitchen.
“Yeah, at around six,” he confirmed.
“Are you up for a glass of wine? Maybe some veggies?”
“Sure,” he agreed.
“Okay, give me a few minutes. I also want to get changed into something more comfortable.”
Jake took his jacket off, wincing as he did so. His ribs were still sore from the beating he’d taken yesterday. But he didn’t care, because today, everything was different. He had hope. He had a plan.
He would have Sophia before the night was over.
He noticed a box of matches on the coffee table and a number of candles scattered around the room. Smiling, he struck a match and lit each candle. They flickered gently, washing the room in a golden haze, and perfumed the air with their scent--something that smelled like honey. Combined with the candles, they gave her living room an erotic atmosphere.
Jake smiled, pleased with himself. He sat down on her sofa, noting for the first time its soft, delicate hues. The quilt she’d thrown over the back of it added a homey feel. This was a chick’s apartment, no doubt about it. He wished he had an armful of roses to hand to her, but then smiled at the idea. He’d never been a romantic like this before. Maybe he’d just needed the right woman to inspire it.
She walked in then, a bottle of wine in one hand and a plate of veggies and cheese in the other. His pulse quickened as he looked her over, taking in her glistening long brown hair and her black velvet mini-dress, with its low-cut neckline and shoulder straps that showed off her naked shoulders and the tops of her breasts. It was hardly the kind of dress a woman would wear if she had only talking in mind, and he took it as a subtle invitation. She wanted him, maybe badly; and before the night was over, she’d be enjoying her favorite position.
His cock lengthened and stiffened until he was rock-hard. Carefully, impatiently, he contained his sexual energy. He didn’t want to come on too strong, too fast. Instead, he gave her a wide grin that reflected his inner good humor and his expectations for the evening.
Sophia returned with a bottle of crémant, a type of demi-sec champagne she’d been saving for a special occasion. She also brought out a plate of veggies and different types of cheeses she kept in the refrigerator as a snack. As she put both on the coffee table, she kept sneaking little glances at Jake...she couldn’t stop looking at him. He had on black motorcycle pants that clung to his muscular legs and motorcycle boots made of supple black leather. His army green cotton t-shirt read ‘Night Defenders’ and it hugged his powerful biceps and broad chest like a second skin. With his closely-cut brown hair; firm, square chin and smoldering dark brown eyes, he looked like a sexy warrior, both wonderfully attractive and exuding a potent magnetism that she couldn’t, and didn’t want, to resist.
Her gaze fell upon a bruise on his bicep. It reminded her that he was only a day away from the beating he’d received. “Let me see your ribs,” she said.
He pulled his shirt up over his pectoral muscles, revealing a big purple bruise on his left side. She remembered it from the day before, and noticed gratefully that most of the swelling had gone down. She stroked it lightly, tracing its outline. It was shaded a slightly darker purple above each rib.
He curled his huge palm around the top of her hand and pulled it away, gripping it hard, his thumb brushing along the inside of her palm. His touch aroused provocative sensations as he threaded his fingers through hers and pressed, squeezed, bending until they were almost wrestling. He clasped tighter, until she felt like a mouse caught in a trap, and she stopped resisting. He grinned, his firm lips wide, his eyes darkly gleaming.
“Did you want to arm wrestle?” she asked pertly, pulling her hand free.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmured.
“You didn’t hurt me. But you are very strong. Lots of muscles,” she observed, her eyes flickering across his half
-naked torso.
“I know my strength. I’ll show you if you want.”
She smiled at his masculine boast. “I forgot the glasses. Let me grab two from the kitchen.” She stood up, aware that he was shamelessly checking her out, the bulge beneath his pants growing bigger and bigger. And yet, she had the sense that he wasn’t in a hurry. Neither was she. They had the entire night to enjoy, and she wanted this moment to last, because she knew the evening was special—a night they’d always remember.
She fetched the glasses from the kitchen, and returned with them to sit on the sofa next to him. He took the glasses from her and put them on the coffee table, lazily looking down at her face, her bared shoulders, the swelling curves of her half-exposed breasts as he did so.
“You’re so damned hot,” he said, his voice a deep, husky rasp. “So different from every other woman I’ve known.”
“You must have known a lot of women.”
“Thousands,” he said with a little grin. “None of them like you,” he quickly added, as she punched him playfully on the arm.
“Open the champagne,” she said.
He leaned forward to grab the bottle and wrapped one big hand around it. He slipped the bottle between his thighs and held it there, and then unwrapped the little metal cage around the cork. He pressed his thumbs against the cork and began to ease it out, grimacing with concentration all the while. It came out with a noisy pop. A foamy white liquid flowed out of the bottle, and onto his pants.
He gave her an awkward smile. “Whoops.”
She jumped up, grabbed a towel from the kitchen, and sat down next to him. She dabbed at his pants, and felt the hard lump of his cock beneath her fingers. Their gazes locked for a second. She deliberately stroked his pants above his cock before throwing the towel on the coffee table.
“Champagne,” he commented. “For special occasions?”
She nodded and lifted her glass. They toasted each other. She sipped the champagne and sighed with pleasure. It tasted deliciously cold, tangy, with a slightly sweet edge. He drank also, watching her over the rim of his glass all the while, those seductive eyes of his telling her how hot she was, and how much he wanted her.
In what seemed like only seconds, he’d drained his, and then put his glass on the table. He smiled provocatively, the candlelight painting his face with a warm, soft glow; and wrapped his fingers around her hand, the one she was holding the wine glass with. Slowly, his hand firmly holding hers, he brought the wine glass to her lips and forced her to drink, sip after sip, until she’d finished her champagne. Then, still holding her hand, he guided her to put the glass on the coffee table.
“Are you hungry?” he asked huskily.
“Very,” she admitted, the champagne warm in her stomach, but not as warm as the fire that was now flowing through her veins, a fire of need for him.
He grasped her by the shoulders, his hands warm and strong on her skin and gently pushed her back against the sofa. Then he leaned close and kissed her neck, her ear, his lips firm. She arched her back and lifted her breasts toward him, making them strain against her dress’s neckline. But rather than take the bait, he simply chuckled and picked up the plate of veggies and cheese.
He lifted a baby carrot from the plate and held it toward her lips. She opened her mouth obediently, took a bite, and he nodded with approval. She chewed, then took the rest of it when he offered it to her. “Still hungry?”
“Yes,” she said, a pleading note in her voice.
He smiled, completely aware that she didn’t hunger for food. Even so, he picked up a piece of cheese. She parted her lips, and he slipped it inside her mouth. She chewed.
“What kind of cheese is it?” he asked softly.
“Colby. It goes great with champagne.”
“I see.” He put the plate down on the coffee table, refilled her glass with champagne, and then held it to her lips. “Drink.”
Dutifully she took a sip. His gaze never leaving her face, he sipped too, then set the glass back on the coffee table. “Taste good?” he asked.
“Wonderful,” she breathed, and stretched against the sofa, feeling gloriously lethargic.
He moved closer to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, his large body hovering over hers, his t-shirt stretching over his biceps. Then, slowly, he leaned over to cover her mouth with his own. Jolt after jolt of pure excitement shot through her as his lips parted hers and he probed her mouth, his tongue warm and firm, exploring, tangling with hers.
Then, without warning, he shifted his weight so that he was straddling her, and slowly lowered himself until he was sitting on her legs. Looming over her, his body heavy and muscular against hers, he wrapped one arm around her back. He leaned against her and crushed her to him, his mouth more insistent, more brutal as his kiss went on and on, making her dizzy with yearning for him.
He tightened his legs around her thighs and leaned closer, until she could feel his swollen erection pressing hard against her midsection. With his free hand, he reached into her dress’s neckline, his fingers probing and stroking her curves. He curled his hand around her breast and squeezed so tightly that she moaned, her nipple swelling up against his palm. After a long moment, he lifted his head, his dark eyes gleaming, a smile curling those lips that had just held hers captive.
“You’re so sweet,” he breathed against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He shifted his fingers to her other breast and teased its nipple, stroking and pinching until he drew a moan of ecstasy from her, one that he quickly smothered with tender, insistent lips.
She clung to him, her blood afire in her veins, the place between her thighs moist and aching. She was whirling, spinning in a void of both pleasure and torment, and she understood that only he could release her from that torment; only he could bring the pleasure to its conclusion. Her hands moved from his trim waist, up across the sculpted muscles of his back, exploring his arms and the width of his back before sliding up his neck to tangle in his hair. He grasped her hair and pulled it, tilting her head back farther, the motion opening her lips wider. He plundered her mouth and she groaned, the sound tinged with desperation. She tugged on his hair, hard, wanting more than just this endless teasing.
All at once, he broke their kiss and climbed to his feet. He took her hand and pulled her up from the sofa, too. She was surprised she could stand—her knees felt weak, shaky. Without saying a word, he led her into her bedroom and stopped near her bed. He released her hand and turned on a little candlestick lamp sitting on her nightstand. Then, he moved around behind her and unzipped her black mini-dress. He let it drop from her body, the soft folds slipping down past her legs and becoming a puddle of black velvet at her feet.
Smiling, he stood back a moment and gazed at her with lazy eyes. She remained still in her lacy black bra and thong, her pink nipples hard beneath the lace, the thong hardly covering her most sensitive parts. Her blood still felt hot, but now it felt thick, too, coursing slowly through her veins like warmed honey, and making her want to lay down and tangle herself up on his body. But he continued to gaze, savoring the sight of her, and she didn’t want to deprive him of that pleasure. So she stood there, let him look, and surrendered to the sweet languor spreading through her.
For what seemed to her like minutes, he didn’t move, didn’t gesture for her to lay down on the bed, didn’t take off his own clothes. Rather, he continued to smile, and watch her, his gaze resting on her breasts, then roving past her pussy to her legs, then up to her lips. The longer she stood there, the more the languor tightened, until it had become intense yearning she could hardly bear. She closed her eyes for a moment, caught in that beautiful torment, and newly aware that Jake was a master in the lovemaking department...he was a true virtuoso, a maestro, and she was the willing instrument on which he played.
Then, when she just couldn’t stand it any longer, she stepped away from the pool of velvet at her feet. Still in no hurry at all, he moved behind her. Goosebumps broke out across her skin
as he unsnapped her bra, his fingers so nimble and assured that she realized he had quite a bit of practice at taking one off. It fell at her feet too.
His attention fastened on her breasts, and she saw with some satisfaction that a muscle was flexing in his jaw. So...he wasn’t as unaffected as he appeared. She turned toward him and arched her back to rub the back of her neck, lifting her hair as she did so. Her breasts thrust forward toward him, she let the heavy dark-brown waves spill back to her waist through her fingers.
He grinned and picked up a makeup brush on the nightstand, one she used to dust highlighting powder on her face. With one hand, he began to stroke her breasts with the brush, causing sensations that left her quivering and prepared to beg for more. The intense yearning grew to new heights as he dragged the brush up around her collarbone, then down across her nipples, painting little circles around them before whipping it lower, between her legs and across that swollen little nub of pleasure that cried out for his touch. Then he stood back and studied her, as if he was an artist who’d finished a particularly enjoyable painting.
She looked down and saw that he had left a trail of very fine white glitter across her body, as though she’d been dusted by moonlight. She touched it wonderingly, thinking that he’d enchanted her, thinking that if she didn’t have him soon, she might die--her pussy was now throbbing with agony. When he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss against one of her nipples, her knees buckled. He pushed her and she fell back against the bed.
She moaned and writhed against the sheets, and he looked down at her, his cock a hard lump beneath his pants. He wanted her badly, she could see that. And yet his manner remained lazy. Relaxed. He walked over to the windows and pulled the drapes open, revealing a full moon that spilled silvery moonlight through the glass panes. The moon was so bright that it painted everything in the room with a pale glow and made the candlestick lamp unnecessary.