Heated

by J. Kenner

  This was different, and the thrill came not from being naughty, but from being intimate. From being his.

  "Again," I whispered. "Please, Tyler. Again."

  Gently, he pressed a kiss to the curve of my ass. And then, just when I was beginning to think he wouldn't, that sweet sting came one more time.

  He used his mouth to soothe it this time, and I moaned as soft kisses started at the point of pain, then spread out, as if he was lining the threads of pleasure with kisses.

  "You like that." It wasn't a question, and I didn't bother to answer. "I like watching you. The way your body quivers. The way your pale skin flushes. I like seeing you go to the edge, Sloane, and I like knowing that I'm the one who brought you there."

  He trailed the feathered end of the toy between my legs, and I writhed shamelessly against it. My body was primed, ready.

  He chuckled, as if recognizing my distress. "What do you want?"

  "More," I said. "Everything. You."

  "Good answer. Spread your legs more. That's it," he said when I complied. "Just a little bit wider."

  He was still behind me, and I was on the bed, my knees near that edge, my feet just over it. I could imagine the way I looked, legs spread, back bowed, my head tilted up. I was desperately wet, a fact he confirmed when he used his thumb to tease me, sliding it over my labia and slipping it ever so shallowly into me. "Is that what you want?"

  "More," I said.

  "How about this," he asked as he danced the feathered end of the toy over my navel, then drew it back, so that the feathers tickled over me, over my clit, my vagina, my ass, sending sparks of indescribable sensation shooting through me and making me gasp in delight--and push me so close to the edge of need that I thought I might cry if he didn't take me right then.

  "Please," I murmured. "Now, please."

  I was close to desperate, but he didn't torment me long.

  I arched up as I felt him thrust just inside of me, then I cried out when he pistoned his hips to bury himself all the way. He held me steady as he moved in and out, slow, and then faster as the crescendo built.

  He spoke to me, his smooth voice like a soundtrack, telling me how good I felt, how tight I was, how much he wanted to watch me come. And there, behind my blindfold, I clung tight to the colors and lights and spinning electrons that were the only things anchoring me to this reality, knowing damn certain that when the climax came, I'd spin off into a pleasure so intense it would surely destroy me.

  He kept up his rhythm, but released his grip on my hips and drew one hand down, sliding between my ass cheeks to tease the rim of my anus. Like the sting of the toy, this new sensation shocked me, taking me even higher. Incredible, yes, and so intimate that it pushed me over, deeper and harder and higher until everything was too much to bear and I cried out in the sweet, unrelenting agony of pure, glorious pleasure.

  He held me as my body trembled, then tucked me gently against him and pulled me close. "Wow," I said, as he gently pulled off the blindfold. "Thank you."

  "Sweetheart, I'll wow you anytime."

  I lay still in his embrace until I finally--sort of--felt recovered. Then slowly rolled over in his arms. "What time is it?"

  He glanced toward the dresser and the clock that sat there. "Almost ten."

  I sat straight up. "Shit. I'm going to be late. And I don't think sleeping with the boss qualifies as a good excuse."

  "It's okay," he said. "I changed your schedule. I have some places I want to take you first."

  I lifted an eyebrow. "If that's a metaphor for more sex, you're going to have to put a pin in that."

  "No," he said. "This is about Amy."

  I frowned. "What about her?"

  "You're still looking for her address or employer, right? I know some people who might be able to help. And then, my lovely cop, we have some shopping to do."

  "Shopping?" I repeated, but he just stood up and held out his hand for me.

  "Let's get dressed."

  In fact, showering came before getting dressed, and despite the very real risk of shower sex throwing us off schedule, I agreed to share the stall.

  "Don't make me regret it," I said when he reached down to tug at my pubic hair. "And don't do that."

  "I think we may have one more task this morning," he said, picking up a razor. "Not that I don't love this deliciously neat triangle, but all the other dancers are bare."

  "Oh." I swallowed. "I'm not sure I can manage to shave there."

  His grin was full of mischief. "Baby, I'm more than happy to help."

  He positioned us so that we were out of the spray, but close enough that he could grab the handheld nozzle. And then, as I spread my legs and gripped the walls of the shower in both fear and an effort to steady myself, he went to work.

  First, he lathered me. And then--slowly and very gently--he drew the razor over my flesh again and again. I was, I realized, getting more than a little turned on. Not from the sensation--though there was something about the pressure of the blade that felt amazing--but from the thought of him taking such intimate care of me.

  "There," he said, after he'd finished and rinsed the soap from me. He pressed a kiss to my newly shaved skin, and it was all I could do not to beg him to take me back to bed.

  Amy, he'd said. And he was right. If I wanted to make sure she was back home for Candy's baby, I needed to follow-up.

  But I couldn't deny myself one slow, deep kiss. And as my tongue sought his, I couldn't help but think of the days that were ticking away, inexorably pulling me away from this man who, with every passing moment, seemed to draw me closer.

  Afterward, I bundled myself in one of The Drake's plush robes, then headed back into his room to hunt up my clothes. "This room is different from the rest of the place." I'd noticed the contemporary decorations and furniture the first time I'd entered, but had never said as much to him. "You did it, right? Not the hotel staff."

  "It's all me," he said, stepping into the room with a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, and making me regret very seriously that whole getting-to-work thing.

  "Why this one? Why'd you take the time, I mean?"

  "I'm particular about my bedroom." He'd been looking past me into the room, but now he shifted his gaze to me. "Nothing goes in that I didn't select."

  I swallowed, suddenly unsure if we were still talking about the furniture.

  "So what do you think?"

  I blinked. "About what?"

  His eyes crinkled at the corners and, damn the man, I was certain he knew the direction of my thoughts.

  "About the room."

  "I like it. It's attractive and interesting, what with all the hard edges and angles. But it's inviting, too. And somehow warm and comfortable." I hesitated, then took the plunge. "It reminds me of you," I admitted, because I simply couldn't deny the truth in the words.

  "Comfortable?" he repeated, his brows rising in mock horror. "I'm not sure I like that. Inviting works for me, though. So does chivalrous and desperately sexy."

  "Are we still talking about the room?"

  "What else?" His smile was all innocent.

  What else indeed.

  I tossed him a saucy smile, bent to retrieve his pants and T-shirt that I'd worn in the park. "Thanks for the loan," I said, "but the shirt has grass stains--and I'd rather have pants that fit. Do you think The Drake's gift shop has clothes?"

  "While I'm tempted to just keep you naked, you have clothes there," he said, pointing to the dresser. "Top left drawer, I believe."

  I narrowed my eyes. "And how exactly did my clothes get here?"

  "You left your address on your application."

  "Yeah. The address to my locked apartment to which you don't have a key."

  He waved my words away. "It wasn't any trouble. Cole is exceptionally skilled in two areas. Art and lock-picking. The second he has no occasion to use anymore."

  He said the last so piously I had to laugh. "But he used to?"

  "His misspent youth," Tyler
confirmed as he fastened his broken watch to his wrist.

  "With you?"

  "More or less. I told you. We both did a lot of misspending before we became tight." He nodded to the clock. "We should get going," he said.

  "Right." I hurried to finish putting on my shoes. I didn't bother with makeup. For one thing, I rarely bothered with makeup. For another, I'd seen the setup in the dressing rooms at Destiny. I could get fixed up before my shift.

  "How do you feel about donuts?" Tyler asked.

  "I'm a cop. Take a guess."

  "Then we'll eat on the way."

  He'd meant it about the donuts, and before we got on the highway, he pulled into a bakery and got four dozen, but only shrugged when I asked him why so many.

  Then we were on the road again, and I was about to drool from the incredible aroma of dough and sugar.

  "We're heading north?"

  "More or less."

  "To where?"

  "My house," he said.

  I turned to him. "I thought you said it was about Amy."

  "About your search for her, yes."

  "How?" I asked, a little bit wary, a little bit concerned, but mostly curious.

  "Don't get your hopes up, but there are some people she may have confided in."

  "Oh. Who?"

  He turned to me long enough to grin. "Girls," he said. "Quite a few girls."

  I saw some of those girls when he pulled into the driveway of a gorgeous mansion, house, manor. I wasn't sure what to call it. I did, however, remember what year it had been built. "Eighteen fifty-six, right? And this is Old Irving Park?"

  He glanced sideways at me before he killed the engine. "You did your homework on me."

  "I did. But I never imagined this." The place was stunning. Huge and grand, yet somehow still comfortable, it sat on a lot that had to cover at least three acres, maybe more. It was painted an inviting yellow and had a wraparound porch and a lovely portico.

  I also hadn't imagined the girls. "Who are they?" I asked of the women who were lying out on the lawn sunbathing, sitting on the porch reading, and even working on a car that was on blocks near the back of the house.

  "The residents," he said.

  "Come again?"

  "Why don't you come inside and I'll explain it to you."

  I followed him into the stately place that managed to combine a modern flair while still keeping the feel of centuries past.

  "Tyler!" A woman in a bathrobe stood on the massive staircase, her grin wide. She had a trim figure and hair that fell in ringlets. She wore no makeup, and looked one hell of a lot better than I did.

  I considered hating her on sight, but decided to withhold judgment.

  "Maisie, this is Sloane. She's a new dancer at Destiny."

  Maisie's brow furrowed and she looked sharply at Tyler. "I thought you said it was over." Fear filled her voice.

  "It is. It's done. It's over. And they aren't going to hurt any of you again. Sloane came to Destiny through the traditional application process. And she's not moving in here."

  "Oh." Her tentative smile widened. "Oh, well, that's great. You're going to love it there, really." She glanced back at Tyler. "I didn't say anything wrong, did I?"

  "No. Sloane knows everything," he said, looking hard at me.

  "Everything," I agreed, wondering what the hell "everything" was.

  "Maisie's living here while she attends community college," Tyler explained. "She's hoping to apply for a four year program next year."

  "The Tyler Sharp scholarship program," Maisie said with a grin. "Listen, I'm starved. I was just heading toward the kitchen."

  "Take these," Tyler said, passing her the donut boxes. But before she went, he asked if she recalled Amy. She did, but didn't know where she'd landed in Vegas. For that matter, none of the girls in the house--eighteen of them--had a clue.

  "It was a long shot," Tyler said. "The girls who live in the house are pretty tight. From what I've seen they don't hang out as much with the other girls--like you and Amy--who come in through the front door."

  "Is that what I did?" I said wryly.

  "Compared to them, yes. But I thought they might have heard something in passing."

  "So what am I missing?" I asked. "How did these girls end up at Destiny? What was Maisie afraid of?"

  "I'm surprised, Detective. I thought you would have figured it out."

  "The trafficking?"

  "Got it in one."

  I shook my head. "Actually I didn't," I said. "Explain."

  "How much do you know about our immunity deal?"

  "Very little," I admitted. "Just that it exists."

  He nodded. "The situation's complex--lots of years, lots of people. But what it boiled down to was that Evan and Cole and I stumbled onto a white slavery ring. It was big. It was pervasive. And it was very, very dangerous."

  I nodded. I hadn't dealt with any interstate prostitution rings, but I knew enough to understand the breadth--and danger--of what he was talking about.

  "What did you do?"

  "We wanted to shut it down, but that's easier said than done. We started gathering evidence and got it to the Feds--we did it anonymously."

  "Why anonymously?" I asked, though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

  "We're private men, with sensitive business operations. We all wanted it stopped, but we didn't see the necessity of putting ourselves under the microscope."

  Which, I assumed, meant that they were protecting their own illegitimate enterprises.

  "Those tips resulted in the creation of a federal task force."

  "The one Angelina's father oversaw."

  "Right. And while the task force started working to eliminate the heart of the beast, we did the only two things we could--we continued to gather intel, and we pulled out as many girls as we could."

  "Pulled out?"

  He nodded. "Their network worked a bit like the Underground Railroad, only taking the girls to slavery rather than out of it. They would move them from location to location, sometimes under false pretenses--telling them they were going to be an actress, a model, something. When we got intel on a girl or group of girls, we slid in. The three of us, some of our security staff, it depended on the situation."

  "But didn't that blow the whole operation? They'd know they were made before there was sufficient evidence to convict."

  "That's why we couldn't get out all the girls. We had to play it safe. Go in as if we were clients. Or representing some foreign royal who was looking for a mistress. Sometimes we just initiated a car wreck and otherwise made it look like the girls simply escaped. Point is, we were creative."

  "And you got the girls. That's wonderful," I said, meaning it.

  "Not all of them," he said, his voice heavy.

  "You made a difference," I countered, reaching out to brush my hand over his. "And you brought them here?"

  "Most. Some had homes, but most were lost already. Runaways, homeless. Wannabe actresses who got sucked into the seamy side of the dream. If they didn't have a place to go home to, we gave them one, and we gave them a job. Dancing if they were able. Waiting tables if they weren't."

  "And more," I said. "Maisie said something about a scholarship?"

  "She's exaggerating, but yes. If they stay clean and keep their grades up, we help them get an education. And if they need help finding a job, we help them with that, too."

  "You three are amazing," I couldn't keep the emotion out of my voice. It felt a little like pride, and a whole lot more like respect. "Thank you for telling me. For bringing me here."

  We were standing on the front porch, looking out at the beautiful lawn and the graceful old trees and the women who were making a better life there.

  He hesitated before speaking. "It was important to me that you see it."

  "Why?" My word was so soft, I feared he couldn't hear it. And I held my breath, waiting for his reply.

  "Because I'm proud of it. And because I wanted to share it with you."
He reached for my hand, then twined his fingers in mine.

  "Thank you," I said softly, and squeezed.

  Behind us, the door banged open. "Tyler! Hey!"

  I turned to find a twenty-something girl with a pixie haircut and dancing green eyes.

  "Caroline, what are you doing here? I thought you were living on campus these days."

  "Yup," she said. "Loving it. But Sunday, right? Maisie and I are gonna take in a movie." She blew a pink bubble and popped it.

  He nodded, then turned to me. "Caroline used to live here."

  "Loved it, too," Caroline said. "But the dorm is super convenient. So you're looking for Amy?"

  She said all of that without taking a breath as far as I could tell. "I am," I said. "Do you know her?"

  "Not well, but I'm friends with Darcy, and she and Amy hung."

  My stomach twisted with disappointment. "Tyler already talked to Darcy. Amy sent her a postcard from Vegas. I'm trying to figure where in Vegas she landed. A friend's having a baby. I want to make sure she comes back in time."

  Caroline shook her head. "Don't know. But the guy with the other job might know."

  I met Tyler's eyes. "What other job?" he asked.

  "A customer. One of the guys who gets a lap dance every once in a while. Big guy. Handsome, but gray at the temples. He does all the Cokes and stuff."

  "Big Charley," Tyler said, then glanced at me. "Vending machine sales, rental, and maintenance. Cole and I contract with him for some of our properties, actually."

  "Yeah." Caroline smiled. "That's him. She told me he'd offered her a job. Guess she ended up going with another offer--I figure there was a guy--but maybe she told Big Charley where she was going instead."

  "Thanks," I said. "That's really helpful."

  She nodded, then glanced at Tyler, her expression turning sad. "Emily and Amy were pretty tight," she said. "They only overlapped for a few weeks, but they totally hit it off."

  "I remember," he said.

  "Any news?" she asked, before I had a chance to ask where I could find Emily.

  "None," Tyler said. He turned to me, his face grave. "Emily's one of ours. She quit a couple of months ago, and then was found dead not long after."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "What they're saying is bullshit," Caroline said. "Emily wouldn't turn tricks." She turned to me. "The cops said that a john messed her up. Left her for dead."

  "You don't believe it?"

  "No way."