She hadn’t been able to see the extent of the destruction in the darkness, something he’d forgotten. He sure as hell didn’t like the look of fear returning to her features. Hicks gently nudged her chin back around, forcing her to face him. “It’s okay, the place is clear. Gather what you need. I’ve got you.”
Her lip trembled and he steeled himself, waiting on the tears, but her strength surprised him. She firmed up her chin and nodded. She stepped away, planting her fists on her hips, and said, “Whoever did this is going to pay.”
He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to tear his eyes off the way her nipples jetted out when she threw her shoulders back like that. If he didn’t get something covering her body soon, there was no way he’d make it out of this apartment without tossing her onto the floor and finishing the job. He managed to bite out one strangled word. “Clothes.”
She faced him, her fingers landing on the hollow just beneath his sternum. Her touch branding him like a hot flame. “You don’t like seeing me naked?”
The way she was looking up at him from beneath her lashes was beyond devastating to his senses. “I like seeing you naked so much that if you don’t cover up, I don’t think I’ll make it out of this apartment tonight.”
“Oh?” She traced tiny circles down to his navel.
His gut tightened reflexively and he grabbed her hand, forcing her to stop. “Yes, clothes, now.”
It was Whitney who sighed this time. “Fine, let me grab my overnight bag from the bathroom.”
He didn’t take another breath until she sauntered away from him. Dear God, he’d never reacted so instantly to a woman before. Something about her just drew him. Hicks somehow managed to zip up his pants, but he was about to rip his zipper open if he didn’t get it under control. “What’s the cat’s name?”
“Prince Tiger,” she called out.
Searching for a damn cat would be better than standing here touching himself. Hicks dropped to the floor and looked under the bed, then behind the curtains and in the closet. Finally, he crossed to the only closed door left in the room and yanked it open, only to stand in mute shock as he stared at the leather corsets and whips and crops.
Almost in a trance, he touched a pair of metal handcuffs carefully hung on the wall. Hackles on the back of his neck rose as thoughts of his childhood reared their ugly heads.
He’d been handcuffed in his room…unable to escape the man.
Sweat popped on his brow and he dropped the crop as if burned. Why did she have this? “Whitney?”
She didn’t respond. Hicks forced his thoughts from the past and drew his gun. Lifting it high, he eased around the open closet door toward the bathroom. “Whitney?”
There was no way he’d failed to sense another presence in the room—he would have known if the intruder was still there. Even so, his throat tightened up with worry. Peeking around the opening to her bathroom, he prepared for a fight.
His adrenaline rush deflated the moment he saw her standing in front of the mirror, a hand pressed to her lips, her face pale as she stared at the message on the mirror. Shit. She hadn’t been able to see that earlier in the dark. He holstered his weapon and turned her away. “Don’t worry, as soon as I get you out of here and safe; I’ll call the police and have them come comb the place for evidence.”
“Police?” she stuttered.
He drew her into his arms, trying to offer what comfort he could. He’d seen destruction much, much worse than what had been done to her apartment, so this wasn’t shocking or alarming to him. But to a young, beautiful woman living alone in the penthouse, it must be terrifying.
“Yes, I’ll call the police, and then you can give your statement at the station tomorrow.”
“No.” She jerked free of his arms and crossed her arms over her chest. “No cops.”
“What do you mean no cops?” His neck tingled and he narrowed his gaze. The only people who didn’t want to get the cops involved were people who had something to hide. His mind flashed back to that secret closet…
What was Whitney Averton hiding?
7
Whitney tightened her arms over her chest, feeling the sudden urge to cover her nudity. Hicks had narrowed his deep eyes and the five o’clock shadow she’d thought so masculine and sexy earlier seemed more like a dark shadow across his face. He looked downright menacing.
“What I mean is no cops. I don’t trust them.” She spun on her heel and strode to her closet. Mindlessly, she yanked a scarlet sheath dress from the nearest hanger and pulled it over her head, sliding the material in place.
She could hear his heavy footsteps approaching her on the carpet, but she refused to look at him.
“Whitney, if you’re in some kind of trouble just tell me. Believe me, I’ve seen a lot worse.”
She closed her eyes and bent over, blindly reaching for a pair of wedges. She wanted to tell him the truth, but she was scared. She had to speak to the Senator ASAP and find out what was going on.
“Look, it’s not anything illegal—not in the least. It’s just…private.”
Whitney marched past Hicks’s mouth watering bare chest and perched on the corner of her bed, away from the gaping hole in the middle and put on her shoes. The NDA she’d signed was strict—if she blabbed, she’d lose all her money. Every hard-earned cent. She’d lose her dreams of starting up her own nonprofit. Of never having to rely on anyone else again.
She’d already taken a dangerous chance by calling the police about the car. They couldn’t know about this.
“Private like this?” Hicks ripped open the small closet to the right of the bathroom, revealing her leather and whips. The judgment in his voice made her feel like someone was hitting her with a crop.
For the tiniest second, she wanted to curl up into a little ball. A very, very tiny second. Then a raging ball of fury blasted through her veins. She shot to her feet, hands fisted at her sides. Through clenched teeth, she ground out, “Snooping through my things?”
He crossed his arms, effectively devastating. She couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles bulged even if she did hate him a little bit at the moment.
“I was looking for the cat. I had no idea you kept this kind of stuff lying around, otherwise I never would’ve offered.”
Oh, so he’d seen her gear and it had disgusted him? Maybe he thought he knew who she was…what made her tick…
He was wrong.
She practically purred and squeezed up closer to him, invading his personal space, purposefully draping a hand over his crossed arms, tracing the coarse hair that covered it. “You don’t like to get a little spanking every now and then, big boy?” She intentionally dropped her voice down to a sexy purr.
He stared down at her without blinking, his nearly expressionless face showing only a hint of disgust. Hell, she could put up with a lot of shit, but she wouldn’t put up with hypocrites. “You were so ready to crawl inside me just a minute ago. Don’t tell me a little female strength turned you off.” Knowing she was playing with fire, but too pissed off to care, she wrapped her fingers around his biceps and squeezed.
Hicks inclined his head, and her heart skipped a beat, her treacherous body begging for him to kiss her again.
“That was before I realized what kind of person you are.”
Her lust evaporated and her mouth went dry. She’d dealt with assholes like this her whole life. It wasn’t a surprise, necessarily, but it was a disappointment. “Your cock sure seems to think differently.” Her hand crept below his bellybutton.
Hicks grabbed her wrist in a viselike grip, stopping her before she could reach the top button of his pants. “My cock isn’t that discriminatory, but I am.” He pushed her away from him, causing her to take a step back and stumble.
She felt like a giant fist had punched inside her chest. Why? Why did she care what he thought of her? She’d only known him for an hour.
Whitney went to the closet and extracted a short, flat-headed crop, testing its weight i
n her hand. Then she placed the tip near her throat and traced a line down the middle of her body. Hicks’s eyes followed it like a puppy after a bone. Oh, he was definitely interested.
He could pretend to be all high and mighty, but she could see the hidden desire in his dark blue eyes. Whether he was disgusted by her or not, he still wanted her. They all did. And she’d use that to play him just like she did everyone else. With a little smirk, she sauntered past him back into her closet to pack.
Feeling Hicks’s gaze on her, she returned to the small closet to hang the crop back up, grabbed her overnight bag from the bathroom, and zipped up her brown Louis Vuitton carryall. Standing with her hand on her hip, she gave him a few seconds to admire her figure before she slung the bag over her shoulder and sauntered back toward him. “I’m ready. Let me find Tiger and we can go.”
His eyes darkened, fixing on a point just past her shoulder. “Hurry up. I don’t have all night.”
She brushed past him, head down, to cover up a small twinge of hurt. Part of her had thought they were still going to his place.
Well, she was used to being judged as wicked. Her parents thought the same thing, and she’d stopped caring what they thought years ago. This dumb grunt soldier could believe whatever he wanted, and she wouldn’t bat an eye.
Tiger appeared over the back of her ripped up couch and sprung into Whitney’s outstretched arms. At least one man in her life wouldn’t judge her.
“Come on,” Hicks turned and strode out of her apartment without a backward glance. The protective hero vibe he’d emanated earlier disappearing with each step. She’d certainly thought he was a gentleman earlier, but a gentleman wouldn’t have snarled at someone like her.
A gentleman would have waited to pass judgment until he knew the full truth.
8
Hicks fumed as he sped back toward the compound outside of town, pointedly ignoring the vixen in his front seat as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. That short deep red dress she’d slipped on fit her like a second skin, and he couldn’t help but notice her tight nipples pressing against the fabric, straining to get out. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Whether that had been intentional or not, he didn’t know, but it was about to drive him fucking insane.
How could he be attracted to her now, knowing that she wasn’t some innocent victim of a B&E? She was obviously a high-class call girl who’d pissed off a client.
He gripped the wheel, grinding his palms around the supple leather when he felt the material give a little under his tight squeeze. No need to destroy the beautiful car.
Fact was, he should’ve recognized Whitney for what she was the moment he laid eyes on her. Every step, every sigh, every move had been practiced. She was a trained seductress.
And he was smart enough to know better.
He just hadn’t expected a woman like Dr. Melissa Averton, who was all lab coats and glasses to have a sister like this. Unbidden, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Almost as if she’d been waiting for a sign, she leaned across the tiny middle compartment. He could smell her spicy scent and feel it on his skin, invading his pores.
Whitney’s nails traced the line of muscle down his forearm, and Hicks’s fists instinctively clenched. A splash of cold awareness hit him—she was still playing him—but it wasn’t enough cold to make his cock go soft in his pants.
He moved his free arm to the steering wheel. It was cowardly, he knew, but he wanted her to stop touching him. He couldn’t think straight with her so near.
Without his enhanced hearing, he might’ve missed her small but sharp intake of breath. She kept her face the same—lips curled in a catlike smirk as if his action hadn’t affected her in the least. He knew it had, and dammit, part of him wanted to apologize.
He floored it, needing to unload her on Dr. Averton as soon as possible.
“So, where exactly does my auspicious sister live? I’m having a hard time believing she willingly moved out to the country.” She stared at her nails, which were painted a simple and elegant nude. Somehow, he pictured them painted bright red, a bold and daring color to match her personality.
“She lives in the compound.”
“Compound? As in concrete bunkers and barbed wire? I don’t do bunk beds, soldier.”
Hicks gnashed his teeth together. Of course, she didn’t do compounds—she probably didn’t sleep on anything less extravagant than 1000-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. “Somehow, I expected that.”
Why was he baiting her? Why couldn’t he just shut her out, deliver her to her sister, and forget about her? This adventure he’d set out on, the one he’d thought would be such a great excuse to get out of the compound and get some action, had turned completely sour. Now, he longed for the action of his SOCOM video game. Next time he’d know to keep his happy ass at home.
“Good, then you’ll know not to waste your time trying to put your hands on me again,” she said, just as snarky as before.
She said it as though his touch had been unwelcome. “Don’t worry; you’re not my type.”
“Keep telling yourself that, soldier. We both know that’s a lie.” She reached up and traced her bottom lip with her nail, drawing his gaze to that still swollen part of her body. Swollen from his hungry kisses. Oh, she was his type all right. Curvy in all the right places, not some stick-figure Barbie doll that needed to be put up on a shelf and admired from afar. He could handle her without caution.
Hicks ground his fists around the steering wheel, no longer caring about the leather. The dim glow of the compound’s lights appeared in the distance. He checked his speed, 130, that was barely a test of this baby’s horsepower. He accelerated, pushing 150. There was no one out, no chance he’d get stopped.
Maybe Diggs would take her off his hands. His teammate had a thing for brunettes. Plus, he was just as hungry for action as Hicks had been before going on this mission. He’d probably jump at the chance to entertain Whitney.
He rounded a sharp curve to the left way too damn fast, but he didn’t care. They were almost to the entrance of the compound, and he could taste his freedom. At the gate, Hicks downshifted, braked hard and slid into the driveway.
Whitney shrieked and grabbed onto the door handle.
A childish move, yes, but well worth the reward of throwing her off.
He lowered the window, poked his head out so that King could see his face, and then punched in the code. The massive reinforced wrought iron gate slid open, and he pulled through, guiding the car down the dimly lit driveway leading up to the mansion. Thick evergreen trees lined either side of the drive, forming natural barricades. Anyone who thought to assault the team wouldn’t be able to drive an off-road vehicle into the heavily intertwined trees and vines.
Finally, they broke into the clearing, and Whitney let out a low whistle. “I thought you said this was a compound.”
“I did.” He pulled past the beautifully manicured lawns and fountains and gardens, which were only maintained due to Caroline and Melissa’s quick thinking. They hadn’t been able to risk showing their faces in public, not even Caroline’s. So, the two women had developed a disguise for Melissa and a damn good one at that. They’d been able to hire a grounds keeper under the guise of being a crazy old cat lady who lived out in the country. And thanks to King’s superior work on the tech side of things, Mrs. Elizabeth Arnett Smithsonian had a convincing paper trail.
“My sister has always had money, but not like this… Who did she hook up with to get this kind of pad?”
It took Hicks a minute to digest her words. Melissa Averton hooking up with a rich man just to score real estate? The thought was as ludicrous as the idea of the good doctor borrowing her sister’s sexy wrap dress. Which she’d no doubt worn with the express interest of charming the wallet out of some man. The thought irritated the hell out of him. “Your sister is an honorable woman who’s dedicated her life to helping others.” He pulled around the side of the mansion and parked in the enormous enclosed garage, next
to a brand spanking new Humvee. He killed the ignition and opened the door, but just before he got out, he added, “Something I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”
Hicks slammed the door and walked across the garage—actually, it was more like running, but he needed to get the hell out of that car.
There was a five-second lag before he heard her door click open and her heels hit the concrete floor. He wanted to look back, but he forced himself to keep walking toward the large metal door at the back of the mansion. He entered the ten-digit passcode into the panel next to it and the door slid open. As much as he wanted to stride through the mansion and pretend like she wasn’t behind him, he had to at least wait for her to get inside, otherwise, she’d be locked out.
He stuck his foot on the bottom of the door, keeping it open as he turned to face her. Whitney picked her way through the high-end vehicles filling up the five-thousand-foot-square garage. She let her fingers trail seductively over the Viper, caressing its curves with appreciation. Blood rushed to his groin as he instantly imagined her touching him like that.
He was about to break out in a cold sweat if she didn’t hurry. Sounds from the interior of the mansion drifted out toward him. His team was gathered in the kitchen. He could be free of her in a minute, maybe two. If she would hurry up and stop walking like she was on a catwalk in the middle of a damn Victoria’s Secret fashion show. “Any day, Princess.”
She pretended like she hadn’t heard him and continued at the same pace as before. Jesus Christ, it was taking every ounce of control he had not to haul ass into that garage, toss her over his shoulder, and dump her onto the kitchen floor. He needed a very, very cold shower.
“You can’t rush appreciation for something like this.” She swept out an arm, indicating the classic Rolls Royce. She folded herself over the side of the open convertible to steal a touch of the plush maroon leather inside, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear his gaze off her lush ass. Dear Lord, no matter how calculated and manipulative she was on the inside, on the outside, she was pure perfection. “You can make love to the cars later; your sister is waiting. And I got shit to do, so, if you don’t mind…”
Mayhem's Desire: Operation Mayhem Page 7