“They’re so casual,” Amanda commented, her voice tight as she studied the women.
“Something wrong?” Bolt asked, concerned that if watching this scene upset her, she might not be the right person for the job, after all. From his research, he’d learned that Hathaway had an enormous appetite for the ladies.
“I just can’t imagine my sister…as one of those women.” Amanda’s gaze never left the screen and she swayed on her feet.
Bolt understood. She was reluctant to accept the idea that her sister could have participated in such shocking behavior, and been killed by Hathaway. While he sympathized, he needed to know, before they inserted her into Hathaway’s operation, that she could handle this scene. “If watching upsets you, then perhaps you should leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She spoke with determination but as if her knees had buckled, she plopped into a chair, her eyes focused on the screens. “We need to know what’s going on.”
All of the woman were in various states of undress. And though they’d dimmed the lighting, many details were clear. Between sips of wine, Hathaway let the women takes turns caressing, kissing, stroking and undressing him. For such a round-faced man, he had more muscles than Bolt would have guessed and he made a mental note to check the client lists of New York’s more exclusive fitness clubs to see if he worked out. Before he was done investigating, he would know the man’s routine as well as his sexual preferences.
Amanda leaned forward and her hands clenched the arms of her chair. “Do these women seem…normal to you?”
“What do you mean?” Did she see something paranormal that he didn’t?
“Zoom in on their eyes, please. I’d like to determine if he’s drugged the women before we assume he has special paranormal abilities. I want to see if their pupils are regular size.”
He did as she asked, waiting for the right moment to stop the video stream, then zooming in. “Their irises look dilated to me.”
“Could he have drugged the wine?” she asked. “Or is this a side effect from the bottle’s unusual properties?”
Adjusting the camera, he zoomed in on Hathaway. The agent’s expression was like a sultan enjoying his harem. Bolt could only imagine what watching this scene was doing to Amanda as she thought about her sister taking the place of one of those women. If Hathaway had been using one of Bolt’s sisters in such a fashion, he would have been hard put to refrain from charging over there, shoving his fist down the pervert’s throat and ripping out his heart.
He forced himself to analyze. “Hathaway’s eyes appear normal.” Bolt didn’t think the man’s behavior made him seem drugged, either, or at least not as far gone as the women. “And he drank the wine out of the same carafe.”
Amanda glared at the screen, her expression fierce. “He’s larger and carries more body weight. Maybe a drug wouldn’t affect him so much. Or maybe, earlier, he put a substance in the bottom of each glass, but not his. Or maybe the drug only affects women.”
Or maybe the paranormal effects of the perfume bottle had stimulated the women and caused their inhibitions to lower and their lusts to increase. “Or maybe,” Bolt suggested, “they are turned on naturally. Eyes do dilate when a person’s aroused.”
“I suppose…” But Amanda didn’t sound convinced. “I wish we could get a sample of that wine for analysis.”
“The cook isn’t due for another day off until next week.”
“What about the maid?” Amanda crossed and uncrossed her legs, fidgeting in her seat as if she couldn’t get comfortable.
“Maria Gonzalez never takes a day off. She’s from the poorest section of Mexico City and needs every cent to send back home.”
Amanda’s fingers clutched the arms of her chair. The cords in her graceful neck tightened, and her chin was so high and her spine so ramrod straight she clearly had to force herself to sit still. The women were all naked now, as was Hathaway, their clothes strewn about the room like confetti.
“The cook is heading toward the living room,” Amanda’s tone was hushed in anticipation. “I can’t imagine what she’s going to think.”
Bolt had no idea if the cook would run away screaming, phone the police, or scamper back into the kitchen and pretend she hadn’t seen the writhing, squirming bodies, the eager mouths and seeking hands that overflowed the couch and sprawled onto the carpets.
The cook’s steps were quick. When she set down a tray of cheese snacks and began to remove her shirt, Amanda gasped.
“She’s joining them. This is freakin’ unbelievable. It’s like a scene out of Dante’s Inferno.”
Amanda didn’t sound so much disgusted as baffled and amazed that paranormal perfume bottles really did exist. He drew her attention from the main action. “Look at the maid on the third monitor.”
“Sheesh,” Amanda said, shaking her head. “The maid’s so eager to join the fray, she’s not even waiting to enter the room before she strips.” Her eyebrows arched and she rubbed her fingers over her lips. “Either Hathaway has more natural charisma than any man alive or…”
“Or?”
“He must be using something like hypnosis to attract so many women, to convince them to…to…boink like bunnies…”
Bolt tried to restrain a chuckle at her description. “We haven’t eliminated all the natural explanations. Maybe he’s paying them. We’ll investigate his bank accounts as well as those of the ladies he’s with once we find out their names.”
“And how will you do that?”
“We have face recognition software. The program compiles the information on every person the camera picks up. We’re testing the software for the CIA.”
Amanda shook her head, but her voice dropped to a husky tone. “I’m willing to bet you don’t find anything. A man like Hathaway doesn’t have to pay for sex. And those women look too eager. They aren’t faking it. They’re hot for him, just like my sister was. And none of it makes sense unless…”
“Unless?”
She slapped her palm on the table in obvious frustration. “I might buy into the notion that these women are there for good sex and only good sex…except—”
“Except?” he prodded.
She lowered her tone to a whisper. “You’ll think I’m insane.”
“Try me.” He leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word. Her intensity fascinated him. Her reaction to the monitors intrigued him.
“Last night, I tried to meet Hathaway, but I never got close to him.”
“So?”
“We exchanged a look.”
“A look?”
“It was almost like a whip snapping through the air. A command. A soundless…compulsion. I believe he used that paranormal power on me—just like he’s now using it on these women.”
Bolt refrained from releasing a long, low whistle. Was she even now sensing the paranormal effect of the bottle, an effect that enhanced Hathaway’s attraction to women?
“A compulsion to do what?” he asked, unwilling to lead her or make a suggestion to sidetrack her.
“I’m not sure.”
“Try to tell me.”
“It was unlike anything I’ve ever known.” Amanda shivered, crossed her arms across her chest and rubbed her palms on her arms. “All right, tell me I’m insane, and we’ll just pretend we didn’t have this conversation.”
He tried to lighten the moment. “Perhaps, your sister is trying to tell you something from the grave.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped at him and her stormy eyes flashed with irritation. “I damn sure don’t believe in ghosts.”
He held up his hands, palms facing her. “Hey, I was out of line. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” she said without hesitation, revealing that she didn’t hold grudges. Unclasping her hands from her arms, she drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “I’m not given to flights of fancy.”
“Flights of fancy?”
“I don’t have a vivid imagination. I
rarely remember my dreams. I prefer to believe what my senses tell me. That’s why I didn’t want to bring up my feeling. But when Hathaway and I locked gazes, something connected us. Something evil and lurid.” She shuddered and glanced at the naked, writhing bodies on the screen, then looked away. “And do you know what is really sick?”
“Hathaway?”
“Besides Hathaway.”
“What?”
“I don’t like pornography. Give me a good romance with lots of emotion and lovemaking where people care about one another and I’m a happy camper.”
“But?”
She raised her tormented gaze to him. And then she blinked and the light caught her gaze at a different angle. Her pupils had dilated, her nostrils flared slightly. She was clasping her knees to her chest to prevent him from seeing her trembling.
He’d thought she was shivering because she was tense and upset from watching the orgy. But she wasn’t. She was shaking with desire. Hiding her very erect nipples.
“I don’t understand it. But I swear to you, if I was in that room with Hathaway right now, I might not be able to resist joining in.”
“What?”
“That’s right. You heard me.” She dropped her head, as if in shame, then again raised her chin, eyes ferocious, voice tortured with anger and desire. “I want to screw a man I don’t even know, a man with whom I’ve never exchanged a word. The man who likely killed my sister. So tell me. Bolt—” her voice broke in desperation “—how in hell am I going to resist him?”
4
OH… MY… GOD.
Amanda didn’t understand why watching an orgy had her so turned on that she was shaking with need. She never lost control. Through her entire conversation with Bolt, she’d tried to remain professionally detached, and yet she couldn’t resist the monumental forces building up pressure inside her body. Her pulse raced and skidded, her temperature rose. Her skin sizzled. And while her brain was disgusted and repelled by Hathaway, her body was on fire.
“I’m here for you,” Bolt assured her, his eyes full of questions.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” she whispered through her need, a need so great that she wanted to rip off her clothes and tackle Bolt like some kind of love-starved maniac. What was wrong with her? She didn’t do unbridled passion. Yet she had to grip the chair’s armrests to keep her hands from ripping his shirt open—and all because she’d watched Hathaway with those models.
Bolt gestured to the monitor. “Porn is a profitable business, there’s no shame in reacting—”
She shook her head; certain other forces were in play. “Hathaway is likely responsible for Donna’s murder,” she panted, unable to hold back the shiver of desire coursing through her, “yet my hormones are going wild.”
He placed reassuring hands on her shoulders. “Just try to—”
At his touch, she was on her feet and flinging herself into his arms before she understood what she’d done. Her sudden rush was as instinctual as stumbling, then fighting for balance. Her sole thought was that she must touch and be touched. She needed the contact of his flesh against hers, the scent of him in her lungs, the heat of him warming her.
As his arms closed around her and his mouth slanted over hers, all sane thinking ceased. This kiss was no mere brushing of the lips. If this kiss had been a hurricane it would have been a class five. If this kiss had been a prize, it would have been the Nobel. If this kiss had been a rocket, it would have shot out of the solar system, straight to a galaxy far, far away.
Clutching his shoulders to draw him even closer, his clean male scent spurred her on. Boldly, brazenly, she kissed him, dazzled by the taste of sizzling brawn peppered with torrid heat. Her lips burned for him and after one long, bone-melting kiss, she was hot enough to go up in flames.
Never before had her lips swelled with passion. Every lick, nip and nibble kicked her other senses into overdrive. His breath rasped and merged with the roaring of blood in her ears. She ripped at his shirt with tingling hands desperate to remove the material separating their flesh. Their kiss heated, then erupted into a hardboiled hysteria she’d never known.
Her clumsy fingers fumbled with his shirt. And then she was torn between wanting to touch his muscular shoulders, rugged back and solid ribs, or to explore his powerful chest dusted with crisp curls of fine black hair, or just go for broke and unzip his slacks.
She went for broke. The need to have all of him bared couldn’t wait. In no mood for finesse, for teasing, for foreplay, she wanted him now. She wanted him hard and fast. She wanted him inside her without another moment’s delay.
Breathless and panting, she fumbled, her entire body shaking with her fervor. She was burning up for him, like a fever was racing through her blood, a fever that only he could assuage.
Their prolonged kiss slowed the progress of her hands, but she couldn’t give up his wonderful mouth—not even to rip off his clothes. As their tongues danced, he in turn managed to remove her shirt and bra. Her breasts sprang free, her nipples already swollen and ripe and oh-so-ready to press against his bare chest.
But keeping them apart, his hands skimmed up her waist, cupping her, his thumbs flicking over her sensitive nipples and shooting heat straight between her thighs. Moisture, slick and thick, readied her sex. She was certain she would burst the moment he entered her, but she had yet to remove his slacks.
Between his magic hands and clever tongue, she couldn’t seem to direct her hands. Moaning with the frustration of wanting him that instant, she finally wrenched her mouth free.
“I can’t wait,” she muttered, tugging at his belt, finally unsnapping his slacks and shoving trousers and boxers to the floor in one smooth thrust. “I must have you. Now.”
She closed her fingers over his smooth, hard sex, pleased that he was so ready for her. With her mouth on his, she enjoyed the sensation of his pulsing male flesh in her hand. As she swirled her tongue over his and explored the soft texture of his lips, she was gratified when his balls coiled tightly at her exploratory touch.
She ached to venture further, but he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her until she was forced to release him. Dizzy, breathless, slightly confused, she found herself standing before him on a chair.
With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he made swift work of removing the rest of her clothes. With her breasts in his face, he needed no urging to take a nipple into his mouth. As sweet-spicy sensations washed over her, she couldn’t hold back a sob of pleasure.
“Oh. Don’t stop.” She cradled his head, drawing his mouth closer.
His wonderfully skilled tongue teased and tugged her areolae with erotic strokes. His fingers urged her to part her thighs, and when his hand slid into home, his thumb centering on where all her nerves were most sensitive, she cried out and gyrated her hips.
His teeth clamped down on her nipple, restraining her, holding her exactly where he wanted. Overwhelmed by the sensations of his flickering fingers and taunting mouth, the tension inside her tummy knotted, swelled, then spiraled, until she had to clench his shoulders just to stay upright.
“Oh…my.”
“Tell me what you’d like,” he demanded without releasing her nipple.
“Everything.”
“You’re sure?” He flicked her clit.
She gulped as heat poured through her. “Anything.”
“Okay.”
“Just don’t stop…doing…what you’re doing.”
He laughed low and deep, his breath a sexy whoosh against her flesh. “No problem.”
Contradicting his words, he released her nipple and air soothed over the wet pouty skin. But then he took the other one into his mouth, and she would have sighed with the pleasure, except the sensation was too strong for sighs. In fact, she was having a hell of a lot of trouble holding back a scream of yes, yes, yes.
Bursting, burning, she was so ready to have him inside her. “I need you in me.”
“Can’t.”
“What!”
She was going to lose it. She was shaking with need. Trembling. So tight, so ready.
“Condoms are…in the…bedroom.”
She groaned. No way could she walk that far. She doubted she could take a step before her knees buckled.
“It’s okay.” His fingers moved back and forth inside her slickness, the marvelous friction stretching her.
“Ah. Oh-oh.” She couldn’t draw enough air. Her lungs burned. The pleasure from his tongue, his fingers, his thumb created hot sparks that caught. One moment she was tense and blistering and on edge. The next, she went up in flames.
Like a wildfire that burned out of control, she blazed with the scalding heat. She gasped with the exquisite burning that seemed to go on and on and on. And when she finally came back to herself, she was in his arms and he was carrying her to the bedroom.
With her limbs relaxed, her mind still fuzzy, she was perfectly willing to let him take control. Thinking about the reason for her impulsive lovemaking was simply too much trouble. Especially after such a mind-blowing orgasm.
She’d had orgasms before. But never one like that—not even from her vibrator. Wow. On the Richter scale, the one he’d just given her would be a ten. She’d had no idea that she could feel this good with a man, never mind one she barely knew.
Snuggling against his chest, his strong arms easily carrying her, she’d never felt so feminine. Usually the taking-off-her-clothes process was embarrassingly awkward. She’d preferred the lights down low. She’d been self-conscious. But not with Bolt. The passion had burst upon her so fast and hard, she hadn’t once thought about the extra weight on her hips, or if her thighs were tight, or if…well, it didn’t matter now. He’d seen her naked and from the look of fervor on his face, he liked what he’d seen.
Leaning her head back on his arm, she gazed at him, enjoying the sparkle in his expression, the amused lips, the determined jut of his jaw and the playful glow of his eyes. “We are going to make love again, right?”
“We need to talk.”
“Talk?” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t want to talk.” She reached up and placed the tip of her finger on his mouth. “I can think of much better things for you to do with those lips.”
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