Uncontrollable

by Susan Kearney

  “And you’re worth waiting for,” he admitted, already counting the seconds until her return.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  She bent to kiss him, and the V at the neck of the robe parted, showing him once again exactly what he’d be waiting for.

  Her scent caressed him and then he realized she wasn’t going to kiss his mouth but the tip of his sex. That one final lick he’d needed to shoot him over the edge was no longer enough. She’d given his ardor a well-timed moment to cool. So now the sweet lick was just enough to tease and taunt and torment.

  “When I return, I’m going to touch you someplace I haven’t already explored,” she promised with a silky huskiness that left him intrigued. The sensual promise of her words, combined with a final stroke of her hand, had him rock-hard and right back on the edge. “Think about how much fun we’re going to have when I return.”

  Fun? He was so wound up, he wanted to roar with frustration. It would be so easy to snap. To rise to his feet, take her up against the counter, or the door, or tug her back into the tub and give them what they both wanted. But even through his pounding desire, he understood that’s not what she needed. She couldn’t succumb to the effects of the perfume bottle repeatedly without it beating down her spirit. She didn’t want to always be the recipient, always be the one whose need was so strong that she’d do anything for release. So she wasn’t simply giving him a taste of what it felt like to be so needy, she was trying to find a balance.

  And he would give that to her. Because he could. Because he wanted to. Because she was worth waiting for. If she was strong enough to put up with Hathaway, then he’d be strong enough to wait for…whatever she wanted.

  And even as he wondered where she intended to explore next, he already suspected. And the woman was playing with fire.

  She returned in less than a minute but his imagination was raging like a class-five, whitewater river, frothing and twisting and turning. After she slipped from the robe, his gaze roved over her in appreciation. He liked her lean belly and tight butt and he also liked that she wasn’t skin and bones. When he held her she felt like a woman, not a girl. And he wasn’t afraid she’d break.

  “Miss me?” Her eyes sparkled and she clearly held something in her closed fist, yet he couldn’t determine what, either from her secretive grin or from a hard look at her hand. But she was obviously pleased with herself.

  “Of course I missed you,” he ground out.

  “Good. Don’t move.”

  “Okay.” He hoped his voice sounded as if he wasn’t in danger of grabbing her.

  She trailed her fingers in the water, creating waves that lapped at him hungrily, and she grinned when his sex leaped, telling her he was more interested than ever. But how could he not react that way at the sight of her lovely breasts, slender waist, curvy hips and plump thighs? Yum. He recalled her taste, her own special flavor as she’d come into his mouth.

  Now, she was in control, and this was a different kind of excitement. She stepped to the side and he turned his head to follow her.

  “Eyes forward,” she commanded and then walked behind him. The little minx. What was she up to? He could no longer see her, but her shadow on the wall and the splash of water on his thigh told him she’d stepped into the tub.

  She nipped his neck, wound her hands around his waist and played with his nipples. The bites on his neck combined with her twisting pressure on his nipples followed by soothing licks was a new form of torture. He wanted her to touch his sex, but she ignored that part of him. Instead she nibbled his earlobe and her fingers traced a simmering slide to his buttocks.

  “Spread your knees wide.”

  When he complied, she drizzled bath oil over his chest, his stomach and pelvis. The oil slithered and clung to his flesh. Her touch was so light, so airy. He needed heat and pressure and she was driving him insane with need.

  He braced his arms on the rim, determined not to move. When she let more oil spill onto his back and buttocks, he noted she took special care to make sure she didn’t miss a spot. And then her fingertips began to massage the oil into his body. She started with his chest and he’d never known his nipples could be so sensitive. Ever so slowly, she dipped lower and his breath seemed to halt in his lungs.

  And when her fingers finally closed over him and she pumped her hand up and down, slowly, with too little pressure for him to find relief, he knew both unimaginable pleasure and ultimate frustration. He was burning for release and determined not to reveal how close he was.

  Consumed by the raging, all-out need to finish, he craved more. He was so close. Aching. Ready. But she must have sensed his urgency because she released her hold of him and began to caress his back and shoulders.

  He groaned in sheer exasperation.

  “Hold on a bit longer,” she encouraged. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  She explored his shoulders and back and then the insides of his thighs. And finally, she caressed his buttocks, moving closer and closer to the sensitive area between his cheeks. The suspense of what she would do, the anticipation, had him agitated and excited and intrigued.

  “Brace yourself,” she warned. And then she reached around to pump his sex, but at the same time, she placed something icy cold into him. And he went off in an explosion, so fast, so hard, that he saw stars. He shouted with the joy and beauty of fire and ice. She didn’t let go, kept up the heat in front, the ice in back, prolonging the pleasure until, totally spent and satiated, he sat back on his heels.

  She cradled him with her body and he tilted his head back against her shoulder. She held him for a long time, and when he finally returned to his full senses and recovered an awareness of his surroundings, he couldn’t believe that she’d given him so much and taken nothing for herself.

  Give him a hot meal and a bit of sleep and he’d be ready to show her exactly how much she was beginning to mean to him. Being with her had become more to him than simply a pleasurable mission. His feelings had gone from waiting to have a good time to truly caring for her. He was starting to think he wanted a relationship with Amanda Grant beyond being partners.

  However, he had his work cut out for him. How did he get her to notice him beyond the confines of the mission? She was so focused on her goal that making her see him as a man in her life would not be an easy task.

  However, Bolt was certain he could rise to the challenge.

  7

  AMANDA HAD JUST EATEN the last bite of the leftover chocolate mousse when her cell phone rang. Odd. Who would be calling at this early hour of the morning. When she checked the caller ID, she almost hung up thinking it was a wrong number. Yet, something about the name, Melanie Carter, sounded familiar.

  So Amanda flicked open her cell phone. “Hello.”

  “Amanda Lane?”

  A shiver raced down Amanda’s spine. No one was supposed to know her real last name. “This is Amanda Grant.”

  “I’m Melanie Carter, a friend of Donna’s. I used to be a model.”

  Melanie? The name sounded familiar. Amanda recalled her sister mentioning a friend whom she met for lunch. However much she might want to talk to Melanie about Donna, Amanda had to remember her cover.

  “I’m sorry. You must have the wrong number.”

  “You’re Donna’s sister. I recognized you from the picture she always carried in her wallet.”

  Amanda was so busted. Her expression must have shown that the entire mission was at risk because Bolt lost his sleepy-eyed look and the charming grin. His eyes narrowed and he moved to her side of the table.

  Amanda saw no point in denying the truth of her identity when the woman had seen proof that she was Donna’s sister. “Why are you calling me?”

  “This is probably a really bad idea… I’m so scared.” She stopped and took a shaky breath. “But I owe it to Donna to meet you. Be at the corner of 5th Ave and 42nd Street in an hour.”

  The phone clicked in Amanda’s ear. Stunned,
she repeated Melanie’s words to Bolt. “Was I wrong to admit I’m Donna’s sister? She could blow my cover to Hathaway.”

  He shook his head. “This woman obviously knew who you were. Lying would have done no good. And if she’d wanted to report you to Hathaway, she’d already have done so. Besides, if she thinks she owes Donna, maybe she’s on our side.”

  “Maybe,” Amanda whispered, knowing that despite her escalating heartbeat, no way was she going to miss this opportunity. If Melanie had been telling the truth, she might give Amanda some clues to what had happened to her sister. “We have to meet her.”

  “Yes, but we’ll take precautions.”

  She could have kissed Bolt again for agreeing. Most men wouldn’t want to take the risk. But Bolt was willing to risk his mission of finding the perfume bottle for her own goal of finding her sister’s killer. His only stipulation was that they be careful and she agreed wholeheartedly. “If my sister knew this Melanie well enough to show her my picture, she might have information about Hathaway that we can use.”

  “How did Melanie sound on the phone?” Bolt asked, heading for the surveillance room with the security monitors. Once there, he booted his computer.

  “Scared.” She trailed behind Bolt and wasn’t the least bit surprised when he took her phone and typed the caller’s number into his computer, which revealed a downtown pay phone located in a subway station.

  With surprising ease, Bolt found data on her caller. “Melanie Carter was a professional model, until a car accident ruined her career.”

  “Was she scarred?” Amanda guessed.

  Bolt’s fingers sprinted across the keyboard and he pulled up medical records in an astonishingly short period of time, revealing how accomplished he was at Internet searches. “Whiplash caused a neck injury and she now suffers from vertigo.”

  “So how did she and my sister meet?” Amanda wondered out loud.

  “One of the Shey Group people has a fantastic program that might help. I already have it running for matches between Melanie, Hathaway and your sister. The system tracks their birth place, grade school and medical records, health clubs, etc. for any common places they might have met. However, we probably won’t have an answer until tomorrow.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  He shut down the computer and stood. “We need to have the street corner scoped out.” He flicked open a phone. “I’m calling in help. Why don’t you dress?”

  She nodded, uncertain if he wanted to hurry her along or if he didn’t want her listening to his conversation. But her focus was on Melanie’s information. Amanda couldn’t recall her sister saying much about Melanie. Amanda and Donna had chatted more about her career change and Hathaway than her friends. But, Donna always had a group of acquaintances around her, women who admired her looks and brains.

  As Amanda dressed, she tried to think about finding out what had happened to her sister rather than what she and Bolt had shared earlier. She wasn’t certain what had come over her. She wasn’t usually so free, so uninhibited and creative. Either Bolt brought out the vamp in her, or she was suffering the aftereffects of exposure to Hathaway’s unusual powers. As she slipped on a silk blouse, she put those thoughts out of her mind. She refused to let what had happened between them distract her from her mission.

  Amanda quickly changed into the business clothes she’d chosen. Wearing a skirt, her gun in easy reach in her thigh holster, she ran a brush through her hair and applied lip gloss before Bolt returned to his room.

  Within moments, he dressed in navy slacks, a dark shirt and jacket. But arming himself took longer. He wore a gun at the small of his back, another at the ankle. He placed a switchblade in his pocket and clipped several throwing stars to the inside leather of his belt. The casual manner in which he armed himself was efficient, automatic, yet careful.

  “You think we’re walking into danger?” she asked, hoping her curiosity wouldn’t hurt his chances of retrieving the bottle. And yet, finding her sister’s killer had to take priority.

  “We’re walking into the unknown. I assume you’re armed?” His eyes locked with hers and she read his concern.

  She nodded. Knowing he would protect her made her feel safer. Bolt might be willing to risk danger but he wasn’t foolish enough to go in without preparation. “You think Melanie had something to do with my sister’s death?”

  “Unlikely, but possible. Frankly I’m more concerned that Hathaway might be following Melanie than I am that Melanie’s in collusion with him.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” She fired an admiring glance in Bolt’s direction. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Just be yourself. Ask lots of questions.” He frowned and she knew something was bothering him.

  “What?”

  “The less Melanie knows about us and our mission, the less she can give away.”

  “And?”

  “It’s not wise for Melanie to meet me. She may back off if you don’t come alone. So I’ll stay in the shadows and cover you.”

  “Fine.” She couldn’t think of a better man to cover her back, or her front, or her… Sheesh! Was it the effect of the bottle or the man himself that had her thinking about sex at a time like this?

  Bolt was definitely special. She’d never forget his determination to let her have her way. The powerful impression he’d left was permanently branded into her brain, his taste and scent distinctive and wondrous. Yet, his attitude now meant as much.

  Amanda wasn’t accustomed to fieldwork, and yet, he wasn’t lecturing her or automatically taking the lead. Bolt respected her enough to let her conduct the interview as she saw fit, and his confidence that she could handle herself made her feel not merely good, but great.

  But he hadn’t lost any of his protective instincts. His reminder was gentle. “You still have the lapel pin?”

  “Yeah.” She went to the drawer and pinned it on her blouse so Bolt could listen to her conversation with Melanie. Although he hadn’t given her instructions, he knew more about this kind of operation than she did and it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. “Any tips?”

  “Don’t agree to go anywhere with her. Don’t take any chances. Trust your gut.”

  His serious demeanor coupled with his faith in her caused her throat to tighten and her hands to tremble. To hide her reaction, she shoved them deep into her jacket pockets. But then she glanced over to Bolt. He wore a cocky grin and she immediately felt silly for worrying. He was big, strong and armed to the teeth.

  What could go wrong?

  * * *

  BOLT MERGED INTO the shadows, hating that Amanda stood so exposed on the corner under a street lamp. New York City never shut down, even late at night. But the traffic was light with few pedestrians passing by, making her an easy target. Although the Shey Group had sent a team ahead to scout out the location and they’d found nothing suspicious, there was no way he could protect her completely. A drive-by shooter, a sniper in any of the myriad of buildings could have her in his sights and pull the trigger before Bolt’s team spotted a problem.

  Yet, Bolt had known from the expression in her eyes that he wouldn’t have been able to talk her out of coming. She was too determined. And Amanda wasn’t a woman to refuse to follow a lead out of fear for her safety. She would have gone with or without him. And while he admired her courage and understood her reasoning, he would have much preferred if she’d chosen to remain with him at the apartment. Not just because their evening had been interrupted, but because she would have been safe.

  He glanced at his watch. Melanie was late. Amanda waited on the corner, still and steady, not even glancing his way. When a woman came rushing down the block, Bolt used his miniature binoculars. Even in the darkness, he recognized Melanie from his computer search. Tall and willowy, she no longer moved like a model. She limped and held her head at an odd angle as if every step caused pain. Bolt recalled the car accident that had ended her career and wondered how she supported herself now. He’d found no ot
her data on her, no investments, no property owned, not even a driver’s license. But she was also clean, with no criminal record.

  Bolt watched the woman who didn’t hesitate, walking directly to Amanda. Their conversation carried clearly to Bolt through his receiver.

  “You look just like your picture,” Melanie said.

  “I was Donna’s only family,” Amanda admitted, her voice had the right touch of friendliness to encourage the other woman to talk. “I raised my sister after our parents died and I miss her so much. How did you meet?”

  “At a fund-raiser. Since my accident most of the other models have avoided me, as if car accidents are contagious, or perhaps they just don’t want to think about how even a short career can end so fast. But your sister was always kind. We met for lunch once a week, whenever her schedule permitted, and I always enjoyed her conversations about the business. I’d become jaded. She was still fresh and enthusiastic and reminded me of another time.”

  “You must have meant a lot to Donna if she confided in you.”

  “She didn’t. Not exactly. But I thought you’d want to know that before her death, she was scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “She didn’t specify. In her own way, she was private. But she once mentioned that someone might be following her.”

  “A stalker?”

  Amanda really had an instinct for this kind of work, Bolt noted. She obtained answers by invoking Melanie’s sympathy and trust—not an easy goal to accomplish considering the circumstances. Melanie was clearly antsy, shifting from foot to foot, awkwardly looking over her shoulder as if she expected an attack at any moment.

  Although Bolt listened carefully to the conversation, he automatically swept the street in both directions. A homeless man pushed a shopping cart into an alley. Several early risers—businessmen wearing suits and juggling briefcases, coffee and cell phones—walked briskly by, ignoring the two women.

  When Bolt realized he’d tensed every muscle, he had to force himself to relax. If trouble arose, he would do Amanda no good if he was so tight he couldn’t move. And even as he assessed the vicinity, he recognized that his feelings for Amanda were as broad as the sidewalk. It was normal to worry over the safety of his partner, but his concern for Amanda went beyond normal bounds. He was very aware of her every expression and mood, and wondered why he cared so much.