Dangerous Kiss

by Michelle Love

Bree put her phone down and got under her sheets. There was still a terrible ache inside of her, but maybe, just maybe, Jesse Kline would be able to assuage that ache for a few hours.

  And it has nothing, she told herself, to do with those beautiful, shining blue eyes of his. Oh, no …

  Zea sat in Flynt’s apartment as he made them both some coffee. His apartment was nothing like she imagined; no motorcycle or car parts littering the floors, no girlie magazines. All of the stereotypical bad boy things were just absent. Instead, it was decorated elegantly in pale duck egg blue, rows of shelves with books of all genres, sketchpads, art materials. She wondered why he felt the need to behave as he did, when today he had shown himself to be caring, sympathetic, and very much in charge, a definite grown-up.

  Flynt brought two steaming cups over to the couch and sat down with her.

  “I asked the doc to get back to us whenever he had some information, but he couldn’t give me a time frame.”

  “It’s okay.”

  He touched her cheek. “I know, but I keep thinking, the longer we wait, the further Jared Podesta has the chance to run. My detectives are checking into him with what information they have already.”

  Zea half-smiled. “You have your own detectives?”

  Flynt grinned. “There are some perks to being a trust-fund brat.”

  “Now, come on,” she laughed, “don’t give me that. You build things; my apartment block, for instance.”

  Her smile faded as she recalled what had happened to her there. “Damn … I thought I was past being upset about this. Her eyes filled with tears and she brushed them away with her hand.

  “I think Jared may have known about me and David longer than he says.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Thank you.” Flynt’s cell phone buzzed and he looked at the caller ID.

  “It’s the doc; that was quick.” He answered the call, and Zea watched his face as he took in what the doctor was telling him. He thanked the doctor and ended the call.

  “Flynt? Does he have good news?”

  Flynt winced. He got up and stared out of the window. Zea watched him, dread building inside her.

  “Flynt? Please don't tell me…”

  “He didn't ejaculate. There's no DNA evidence. I'm so sorry.”

  Zea's shoulders slumped. “No. Oh, goddamn…” Tears spilled out, and she started to sob. Flynt took her in his arms. She gulped, trying to stop the tears. “I was so sure that it would be enough. That at least something could have come from…” She took a deep breath in, closing her eyes. She was back there then, back in her home, Jared forcing himself into her. 'Oh God…” Flynt let her cry herself out, rocking her gently, his lips on her hair. “I'm so sorry, darlin'. I promise you; we'll get him.”

  Luca spent his fourth sleepless night alone in the apartment where Emory had lived. He had told Bree he needed some time and now that she seemed to be coping, he’d moved back to the apartment. Maybe this was a mistake, he told himself now, dog-tired and wiped out. All of Emory’s things were here—the few things she’d taken from her marital home—but everything reminded him. The scent of her perfume in the bathroom, on the pillows. Luca laid down on the bed and buried his face in her pillow, conjuring up a memory.

  Before Bree’s abduction, they had been alone here one night. She’d cooked—a sensational seafood linguini dish followed by a strawberry sorbet. She had been in a joyous mood that night, secretive, playful. After dinner, they’d enjoyed a drink out on the balcony. It had been a warm night and just after midnight; Emory had grinned over at him then had gotten up and walked slowly to him. She’d slowly pulled open her black wrap dress to reveal underneath, not panties and a bra, but a leather harness, with leather straps that crisscrossed her curves, between her breasts, over her belly. Luca’s eyes had opened wide.

  “That, I wasn’t expecting.”

  Emory smiled shyly. “You like?”

  He grinned widely. “And how…”

  She straddled him, but as he reached for her, she took his hands and placed them down by his side. “I’m in charge tonight, Mr. Saffran.”

  Luca smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She unzipped his pants and reached in to pull his cock from his underwear. It was already stiffening, and she smiled and slid from his lap and onto her knees, taking the wide crest of his cock into her mouth. Her tongue swept across the sensitive tip, tasting his pre-cum, teasing him until Luca moaned with desire. “God, Emory … Emory … don’t stop…”

  Emory’s mouth curved up into a smile and she began to suck at him, gently at first, then with greater intensity as he thickened and swelled in her mouth. Her hand fisted the root of him; the other massaged his sac until he was shuddering and jerking underneath her. He came in a torrent, groaning her name again and again as he shot into her warm, soft mouth and she swallowed his seed. “Jesus, Jesus…”

  She stood and spread her legs wide, and he clamped his hands on her round buttocks, his face seeking her sex greedily, his tongue sweeping along the soft peachy folds, lashing around her labia and clit. His teeth nipped at the sensitive bud, and he heard her gasp as his tongue plunged deep into her vagina. He stroked her clit as his tongue penetrated her, feeling it hardened and grow beneath his touch. God, this woman … she tasted of honey and salt, her musky perfume making his sense reel. His cock was responding, standing proud, and soon he could not help but stand, sweep her into his arms, and carry her to their bed. He marveled at her caramel skin and the leather straps that dug into it slightly, plumping her breasts out, cutting into her fleshy hips, the pattern of them creating a frame for her navel.

  “My God, have you any idea how exquisite you are?” He stood at the foot of the bed admiring her, his hand stroking his cock. “My darling, would you touch yourself for me?”

  Emory smiled and her hand caressed her breast and, her belly, then moved down into her sex, her fingers stroking along the slick crevice, spreading the labia wide so he could see her. Luca’s cock grew ever thicker as he watched her. Then, finally, when he could bear it no longer, he moved onto the bed and covered her body with his. Emory wrapped her legs around his hips, grinding her damp sex onto him.

  “Come inside me,” she whispered, but he grinned wickedly.

  “You want this?” he said gruffly and slid into her—but only an inch. She moaned in anticipation, and he laughed and withdrew to her groans of dismay. “Ask me to fuck you, Emory.”

  “Fuck me, Luca; fuck me hard…”

  He thrust deep into her, and she gasped as he slammed his hips hard against hers, his cock ramming so deep and thick that she came almost immediately. Luca buried his head in her neck as he came again, shooting thick, creamy cum deep into her belly …

  Luca groaned now as he remembered that night. “Please come back to me, baby…” he whispered, but when he finally slept, all he dreamed of were bullets and blood and Emory, his beautiful, sensual, ethereal Emory, falling backward into the endless depths of Elliott Bay and disappearing forever.

  Clementine had heard nothing from Maximo in days, not since the night Bree was released. As Luca had taken Bree to the waiting cab, she had taken Maximo’s hands. “Thank you, Maximo. I mean it. I will be forever grateful.” She looked over to Ray Grace, still snarling and trying to wriggle free of his much bigger captors. “What will you do with him?”

  Maximo gave her a chilly smile. “In the end, it is Luca’s decision. We will keep this scum somewhere he won’t ever escape from. His stay will be less than five stars; I can assure you.”

  The look in his eyes made Clem shiver a little, and he noticed. Drawing her away from everyone, he met her gaze. “Bella Clementine, we have had a wonderful time together. But I am a realist. You are not ready for what I need, and I do not have the time to wait around in this country. My business calls me home. You always have an open invitation to come to my home on Lake Garda, or my apartment in Rome. But for now, be with your family. They need you.”

  He kissed her cheek, and sh
e watched him walk away, a mix of emotions swirling inside of her.

  Now that things were settling down—albeit with the ongoing search for Emory—Clem was missing her Italian lover. One night, she thought, one night was all we had—and then she felt guilty. It was looking increasingly likely that Luca would never have another night with his love. God, poor Luca. Her ex-husband was a shadow of his former self—a broken man.

  Bree … well, Bree was Bree. Never one to show her emotions, her daughter was handling things stoically, but Clem knew that Bree, too, was mourning Emory. The young teacher had become part of their family now; even Clem accepted it. She would never forget that young woman’s bravery, but she didn’t hold out much hope that Emory was alive. The Coast Guard had swept Elliott Bay and the coastlines that surrounded it, but had come up with nothing.

  Clem sighed. She had decided to go back to work, but now, sitting in her office, she couldn’t concentrate. How had her life become this, so quickly, so brutally? She needed something new, a project, a reason to function. She glanced at the photograph of Bree on her desk. It was a couple of years ago—Bree was dressed in her hockey uniform, covered in mud, with a huge grin on her face. The Auburn School badge stood out proudly on the shirt.

  Clem suddenly thought of an online article she’d seen shortly after the massacre at Auburn. It had been titled Just Another School Shooting, and it had caused outrage amongst some people who hadn’t bothered to read the article. Clem had read it five times and had found it deeply moving. The title referred to the fact that America was getting used to these acts of horror and that jaded news reporting didn’t take account of the personal stories or the real people affected by these tragedies.

  Clem found the article again via a search engine and read it through. An idea was forming in her head, but she couldn’t quite make it into a solid enough plan. Start at the beginning, she told herself. There was nothing Clem did better than organizing her thoughts. First things first, talk to the author. She scrolled back up to the header. The article had been written by Tatiana Mendelssohn. The copy included a Twitter link and an email address, care of the online periodical. Clem clicked on the email address, opening up a draft in her Outlook folder, and began to type.

  Zea woke up in her bed, wrapped in the comforter. She must have fallen asleep talking to Flynt. He was asleep in the armchair next to the bed, and she smiled as she watched him. God, this man … it was dangerous, but she could fall for him so easily.

  Like you haven’t already. Shut up, she told herself. Could she trust him, or was this show of The Good Samaritan just because she’d been …

  Raped. She said it to herself. An act of violence. Jared Podesta was an evil, manipulative son of a bitch who had violated her in the worst way. Rape. Asshole, she whispered to herself. I hope you rot in hell, Jared Podesta, or whatever the fuck your name is. No more.

  She had decided that earlier, but now she repeated like a mantra. No more would she let David’s actions in Auburn define who she was. Nor would she ever be “the girl who was raped.” She was Zea Azano, a trained chef, an excellent chef. Zea looked over at Flynt again, and although she smiled, she knew that even Flynt could not be allowed to hold her back.

  “I can feel you watching me,” Flynt mumbled and opened an eye. He chuckled as she burrowed into the cocoon of her comforter and feigned innocence. “And you’re a terrible hider.”

  He suddenly moved onto the bed next to her and tried to tickle her. Zea yelled, laughing furiously until he gave up but kept his arm locked around her. Their faces were inches apart.

  “Hello pretty girl,” he said softly, and the tender, loving tone in his voice made all the emotions rush out of her.

  Zea felt the hole in her chest crack open, and she began to sob, letting all the grief, anger, fear and hurt out. Flynt’s arms tightened around her. Finally, her tears stopped, and she looked up at him, touching his cheek.

  “Flynt…I…” But he didn’t let her finish. He kissed her again, harder, sliding his hand under her hair. He pressed his body against hers and felt her respond. Then they were tearing at each other’s clothes. Flynt slid his hands under her T-shirt and tugged it over her head. Zea kissed his stomach as she removed his shirt.

  He looked down at her. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “I love you. I'm sure.” And suddenly she knew the truth of those words.

  “You love me?”

  “More than anything.”

  He kissed her, crushing his mouth against his. “I love you, too, baby. Just me and you now. For all time.”

  She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “Make the world go away, Flynt.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead, kissing away the crease. “Anything for you, darlin'. Anything.”

  She felt the hurt slip away as he moved inside of her. Flynt moaned, whispering her name, and she kissed him, tightening her legs around him, pulling him deeper into her. Their lovemaking became intense, their eyes locked on the other’s, their breath quickening.

  Zea’s back arched and he gathered her to him as she came, marveling at the ecstasy on her face, feeling her fingers digging into his back. As he felt himself climax, he buried his face in her neck, moaning her name over and over. Flynt knew he had spoken the truth when he told her that he loved her but somewhere deep inside of him, his old nature called out to him. Telling him to run.

  And he didn’t know if he would be strong enough, if his love was strong enough, to ignore that call.

  Jesse leaned over to Bree’s side of the table. “Earth to Bree. Good People of Earth to Bree.”

  She grinned but still didn’t put down her cell phone. “One second, babe.”

  Babe? She flushed from the roots of her hair and grimaced. “Sorry about that.” Jesse looked amused. “Don’t apologize … I liked it.”

  Over the past days with Jesse, heated, tension had built between them; the odd look held too long, the brush of a hand against another, the desire to link fingers. Their chemistry was palpable, and Bree increasingly found herself short of breath in the best way when she was with him.

  He was the first person she thought about now when she woke, the first person she wanted to talk to. Even though they had known each other for such a short time, she felt as if they had always been friends, confidantes … partners.

  Now, as they sat in the coffeehouse, Jesse moved round to sit next to her. The couch they had taken over was set in a little alcove, away from the sight of the other patrons.

  His hand came up to stroke her cheek with his thumb; Bree couldn’t tear her gaze away from him.

  His lips were against her skin then, seeking her mouth. She sighed, sinking into the kiss.

  Jesse raised his head and smiled at her, and they both laughed.

  “Wow.” Bree was trying to catch her breath. Jesse nodded, laughing.

  “You can say that again. Bree, I have never felt like this before … have you?”

  Jesse brushed away the hair that was sticking to the sweat on her face. All the tension from earlier was gone. He ran a finger down her cheek. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this day.”

  “I know.” Her voice was so soft he could hardly hear her, but her eyes were shining.

  “Wanna go hang out somewhere more private?”

  Bree nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

  Hand in hand, they walked out into the coffee shop. Jesse’s cellphone beeped.

  “Ignore it,” Jesse said softly. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  She laughed as he rolled his eyes and relented. “No, Jesse, I’ve never felt like this before.”

  He grinned widely. “Good, I’m glad to hear it.” He took her in his arms and kissed her again. “Bree Saffran, I don’t know about you, but I’m really excited about where this is going.”

  Bree smiled up at him. “Me, too, Jesse Kline. Me, too.”

  Standing alone in his apartment, staring at out at the inky Washington night, Luc
a Saffran squeezed his eyes shut, his chest constricting suddenly. He pictured Emory next to him, her hand in his. He could almost feel her skin against his. He balled his fists up and tried not to sob.

  Please come home, and I'll try, Emory, I'll try desperately not to tell you how much I love you. And how scared, how terrified I am that you've been taken from me forever. That the monster you were married to fired hot metal into your precious body and murdered you. Please, please wherever you are.

  Come home …

  Part #5: Bree

  Seattle

  Clementine Saffran put the phone down slowly. Her ex-husband Luca sounded … God, she didn’t want to think what he sounded like but his voice when she’d answered his call had been steady but hollow. Heartbroken.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he’d said in quiet voice, “but I really need to talk to someone.”

  She hadn’t hesitated—regardless of their divorce, she had spent over half her lifetime with this man. He was still and always would be, her best friend.

  “Come over. I’ll be here,” she’d told Luca. Bree was out of the house again, somewhere in the city with Jesse Kline, and Clem was glad her daughter seemed to be doing better.

  Emory Grace’s disappearance hung heavily over the entire family. Emory Dutta, Clem corrected herself. Emory would not thank her for calling her by the name of the man who had once been her husband, had often abused her, and now, had more than likely, murdered her in cold blood.

  Clem blew out a long breath. The past few months had been a whirlwind of tragedy and terror. Six months ago, she’d barely known Emory, just from meeting her a few times at parent/teacher evening at Auburn College, the very exclusive, very expensive private school that Bree attended. She’d liked the young woman and had seen her intelligence and her warmth, but damned if she’d had any idea of just how interlinked their lives had become.

  You’re distracting yourself. Clem sighed. Yes, she was trying to, anyway. Trying to distract herself from the paparazzi photograph of Maximo in the newspaper today. The photograph of him with his arm around a stunning woman, an Italian actress, the blurb said. Clem didn’t recognize the name but then, she couldn’t remember the last time she watched a movie. Maybe she should see more, now that Bree was so often out. There you go again. It won’t work, Clementine; you can’t stop thinking about Maximo for one second, can you?