by Marie Harte
She started. “What are you doing?”
He leaned closer and inhaled her soft breath, which smelled sweetly of alcohol. Just one sip couldn’t hurt.
“Playing,” he murmured, waiting for her to reject him.
But she didn’t, as caught in this strange chemistry as he was. Satisfied his prey had snared herself in her own net, he spread her thighs and knelt between them.
She shivered and he removed his other glove, needing to feel her, skin-to-skin. He ran his hands over her sleek thighs, learning her power in the muscle bunching tight. Rafe continued to trail his hands over her belly and up, skirting her breasts to linger over her toned arms.
Once he’d felt every exposed part of her, he leaned in to capture the soft moan on her lips. Having her all tied up and helpless aroused him to no end, despite his plan to merely tease her. But one taste of her mouth and he lost all sense.
So sweet, was all he could think as he deepened the kiss. He thrust his tongue between her lips and stroked her mouth, her tongue, her teeth. Pushing and retreating, he mimicked the motion of what he’d much rather be doing with another, more insistent part of his body.
Reaching under her excuse of a dress, he pushed her thighs wider, pleased when she offered no resistance. He slid his hand under the thin triangle guarding her mound and groaned into her mouth as he speared her slick folds.
The woman was hot and wet, as excited by their play as he was.
She arched under his seeking fingers, but he didn’t end the kiss until he needed to breathe.
“Oh my God,” she moaned and writhed under him. “What are you doing to me?”
Rafe lowered his head to her breasts. He nuzzled the fabric aside and clamped down on one tight red nipple as he pressed on the sensitive flesh between her legs.
The woman was a dream come true. Nothing outside of this room mattered. Nothing but feeling her shatter around him. He increased the suction on her breast, ceasing when she moaned her surrender. So damned hard, he had trouble doing more than acting on instinct. He added a second finger to the one thrusting inside her and bore down with the palm of his hand.
He switched his attention to her other breast, enthralled with the textures and taste of her. He wanted to be inside her so badly he feared he’d come in his pants. But he couldn’t stop, not until she’d cried his name in release.
Out loud.
Shit. He froze, and the sound of their mingled breaths filled the otherwise silent room. How the hell had he lost control of the situation? Rafe released her breast and withdrew his fingers from her with an unsteady hand. This wasn’t the time or place, no matter how much he wanted her. Good Christ, the woman worked for Buchanan Investigations. What had he been thinking?
He straightened her panties, satisfied by the trembling she couldn’t conceal. Whatever else she was, the woman hadn’t faked her responses. He didn’t think she’d forced his attraction. If she’d truly been controlling him, she wouldn’t be tied up while he held the upper hand.
Unable to stand a minute more of not being able to see her beautiful gray eyes, he removed her blindfold.
She blinked but said nothing. Her swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes spoke for her, especially when she glanced at his crotch.
He heard her soft sigh and bent closer. Closing his eyes, he memorized the light but sexy scent just under her ear. He kissed her there, tasting the sensitive spot on her neck, slightly salty and sweetly feminine.
Adversary or not, he had to have her.
“When I have more time, we’re going to finish this,” he promised and stood. “But right now I’d better go. Wouldn’t want to be caught like this in Locklen’s private study. But you enjoy your night, sweetheart. Well, more than you already have, anyway.”
He stepped back and donned his gloves and mask.
“You bastard,” she rasped, looking sultry with her breasts exposed and her face flushed with sexual frustration.
With careful hands, he tucked her back inside her dress and set her to rights. “Yessiree. That date of yours is one lucky guy.” He grinned, knowing she had no intention of doing anything with the jackass.
She cursed him, her vocabulary able to rival a sailor’s. Trust Buchanan to hire a woman with beauty, brains and a temper, when riled, that matched the passion he’d felt in her.
And wanted to feel again.
So not healthy for a man who had no plans for romantic entanglements and who wanted to go far within Westlake.
He grabbed the files he’d come for before placing a pair of snips on the table beside the lamp hiding the jewelry she’d obviously come to retrieve.
“I’ve got to go now, Storm.” Rafe ran a gloved finger over her soft cheek, amused when she whipped her head away. “Let me know when you want to play again.” He moved to leave and she lifted her leg to stop him.
He glanced down at the slender calf braced against his knee.
“You can’t just leave me here like this. What’s a little honor among psychics?” she growled.
“Temper, temper. The snips will cut through the ties on your wrists. Better hurry, though. By now they’ve found the bound guards in the camera room.” He left without looking back, but the woman remained in his thoughts the whole way to the office.
Chapter Two
“Jurek, you want to tell me why I ran into that woman again tonight?” Rafe sat in front of Jurek’s large desk, holding on to his patience by a thread. Satisfied when he saw his boss’s temper rise, he added, “I thought you were keeping a close eye on the Buchanans.” Not that Rafe necessarily minded his time spent with Storm. God, what he wouldn’t give to touch her again.
Still, things could have gone very wrong tonight. Buchanan Investigations had a reputation for mucking up the works. Despite the fact their agencies had worked together on an important, successful case a year ago, Rafe didn’t trust the so-called investigators.
Before Jurek could respond, the door burst open.
“You’re not going to believe this,” J.D. Morgan began excitedly, oblivious to the tension in the room. He flew past Rafe and held a stack of papers under Jurek’s nose. “See? It’s like I thought. They’ve been passing along insider information.”
Jurek and J.D. huddled over the papers for a minute that turned into five.
Rafe cleared his throat, finally getting J.D.’s attention.
“Oh, hey Rafe,” J.D. greeted absently and looked back down at the documents he’d placed on Jurek’s desk. “So, Jurek, what do you think?”
Jurek’s lips curled. “Great work. MetaOil Industries is going to owe us big for this one.” A glance at Rafe dimmed his smile, and he turned his displeasure in J.D.’s direction.
Still enraptured with his latest find, J.D. remained unaware of the sudden shift in mood.
“J.D.?” Jurek asked in a calm voice. “Rafe seems to be running over Buchanan’s folks left and right. I thought I told you to research the Locklen investigation prior to his insertion.”
J.D. glanced up in surprise. “What’s that? I thought everything went smoothly. You got the files you needed confirming Miles Locklen’s guilt, so we can put that to bed. What happened?”
Rafe answered with a scowl, “What happened? Buchanan Investigations happened. I ran into Storm Buchanan for the second time in a month.” He shared what he could without disclosing the exact details of his latest encounter.
J.D. shook his head. “But I put a tap on their network. I don’t get it. Since the Guest investigation last fall when I accessed their files to accumulate resources, I’ve had a small window into the doings of Buchanan Investigations.” He paused, scowled, and then turned to the door.
“J.D.?”
“Jurek, I need to check something out. I’ve got a funny feeling we haven’t been the only ones watching the other side.” J.D. stormed out of the room, muttering under his breath.
“Give him time and he’ll find your answers,” Jurek reassured.
Not happy but pleased that at least
the boss hadn’t been holding out on him, Rafe nodded and stood to leave. “I have the new case file on my desk. With any luck I’ll be able to work on it without the hindrance of a Buchanan.” He shot Jurek a wry glance and left.
But once in his office, Rafe had a hard time concentrating on his new assignment. He couldn’t stop remembering the feel of Storm Buchanan’s soft lips and full breasts. Her thighs had been firm yet supple. Her scent was one he couldn’t forget. Sweet, sultry and sexy. Just like the woman. Her biggest problem that he could see, aside from working for her uncle, was that she wore too many clothes.
He shook his head and tried to shake free of the woman’s allure. A smart man would focus on his career. Sex was fleeting, like the women in his life. There and gone, and no big deal. Just the way he liked it, or so he kept telling himself as he tried to focus on work, and not a stubborn seductress with fire in her eyes.
Storm watched her uncle escort a very pleased Cecilia Locklen to the elevator.
When Max Buchanan returned to his office, he caught Thorne in a compromising position. Engrossed in a sensitive file on his uncle’s computer—one that was password protected—Thorne didn’t look up until Max tapped him on the shoulder. Her brother quickly joined her and Luc on the couch.
“Thanks for the warning,” Thorne muttered.
“You’re welcome.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
She smiled through her teeth. “I know.” All morning long her brothers had nagged her about just what had happened in Miles’s study. For some reason, they wouldn’t take her description of a brief altercation with Westlake’s agent at face value. Thank God Thorne hadn’t read her while Savage had taken horrible advantage of her. Horrible, incredible, sexual advantage.
Damn, just thinking about the incident had her aching all over again. Rafael Savage. Even his name sounded dangerous.
Her uncle suddenly turned to her and frowned, and Storm barricaded her mind with layers and layers of mental steel.
“Nothing like making the client happy, eh?” she said with a forced grin.
Uncle Max wasn’t buying it. “Tell me again about Savage. What exactly happened between you two in Locklen’s study?”
The suspicion on her family’s faces didn’t bode well.
“Nothing more to tell than what’s in the report. He got there first. Sporting of him to give me the jewelry, though.”
Max glared. “I hate when my own flesh and blood lies to me.”
“I knew you were lying,” Luc muttered.
“I’d hate to have to stoop to a personal invasion,” Thorne added, “but I will.”
She didn’t welcome a mind-sweep at all. So much for her poker face keeping her family at bay.
“It’s not that big a deal.” She tried to repress the memories of Savage’s caresses, which remained uppermost in her mind. “I didn’t lie, exactly. I just didn’t mention the whole truth.”
“A lie of omission is still a lie.” Thorne crossed his arms over his chest.
Max stroked his chin. “Interesting that this is the same man you ran into a few weeks ago on the mayor’s case.”
“It is?” Thorne glowered. “You might have mentioned that. You just said you ran into a Westlake prick at Locklen’s.”
“I didn’t say that, exactly.”
Luc pounced. “What did he do to you? Did he threaten you?”
“He blindfolded me, okay? Blindfolded me and tied me up.”
“Then let you go.” Max’s deceptively light tone didn’t fool her in the slightest. Crap. He knew something. But how much of that something did he know? “He blindfolded you but didn’t gag you; he has an idea of what you can do. And something else from your report bothered me—if he was wearing a mask, how did you recognize him?”
“Well, ah, he has really deep brown eyes. I just recognized him. He knew me right off too.”
Max remained silent.
Unfortunately, Thorne didn’t. “Did he touch you?”
“Of course he touched me. How else do you think he tied me up?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Thorne replied through clenched teeth.
“Well, what did you mean?”
Thorne flushed.
“Damn it. You know what he means. Did the bastard touch you where he shouldn’t have?” Luc clarified.
Her older brothers took great delight in squashing anything that might resemble her sex life. Was it mean of her to make them squirm?
A telepath like Thorne, Max answered without making a sound. “Not at all. They need to butt out of business that doesn’t concern them.”
She checked her internal shields again, fixed the crack that had let him inside, and fired back at her brothers, “Oh, give me a break. I’m twenty-six, not ten. So what if he kissed me? I’m old enough to know when a man’s interested and when he just wants to rile me.” Or excite me, or make me so wet I had to throw out my panties.
Max calmed her brothers. “Rafe Savage is no rapist. He’s one of Jurek Westlake’s top agents and one hell of an investigator. Has a nose like a bloodhound and doesn’t stop until he finishes a job.”
She and her brothers turned as one to stare at him. What didn’t her uncle know?
Max continued. “Remy’s been doing some surveillance work for me.” Their resident computer expert had joined Buchanan Investigations over a year ago. Worth every penny, according to her uncle. “She’s had a very close eye on Westlake Enterprises ever since our joint venture on the Mitchell/Guest case.”
“Were you planning on sharing this with us at any time during the investigation?”
“No. You have no need to know what Westlake is doing unless I say so. Problem?”
Thorne scowled. “Of course not, boss.”
“Wonderful. Look, Savage isn’t one to break the rules. He had a sterling reputation with the Atlanta P.D. before he joined Westlake. Bribes, threats and intimidation won’t work on him.”
“Well then, what will?” Thorne flexed his hands and curled them into fists.
Storm wanted to shout at them to let her deal with the man. It was her he’d kissed. Her he’d touched. She’d handle Savage herself. She didn’t need her older brothers to beat up the big bad bully again. Hell, she’d make Savage apologize on bended knee. She could do it if she focused hard enough.
Max answered before she could. “Let me deal with Westlake matters. It’s Friday. You’ve all been working hard. Take the weekend off. We’re testing the Raeford Hotel’s security next week, so I need you refreshed and ready.”
Storm didn’t wait. She grabbed her opportunity and darted out of the office with a wave goodbye. Her brothers caught her at the elevator.
Thorne reached for his keys. “So, what are your big weekend plans? Hell, it’s been a good month since we’ve had some time off. What are you two going to do?”
“I’ve got a date with Belinda.” Luc smirked. Thorne snorted. Obviously, communication passed between the pair because Luc laughed as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.
Storm hated being left out. She poked the ground floor button and crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s so funny?”
“Never mind,” Luc said. “Guy talk.”
Probably talking about Belinda the Bimbo’s bra size. Like Storm couldn’t figure out why her brother was dating the queen of easy.
“How about you, Storm?” Thorne asked.
She’d gotten a message from a persistent admirer who’d been trying to date her for months. Hank Cavidge wanted a dinner date in the worst way. He was cute, nice and funny. A terrific neighbor. But she hadn’t been wanting to go. She knew what would happen if she went. Still, resigned, but willing to do anything to prove herself wrong and have something to do on a Friday night, she finally intended to call him back.
“I might have plans,” she hedged.
Thorne raised a brow. “Oh? With a guy?”
“No. I’m a lesbian.”
Luc choked. “Are you serious?”
“No, dummy. I’m just tired of the third degree.”
Thorne chuckled. “So long as you keep your distance from the Westlake prick, I hope you have fun.” He kissed her on the forehead.
“Thanks for your permission,” she said, all sweetness and light. “At least I’m not going out with Hank because of the size of his—”
“Storm,” her brothers interrupted at the same time.
“Come on, Luc. Tell me it’s Belinda’s intellect that has you so infatuated.”
He had the grace to flush.
Thorne sighed. “God, I hate when you talk about stuff like that.”
“Sex?”
“Shut. Up.” He glared at her.
Luc made a face. “Ech. I don’t even want to think about my baby sister and some guy doing God knows what.” He ignored the finger she shot him. “So Thorne, how about you? What are you up to this weekend?”
The elevator reached the ground level, and they exited into the parking garage and sought their vehicles. They reached Thorne’s first.
“I’m taking the Deuce for a ride.” Thorne patted his motorcycle. “I might head to Atlanta. There’s a rally up there Saturday.” He mounted the flame-patterned, metallic blue bike and revved the loud pipes. “If you need me, I’ll have my cell. Storm, you have any problems at all, let Luc know. I mean it.”
Luc and Storm watched him ride off.
“If he ever finds a woman who can pry him from that bike for more than two seconds, he’ll be in love,” she predicted.
She moved to her own car, a sporty red number she’d had her eye on for months.
“Storm?”
She turned around to see Luc standing by his truck. “Yeah?”
“If that jackass you’re going out with this weekend gives you any problems, you call me. I mean it.”
She nodded dutifully to make him leave, then started her car and headed home.
Did they think she was totally helpless? Angered, she recounted each and every instance of their interference in her social life over the years. Twenty minutes later, she still pondered the overprotective males in her life. At least Uncle Max ignored the matter of her dating. He was all business, which she appreciated. Her mother kept her father mostly too occupied to delve into her social life. Weekly dinners with her parents normally ended with questions about who she was or wasn’t dating, but what could she do?