Facing Evil

by Kylie Brant

  One of his arms banded around her back and she felt him dragging the zipper down on her dress. He hooked a finger in the bodice, urging the garment over her shoulders. Reluctantly, she raised her head to pull her arms free of it. Only when her bra came with it did she realize he’d unhooked it, as well. With his help she was bare to the waist.

  Her gaze caught his and she hissed in a breath. Not so collected now. Desire had dampened his brow beneath the short-cropped dark hair, and had turned his pale brown eyes nearly gold. He bent forward, arching her over his arm, the position offering her breasts to his mouth. And then he feasted.

  Sophia sucked in her breath as colors wheeled behind her closed eyes. He lashed her nipple with his tongue before drawing strongly from it. Her hands went to his head. Clasped tightly to pull him closer. The deep pulls on her flesh reverberated to her core. Called to something within her that was both primal and feminine. She gasped when she felt a slight sting as his teeth scraped her.

  Her need to watch his restraint slip was forgotten as she was caught in the silken web she’d started spinning. Instead of seducing, she was seduced. He switched his attention to her other breast while hitching her dress up around her hips. Unerringly his hand found her mound, moist beneath her silk panties and rubbed gently. Her hips arched beneath his touch and she leaned forward to kiss him again. Accepting the hungry thrust of his tongue, she sucked it eagerly.

  The heel of his palm pressed firmly against her mound, while he teased her clitoris with the pad of his thumb. Circling, rubbing, brushing. Light teasing strokes designed to shred thought. Escalate need. All the nerves, all the fear and chaos of the day coalesced into one burning ball of heat that tightened viciously with each light touch. The silk that separated them became slick with her dampness, and she abruptly resented even that slight barrier between them.

  He straightened in the chair, the position pressing her bared breasts to his naked chest. The feel of flesh against flesh was a purely carnal pleasure. Her hips ground against his hand, seeking a firmer pressure and the world narrowed to this moment. This man.

  There was a slight smile on his face as he watched her, a primitive stamp of male satisfaction. The expression reminded her of her earlier mission and she struggled to gather the remnants of reason. It wasn’t enough to lose her mind, her sanity with him. She wanted him just as greedy. Just as desperate.

  She shifted away slightly, although the loss of contact had her senses screaming. Just enough to give her the space she needed to undo his belt. Unfasten his pants. And when she found him, thick and straining behind the cotton of his shorts, a semblance of control returned.

  The breath hissed from his lips when she freed him, took his heavy shaft in her hand. Tightened. She stroked his length, leisurely at first. Then more quickly. Timing her pace with the growing tightness in his jaw. The glitter in his eyes. The muffled curse he uttered.

  His hands reached beneath her dress and there was a slight sound of ripping fabric as her panties were torn away. She didn’t need his urging to rise slightly, and fit the crown of his erection to her moist folds, the welcome pressure an unbearable sensual relief.

  With a slowness designed to drive them both a bit crazy she lowered herself on him a fraction at a time, pausing to catch her breath as her body adjusted to each small movement. Her eyes were open, but glazed. His face blurred. But her tactile senses were tingling, exquisitely sensitive.

  Inch by inch she took him until he was sheathed inside her, the stretched fullness teetering between pleasure and discomfort. He tipped the balance by unerringly finding the tight cluster of nerves that still throbbed from his previous ministration and began massaging in slow, expertly soft circles.

  Her body softened against his and the need to move built. She lifted carefully, lowered to take more of him, then lifted again. His fingers curled into her hips, flexing, but allowing her to set the pace.

  She blinked away the haze of desire, wanting…needing to see him. His neck was arched, pressed against the chair, and every muscle in his neck, his chest, was taut with tension. But still he let her set the rhythm. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against his as her hips rocked. Faster now. Control was lost to the most basic of elemental needs. And when she moaned his name, something seemed to snap inside him and the animal was unleashed.

  He wrapped the fingers of his other hand in her hair. Her head lolled under the pressure of his mouth, tongue and teeth warring with hers. With the other hand he held her hips steady as he surged upward inside her, jackhammering into her in a series of constant inexorable thrusts that drove him deeper. Then deeper still.

  She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Only feel. They were sealed together, hips, chest, mouths. And still it wasn’t close enough. Every movement of his hips had her body pulsing in pleasure, but seeking more. Seeking an ultimate, intimate explosion.

  He tore his lips away to take her nipple in his mouth as he yanked her hips down to meet each frantic lunge from his. She raced for something shimmering just out of reach, her breath coming in quick sobbing bursts. “Sophie!” Her name on his lips was raw. Gutteral. The sound of it, coupled with the final powerful thrust inside her summoned her climax. Sensation slammed into her, ever widening eddies of pleasure pulsing through her.

  Limp, she lay weakly against his chest, the thunderous sound of his heartbeat in her ears. She was only distantly aware that they were still partially clothed. Only half stripped, she was still laid bare.

  “I love you.” The words were whispered achingly against his damp chest.

  He tipped her chin for a languorous thorough kiss. And although she was aware of his lack of verbal response, she understood the fear that drove it. Someday soon, she vowed as he shifted her limp body to cradle her in his arms, he’d learn to trust her words. He strode to the bedroom, laid her on the bed and followed her down on it. He’d learn to believe they didn’t stem from trauma or fear.

  In an incongruous twist it had been her ordeal with Vance that had taught her to put fear—at least the emotional kind—behind her. As she pushed the shirt off his broad shoulders, she was certain that she could teach him to do the same.

  Chapter 5

  Cam stood before the closet, one tie in each hand, peering at them closely. “Are these stripes black? Or navy?”

  Sophie strolled over and slipped her hand through his elbow. “You’ve got one of each there. Which color are you looking for?”

  “Black.”

  She tapped the darker one. “There you go then. But I don’t know why you want to wear a tie with black stripes when you’re wearing navy pants.”

  He looked down at his trousers. “Are you sure? They look black.”

  Rolling her eyes, she went on tiptoe and kissed his ear. “You have no idea how much your fashion impairment pains me. Maybe I could put little Garanimal tags on your clothes so you can mix and match your outfits.”

  Returning the black tie to the closet, he threaded the navy tie—in this light the stripes looked black—through the collar of his white shirt. “I don’t wear outfits. I’m not a girl. And what the hell is a garanimal?”

  “A line of children’s clothes. Each piece has an animal tag so the kids can mix and match easily. I can put little pandas on your blacks and giraffes on your navies. You’ll never mix them up again.”

  “Why do I need tags if I’ve got you?” She’d wandered back to the dresser and was using the attached mirror to apply her lipstick. It hit him then that as neat as she was, there were signs of her everywhere in his condo. Her toiletries in the bathroom. Her favorite coffee creamer in the kitchen. Clothes hanging in the guest room closet.

  There’d been a time in the not-too-distant past when the realization would have had sent him backpedalling. He had it on good authority—if that’s what you could call ex-girlfriends—that he was a master at emotional distance.

  But instead of that familiar thread of alarm he was accustomed to, he found the sight of her things in his place o
ddly satisfying. They lent it an air of permanence that he’d never sought before. Hadn’t believed he wanted.

  His fingers jerked as he knotted the tie. He was a long way from thinking he did want it. And even if he decided he did, it was way too soon to expect Sophie to reach that conclusion. She’d been through too much recently. Trauma left scars, not all on the outside. He’d battled PTSD himself and knew that for a fact. She was in no condition to be making plans for the future.

  And that suited him. His hands went clumsy and he mangled the knot. Started over. It suited him fine. She was in his life. His home. His bed. It was enough. It was more than enough. She needed time. They both did before she could be certain of her feelings. And yeah, hell, he knew it hurt her when he questioned professions of love.

  She just couldn’t know how much he wanted to believe them.

  “Are you trying to strangle yourself? Let me do it.” Dropping her lipstick into yet another purse she went to him and batted his hands out of the way. Making quick work of the knot she tightened it, gave it a pat.

  His hand snaked around her waist, hauled her closer. “You’re pretty handy to have around.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “Sweet talker. You can keep it up, but I’m still not making you bacon.”

  “Pancakes would be faster,” he agreed, his attention successfully diverted. He bent down for a quick kiss. “But it’ll have to be fast. I want to get an early start this morning.”

  “If memory serves, you already got an early start this morning.”

  Ducking from his embrace, she directed the teasing words over her shoulder. A surge of remembered satisfaction filled him. “Yeah, we did. Maybe I should make you pancakes.”

  He watched as she deftly transferred the contents of her purse to the one she’d selected. One that matched the slim fitting sleeveless dress with matching jacket she wore. He’d never had much interest in the female art of what she called accessorizing, so it was difficult to explain his newfound fascination. Sophie favored what he’d call fruity colors that no real guy would be able to identity. There was probably a Crayola name for the pinkish orange suit she was wearing right now. But the overall effect was polished. Professional, but feminine.

  She caught his eyes on her in the mirror. “What?”

  Stalking toward her, his hands went to his tie. Loosened it. “Maybe we could forget the pancakes.”

  “Not a chance.” Laughingly she dodged when he made a grab for her. “After I just got you dressed? We don’t have time.”

  “I can make the…” The sound of his cell ringing made him a liar. Cam looked around the room, remembered he’d left it in the kitchen. He headed to the door. “Grab me a suit coat to match, will you?”

  “Sure. Should I make that a panda or a giraffe?”

  His mouth quirked. Either he was rubbing off on her or she had always had untapped smartass tendencies. “I’m a guy. Let’s go with a crocodile.”

  By the time she’d brought his jacket to him his amusement had long since faded. “Right. I appreciate the call.” He glanced up, taking the garment she handed him. “No, I can arrange that. Thanks.” He disconnected the call and shrugged into the jacket, dropping the cell in its pocket. “Detective Udall. Leslie hasn’t lawyered up, but he’s being a pain, demanding to talk to someone. Since he seems primed for it, Udall is going in early to interview him.”

  “And you’re going to be there?”

  “I’m going to make sure that piece of shit is off the street for good.” He took two quick steps, cupped her face in his palms. “He’s not going to hurt you again, Sophie. I’ll make damn sure of it.”

  Her hands came up to clasp his wrists and when his mouth pressed against hers, lightly this time, her lips parted. He couldn’t identify where this need to protect the woman came from. Couldn’t control the urge. Any more than he could control the need that started snapping his veins from just a kiss.

  He lifted his mouth, rested his forehead against hers. He could do with a little of that famed emotional distance right now. “I have to go. Do you want me to drop you at headquarters on the way?” Even with that scumbag Leslie behind bars, he wasn’t going to allow her back in her office. Not until he found out for sure what had gone down yesterday. They definitely needed to take a look at her security there.

  “I’m going to be a little while here calling garages for estimates.” He dropped his hands and she stepped away. “Then I have to arrange for a rental for a few weeks.” A frown marred her brow. “Or maybe a new purchase, depending on what the estimates are. I’ll be in after that. It might take a couple hours.”

  He’d dealt with more than his share of auto body shops and he was willing to bet she was underestimating the amount of time it would take. He crossed to the front door, strangely reluctantly to leave her behind. “Keep the doors locked. Reset the…”

  “…alarm after you leave. Yes, daddy.”

  He turned. Eyed her soberly. “I think it’s only fair to warn you that my feelings toward you are distinctly unpaternal.”

  Her lips curved slightly in a secretive, feminine smile. “Well, I certainly hope so. I wouldn’t think of offering my father…Garanimal tags.”

  * * * *

  Dennis Leslie looked slightly the worse for wear after spending the last few hours in Polk County jail. The slender man’s dark brown hair was standing up in tufts all over his head and he sported a day’s growth of whiskers. His red and watery eyes were probably a souvenir from the pepper spray Sophie had used on him. Cam couldn’t tell if the bruise on his temple resulted from the car being hit, or if he’d managed to piss off a cellmate. He found himself hoping it was the latter.

  The man coughed into his sleeve. “That shit she sprayed me with is in my lungs, man. My eyes are still burning. Can I get permanent damage from this? Because if I do, I’m suing that broad. Is that stuff even legal?”

  Detective Udall exchanged a look with Cam. “There’s nothing like the taste of irony in the morning.” Returning his attention to the suspect he said, “Mr. Leslie. You were found in the victim’s car, with a facemask and a knife. We have both the victim’s account, and that of the taxi driver. Based on witness statements you’re looking at a charge of attempted forcible rape. And I’m not going to lie.” The detective’s tone was jovial. “It’s a slam dunk. I love arrests that are slam dunks.”

  Leslie shook his finger at him. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. That’s why I’m here of my own free will, no lawyer or nothing. ‘Cuz, this thing, it’s not what it seems.”

  “Do I have you on record as denying the services of an attorney, Mr. Leslie?”

  “Bastards are useless anyway.” The man slapped the table for emphasis. “First thing we do, we kill all the lawyers. Am I right?” He looked from Udall to Cam. “That’s from Shakespeare. Most people don’t know that. Who knew they even had lawyers back then?”

  “How did you get into the victim’s car?” It was Udall’s case. Cam sat silently while the man worked it.

  “Let’s stop calling her a victim, okay?” Leslie blinked rapidly. “There was no crime, so there’s no victim. Channing was in on the whole thing.” The expressions on their faces had him nodding smugly. “See what I mean? Things are different than they seem on the surface. She wanted this. Planned it all out. I was just supposed to make it realistic. I mean, guys like us, we’d just go to a motel and have ourselves a fuck fest, am I right? But chicks.” He gave a fatalistic shrug. “They like their games.”

  The accusation had Cam smoldering. But years of experience kept him from reaching across the table and choking the lying little bastard. “Dr. Channing. So you knew your target.”

  “Target’s another one of them—what do you call—charged words. You don’t want to believe me.” His head swiveled from one of them to the other. “I can see that. A classy piece like that? No way a scumbag like me is getting near her. But here’s something you gotta consider.” He leaned forward, lowered his voice confidingly. “Tho
se high society broads? Secret sluts. They have this position. People think they’re one thing, so they can’t really act how they want, see? So they have to get it on the down low with guys who can really deliver the goods, and who they don’t have to worry about bumping into at a board meeting the next day.”