Lethal Affair

by Jean Thomas

  Brenna met them for dinner at an expensive restaurant they not only selected but paid for. The McBrides, it turned out, had visited Chicago to deliver one of the Thoroughbred horses they raised. Not in the Kentucky hills but in the lush bluegrass country on one of those farms with a sprawling house, stables and acres and acres enclosed by gleaming white fences.

  Casey had not grown up poor. He had grown up rich. When his parents finally understood Brenna’s confusion, his father shook his head in an action of hopelessness and his mother laughed. She thought it was funny.

  “Has he been telling those wild lies again about having to go barefoot? The truth is we couldn’t keep shoes on his feet.”

  When Casey came home, Brenna tore into him, telling him he ought to be ashamed of himself going around letting people think he and his sister, Meg, were deprived kids.

  “Your poor mother and father must be humiliated by those stories of yours.”

  “Mom and Dad? Naw, they think it’s a hoot. Not Meg, though. I never could get her to go barefoot. She didn’t know what she was missing, especially down at the creek. Nothing beats squishing mud between your toes.”

  In the end, Brenna came to realize that Casey’s pretense wasn’t all in fun. The reality was he was embarrassed that he came from money.

  She never raised the subject again. However, she did go on being susceptible to his bare feet. To her relief, however, her fetish never applied to any other man.

  And why should those feet be of any interest to her now when any and all attractions associated with Casey McBride were supposed to be long behind her? And remain there.

  The afternoon wore on, Brenna’s only companions the whirring of the overhead fan and the muted sounds of the traffic in the hot street below. She made an effort to keep her gaze averted from the rugged figure on the bed.

  She was, after all, supposed to be alert for any sign of trouble. Which was why, at frequent intervals, she rose from her chair and went to the window, careful to keep out of sight as she checked the scene in the street. The only figures she saw were dark-skinned natives going about their business. Nothing and no one to be concerned about. They remained safe.

  Safe enough at the present, anyway, from Marcus Bradley’s relentless goons. But just how safe was she from the forceful warrior on the bed?

  Chapter 11

  “Casey, time to get up,” she called to him.

  When he didn’t respond, Brenna leaned over the bed, gripped him by his hard muscled upper arm and shook him insistently.

  The reaction she got this time was startling. His eyes flew open only an instant before he shot to a sitting position, his hands reaching for the gun in his belt. Only there was no gun.

  He shook his head, as if trying to clear it of a lingering grogginess, frowning when he discovered her standing over him.

  “Damn, don’t ever wake an FBI man like that without some warning. You could get shot.”

  “I didn’t think there was much risk of that. Considering.”

  “Oh, right,” he remembered, “I had to surrender my weapon to the bureau.” This realization was accompanied almost immediately by a look of alarm in those fascinating green eyes of his. “Hey, why did you wake me? Is there something wrong?”

  “Our dinners are here.”

  “Can’t be.” His gaze went to the window where the last of the daylight was fading from the sky. “Jeez, Rembrandt, you shouldn’t have let me sleep this long.”

  “You needed it.” She watched him swing his legs to the floor. “Where are you headed?”

  “Downstairs to get our meals.”

  “They’re already over there on the table. Relax, McBride. It was all safely handled. Jo-Jo rang up as arranged to let me know one of Tonya’s waitresses was here with the dinners from the restaurant. He assured me the girl was someone he knew and trusted. From the tone of his voice, I think she might be his sweetheart.”

  “Good for him.”

  “Well, anyway, I agreed to let her bring up the tray, cautiously met her at the door after she assured me there was no one else in the hall, received the tray, generously tipped her, then she left and I relocked the door. That’s it. Oh,” she added, “she did say Jo-Jo would collect everything in the morning and bring it down to the desk.”

  “Still,” Casey grumbled, “you should have let me fetch the tray.”

  “Stop being such a grouch. I’m going into the bathroom to wash my hands. You might try getting something on your feet. Socks at least. I think there could be splinters in this old floor.”

  By the time Casey took his own turn at using the facilities, Brenna had the tray uncovered, the tableware in place and the two straight-backed chairs drawn up at either end of the table.

  Tonya had packed the covered casserole so carefully it was still steaming when, seated across from each other, they helped themselves to generous servings. Whatever it was, it not only tasted great, it smelled great.

  “I can identify chicken, rice, tomatoes, both green and red peppers and seasonings I can’t begin to name. How about you?” Brenna wondered.

  “Who cares? It’s food fit for the gods. Pass me some of that bread, would you? Thanks.”

  Tonya had accompanied the casserole with a loaf of crusty, grainy bread still warm from the oven. There was no question of it. The woman was a marvelous cook.

  Brenna was not sure at what moment the mood of the meal changed. It was hard to identify since it was so gradual. But if she had to explain it, she would say it began soon after their initial hunger was eased.

  That was when she became conscious of Casey concentrating less on his food and more on her. He began sneaking looks at her. Not ordinary looks but intimate, smoldering. Then those looks changed, becoming direct, boldly seductive.

  What was going on here? But she knew what was happening, didn’t she? It was a robust man who, having satisfied one appetite, was eager now to satisfy another. And why not?

  Be honest with yourself, she demanded. Even though you severed your relationship with him two years ago, convinced yourself in time you were no longer in love with him, you were never able to forget how dynamic he was in bed.

  Thrilling memories of the sex they had engaged in so freely and so frequently. Casey had taught her to be as aggressive as he was. But only with him. No other man after him, and there had only been a few, had aroused that kind of eroticism.

  Brenna suddenly found herself wanting Casey now as much as he plainly wanted her. It didn’t have to be emotional, did it? Just an unattached man and an unattached woman temporarily bonding in a healthy session of lovemaking. No complications.

  But that was the trouble. There were always complications. How could there not be with a couple who shared a stormy history? All right, they had moved on. But nothing had changed. Not essentially. He was still committed to a work that, at any time, could place him in jeopardy. And, ironically, wasn’t this one of those times?

  It could begin all over again if she let it, couldn’t it? Her starting to care too deeply, the fear of his never coming back to her except in a coffin. No, she couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t risk it.

  “I’m finished here,” Brenna announced, abruptly pushing back from the table. “Can’t eat another bite. Excuse me.”

  She got to her feet and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Her toothpaste and brush were here in one of the totes.

  She’d always made a practice, whenever possible, of brushing her teeth after every meal. She hoped Casey remembered this and, recognizing the sounds behind the bathroom door as he would, didn’t misunderstand why she was brushing her teeth.

  When she came out of the bathroom, he had turned on a small, single lamp. She could see by its low glow that he had cleared the table and stacked their dishes and utensils on the tray. Everything was ready to be picked up in the morning.

  “Guess I’ll take my own turn in there,” Casey said, brushing by her to enter the bathroom.

  Having nothing else t
o do, Brenna strolled to the window, taking care to approach it from the side where she could steal glimpses of the street without being seen. Not that there was anything of either interest or concern to discover below her. The crowds of this morning had thinned by afternoon when the heat had driven them indoors out of the sun. It was much cooler now, but, except for a few people, the street remained quiet, almost empty of traffic.

  Just in the time it had taken her to brush her teeth, the sky had darkened overhead. It was evening now. Full night really, but there were many hours to go until midnight when Casey had judged it would be safe enough to slip away from the hotel and make their way to the harbor front.

  Brenna never heard the bathroom door open, didn’t catch the sound of his steps crossing the room. Not surprising. She’d learned long ago that Casey had the ability to move in silence, surely an asset if you were working undercover.

  She couldn’t exactly say how she knew he was suddenly there behind her. Close behind her. Maybe because she felt the heat of that muscular body. Or simply sensed his presence.

  Or could it be because she caught the distinctive masculine scent of him mingling with something minty on his breath? Yes, his toothpaste. Casey had brushed his teeth, as if preparing to kiss her...

  Brenna swung around so fast she almost collided with him. What she intended to say, that he could forget what he was thinking, that it wasn’t going to happen, didn’t get said. The words stuck in her throat, lodged there by a pair of green eyes staring with such blazing longing into hers she was hypnotized by them.

  When she found her voice again, she was able to do no more than croak out a hoarse, feeble “No, Casey, we can’t.”

  His own voice was husky, strong with confidence. “Yes, Brenna, we can. We have to.”

  Casey was not the kind of man who forced himself on an unwilling woman. If she was certain of one thing about him, it was that. She had only to be insistent, and he would back away from her.

  But Brenna did not resist, either verbally or physically, when his arms went around her. Her treacherous body betrayed her, melting against his strength as his embrace tightened. Her mouth, too, was ready for his when it angled across hers, opening willingly to admit his tongue.

  She could taste the clean, fresh, minty flavor of him as that skillful tongue moved slowly, tenderly with hers. Then his kiss deepened, becoming something fierce, hungry. He held her so close she could feel the rigid hardness of his arousal straining against her.

  Brenna had hoped after the passage of two years they were enough recovered from their broken engagement that Casey’s physical allure for her, and hers for him, would have dimmed. But if anything, it had expanded, becoming so raw and savage it frightened her.

  When she stiffened in his arms, his mouth lifted from hers. He held her a few inches away, his sultry, hooded gaze searching her face, seeking an explanation.

  “Casey, what are we doing?”

  “What we’ve both been wanting and waiting for since my first day here when I walked down that beach to you.”

  His answer was so solemn, so earnest that it carried a kind of promise to it. Brenna had no more objections. Whatever the outcome of what was to follow, for this night she was his.

  Casey must have felt that. Without hesitation, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, managing somehow to go on cradling her while he lifted the cover aside and deposited her full length on the sheets.

  Placing himself beside her, he framed her face with his big hands and began to—

  But, no, it wasn’t her mouth he kissed as she’d expected. It was every other area. Her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her ears, her throat. It was as if, having won her consent, he now had all the time in the world to do this properly.

  When his mouth finally did settle on hers, it wasn’t a kiss he delivered. Not at first. At first he gently caught her lower lip in his teeth and tugged on it. Played with it, using both teeth and tongue to nip and lick.

  All this should have been familiar to Brenna, recalled from the past. It wasn’t. She’d forgotten what an inventive lover Casey was, how even when they’d been together he had forever surprised her, managed something new.

  She was moaning when he finally kissed her in the traditional way, the moans a wordless plea. The kiss was not a prolonged one this time.

  Mouth abandoning hers, he raised his head just high enough to rasp, “What? What do you need? Something else?”

  He was teasing her, damn him. She could hear his laughter underneath.

  “Maybe this, huh? I know I do.”

  Before she knew what was happening, and without her assistance, he stripped her top off over her head, cast it aside, unclasped her lacy bra, rid himself of that garment as well and was devouring her breasts with a pair of eager eyes.

  “Oh, yeah. This is better. Much better. But not good enough.”

  He cupped a breast with each hand, weighing their fullness, his thumbs caressing in slow circles. “I forgot how soft and silky they were,” he murmured. “How sweet they tasted, too. Let’s see if I remember right.”

  He lowered his head, his mouth fastening on one of her nipples, suckling strongly before moving on to her other breast.

  Every one of his attentions was calculated to give her satisfaction. Even the stubble scratching the sensitive skin of her breasts—because it was probably yesterday since he’d last shaved—contributed to her pleasure.

  But Brenna didn’t want it all to be one-sided. She wanted to give as well as receive. Except that might be a problem. What he was doing to her felt so wonderful she hated to end it. But she had to.

  By then fighting for air, she barely managed a quick “Wait!”

  He lifted his head. “Problem?”

  She nodded at his shirt. “That has to go.”

  He grinned. “And whose job is that?”

  She sat up. “I guess I’m making it mine.”

  He sat up as well, twisting around to face her. “I’m all yours.”

  “A little help, please.”

  She motioned for him to lift his arms. He accommodated her. Reaching out, she grasped the hem of his tee with both hands, drew it over his head with one swift motion and rid herself of it.

  The sight of his naked chest, its rippled muscles gleaming in the lamplight, had her almost dizzy with desire. She began to touch him, running her hands over his broad shoulders, down his pecs to his waist and back again. She felt him shudder, then was rewarded with a moan from him when, with thumbs and forefingers, she boldly pinched his own nipples.

  She was startled seconds later as he barked out a sudden “Pants! What are we doing with our pants still on? Jeez, Rembrandt, you’re still wearing your shoes. Come on, all of it off for both of us.”

  It was hard for Brenna to say just who was doing what to whom in the next few minutes. It seemed to be a tangle of hands getting in the way of each other as they either tried to do their own tugging and dragging or made an effort to help the other one.

  Whatever the confusion, in the end they both managed to emerge completely naked.

  The riveting evidence of his erection had Brenna convinced Casey was aching to join himself with her. His hands stroked her breasts, moving slowly down over her stomach.

  She was on fire by the time he reached his destination, fighting for self-control when his fingers stirred through the nest of copper curls on her mound, searching for the core of her womanhood. Finally, as he parted her lips there and inserted his middle finger, she feared she’d lost the battle for control.

  And knowing for certain she had when, after that finger had prepared her sufficiently, his mouth took over, fastening on her now swollen nub, sucking so powerfully she bucked like a wild thing. It didn’t matter. His strong hands grasped her so tightly by her buttocks that he was able to keep her in place.

  There was only one way to free herself, and he gave that to her with that relentless mouth building her to a pinnacle. She cried out when she crashed down on th
e other side, the spasms continuing to rock her even after he released her.

  “You’re all right now, sweetheart,” he whispered, laying his cheek against her belly.

  “If you call sweet torture being all right.”

  Brenna could feel her belly tremble under his chuckle over her description of her climax.

  They rested like that for a long moment before he rose back on his knees and positioned himself between her legs. During that journey down her body, Casey had given her no opportunity to reciprocate. She could see now by the engorged length of his arousal how much in need of his own release he must be. She wanted to give that to him.

  Lifting herself to a sitting position, she reached out for him, gripping his shaft. Its heat and hardness excited her. She could actually feel it throbbing in her hand as she squeezed her fingers around it, ready to pump it repeatedly from tip to base.

  “What are you trying to do to me?” he groaned. “If you go that route, I’m not going to be able to hold back. And when I go off, I want—”

  He interrupted himself there to pull away from her. His pants had been left hanging over the side of the bed. He must have shoved a condom into one of its pockets from a supply in his bag when he was in the bathroom. She watched him now as, reaching for the pants, he retrieved the condom, opened it and hurriedly sheathed himself.

  “—to be inside you,” he finished softly.

  He was in no state to delay when, again between her legs, he positioned himself above her. Nor was Brenna. She was ready for him when he guided himself inside her, penetrating her up to his full length.

  He paused only briefly, allowing her to adjust to him. Then he began to move. His strokes were long and rapid, his hips driving them. She answered him, body writhing under his, legs wrapped around him.

  “That’s fantastic,” he rasped when the muscles at the mouth of her vessel contracted, squeezing his organ. “You’re fantastic. I don’t know how much longer—”