by Lori Foster
She rattled off the name and address. He knew the place well. Not far away. Nice, too. Perfect for business travellers.
He wrangled his hormones under control, but was thankful he wouldn’t have to see anyone on his way to his car. “Want me to bring anything?”
She maneuvered out of the hidden corner and greeted a startled passer-by with a smile.
“Be creative,” she said with a wink.
A flash of headlights announced the arrival of her car, a silver sedan he guessed was a rental. She pulled money from her purse and traded them with the valet for her keys.
“Forty minutes,” she reminded him, before she slid into the driver’s seat. Whether or not the flash of thigh he’d witnessed had been purposeful or purely a taste of what was to come, he’d soon find out.
LACEY BARELY REMAINED within the speed limit, though driving anywhere near sixty-five while maneuvering through Atlanta was the equivalent of a leisurely stroll. On one hand, forty minutes seemed like an eternity to wait for a man as hot as Sam Duke. On the other hand, she didn’t have nearly enough time. She wanted to be ready, but for what, she wasn’t entirely sure.
Sex? Yeah, that was a given. Her heart pounded against her breasts, which still tingled from the last hungry look Sam had shot her way when she’d slid into the car, fully aware that her dress had ridden up and given him a clear view of what he could expect very soon. His taste lingered in her mouth like the woodsy finish of a fine Merlot. The intense pressure of his kiss still thrummed against her lips. Lacey couldn’t remember the last time she’d made love to a stranger—in fact, she wondered if she ever truly had. She couldn’t say she’d known everything about each and every lover, but she’d known slightly more than first name, last name and his drink preferences.
Still, Lacey trusted her instincts. Ordinarily, she would have simply trusted her libido. She had a knack for separating the good guys from the creeps, feeling strong attraction only for the guys who deserved her attention. But she knew she had to be rusty. And while her FBI training might help her find criminals, she had no secret code for sorting the cads from the crazies.
Traffic on 400 was surprisingly light. She arrived at her hotel with twenty minutes to spare. After a quick stop at the sundry shop, she dashed to the elevator, kicking off her shoes before she reached the twenty-first floor. Lucky twenty-one. Confidence surged and Lacey inhaled, then pressed her palms to her face. As she suspected, Sam’s scent lingered on her flesh. Spiced. Earthy. Incredibly male. Yes, she was taking a chance inviting him to her hotel room. But no risk, no gain.
Besides, she had her gun, tucked away in the bottom of her suitcase. The ammunition, shipped separately in her cosmetic case, would be close at hand.
The elevator doors slid open and Lacey shot to her room. First order of business included collecting the clothes she’d tossed about as she’d undressed and dressed for her blind date with what’s-his-name. In Virginia, she never allowed herself any of the messes she’d become famous for among her college roommates. What if one of her superiors stopped by? Or a fellow agent? She’d become neat as a necessity, but left to her own devices, she reverted to her old habits with hardly a delay. Like she had on the dance floor, and while trading flirty innuendos with Sam.
She had just enough time to brush her teeth and gargle some mouthwash when a knock sounded. She swiped on a slash of lipstick from a random tube on the counter, spritzed a light layer of perfume around her head and breasts, then dashed to the door. With a pause to calm her breathing, she peeked through the peephole and saw Sam standing there, looking anxious and handsome and hot.
When she opened the door, he whipped out a bouquet of coral roses. Her favorite.
How did he…
“Am I early?”
“You’re right on time.”
She took the roses, leaned in and laid them across the top of the safe hotel security had tucked inside the closet. The one that now contained her firearm. When she popped back, Sam remained in the hallway, looking as tasty as the finger foods they’d sampled at the restaurant.
“Any other gifts behind your back?” she asked, since he clearly had something else in his hand.
He withdrew a bottle of champagne, the exact brand they’d enjoyed with the oysters and shrimp. “For later,” he proposed.
Without a word, she placed the champagne beside the roses.
“Anything else?”
His eyes narrowed, his expression skeptical. “Are you expecting something else? I thought all you wanted was me? The gifts are just icing on the cake.”
“Cocky, aren’t you?”
He slung his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been called worse.”
She nodded. “I’m sure you have. But now, I have one last request before I invite you inside my room.”
He leaned his shoulder on the doorjamb, invitation dancing in those dark emerald eyes. “Name it and it’s yours.”
Feeling bolder and sassier than she had in years, Lacey intended to kick this night into overdrive using a touch of the skills she’d learned at the Bureau. In the spirit of good, semi-clean fun, of course.
She licked her lips, reached forward and balled a bunch of his shirt in her fist. “Simple, really, hot shot,” she said. “Put your hands on the wall and spread your legs. Wide.”
6
LACEY CROSSED HER ARMS and smacked Sam with her best “I mean business” stare. He chuckled, but then complied with her demand, glancing down the hotel hallway in both directions to see if anyone was there to witness this most unusual brand of foreplay. He faced the wall, placed his hands flat on the silky wallpaper and shook his backside in a way he wouldn’t have if she’d been a male cop about to pat him down. For weapons. Yeah, that was it.
He tapped down an expectant grin.
“Should I assume from this that your mystery career is in law enforcement?” he asked, more than willing to play whatever game she suggested. Particularly one that involved touching.
Lacey flipped the latch on the dead bolt so the door wouldn’t lock behind her, then joined him in the hall outside her room. She kicked his heels an inch farther apart and took her time perusing his long legs.
“That would be a logical guess,” she answered.
“You’re not local,” he said.
She rubbed her palms together, then smoothed them down her dress. “And you know this…how?”
“Because I am a local cop. Or used to be.”
Lacey told herself she’d jammed her foot beside his because it was standard procedure. But the pressing of her bare thigh to his jean-encased leg gave her a physical feast of sensations that was bordering on illegal. His scent, so warm and inviting, teased her nostrils, making her heady with anticipation.
She started her search at his waist—the most logical hiding place for a weapon or other threatening device. Even before Lacey joined the Bureau, she’d been a stickler for personal safety, though she’d never patted down a date before. But she’d also never been so damned curious about a man’s body before. Something about Sam tugged at her, lured her—from the glint in his dark green eyes to the easy swagger in his hips. The collared shirt he wore was just snug enough to hint at the rippling muscles underneath—and she was a woman who appreciated a tight set of abs.
She wasn’t disappointed. Even with light pats, Lacey could tell that Sam’s muscles were as hard and solid as steel.
“Detective?” she guessed, drawing the conversation back to his profession. She’d considered this possibility earlier.
“Pride of the Atlanta PD…until the new city council came into office and decided they needed to clean a house that wasn’t dirty.”
“Aha,” she said, though the exclamation emerged more from the tight feel of his pecs beneath her fingertips than from any assessment of his job situation. If not for the nearly imperceptible quiver beneath her wandering hands, she might have thought he was built from stone. Warm stone. Stone that emitted the inebriating scents of leather and man.
“So what are you doing with yourself now?” she asked, scooting forward so she could explore his arms and shoulders. A man could hide something rather impressive around arms and shoulders like his—big, bulky, strong.
“Private investigation.”
“Mmm,” she replied, again more concerned with the feel of his flesh. Man, he had a great ass. Taut and curved. Like a football player’s, only without the protective padding.
She found his wallet and slipped it from his back pocket.
“You might not want to look in there just yet,” he warned.
“Oh, really?” she asked, curious. “Why not?”
“Because you might not like what you see.”
“Credit cards cut in half? Picture of your wife?”
He laughed. “Nothing like that. I’m financially solvent and have never been married.”
She shoved the wallet back into his pocket, knowing she’d have ample opportunity to take it back later. She searched down each leg, then repeated the action a second time. With the curves of his muscles hers to explore at will, she’d forgotten exactly what she was looking for.
Down the hall, the elevator doors whooshed open. Two young women, likely close to Lacey’s age, emerged, half-finished drinks from the hotel bar clutched in their hands. Their giggles stilled the minute they caught sight of Lacey and Sam.
“Ladies,” Lacey said by way of greeting.
“Hey,” the redhead with the dangling silver earrings replied. “You need help with that big guy? We’ve got nowhere else to be.”
Her friend dissolved into a fit of inebriated laughter.
“Thanks, but no.” Lacey slapped Sam on the backside. “I’ve got him under control.”
“We’re in 2143 if you change your mind.”
Lacey watched the women disappear down the hall, stumbling and laughing and generally enjoying themselves. A flash of nostalgia tugged at Lacey, reminding her of the many times she and her friends had approached life with such carefree irreverence. Minds open to a thousand wicked possibilities. Luckily, she had tonight to take back a taste of her wild past.
When she turned back to her charge, Sam had abandoned his prone stance and now leaned with utter casualness against the wall.
“Who said I was finished?” she asked. The man was incredibly cocky. She’d hoped to take him down a notch with her search, but apparently, this was a man who knew how to hold on to his advantage.
Which, of course, thrilled her all the more.
“You searched everywhere,” he argued.
She glanced at his crotch. His stiff sex filled the denim. She swallowed deeply to maintain control, despite the undiluted desire coursing through her.
“Not everywhere,” she quipped.
He arched a brow. “You’ll have time for that once we’re inside.”
“How do I know you’re not hiding something in there?”
Sam’s hands snaked out and grabbed her, pulling her flush against his groin. “I’m not hiding anything. You’ll see for yourself, if you let me inside.”
She tried to control the swell of excitement coursing through her, but the action proved more difficult the longer she pressed against him. Sam Duke was one hell of a potent man. The memory of his hot kiss still sizzled on her lips. Then he reenacted the kiss up-close-and-personal.
Despite their location in the wide-open hallway, he slid his hands down her back, kneading her backside with rough possession, yanking her up until his thick sex pressed hard against her belly. Yet this time, his kiss demanded more. His hands skimmed the sides of her breasts, teasing, taunting. He drew her in like a breath, conquered her mouth with his tongue, promising her erotic delights if only she allowed him entrance to her domain.
She broke away, panting, her eyes unable to focus for a few seconds. “What’s in your wallet that I won’t like?”
“My name,” he answered quickly, equally breathless.
“Sam Duke? Sounds like someone John Wayne played in a movie, but otherwise, I have no objections.”
The underlying grin he’d sported all evening faded completely and a chill raced along her arms.
“My name’s not Sam Duke. It’s Seth Kingston.”
She pushed back, but not enough to unwind herself completely from his arms. “You lied?”
“I misled,” he corrected. “I was on an undercover assignment tonight. I’m investigating Gina Ralston. I should have told you earlier, but I wanted to wait until we were alone. I had to be sure you weren’t mixed up with her somehow. I know you’re not, and so I’m telling you the truth now.”
She paused. The news made a great deal of sense. Though she hadn’t wanted to look into the mouth of this gift horse too closely, Lacey had wondered why Gina would fix her up with such a hot guy when she could have had him for herself.
But her hesitation made Sam…Seth…frown. “Does my confession matter?”
Lacey fought to keep her thoughts clear enough to form an answer. He’d told her the truth before they’d made love. That earned him points. And knowing the delicacy of an undercover operation firsthand, she knew he hadn’t had any choice. The uncertain look in his eye, so contrary to the boldness that had attracted her to him in the first place, added a layer of vulnerable charm to a man she would have sworn couldn’t get any more appealing.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer until they were nose to nose, lips to lips.
Her voice was a whisper, but she meant every word. “I don’t give a damn what your name is, as long as you tell me what you want me to shout out when you make me come.”
“THAT WOULD BE SETH,” he answered before pulling her into his arms, kicking the door open and propelling them into the dark hallway of her hotel room. He kicked the door closed behind them and before he could set her down, Lacey had tugged his shirt out from the waistband of his jeans. Their mouths clashed together like metal to magnet and with breathless urgency, they tasted, nipped, aroused and drank. Though his hands ached to explore Lacey’s amazing body, Seth didn’t know which part of her to touch first, to taste first—he only knew that when his flesh met hers completely, he wanted nothing in the way.
He found the zipper on the back of her dress and yanked it down. He smoothed his hands over her luscious skin, jolted by her lack of undergarments. He removed her dress and tossed it aside, then tore off his shirt to even the playing field.
It wasn’t enough. Lacey snatched him by the waistband, then unbuttoned and unzipped until his jeans and boxers lay crumpled on the floor. She threw her arms around his neck and slammed against him. The reverberation caused by her bare nipples swiping against his chest stirred him to near-madness.
She tasted like hot honey, from her mouth to her neck. When he nibbled a spot just beneath her earlobe, she moaned. The sound spurred him to grab her hands and lift them high over her head, pinning her to the wall.
Her eyes flashed with wild want. Her breasts, so round and taut and perfect, bobbed with every pant, every ragged breath. He took her breast in his mouth, greedily rolling the nipple between his teeth. She cried out, wrapped her arms around his head and urged him to take it further.
Her keen responses peeled away any vestiges of hesitation or patience. He nipped. He tasted. He laved and licked and learned. By the time he dropped to his knees and slipped his tongue between her sweet, intimate lips, she was wet and ready. Entranced, he parted her, stroked her, drove her to the edge even as he ached to bury his hard sex into her moist softness. Her cries intensified, scrambling all thoughts from his brain except for making this woman come. He found his jeans, tore the freshly purchased condom from his wallet, slipped it on, then drove into her tight sex with a feral cry of his own.
“Seth!” she cried, tumbling over the edge of orgasm with his first thrust. He gave himself a second to smile, then surrendered to Lacey’s urgings to finish the job. With all the power in her body, she seemed to hold him, urge him, even as she flew into the abyss of absolute pleasure�
��where he joined her not long after.
When the colors cleared, Seth couldn’t believe they’d made love up against the wall with little foreplay, little romance. Of course, that had been what the entire night at Blind Dates had been about. The flirting, the teasing, the arousing. But damn it, Seth prided himself on treating a woman better, particularly a responsive, uninhibited woman like Lacey Baptiste. With all the gentleness he could muster, he lifted her into his arms, kissed her long, but softly, and carried her to the bed.
She curled against his chest like a sated cat, practically purring when he tore back the bedspread and nestled her in the sheets. He dashed into the bathroom to dispose of his condom and then the closet to retrieve the champagne. When he returned, she grabbed both his cheeks and kissed him, closemouthed, on the lips.
“Wow,” she said, a distinctly and unexpected shy glint in her eyes.
“That about sums it up,” he concurred.
“You better be careful, Seth Kingston, private investigator. I think your case may be more complicated than you thought.”
He sat on the bed, titillated by the way Lacey reclined on the pillows, uncovered and unashamed of her nudity or of their reckless, ferocious lovemaking. Her skin, pink and flushed, glowed with satisfaction. And her feline grin made him wonder if he resembled a saucer of cream.
“Do you really want to talk about my case right now?”
She walked her fingers across the mattress, tickling his thigh with her wine-tipped nails. “Not really. But you told me you were investigating Gina Ralston. You need to know she’s likely investigating you right back.”
He chuckled, doubtful. Yeah, Gina had somehow figured out his angle before they’d met tonight, but there was little reason for her to dig into his past—particularly since he’d used a fake name.
Still. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how Gina lured me into distracting you. She claimed to know you. And the facts she gave to convince me were dead-on.”
Seth clenched his jaw, not pleased that he had to mix business with pleasure at this point in the evening. But what choice did he have? Lacey had brought up the topic herself.