Prescription: Makeover (Harlequin Intrigue)

by Jessica Andersen

  Then it was too late, as his mouth and plundering hands found their rhythm, driving her up higher and higher still, until the pleasure vised her lungs and she was locked within the tingling, burning mix of sensation and almost painful longing that presaged orgasm. It came at her in a rush, stealing her breath and contracting her being until there was nothing but the tingling heat, and the man kneeling before her, worshiping her with his mouth.

  Where before her orgasms had been hard, hot bursts she rode for all they were worth, this one slipped in almost unnoticed, pulsing and lifting her onto another level of feeling as it built and built, ever-expanding waves of pleasure that burst inside, growing in intensity until she wanted to weep.

  Since that would be giving in to the pleasure, giving it more power than she was willing, she kept the tears at bay by pressing her eyelids tightly together. But she didn’t stop the cries, the moans and gasps, the sound of his name on her lips. William.

  She sagged against him as the waves lessened, remaining as pulsating aftershocks. He slid her leg from his shoulder to his waist and stood, hitching her other leg up so she could lock her ankles together above his taut buttocks, her hands still on his shoulders. With her wrapped around him, he strode to the bed. He lowered her gently and followed her down, and she heard the crinkle of plastic and the snap of latex, though she couldn’t have said when he’d palmed the condom or from where.

  Then he aligned their bodies, and the tip of his hard, thick shaft nudged at her entrance, teasing her, pleasuring her.

  Ike’s head spun, but she was aware of his body over hers, his arms braced on either side, caging her. Trapping her. She stiffened and started to voice a protest, to reverse their positions so she could bend over him and set the rhythm, control the situation.

  Before she could form the words, he leaned down, touched his lips to hers and slid home.

  She felt him stretch and fill her, felt the harmless hitch of pain that reminded her how long she’d been celibate — months. And how long it’d been since she’d done this with a man as large as he — years, maybe never.

  Her unvoiced protest died on her lips as he withdrew and thrust again, bringing to life sensations she’d thought had been burned out by the orgasm he’d given her minutes earlier. But though she should’ve been sated and relaxed, her inner muscles grabbed onto him, stroking his length as he lowered his body so they were chest to chest, freeing his hands to grip her buttocks while he angled deeper, touching off sparks inside her.

  “William, I…Oh!” Her words dissolved to a gasp as he rocked within her and a second orgasm began to build, clenching her with its utter, unassailable importance, with the feeling that what was happening to her was the single most vital thing in that moment. Her consciousness sucked inward, concentrating itself at the place where he bucked against her. His muscles bunched beneath her fingertips as he surged within her, deeper and deeper, until she felt as though he’d reached inside and grabbed a piece of her heart.

  Panic jolted at the thought, but that hot rush was lost when her orgasm slammed through her unexpectedly, hard and fast and so intense it was almost painful. She bowed against him and cried out, her words sharp beneath the deep, guttural roar he gave when he came.

  She felt him jerk within her and fold himself around her, holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. But breathing wasn’t necessary as her inner muscles gripped him with rhythmical pulses that matched the movements of his hard shaft and their heartbeats raced in sync.

  He groaned her name, turned his head to bury his face in her neck and tightened his arms around her as the wave washed past them, leaving pleasure to echo through their bodies in long, lingering tugs.

  Then those, too, faded, and Ike’s head began to clear. As it did, panic built. She was trapped beneath him, unable to breathe, unable to move or escape the slap of realizing that she’d just made a very big mistake.

  She’d started off having sex and wound up making love.

  ONE MOMENT, WILLIAM was lying there, sprawled across Ike, his body buzzing from the best sex of his life and his mind reverberating with the realization that it’d quite possibly been about more than body heat and friction. The next, he found himself hanging onto a tornado.

  “Off!” Ike erupted into motion, pushing at him while trying to squirm out from underneath and nearly kneeing him in the process. “Get off!”

  “Whoa.” He rolled away from her and nearly onto the floor. “Settle down. What’s wrong?”

  She scrambled to a crouch, then surprised the hell out of him by vaulting off the bed and plastering herself against the far wall. She crossed her arms over her body and stood there, shaking, breathing hard, eyes wild.

  As he watched, she visibly gained control of herself, straightening, dropping her arms and lifting her chin so she stood there naked but no longer looking vulnerable.

  William pulled himself to a sitting position and dragged a hand through his hair. He inhaled air redolent with the scent of her and said, “Okay, you want to catch me up here? What just happened?”

  “I don’t generally…” She paused, then continued, but he had a feeling it wasn’t what she’d originally intended when she said, “I prefer to be on top. The other way makes me feel trapped.”

  He felt an instant surge of compassion. “Sorry, I forgot about the claustrophobia. You should’ve said something sooner.”

  But his apology didn’t seem to help matters. If anything, she grew more agitated, crossing the room to gather her clothes and pull them on in short, jerky motions. Dull red stained her cheeks, though he couldn’t tell if the flush was from anger or embarrassment.

  Frankly he didn’t understand why she’d be either. The sex had been fantastic — they’d each come twice, for chrissakes, and there had been as much tenderness as skin on skin, if not more. Which, he realized as he watched her yank her shirt over her head, was the problem.

  She never said she’d felt claustrophobic, just that she’d felt trapped, which wasn’t the same thing at all.

  Knowing full well there wouldn’t be an encore, he rose and pulled on his boxers and jeans. He left his shirt off in a conscious effort to make her feel that she was better protected that he was.

  Never once in the year or so he and Ike had known each other in passing or even in the past few weeks as they’d gotten to know each other better had he ever thought of her as insecure. But as he watched her now, only one word came to mind: scared. The million-dollar question was whether she was scared that he’d leave or scared that he’d stay.

  When she grabbed her biker jacket, shoved the .22 in her waistband and headed for the door, he moved to block her path. “Slow down, Ike. Let’s talk about this.”

  Normally she would have shoved him aside. Now she stumbled to a halt, as though leery of touching him. “Move, William. This isn’t over just because Firenzetti is in custody. We have work to do.”

  “No,” he contradicted. “You have running to do. Question is, are you running because the sex didn’t work for you and you’d rather screw and screw?” He used the crude expression deliberately, though reducing what had happened between them to that level left a nasty taste in his mouth. “Or are you running because it worked too well for you and you don’t know how to handle it?”

  “Or maybe this is who I am,” she countered, glaring at him. “Maybe I’m practical enough to know that we’ve had our moment and it’s time to get back to reality.”

  “It’s three in the morning,” he said between gritted teeth. “It won’t change anything if we take five minutes here.” He paused and took a deep breath, then said, “What just happened between us was pretty intense.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself just fine in these situations.” She gestured to the door. “If you don’t mind?”

  He did mind, but he couldn’t get past the anger that’d flared at the mention of other similar situations. In one broad sweep she’d slapped an incredible experience down to the lev
el of her revolving-door guy policy, and that just ticked him off.

  So instead of arguing and opening himself up for another hit like that one, he stepped aside. “Fine. But maybe you should ask yourself how much of this is about me and how much of it is really about you being a coward.”

  She hissed, infuriated. “Damn you.”

  “Am I really the only one who’s ever put two and two together and gotten four?” His anger rose to match hers. “You do your damnedest to attract attention with the way you look and act, but then you slap at anyone who gives you that attention. You pull the claustrophobia card when it’s convenient, but it’s not about the actual physical space with you, is it? It’s about being trapped.” He spread his arms wide. “I’m not trying to trap you, Ike. I’m trying to get you to see what’s standing right in front of you. I’m asking you to give this a chance.”

  “You don’t like me,” she hissed. “I’m not your type.”

  He exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath. “Aren’t we past that yet? You’re not my type, true, but it turns out I’m flexible. I respect your loyalty and your guts. I like the way you keep me on my toes, keep me guessing. And, frankly, I don’t care whether you wear a dress, black leather, farmer’s overalls or nothing at all, I’m still going to like you.” He advanced a step, making sure she was looking into his eyes when he said, “I like you. I want to give this a try.”

  She stared at him for a long beat, so long he thought she might say yes. Then she turned away. “I can’t, I’m sorry.” She headed for the door. “It’s just not worth the risk.”

  William felt the barb dig deep and draw blood as the door closed behind her. But could he really argue? He was a broken-down agent with an aptitude for killing and a partnership in a business that was weeks away from folding. Certainly no prize. Perhaps not worth the risk. But that didn’t stop the low burn of anger from kindling in his gut, a sick twist of dismay that said this was far from over.

  He walked to the window and watched her pull out in the rental, turning toward the lab. He would’ve guessed that as her destination. God knows it was where he would have gone — and they were more alike that she cared to admit.

  He stood there a long moment, watching her taillights dwindle in the darkness. Then he cursed and headed back into the hotel room for his jacket, palming his phone and jabbing Max’s number on speed dial.

  This mess was almost over, and once it was, he could walk away from her without looking back. But until then, he was damn well going to watch over her whether she liked it or not.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ike was still fuming as she let herself into the Kupfer lab. How dare he analyze her. What, he thought just because they’d been to bed, he had the right to crawl inside her head and take up residence? Not likely.

  She stepped into the lab lobby, then stopped dead in her tracks when she heard a strangled, gurgling sigh like the one Zed had given as he’d exhaled his last breath in her arms.

  Panic lunged through her. Oh, God. They’d pulled the HFH protection detail following Firenzetti’s arrest. What if he’d gotten out earlier than expected?

  She bolted toward Kupfer’s office — and nearly tripped over him where he lay sprawled just inside the door, partway beneath the desk. She dropped to her knees and saw blood. “Dr. Kupfer. Lukas!”

  She checked him over quickly, finding a bullet wound in his gut that oozed blackish blood, along with a cut on his scalp and a large bump on his head, suggesting someone had hit him from behind, knocking him out. Other bruises and a few gashes on his fingers indicated that he’d been worked over, an impression that was reinforced by the sight of zip ties at his wrists and ankles.

  Dear Lord, she thought. He’d been tortured. Had he given up the adjunct formula? Is that why his assailant had left?

  She pulled out her .22, whipped out her cell phone and speed-dialed Max’s number.

  The line clicked live and Max said, “We’re on our way.” She heard road noises in the background, along with the squeal of tires.

  “Drive faster,” she said and tersely outlined the situation, ending with, “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “I’ve got William with me. He called to say you’d taken off in the rental.”

  Her blood flared at the name, but she forced herself to be a professional. “Good. I want you two up here pronto.” She hung up without waiting for a response and ignored her cell when it rang back with William’s name and number in the caller ID.

  No doubt he wanted her out of the building. Hell, she’d love to run, but she wasn’t leaving Kupfer behind.

  Just then the researcher stirred and groaned, blinking fitfully against the overhead fluorescents. He turned his head and squinted at her. “Eleanor? No,” he corrected himself. “Ike.”

  “Well, at least your memory’s intact,” she said briskly. “Can you move?”

  He shook his head feebly. “We both know that won’t work. The bastard shot me when I wouldn’t give him the formula.” His eyelids drifted shut, then flickered open again. “He thinks he’s won anyway, that I won’t be able to publish the adjunct.” He clutched at her. “You’ll have to do it.”

  “I don’t know the formula,” she said, pressing a hand to his wound, which had begun to bleed in earnest again. “Just hang on and we’ll get you out of here.”

  “No,” he said. “I wrote it down just in case. I hid it in Matt’s blog.” His breath rattled in his lungs and he slid back toward unconsciousness, possibly for the last time.

  “Damn it.” Ike looked from the computer to the door and back, blood humming, trying to decide what her priorities should be.

  Moments later she was seated at Kupfer’s computer, bringing the machine to life.

  “TRY HER AGAIN,” William snapped, keeping his foot jammed on the accelerator. “She’ll pick up if she knows it’s you.”

  Maybe he shouldn’t blame her for ignoring his calls — he’d pushed too hard too fast earlier. His only excuse was that he’d wanted so badly to hold onto her and convince her what they had together was real. In the end, he’d scared her.

  Then he’d gotten in her face, which had sent her running even faster.

  Hang on, Ike, he commanded inwardly, wishing she were still wearing her earpiece. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We can work this out.

  He just had to get them to the Markham Institute and get Ike clear, and they could —

  “Look out!” Max threw himself across the interior of the car and jerked the wheel to one side as the windshield spiderwebbed. The car flew across the road just outside the Markham Institute, swerved and smashed into the guard shack, where it came to a shuddering halt.

  William’s seat belt locked on impact and the air bag detonated, buffering the jolt. He cursed, fighting his air bag and the seat belt, which held him trapped. When the belt finally gave, he yanked it aside and lurched for the door, kicking the dented panel open and moving fast, knowing whoever had shot at them wasn’t likely to leave it at that. “Come on,” he called to Max. “Let’s move!”

  There was no answer from the other side of the car.

  Gut clenching, William leaned back in. In the passenger side, Max hung limp against his belt, blood trickling down the side of his head. “Max!”

  William bolted around to the other side of the car. Seeing no sign of the gunman, he yanked open the door and reached in, trying to free his partner from the seat and air bag, knowing he shouldn’t move the injured man but equally sure he couldn’t leave him where he was.

  The scrape of a footfall on pavement was his only warning. William stood and spun in time to see four of the black-on-black bodyguards standing in a row. Three held M16s, one a rocket launcher.

  He didn’t bother with his own weapon. He reached into the car, heaved Max’s body up and out of the vehicle and over one shoulder and turned to run, knowing it was too late when he heard the whump of the launcher and the scream of the rocket and the world around him lit like the Fourth of July and —


  Nothing.

  IKE LEFT THE COMPUTER and raced for the window at the first chatter of gunfire, reaching it just in time to see Max’s rental explode in a ball of orange flame and dirty black smoke. The shock wave rattled the building, and Ike’s knees gave out, sending her to the floor. She clutched the edge of the window. “William!”

  He and Max had been coming for her. Now they were gone, just like that. In a blink. Dead.

  “No!” Deep belly-wrenching sobs tore through her, doubling her over with the pain of a loss still not fully comprehended, and she heard herself babbling a litany, a mantra of denial, of prayer. “No. Dear God, no. Please, no.”

  Then a new voice spoke from the office doorway. “Hush, darling. Everything’s going to be fine now.”

  She gasped, jerked around and scrambled to her feet, still clutching her stomach, where a screaming, empty pit had opened up, threatening to suck her inward until there was nothing else left. She stood frozen for a moment, struggling to connect what she was seeing now with what had just happened.

  A light-haired, vaguely familiar man stood in the doorway, wearing a pale gray suit with a light blue shirt beneath. His steel-gray tie was perfectly knotted, his elegant brown belt perfectly flat, and when he stepped over Kupfer’s motionless body to come toward her, she saw that his brown shoes were a perfect match and gleamed with a perfect shine.

  His eyes were the palest blue, with pinprick small pupils that sent a jolt of fear lancing through Ike’s pain as he held out a hand. “Come with me, Celeste. Let us never be parted again.”

  She wanted to shout, I’m Ike, not Eleanor and certainly not Celeste. But the almost fanatical lucidity in his strange eyes warned her against the denial. So she nodded, playing along, even as she heard a secondary explosion outside and her heart ripped in two. “I’m ready…Mr. Smith?”

  It was a shot in the dark, a calculated risk.

  He looked at her for a long moment, then suddenly smiled, a charming expression that was ruined by those god-awful eyes. “That’s my girl.”