by Nadia Aidan
“Strip. Strip for me,” he whispered, breaking into her thoughts.
His softly spoken command left her no choice. Besides, he had a point—what stripper was afraid to strip?
She reached back and locked the door.
The air trapped in Roarke’s chest, burnt his lungs. He released it when Jasmeene’s delicate fingers went to the top button of her blouse. It felt as if he’d never wanted anything more in his entire life—never waited for something so long. It probably felt that way because that’s exactly what his situation was.
Jasmeene LeCourt, the youngest child of the oldest vampire in the world and her human consort. Her blood was so powerful, so ancient, she could shield her thoughts and identity from other vampires. But as powerful as her blood was, it was tainted. The human side of her concerned him. Her emotions, her fears, were legacies of her human father. They would cripple her if she didn’t conquer them and put them aside. A vampire wasn’t ashamed of sex, did not fear displaying her body. If she was going to be effective in her position, that was the side of herself she needed to master.
He leaned against his desk. “Come now Jasmeene, move your body. You’re as lifeless as a board.” He enjoyed taunting her, seeing that fire leap in her whisky brown eyes, and her famous temper ignite. It was one of the things that drew him to her, her fire, and the promise of explosive passion that vibrated just beneath the surface.
“You told me to strip—stripping is taking off one’s clothes. Now if you want me to dance—”
“You’re an exotic dancer. Take off your clothes like one.” She wanted to throttle him. It was there in her eyes. But that wasn’t new. Every time she looked at him, it was with disdain. He wished he could read her exact thoughts, but it really wasn’t necessary. His gift was that he was an empath—he could feel her feelings, tap into her emotions. She hated his guts, couldn’t stand him. Undoubtedly, because she thought he was a player, and from what little Collette had told him, she despised players.
He was a player, didn’t have time or the need for one woman, but Jasmeene intrigued him. He’d spent more time thinking about her than he cared to admit. Maybe once he’d bedded her, he’d get her out of his system, but as he watched her reveal a delicate swell of her gorgeous breasts, he wondered if bedding her would be enough.
It was because she denied him. His charm was absolutely useless on her. In all his centuries, he’d never met a woman he’d wanted who he couldn’t charm, who he couldn’t have—and gods be damned, he wanted her.
She peeled off her clothes slowly, twisting and turning her body with a seductive grace that heated his blood. His cock hardened, pushing against the confines of his jeans.
She stood before him in her white bra and cotton panties. Not the under things he was used to seeing on his women, but on her, it was sexy as hell. Her mahogany skin was rich and dark, her smooth flesh a stark contrast to the white garments. He thought she would stop, claiming she’d stripped for him, but she didn’t.
Her brown eyes darkened, a dangerous glint burning in their depths. His heart stuttered in his chest at the look in her eyes. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying to seduce him—trying to beat him at his own game. Well then she’d won, because she held him captive, an earthquake couldn’t make him move from the spot he was rooted to.
She undulated her hips, her hands reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. He counted the seconds that it would take for it to fall. It should have been three, but at the last second she spun around, peeking at him from over her bare shoulder. The feathery soft curls of her hair swept across her back, drawing his gaze to the silhouette of a she-devil with a pitchfork tattooed there, along with the words, Bad Girl.
He raised a brow. “So you’re a bad girl, huh?” She answered him with a sassy wink, but she didn’t have to say a word, he’d already read her file. Her regal mother had been driven to fits by her youngest, who turned out to be a very bad girl who was constantly getting into trouble. Everyone from her clan had breathed a sigh of relief when she’d decided to become a cop, and walk the straight and narrow.
All thoughts of her past vanished, the present his only concern, when she released her bra and spun around, revealing perfect, full breasts. She did well in hiding them behind drab suits, and bulky shirts, but he’d known she had a dynamite body underneath it all.
His dick jumped in his pants, aching to be set free in order to plunge into the wet heat of the woman before him. He drew in even breaths, fighting to squelch his arousal, especially when she hooked her fingers in her elastic waistband and drew her panties down toned, shapely legs, revealing a gloriously beautiful, shaved pussy.
He couldn’t breathe, was certain he was about to pass out when she began to dance in earnest then, the full mounds of her breasts bobbing, her round apple bottom jiggling before him. Damn, she had an ass on her. He’d never figured himself an ass man, but he was well on his way to rethinking that.
Another thing he was rethinking was his obsession with tall, leggy model types. She may have been short, but she was firm and toned, her body lush and soft in all the right places. Apparently big things did come in small packages.
He crossed the room, unable to refrain from touching her any longer. Her back was to him, and he startled her when he spun her around, trapping her between the wall and his hard frame.
His cock was hard and heavy, and her eyes widened when the thick bulge pressed into her soft belly. He skimmed his hands over her smooth, dark flesh, his skin flushing with heat as lust wrapped around him. He’d never experienced this before, this wild out of control need to take a woman, to claim her. It had been this way for him ever since Jasmeene had joined the unit. The only other time he’d felt something even close to this had been centuries ago, with a woman who was long gone, and would always be a mystery to him.
She pushed at his chest. “What are you do—”
“Kiss me,” he rasped.
“Why? I know how to kiss. And if we have to sleep together while on assignment, I promise you I won’t fuck that up.”
He shoved a hand in her hair, wrenching her head back. His entire body was on fire.
His incisors lengthened and he realised he was losing control to the beast within, but it was already too late.
“Kiss me, Jasmeene,” he demanded, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her hips, the man almost completely gone now.
Her eyes were wide, but even in his red haze of lust, he noticed that he didn’t sense fear. He was wild, on the edge of control, and yet, she didn’t fear him.
Her fingers were gentle against his face as she cupped his cheek.
She called his name, her voice soft, as if she was coaxing him back to her, then arched towards him, her lips capturing his in a tender kiss. He fought against the savagery inside him that demanded he take control of the kiss and crush his lips to hers. It was a struggle, but he allowed her to gently thrust inside his mouth with her tongue, seeking the taste of him, the texture of him.
With her gentle kiss, she drew him back from the edge, and he relaxed against her, his mouth deepening the kiss, sucking on her full lips before driving once again inside her with his tongue.
He was so lost in the feel and taste of her, so caught up by her spell that it took him several seconds to realise someone called his name.
It was Gabe. With a muffled curse, he jerked away. Not waiting for her to clothe herself, he waved his hand, her garments once again covering her luscious body.
“You better go. I’ll go over the rest of the assignment with you this afternoon.”
She nodded, her face a mask of professionalism, as if they hadn’t been on their way to fucking each other up against his wall.
She swung open the door, just as Gabe was poised to knock.
“Excuse me, Captain,” she said crisply, pushing past his best friend and boss.
The moment she disappeared, Gabe turned his sharp gaze on Roarke.
“You want to tell me why your doo
r was locked?”
He shrugged, thinking back to the time when he, Gabe and Collette had been indulging in some very carnal activities in the break room when their previous captain, a now very happily retired Captain Moliker, had demanded to know the same thing.
He grinned at the scowl on Gabe’s face, dropping back down into his chair.
“I don’t know, Gabe. Why do you think that door was locked?”
Charter Two
No fucking the rookie!
Those were Gabe’s instructions. For the assignment, that was acceptable, if it came to that, but outside of that, Jasmeene was off limits.
Roarke sipped his drink, waiting for the object of his thoughts to make her way onto the stage. He and Gabe had two different agendas—his friend was concerned with unit politics and harassment suits. Him? Not so much. Jasmeene was a big girl and she knew the word no, after all she used it on him often enough.
The music cued—a sexy, pop beat, and the DJ called her name—Delilah. He lifted the glass to his lips, hiding his smile. Delilah was the perfect name for his elusive seductress.
Since their kiss a week ago, she’d evaded and avoided him with the expertise of a secret agent. When they were on assignment, she was professional and focused, and he begrudgingly had to admit that she was doing a fine job gathering information. But when they were at the office, she was cool and professional, absolutely no hint of the passionate woman he’d held in his arms.
She was driving him crazy, his mind and body restless, to the point where he wondered if he was ill. He could barely sleep because she haunted his dreams; could hardly feed because he was plagued by thoughts of the sienna skin of her smooth neck and how he wanted to feed only from her. The last time he’d experienced such a strong longing, the woman had been his heart mate, but she was gone, lost to him for eternity. It was impossible to feel these stirrings for another woman in his lifetime.
Which was why this had to stop. It was a bad case of lust—nothing more. He was determined to have her. The sooner he did, the sooner he could get her out of his system and return to his normal life, unencumbered by obsessive thoughts of the fiery beauty.
She stepped out on stage, at the same time someone sat down in the seat beside him. He took his eyes off of her for only a second.
“Jensen,” Roarke said with a curt nod.
“Mr. Romero.” He followed Roarke’s gaze to the stage. “I’ve noticed you’ve taken a liking to our new girl.”
“She’s intriguing.”
“And hot.” Jensen chuckled, and Roarke flashed him a courteous smile. He loathed Jensen Aucklane, the vampire he’d been able to tie to the prostitution ring. He had enough to bring Jensen in, but not enough to tie him to the murders. Roarke didn’t think Jensen was their guy anyway. The killer was someone sinister, without emotion or feeling. Roarke would have sensed an absence of emotion had Jensen been a murderer. Jensen had plenty of emotions, most of them centred on lust.
“So how much would it cost me for a night with her?”
“The new girl?”
Roarke nodded, his eyes glued to Jasmeene. Before she’d arrived, he’d established his cover months ago as Mr. Lucas Romero, a wealthy businessman who travelled often to Las Vegas. He would drop in a couple times a month, and throw around large bills as if it was nothing. But since Jasmeene had begun ‘working’, he’d been there every night, all night, for a week, watching her do her routine, simply watching over her. He’d seen her dressed in pasties, barely there bikinis, and ridiculously high platform stilettos, but never did he grow tired of watching her reveal what she’d shown dozens of times already. When she flung off her top, her heavy breasts spilling forth, blood rushed to his cock, as if he was seeing her for the very first time. She twisted around the pole, her body writhing and humping it with such skilled expertise that he wondered if she’d done this before. She turned her back to him, and his gaze zeroed in on her tattoo. He smiled. Knowing her, she probably had.
He turned to Jensen. “So how much is she?”
“For you, Mr. Romero? Our valued customer—the first time is free.”
He forced a smile. He wanted to snap the guy’s neck. Jasmeene was priceless, and this jerk would give her to him for free.
He stood before he ripped out Jensen’s throat with his bare hands. “I want her waiting for me in my suite in five minutes.”
Jasmeene slipped into the room she’d been instructed to go to. She hadn’t been told who was waiting for her, and what was expected of her but she knew—especially when Jensen placed two five hundred dollar bills in her hand.
The room was spacious but dark, the only light coming from the lamp beside the bed.
Her eyes were drawn to him and a shiver raced down her spine. He sat, draped lazily in the chair, his tie undone, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the fine hairs of his bronzed chest. She sucked in a breath when her pussy clenched, her sheath filling with sticky, wet warmth.
She fought the urge to cross the room and touch him. From the moment they’d kissed, he’d reawakened her body, her need for him. She shook her head, forcing those thoughts right where they belonged—in the past. He didn’t remember her, how could he? He bedded a different woman every night. Her heart stuttered at the thought that she was just one in a long line of many, but it was the truth. She was just as nameless and faceless to him, as all the others.
Her gaze followed him as he stood and closed the distance between them, mesmerised by his long, thick legs, and the impressive bulge in his pants.
“Who was he?” He cupped her cheek, forcing her head back until their eyes met.
“Who was who?”
“The man who broke your heart? Who caused you so much pain?”
She bit back a gasp. “How do you know I’m in pain?”
“I can feel it. Your heart is wounded.”
She blanked her emotions. She’d forgotten he was an empath.
“And now you’ve closed yourself off from me.”
She drew away from him, and his disturbing touch. “Because that was a long time ago, and I would prefer to keep my past right where it belongs.”
He sighed, but instead of dropping his hand, he reached for her, drawing her into the circle of his arms.
“It’s not in the past, not when it still hurts you in the present—”
“Roarke—”
“But I don’t want to talk about whatever jerk you still carry a torch for.” He tangled his hand in her hair, forcing her head back. “I didn’t have you come here for that.”
She had no doubt why she was there—had known he’d send for her the moment he got up from his table. He never left before her set was done, but this time he had, and she’d known why.
She’d known this moment would come, had done her best to prepare herself for it. In her investigation, she’d discovered that while there was no sound, there were cameras in every room. Security was watching—and God knew who else. There was no getting out of it—and truth be told, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to anyway.
Her body knew him, recognised his touch, and it craved the intimate press of his flesh against hers, the steel, hard length of him pushing inside her cunt. She’d fought him, fought against this very moment, but now that she was here, she embraced it, determined to master him at his own game of seduction.
She’d gone to great lengths to prepare herself, so she was surprised by Roarke’s hesitance. After all, she’d thought he’d have her naked and panting as soon as she stepped inside.
“What’s wrong?”
He leaned into her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. To anyone watching it would appear as if he was kissing her there.
“I just want to be sure you’re all right with this.”
She sighed. “I’m fine. Besides they’re watching us, we have to do this.”
“I know, bu—”
“I need Jensen to believe that I’m willing to turn tricks. We have to go through with this.”
He still hesitated, and she knew it was because he worried for her.
She leant back. “Don’t grow a conscience on me now, Roarke.” She grasped his face between her hands. “I refuse to fail at this assignment.”
She kissed him then, her lips hard and demanding, and Roarke didn’t know whether to push her away or pull her close. She was using him, not intentionally, but it didn’t change the facts. If she did well on this assignment, it would look good in her file, and she was willing to do anything—including him, to make that happen. An emotion he didn’t want to examine coiled in his belly at that notion. He pushed it aside, trying to focus on her plump, round lips against his, but he couldn’t shake his annoyance with her. He’d told her to ignore her human side, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to deny her emotions, her feelings. At the very least, he wished she weren’t so cavalier about this entire situation.
Her hands caressing his bare chest shattered his thoughts. She’d made a good point earlier, he thought, his hands dipping to cup her fleshy ass. When the hell had he grown a conscience? He bedded women and walked away. Assignment or not, Jasmeene was just another woman to fuck. Why did he care so damned much? Jasmeene was a big girl. She could take care of herself.
He backed her to the bed, forcing her to the mattress when her knees connected with the edge. He followed her down, covering her body with his, in a tangle of limbs.
He could have removed her clothes with his mind, but he enjoyed the slow reveal of her flesh, every tantalising inch. He unhooked the metallic sequined bra, peeling it slowly down her body, her breasts spilling forth. From the moment she’d stripped in his office, he’d ached to capture the full weight of her mounds in his hands, to draw her berry ripe nipples inside his mouth.
She called his name, a breathless whisper that hardened his cock. He dipped his head, pulling a tight nub between his lips, sucking gently, drawing a choppy moan from her lips. The way she cried out, on the edge of passion was eerily familiar, but he didn’t stop to dwell on that.