Dangerous Connections (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Odell, Terry

  She opened the door a crack, had a brief attack of second thoughts. “Turn off the lights.”

  “But—”

  “Please. Just do it.”

  “It’s broad daylight, Sweetheart. The lights are off.”

  Right. “Then close the curtains.” She might have skipped the makeup, but why not keep a little mystery? She waited until she heard the swish before opening the door any wider. Even then, she hesitated, a hand on her stomach to quell the flurrying butterflies.

  She’d had sex before. With any man, there was always a first time. Why did this feel so much different? Dang it, she felt as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night.

  Jinx had pulled the bedcovers down. He lay on his side, propped on an elbow. Watching. She reached behind her and flipped off the bathroom light before entering the bedroom.

  She crept toward the bed, not sure if she wanted to dive in and pull the covers over herself, or take her time, make him wait.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

  “That’s because it’s dark,” she said, surprised at the huskiness in her voice.

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” He patted the bed, then pushed himself onto his knees. “Come here.”

  He had her lie down on her stomach. “Relax, Sweetheart. I’m not going to rush this.” She heard a quiet pop, and then the sound of skin against skin, as if he were rubbing his hands together. The hem of her negligee moved upward. Something warm drizzled on her calf. A sweet, familiar aroma wafted toward her. Chocolate? Had he found chocolate syrup somewhere?

  Fingers kneaded her calves, slick with oil, not sticky with syrup. She allowed herself to sink into the mattress, feeling the tension leave her body as Jinx slowly worked each taut muscle. He reached the pit of her knee, caressing it with his fingers, brushing it with his lips. He started on the other leg, repeating his motions, but this time continuing up her thigh, rubbing, kneading, and kissing.

  “This was as close to chocolate syrup as I could find.” He tugged gently on her nightgown, and she lifted her hips. “I told you, you wouldn’t be wearing it long.” He worked it higher, and she shrugged it off.

  He drizzled the chocolate-scented oil over her buttocks, rubbing, squeezing gently. “Did I ever tell you, you have a mighty fine ass?” He didn’t wait for a response—not that she would have given him one—before he moved up her back, her shoulders. His fingers crept downward, teasing her breasts. She wriggled deeper, her nipples rubbing against the soft sheets. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs, and it wasn’t all massage oil. He worked on her neck, her biceps, and down her forearms to her wrists, to her fingers, massaging each one, taking each fingertip into his mouth, suckling.

  He moved to her buttocks again, pressing, rocking, mimicking the rhythm of sex. Her groin pressed against the mattress. In, out, in, out. His finger slipped under her hips, teasing her legs apart. Teasing her apart.

  “Stop,” she groaned, struggling away from his touch. “I want to see you.”

  He pressed his mouth against her ear. “I thought you wanted it dark.”

  She didn’t reply, but twisted so she was facing him. Her lips teased his. He tasted of minty toothpaste, with a hint of chocolate. She ran her tongue over the seam of his lips. Ran her palms over his bare chest, threaded her fingers through the dusting of hair.

  Parted her lips, invited him in. He cradled her head, drew her even closer. His lips opened, his tongue probed. What started as a slow, sensuous kiss rapidly escalated to an urgent, frenzied, demanding plundering. She pressed her body against his, worked her hand down his chest, following the treasure trail on his chest to the waistband of his boxers. And lower.

  The fabric was damp, his arousal welcoming. She traced the outline of his erection, running her fingers up and down its length.

  He jerked his hips away, stilled her hand.

  “Damn it, Sweetheart, I want it slow. If you touch me, that’s not going to be possible.”

  “Slow can be for next time,” she whispered, tugging at his boxers. “Take them off, or I might have to hurt you.”

  He wriggled and kicked his way out of them, and she climbed atop him. “Where’s that oil?”

  He reached out and retrieved the vial from the sheets. She held it aloft, drizzled a stream over her breasts. She leaned forward. “Let me know if it tastes like chocolate.”

  His tongue peeked out, gingerly sampling. She closed her eyes as even that faintest, barest touch of her nipples sent waves of pleasure through her. She rocked her hips, his erection between her thighs, his mouth on one breast, suckling. His hand on her other nipple, rubbing. “Mmm hmm,” he mumbled.

  Fighting the urge to let go, to let the release she sought wash over her, she stopped. “Where’s the damn condom? Get inside me. Now.”

  Jinx stifled a laugh. Grateful for the brief respite, a chance to regain an iota of control, he stretched his arm out, scrabbling on the nightstand for the arsenal of condoms he’d deposited there. Elle was right. This time wasn’t going to be slow. She was wet—had been when he’d first touched her. Her breathing was ragged. He sensed her control slipping as fast as his. Never had he needed to open a condom packet this badly. And never had one resisted his attempts so completely. His hands trembled.

  Get a grip. You’ve done this before.

  But not with Elle, and everything seemed different. More exciting. More important.

  Finally, the foil yielded. He rolled away, afraid she’d notice his awkward attempts to sheath himself. Would she think he was a bumbling novice? Okay, so he wasn’t that experienced, but he definitely knew what went where. And it had to be about her pleasure first. And maybe second, but he didn’t think he’d last that long.

  He positioned himself above her. Or tried to. She shook her head and straddled him again. He tapped her chin. “Is this why you became a cop? So you can be in control?”

  She rested on her hands, one on either side of his head, and he inhaled. The Ivory soap she’d smelled of was hidden beneath a more exotic aroma. Her breasts dangled in front of his mouth. She kissed his forehead. “Not of everything.”

  He took a nipple between his teeth. Nipped gently. She squirmed in response, rubbing against his needy cock. He swirled his tongue around one taut peak, thumbed the other. She squirmed again. Rocked back and forth. Moaned. Or was it him? Because he was going to lose it if she didn’t stop what she was doing.

  He reached between her legs, found her even wetter. Hotter. He inserted a finger inside her, seeking her clit. Finding it. Swollen, ready. For him. He circled it, avoided direct contact, teasing her with hints of release, but denying them. She squirmed, rocked, moved to make that connection, but he refused it. He was in control.

  Control? Who are you kidding? You’re a nanosecond away from exploding, and her moving doesn’t help.

  She sat up and grabbed for him. Encircled his cock with her hands. Spread her legs wider. Positioned him at her entrance. Took him in, but barely. Rose. Settled lower, but only slightly. Up again. Down again. Each time taking a little more. She took his hands, put them on her breasts. The top half of her rocked her into his hands as her lower half rose and fell until he was seated to the hilt.

  This time he knew the moan was his.

  She slid forward and backward, up and down. He had a brief thought she’d probably be a whiz at rubbing her stomach and patting her head, when his world threatened to explode. He gritted his teeth, scrabbling for control, hanging on by a toenail until he felt her tighten around him and cry out.

  He grabbed her ass, squeezed her against him as he pistoned his hips, faster, faster, unable to stop. His world shattered, and there was nothing but the release.

  Bathed in sweat, gasping for breath, he lay there as the universe reassembled. He pulled Elle down so she was lying on top of him. He stroked her back in long, easy caresses. Inhaled the scent of her perfume, mingled with sex and Elle.

  “Nice,” she murmured.

  That’s al
l it was for her? Nice? Or was he supposed to say she was fantastic? Which he would, because she was, but he wasn’t sure he could talk yet.

  She wriggled. He was still inside her, and maybe, in a few minutes, he could show her better than nice. His hand flopped to the mattress.

  “Don’t stop,” she said. “What you’re doing. I like it.”

  He resumed his caresses. She nuzzled his neck. Wriggled her hips again. “You said this nightgown wasn’t your first choice. What was?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “I want it to be good for you, too.”

  “Sweetheart, you can’t possibly think it wasn’t good for me. It was… you were… amazing.”

  “You didn’t mind I kind of… took over?” She did that wriggle thing again, and he didn’t need a few minutes anymore.

  He did his own wriggle, showing her what she did to him. “If you think we need to improve on what we did—and mind you, I have no complaints—I could be persuaded to give you another chance.”

  “I’m a firm believer in second chances,” she said.

  “I’m just firm.” He squeezed her, then pulled out and rolled her off of him. “Let me take care of the aftermath. I’ll be right back.” He detoured by the armoire on his way to the bathroom and tossed the bustier on the bed. “Why don’t you make yourself uncomfortable.”

  The bustier didn’t last much longer than the negligee had, but at least he did.

  He lay on his side, Elle cradled against him, savoring the moment.

  “We should talk,” she said, toying with his chest hairs.

  Words that plunge fear into the hearts of men. “You’re right.” Agreeing was always a safe route.

  “Promise you won’t be mad,” she said.

  The tendrils of fear twisted a little tighter. His mind raced. What could she tell him that would make him angry? “Okay.” That wasn’t exactly a promise, although he’d bet she’d hold him to it. “Go ahead.”

  She sucked air, as if she was gathering courage. “I think I saw Crystal Montlake.”

  Chapter 28

  Elle lay there, boneless, sated, and enjoying the feeling of Jinx’s chest beneath her fingertips. His heartbeat resonated against her hand. She avoided his eyes as she waited for his reaction. Would he be mad she’d waited to tell him? Or glad they had a potential lead? She'd never put herself before the job, and she’d just done it. Wearing a bustier. Leather. So why wasn’t she feeling regret?

  Because there was nothing you could have done.

  She stuck by her earlier rationalizations. Or tried to. Right now, it was hard to think about anything. She wasn’t even sure she’d said the words aloud.

  “Where?”

  Jinx’s question snapped her up a level of consciousness. Crystal. Right. She exited the dreamy fog-like state. Back to business. “In the room where they were holding me. I tried to signal you at breakfast.”

  Jinx grunted. “The tapping. I wondered, but I didn’t know what it meant.”

  “That’s one of the problems with making up a signal on the fly. She was the third woman in your row. I didn’t get a chance to speak to her, or ask anyone about her before they brought me here. They’ve got a no-talking policy, and I haven’t had time to figure a way around it.”

  “Notes?”

  “As if we had paper and pencils. Everything we ‘own’ is in a plastic shoebox and the guard inspects it before we take it into the bathroom. For all I know, he does spot checks throughout the day—as if there’s a chance a piece of contraband could transport itself into the room.”

  Jinx chuckled and brought her hand to his mouth for a kiss. “You’re talking my language.”

  “Don’t suppose Blackthorne’s toys include a transporter, though.”

  “I’m going to request it at the next budget meeting,” Jinx said.

  “You make it sound so doable.” With the discussion of their situation, common sense edged its way into her thoughts. She extracted her hand from his. “We need to make plans.”

  “I was thinking a bubble bath,” Jinx said, throwing off the sheet. “We can talk while I wash your back.”

  She thought she heard him mumble something about her front as he disappeared into the bathroom. Water roared into the tub. The scent of lavender wafted through the air.

  “Aren’t you getting in?” she asked after she climbed into the warm water, the sound of crackling bubbles engulfing her.

  “Not yet.” He knelt on the mat beside the tub, poured shower gel onto a nylon scrub, and lathered her back. “As promised.”

  She bent forward, and after he finished with her back, he soaped his hands and slid them around her torso and across her breasts. The man had magic fingers. A few of which were making their way down her chest, pausing briefly at her navel, and then moving lower. Teasing. Tormenting, until her control teetered on the brink. “Jinx. Oh God, not again.”

  “Yes, again. Come for me. I want to see you.”

  His blue eyes held hers as her world dissolved like the bubbles all around her.

  And afterward, when she changed places with him, she used her mouth, not her fingers. She couldn’t see his eyes from that position, but she felt him go tense right before she heard him shout her name.

  So much for planning.

  Later, wrapped in a plush bath towel, she rummaged through the armoire. She wondered if the guards would let her keep the thong panties. The thought of putting on the tee and grannies turned her stomach. And if they were going to get out of here, she’d need more sensible clothing.

  Right. Like a leather bustier? She rummaged a little further. Or a French maid’s outfit? Why didn’t men appreciate a woman in cargo pants and hiking boots? She held up a pair of Daisy Duke shorts. They should fit, but they wouldn’t offer any protection in the jungle. Damn, she needed to find the clothes she’d arrived in. They’d let Jinx keep his.

  Effing bunch of male chauvinist pigs.

  If Jinx was closer to her size, she might insist he swap his pants for a pair of the silk lounging pajama bottoms she’d found. Further searching proved fruitless. So much for clothes. What else might come in handy? She contemplated the whip, but had never used one, and no way she could conceal it on her person.

  A thud came from outside the door. She clutched the towel tighter around her and searched for cover. As if the guard would think she wasn’t in here. Her clothes, creepy as they might be, were still bundled in a heap on the bathroom floor. A very wet bathroom floor after their creativity in the tub. Damn it.

  The door flew open.

  “You might want to get a wriggle on, mates.”

  Hearing Fozzie’s rich Aussie voice almost made Elle drop her towel. She grabbed it tighter, abandoning all thoughts of appropriate clothing and followed Fozzie into the hallway. The guard lay on the floor, sprawled on his back.

  “Is he dead?” Elle asked.

  “Sleeping.” Fozzie took her hand, and if he thought there was anything strange about pulling a towel-clad woman behind him, he didn’t show it.

  “You made good time,” Jinx said from behind her. He had his pants and boots on. Of course he did. Indy was always dressed in sensible clothes, while Marion was wearing something flimsy. Even flimsy would be better than a towel, but getting out of here trumped worrying about fashion. Or clothes, period.

  Fozzie dragged her around a corner and into another room. “We’ve got less than three minutes before things get messy.” He slipped the AK-47 off his shoulder, and gave it to Jinx. “Point it at the door. Anyone comes in, pull the trigger.”

  Fozzie shouldered off his shirt and handed it to Elle. And had the decency to turn his back while she put it on. It hit her mid-thigh. She wrapped the towel around her hips. But she was still barefoot. She didn’t dare take the time to retrieve her flip-flops.

  When she was as close to presentable as a shirt and towel could make her, she grabbed the rifle from Jinx, then took in her surroundings. A table in the center of the room, and loveseats a
nd padded chairs around the perimeter. And a window. An open window. With no bars.

  Judging from the crumbled stucco around the sill, the bars had been removed recently. And with a show of force.

  Fozzie had a radio to his mouth. “On your mark.” He turned to Elle and Jinx. “We’re going out that window. Jinx, you go first. I’ll boost Elle up, you help her down. Then run like hell.” He took the AK-47 from Elle.

  Elle’s stomach sank as she remembered Trish’s meds, still hidden under her mattress. Fozzie must have sensed her hesitation. “No time. We have to go.”

  “Which way?” Jinx asked.

  “To your left. Across the clearing,” Fozzie said. “There’s a trail.”

  Jinx dragged a chair beneath the window.

  “You’re coming, too, aren’t you, Fozzie?” Elle tightened the towel at her waist, judging the height of the window, thinking about what might be on the ground under her bare feet when she landed. Maybe she should throw the towel down first. Jinx had already seen all there was to see, and Fozzie—well, he’d be too much of a gentleman to look—or at least he wouldn’t mention it.

  “I’ll be right behind you.” He removed a grenade from his pocket and pulled the pin. “In five. Four. Three. Two. Go!”

  Jinx was on the chair on three. Hands on the sill on two, and on one, he was clambering over. Elle hopped onto the chair as soon as he cleared it. His hands were waiting when she hoisted herself onto the narrow ledge outside the window. She jumped, his arms easing the jolt of landing on the leaf-covered ground.

  She heard a short pop, a hiss, and then smoke blinded her. She felt Jinx’s hands pulling her forward, another pair of hands guiding her from behind. With nothing to guide her but trust, she ran.

  Jinx coughed and wiped his eyes against the thick smoke filling the yard.

  “Over here.” Dalton’s Texas drawl floated out of the smoky darkness.

  Jinx adjusted his direction toward the welcoming sound. Dalton grabbed his arm.