Flirting With Danger

by Suzanne Enoch

  Her T-shirt hit the floor next, and as he wrapped his arms around her to unfasten her bra, she indulged in another melting, faintly chocolate-tasting kiss. His thumbs grazed her nipples, and she moaned again.

  “I meant to tell you before,” he said, holding her back a little so he could run his fingers in slow circles around her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples between his thumb and forefinger so that they hardened, “you have lovely tits.”

  “Thank y—”

  Rick bent down and took her left breast into his mouth, sucking and caressing with his tongue. Sam arched against him, tangling her hands into his dark, wavy hair. “Oh, God,” she muttered, her knees turning to Jell-O.

  They sank to the floor just inside the doorway, carpeted like the rest of the sitting room entry in dark, thick indigo. Rick laid her down so he could peel her out of her borrowed jeans. “I didn’t compliment you on your great ass, either,” he said, bending down to run his tongue with maddening slowness from between her breasts to the band of her panties. “It just didn’t seem appropriate when I was applying the super glue.”

  “You’re a true gentleman,” she managed, lifting her hips so he could slip her underwear off.

  With a grin he tossed the skimpy things somewhere over his shoulder. “No, I’m not,” he returned, pulling her knees farther apart to continue the downward trail of his tongue. He dipped his head lower, to her dark patch of hair, driving her into a near frenzy with his mouth and his knowing fingers. He slipped a finger inside her again, and she bucked.

  Good God. Well, she wasn’t going to be the only one to lose control. “Get up here,” she gasped, pulling him upright so she could reach the fastening of his straining jeans. Sitting up so she could unzip him, she did it slowly, smiling a little breathlessly as his hands covered hers to hurry her along. Samantha tugged him closer by a belt loop, fastening her mouth to one hard male nipple and suckling. He moaned, tangling one hand into her hair while he finished unzipping his pants with the other.

  Wondering for a fleeting moment if it was his money alone that kept all those swimsuit calendar babes satisfied, she yanked his trousers to his knees. Nope, it wasn’t just the money. “Nice cock,” she whispered, gently closing her fingers around his hard, erect penis and caressing its length while he threw his head back.

  “Thanks. You’re seeing it at its best.”

  He was glorious, lean and muscled and more professional athlete than billionaire. Rick pushed her flat onto her back again. A hot haze closed around her mind as he lowered himself down on her, taking her mouth again in a deep, consuming kiss. Fingers in his hair, she drew him down the length of her body again, until he stopped for another taste between her legs. God, the Internet didn’t mention how good he was in bed—or on the floor. She arched her back as his tongue darted inside her. “Oh, my God,” she moaned.

  “Samantha,” he murmured, rising up again to run his tongue in leisurely circles down her shoulders and suckle her breast again.

  She kneaded her fingers into the taut muscles of his back. Let go, she told herself. Control, decisions, she could worry about later. Just enjoy. Just be. Pressure built inside her as his slow, expert hands moved down the length of her, breasts to toes, and back up again led by his mouth, until she couldn’t even breathe in more than gasps. “Rick—Richard—I want you inside me. Now.”

  “I—Fuck.” He raised up, shifted off of her.

  “What? What, dammit?” She felt suddenly cold. And very, very annoyed. Someone was going to get the crap beat out of him.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  She watched as he strode, fully aroused and magnificent, into the bathroom and then emerged a moment later. “Ah, body armor,” she breathed, reaching up to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him back down on her again. He had her brain so clouded with lust that she wouldn’t even have thought about protection, and that wasn’t like her at all. Neither, though, was falling into bed—onto the floor—with someone like Rick Addison.

  “Ready or not,” he murmured, nudging her knees apart again.

  “Ready. Definitely ready.” With agonizing slowness he eased inside her. Sam’s head fell back, and she closed her eyes as he filled her, the hot, tight slide of his body inside hers so exquisite she couldn’t breathe.

  “No, Samantha. Look at me,” he groaned, burying himself completely.

  She clasped herself against him, forcing her eyes open to meet his dark gray gaze. He felt huge, rock hard, as he began to pump his hips, and she arched to meet him. Fire. He felt like fire, and she burned. Heat seared through her. Sam slid her arms around his shoulders, locked her ankles around his hips as he moved. Digging her hands into his back, his buttocks, she met every thrust, filling and tightening until, with a mewling cry, she shattered.

  He slowed his pace but kept moving, in, out, in, out. “Mm, you feel good,” he murmured.

  Sam couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but gasp for air and float into the white haze covering her mind. She went on and on, his slow rhythm pushing her further than she’d ever gone before.

  “Christ,” she finally mumbled, forcing her eyes to focus. “Do that again.”

  Rick chuckled, leaning in for another deep kiss. “I’m not stopping now.”

  Increasing his pace, he reached back to draw her legs farther up around his waist. She complied, the movement bringing him in deeper and harder. As she felt tension building in both of them, Sam flexed the muscles across her abdomen, tightening around him. Hell, she didn’t work out for nothing.

  He groaned, planting his hands on either side of her shoulders and thrusting deep and hard and fast. With a surprising punch she came again, drawing him over with her.

  He came with a deep, satisfied groan, settling his weight down on her and resting his head on the floor beside her neck. Samantha kept her arms around him, finally closing her eyes. Listening to his harsh breathing in her ear, and feeling their hearts pounding together, she realized what it was that made her want him so much. In Richard Addison’s arms, she felt safe.

  A few moments later, he lifted his head, dark hair hanging across one eye, to look down at her. “The bedroom’s over there. Shall we?”

  She chuckled breathlessly, kissing him again, running her fingers down the straight, sweaty line of his spine. “How much body armor do you have?”

  “Not nearly enough, plainly,” he returned, standing and drawing her up into his arms to carry her naked to his dark blue bedroom.

  Richard opened his eyes slowly, careful not to move. A week ago, the last thing he would have expected would be to wake up in bed with someone like Samantha Jellicoe beside him. Now she lay tucked against his side, one hand curled over his chest and her breath soft and even in his ear. Auburn hair tumbled across her face and tickled his shoulder. His arm beneath her was completely numb, but he didn’t care. Good God, what a night. He’d been right in his observations that she learned by tactile experience; he didn’t think there was an inch of his body that she hadn’t explored with her hands or her mouth.

  Both before and after Patricia there had been women: Models and actresses, mostly, because they hadn’t minded the loss of privacy that being seen with him usually entailed, or the lack of time he had to spend with them between trysts. With Samantha, both were going to be a problem. Her need for privacy was as much a part of her as her hands. And then there was the fact that she thought as soon as they’d figured out what was going on here, she was going to leave, to go on with her life as it had been. She was wrong about that.

  Her eyes opened, immediately alert, immediately remembering where she was and why. “Mm. Good morning,” she said with a coy smile, giving a cat-like stretch.

  “Good morning.”

  He rescued his arm, flexing his fingers to get the blood circulating. He put his surviving arm behind his head to watch her, the play of her muscles beneath her skin as she sat up, the satisfaction in her face and the lift of her pert breasts as she stretched
her arms over her head. Despite the fact that he was going to have to go through the bother of buying another damned box of condoms, he went hard again.

  She angled her eyes over to the blanket just below his waist. “Yikes. I thought you Brits were calm and dull.”

  “Shall we go for the seventh inning stretch?” he murmured, sitting up beside her and cupping a hand over her left breast, feeling the nipple grow hard against his pressing palm. “That’s American, isn’t it?”

  “Jesus, seven?” she said, arching her back at his touch. “I thought it was just one continuous orgasm.”

  “For you, maybe. Safety forces me to keep count.”

  Samantha laughed, turning to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him on the mouth, ears, throat, chest, everywhere her mouth could reach. Last night she’d been open and very responsive, but this was the first time he’d heard her really laugh. Grinning back, he lifted her onto his lap, careful not to pull at the stitches in her thigh as he eased her legs around his waist and impaled his length slowly into her.

  By the time they were finished it was considerably later, he’d missed another meeting on the WNBT sale, and they were both starving. “I’ll ring down to have Reinaldo bring up some breakfast,” he said, reaching over to grab the phone off the nightstand.

  She lay on her stomach where he’d left her after the last at bat. “No. I need a shower. And clothes. And clean underwear.”

  “I’ll send for some.”

  Samantha turned her face toward him. “You are not buying underwear for me,” she stated. “I have some in my bag, in the car.”

  “I’ll have that brought up, then,” he returned, vaguely annoyed. “Unless you’re trying to escape.”

  She smirked at him, rolling on her side to gaze at him full on. “I’m currently naked in your bed, your lordship. But we still have a deal that isn’t about sex.”

  “We’ll still have a deal if I send out for food and clothes.”

  “Hey, rich guy,” she retorted, twisting to sit up and slide her legs off the side of the bed, “quit trying to show off. I’m not impressed by your ability to purchase pink panties. Go find me a robe or something.”

  “Hanging off the back of the door in the bathroom. Get it yourself, thief.”

  With a quick grin and a peck on the cheek, she scooted off the bed and scampered naked out of his bedroom. Richard sat up again to watch her go. He still couldn’t figure her out. She was so damned tough, yet so delicate at the same time. Samantha Jellicoe fascinated him, and a night spent inside her, on top of her, beneath her, and beside her hadn’t lessened the sensation one damned bit.

  He wanted a shower, himself, and joining her in the bathroom seemed a bloody good idea. With a groan he stood. In thirty-three years of life he hadn’t had too many nights like that one. Hell, he couldn’t think of any, offhand. With a grin, he made his way through the wreck of last night’s clothes in the sitting room. She emerged from the bathroom just as he reached it.

  “I’m going down to the car,” she said, tying a white silk robe around her waist.

  Richard reached around the door and pulled free another one, shrugging it on. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m not going to run away,” she said, softening the complaint by tugging his blue robe closed and knotting the tie around his waist.

  He waited for her to add “yet,” but even when she didn’t, the word still seemed to hang between them. Making himself smile, Richard pulled her up against him and kissed her. “And I want to make sure I get some breakfast.”

  “Fine.”

  Running a hand through his hair so he wouldn’t frighten the help, he followed her downstairs. She headed for the front door, and he tucked an arm around her waist. “It’ll be in the garage,” he said, redirecting her toward the back of the house.

  As he expected, she tolerated his arm around her for a few moments, then shrugged free. He didn’t think it was the public display of affection that bothered her; instead, except for last night, she seemed to have a need for space around her, literal and figurative. Well, he’d just have to work at getting her to realize that holding hands didn’t mean she was vulnerable or trapped or weak. Not where he was concerned. For this morning, falling into step behind her and watching her swaying backside beneath the soft silk robe sufficed.

  He didn’t question that she knew where the garage was; she’d mentioned studying blueprints of the house. Her reaction when they stepped through the door beside the kitchen didn’t surprise him, either.

  “Holy crap!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing beneath the high ceiling. “This is not a garage; this is a…stadium.”

  “I like cars,” he said by way of explanation, taking her hand to lead her around the herd of new and antique vehicles to the yellow SLK. “Have you ever had sex in the backseat of a Rolls Royce?” He slid his hand into her robe pocket, caressing her thigh through the thin material.

  She smirked at him. “No, not that I recall.”

  “We’ll have to remedy that. How about a Bentley?”

  “Knock it off. You’re gonna kill me.”

  He didn’t even care that he probably looked smug and self-satisfied as he popped the SLK’s boot open. “We may as well bring it all upstairs,” he said, reaching in for one of her bags.

  She hauled out her knapsack. “You don’t mind having this stuff in your house?”

  “I have you in my house,” he replied, then stopped the rest of what he was going to say as he looked down.

  His knuckles scraped against something hard and flat lying half out of the duffel bag. Brow furrowing, he pulled the sack open to free the cloth-wrapped parcel and jam it back inside.

  “Hey, that’s private prop…” She trailed off as the easy expression on his face locked down. Her throat tightening, Sam followed his gaze. “Oh, my God.”

  Fourteen

  Sunday, 10:36 a.m.

  “Good morning, Mr. Addison. Hope you don’t mind me just barging in, but your security said you were in here.” Detective Castillo strolled in through the wide double doors at the front of the garage.

  With a curse, Richard stuffed the Trojan stone tablet back into the duffel and whipped around. Jesus Christ in a handbag. Beside him, Samantha had gone white, her hands gripping her knapsack so hard he could see the tendons across her knuckles. Only his years as a very disciplined, very successful businessman kept his face and eyes calm. “Detective Castillo. I thought we were going to meet at Donner’s office later this morning.”

  “Yeah, but I thought you’d be more comfortable here. Besides, I’ve seen the way you drive when you’re annoyed, and I didn’t want to put the general citizenry at risk.” Keen dark eyes took in the pair of robes, two sets of bare feet, and the way Addison’s and Jellicoe’s shoulders brushed.

  Keeping a cool, slightly annoyed smile on his face, Richard nodded. He knew Castillo had seen them touching, and he knew that from now on Samantha’s actions would reflect on him—and vice versa. And considering what lay in her duffel bag, they were both in a shitload of trouble.

  “Actually, Detective, I think we’d be even more comfortable in the kitchen,” he said. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “Does that offer come with coffee?”

  “It does.” None of Samantha’s things looked outwardly like thieves’ gear, but Castillo already had doubts about her story. And surprisingly, Richard’s first thought was to protect her—even with the damned tablet in her duffel bag. Bloody hell. He wanted to put a fist through something, but instead finished hefting the duffel and the hard-sided case out of the trunk. “Would you mind giving us a few minutes to dress?”

  The detective shrugged. “Sure. Need some help carrying those?”

  “No, I think we’ve got it.” Samantha had recovered the power of speech, sounding now as calm and cool as she always did. As cool as a professional thief and liar. “I’m just moving some of my…personal things in,” she continued.

  “Yeah. I read in the pap
er this morning that the two of you are dating.” Castillo took a step backward as Richard slung the duffel over his shoulder. “You might have mentioned that yesterday. And if you don’t mind my asking, Miss Jellicoe,” the detective continued, falling into step behind them, “where are you moving your personal things from? I mean, I looked you up in the computer, but it shows no place of residence. Not even a driver’s license.”

  Splendid. Her car was probably stolen, too. Richard wasn’t certain whether he was more furious with her or with himself for being duped. And now he was concealing evidence—and a felon, apparently—from the police, all because he couldn’t rid himself of an obsession with a female who had already admitted that she lied all the time.

  “I’ve been staying with a friend,” she answered, giving a small grimace. “No offense, but with my father’s reputation, I tend to get harassed by the cops when I settle in somewhere. It’s easier not to. Settle in, I mean.”

  “Someone—you—should write a book about your dad.”

  Samantha snorted. “Nobody’d believe it. Besides, he made sure I stayed on the sidelines.”

  The detective grinned in turn. “Even so, I bet you have a few stories.”

  “Buy me a beer sometime, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “That’s a deal.”

  She did charm everyone in sight. “I’ll have Hans get you some coffee, Detective,” Richard put in. “Can you wait fifteen minutes for us?”

  “Make it twenty,” Castillo agreed, allowing himself to be guided into the kitchen, where Richard dispatched instructions for coffee and breakfast.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Richard whirled on Samantha. “What in hell is—”

  She stepped in and kissed him. It wasn’t passion; her lips were tight and trembled a little, but it shut him up. “Not here,” she whispered. “Security.”

  Shit. “My room,” he snapped, hefting the duffel again and striding away. He knew she would follow; he had the damned stone tablet with him.

  Richard slammed the door as she slipped in behind him. “Why did you lie to me?” he roared, slinging the bag onto the couch.