A Harmless Little Game (Harmless #1)

by Meli Raine

  I come so quickly I can’t even warn him, my throat spasming, my eyes wide with surprise, the clench and release taking over my body as if it’s drawn to his touch, as if it’s been waiting for this opportunity. I bite his shoulder lightly, my fingers digging into his back, my belly pressing against his, hips riding his fingers.

  I feel him smile against my cheek.

  “I didn’t – I don’t know where that came from,” I gasp, overwhelmed and shocked, pleased and a little embarrassed.

  “Let’s go find it, then, so we know where it is again,” he whispers, intense and casual at the same time, a paradox of a man watching every signal to know how to proceed.

  I’m dizzy. The room spins. He’s an inch from me, so little space between us that we might as well be fused. My panties are soaked and his thumb strokes my hipbone. The air between us smells like me, like his mouth, like our breath.

  Like passion.

  I shiver.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “No need.” He moves me so he can lift the bedcover up, and we’re soon burrowing under it, warming. Our body heat joins and makes a cocoon.

  I reach for him, knowing he must be aching. He’s hard as a rock, and he sucks in air between his back teeth as I fold my palm over the length of him, my fingers too short to reach the tip.

  “Your turn,” I say, wiggling under the covers, knowing what I want to do.

  “Lindsay, I -- ” But I’m too fast, my hands pulling his waistband down, mouth on his tip before he can say anything but groan my name.

  Now this is true power.

  Right here.

  I’ve spent years wanting to do this, and as my tongue teases him, Drew rewards me by sinking his fingers in my hair, moving on the bed to spread out, giving me more access to his ripped, strong body. I’m in the dark, but I can breathe him in, my palm caressing his inner thigh, his muscles jerking in response, primed and ready.

  A warm infusion rushes through my bloodstream, the high from endorphins making me smile. I want to give him pleasure like he gave me. I have no idea how this night will end, but I do know one thing.

  It will be full of surprises.

  Curious, I push as much of his shaft in my mouth while one hand grabs the base of him, the other sliding up the rolling hills of his abs, my hand smooth and searching. Three strokes and his hips rise up, creating a gentle rhythm that intensifies, until his fingers tug at my hair with more force, and I find myself starting to sweat.

  “Lindsay,” he groans. “You need to stop. I’m going to -- ”

  I keep going.

  He explodes in my mouth, tension in his body leaping forward at the last second as he clearly struggles with letting go like this. It’s as if he thinks he shouldn’t come in my mouth.

  But I’m in charge.

  I decide.

  Right?

  As I swallow, I let out a small laugh through my nose. He tastes sweet and salty. Tangy. Weird.

  “Oh, my God,” Drew groans, his body going limp. “What the hell did you just do?”

  “What did we just do?” I correct him.

  His long, slow inhale takes an eternity. In those seconds, four years go by. Four years of pain. Suffering. Misunderstandings. Anger. Grief. Plans for revenge. Plans for mourning.

  Funny how I never had a plan for this.

  In all those years, I had ideas for what I would do if I came back home to find Drew. In some of those fantasies, I slapped him, screamed at him, punched him – and in some, I kissed him. Hugged him. Cried in his arms and made love with him.

  I never imagined I’d do both somehow.

  I certainly never thought I’d learn that he’d been a victim, too.

  Drew’s exhale comes out, loud like a train approaching, and he sits up, the sheets spilling over, showing off his now-nude body in the moonlight.

  He’s a museum piece.

  With a long, ragged scar that cuts down his left side and over the ribs, wrapping back toward the kidneys.

  I look, and realize there are more.

  So many more scars.

  I open my mouth to ask about them, eyes on him like a laser, but his fingers cover my lips. My own scent overwhelms me. He cradles my jaw in his hand and moves closer, on his knees now like a lion in charge.

  “Someday,” he says. “I’ll tell you about every scar.” His kiss is so sweet I almost laugh. We’re naked, covered in each other’s musk, and he’s giving me a kiss like our first one, back in high school, back when a French kiss and a sideboob grab was the height of intimacy.

  Oh, how far we’ve come.

  Literally.

  A sound outside the window makes Drew jump up, his gun in his hand, his naked body taut and tense as he sprints to the side of the window, senses sharp and heightened. He puts one finger over his mouth to tell me to be quiet.

  I freeze. I’m on my knees on my bed, completely exposed except for my wet panties, and all I can think is:

  I can’t die a virgin.

  And I am a virgin. Truly. In all the ways that count.

  “Jesus,” Drew says, lowering the gun, walking back to the bed. “It’s Gentian. Just made some noise out there.”

  I eat him up, pulse pounding from fear and arousal, his body like watching pure strength in action. Broad shoulders covered in steel, slices of pale scars highlighted by the moonlight. An eight pack of abs I just stroked with my finger tips. The narrow waist covered in deep grooves of marble, veins popping out at random intervals, leading to the swell of a tight ass, and thighs that thin and thicken as he walks.

  Drew sets the gun back in his gun belt, and then --

  He leaps.

  He leaps onto the bed and takes my mouth and we’re rolling and mired in each other, a current charged by happiness passing between us, the slick and roar of our bodies making the electricity gain power. He’s hard again against my leg and I want him in me so badly.

  So much.

  “Look,” Drew says, as if reading my mind. He yawns. I reach up with my fingertips and tap his lips, making his mouth generate a little whooping sound. It’s an old joke.

  His eyes are so full of love and lust as he looks at me.

  “Let’s sleep.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s get dressed and sleep. Lindsay, baby, this was fucking amazing.” He pushes a lock of hair off my forehead, eyes roaming over my face with a tenderness and passion that shouldn’t exist. “But this isn’t where I want to make love to you for the first time.”

  “You’ve – you’ve thought about this?” I choke out.

  “Nearly every day for four fucking years,” he confesses, his voice hitching at the end, deep and intense.

  “Wow.”

  “And I never imagined being in your childhood bed, with my security team on watch in your dad’s home, if you know what I mean.”

  Ah.

  “So, where did you envision this?”

  He smiles and stands, searching the room for his clothes. I fish under the bedcovers and find his underwear, flinging them at his head. The cloth catches his cheek and he laughs, giving me a tsk tsk tsk look.

  “A cabin on Lake Tahoe. Or a house on the ocean up in Big Sur. Something romantic, with lots of time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Multiple times.” He gives me a sultry grin and a half-smile that makes wild heat pool between my legs again.

  “Oh,” I gasp.

  I throw on my tank top. I should change my panties, but I don’t. The cold wetness reminds me of how hot things were between us. I need to know that really happened. That this isn’t just a dream.

  We dress, then Drew pulls the covers back, straightening everything with military precision, until we’re clothed and snuggled in bed, spooning. He begins whispering.

  “You are the only woman I’ve ever loved, Lindsay.”

  I stiffen. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true.”

  “But you dated...you slept with...it’s
been four years, Drew! You weren’t hidden away in a mental institution like some people.”

  “Love, Lindsay. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

  My breath halts. I want to turn over. I want to curl into his arms and say the words. I want to turn the clock back and be the unbroken Lindsay who deserves every word he says, every touch he’s given tonight, every drop of pleasure we’ve found with each other.

  But I can’t.

  Instead, I freeze.

  Drew senses it.

  “You don’t have to say anything. This is so much to deal with. Just know that it’s not casual for me. It’s anything but. And I’m here for you. I’m here for whatever you need, whenever you need, because you’re my best friend and my true love and I’ve missed you. Not having you in my life has been like losing a limb that no one can see is missing.”

  That makes me break my paralysis and turn over.

  I touch his face and search his eyes for lies.

  There are none.

  And then I weep.

  He holds me in his arms until I fade away into the bliss of nothingness.

  Chapter 40

  I wake up in a cold sweat.

  Only this time, Drew’s right here with me, arms already around my waist, his chest warming my back. His thighs press into the curve of my ass and I breathe, slowing my tempo, willing myself back to calm.

  The dream was nothing like the one that woke me up earlier.

  This one was full-on reality.

  John, Stellan and Blaine were there. I was tied down. Drew was tied up, hanging from the ceiling, arms at an impossible angle, his naked body hanging like Jesus on the cross. Guns and ropes and scarves and a burning car and something more sinister wait, right out of my line of sight.

  And they all laughed while I writhed in pain.

  No masks.

  I’m wide awake now.

  Even Drew’s arms can’t help me to settle. I blink. I blink again. The images from my dream won’t leave.

  Maybe they’re not dreams.

  Maybe they’re predictions.

  Drew couldn’t protect me four years ago.

  He wants to protect me now.

  I’m not the same Lindsay.

  And he’s not the same Drew.

  His breath settles, tickling the back of my neck with a steady hush that makes me want to live in his arms forever.

  But I can’t.

  I have demons trying to slay me.

  And the only way to kill a demon is to face it head-on and slay it first.

  As I carefully peel Drew’s arm off me, I roll out of the bed. He stirs.

  I freeze.

  One skill I learned at the island: how to be so quiet that you’re undetected. When people underestimate you, it’s incredibly easier.

  Easier than it should be.

  I wait until Drew’s breathing goes back to the long, slow, deep breaths of childlike slumber. I watch him, the ache inside me too much to bear. His gentle, slow intimacy last night filled a cup inside me that had been empty for far, far too long. Parts of me that were parched are now quenched. Pieces of Lindsay that were shattered are now reassembled.

  He healed me, kiss by kiss, caress by caress, and that is just the beginning.

  As I watch him, my face radiates with a smile that traverses years. I follow his breath and watch his face, his muscles relaxed, the corners of his mouth turned up just enough. He is gorgeous. He is sublime.

  He is mine.

  Again.

  My phone is on the bed. How did that get there? Maybe it fell out of my pocket while we wiggled out of my clothes. I reach for it, accidentally pushing the On button. The screen illuminates, a notification lighting up the night.

  Come play with us, the text says.

  And then a second one:

  AGAIN

  All of the blood in my body drains into the ground.

  I should wake Drew. I should cry. I should gasp. I should scream.

  I don’t do any of those things.

  Instead, I stare at the words.

  This will never end, will it? They’re relentless. They’re not going to back off. In fact, they’re emboldened now.

  They should be.

  They’re succeeding.

  It only stops when I’m dead.

  Or when they are.

  I find the text from my hacker contact and reply with the pre-determined code. A picture appears on the screen. It’s Blaine Maisri, shaking hands with my dad, Anya in the background, beaming.

  A second picture appears. It’s Drew, on his side, naked, the top half of him exposed, his body limp with sleep. In the upper right-hand corner, the tiniest hint of red cloth appears. His face is bruised, his hip a deep red.

  I go cold.

  I know that red cloth.

  It’s one of the scarves. One of my scarves.

  You have a choice. Drew’s words chill me now, a premonition he didn’t realize he was making. He meant I had a choice about touch and sound and feel and goodness, but I also have a choice about stopping those bastards once and for all.

  Or do I? Maybe I have no free will.

  Maybe I can’t control what needs to be done.

  Moonlight shines through the slit in my curtains, drawing my attention to steel and leather.

  Drew’s gun.

  An idea pours into my mind, like concrete into a mold, injected and fully formed. I can’t fight it, though my rational mind tries. It flails and objects, but impulse overrides it, pinning logic in place, smothering it.

  I look at the gun.

  I stare at Drew, his steady breath so vulnerable and strong at the same time. He trusts me. He gave himself to me. What does that picture of him mean? And why would my darknet contact from the Island send that?

  A third picture appears.

  It’s Blaine.

  Making a kissy face at me.

  Can your heart start and stop in the same second?

  I look at the gun again.

  I know what to do next.

  I know how to protect myself.

  Revenge is finally mine.

  Read the next book in the series, from Drew’s perspective, A Harmless Little Ruse:

  She has no idea what she’s doing. Loose cannons never hit their targets.

  And they take out plenty of collateral damage.

  Four years ago Lindsay experienced the unspeakable right before me, and I couldn’t stop them.

  But that’s all changed now.

  When her father, Senator Bosworth, contacted me two months ago to ask — demand — that I protect her, it was a second chance. A shot at redemption.

  An opportunity to right an unfathomable wrong.

  Controlling Lindsay as she seeks her revenge on the monsters who hurt her won’t be hard.

  Containing my own out-of-control feelings for Lindsay and keeping up this ruse of cold-blooded distance will be.

  Even harder than admitting to her what really happened that night four years ago.

  It turns out I don’t have to, though.

  Someone else did it for me.

  And I’ll make sure they regret it.

  Here’s how the next book starts:

  I wake up to an empty bed.

  It’s not mine.

  Lindsay’s gone.

  I can feel a change in the air. I jump to my feet, instantly alert, blood pumping to arms and legs that are battle-ready.

  I grab my gun belt and --

  What the hell?

  My gun is missing.

  Gun’s gone.

  Lindsay’s gone.

  Oh, shit.

  She didn’t?

  She did.

  Click here to read Book 2 in the Harmless series.

  About the Author

  Meli Raine writes romantic suspense with hot bikers, intense undercover DEA agents, bad boys turned good, and Special Ops heroes -- and the women who love them.

  Meli rode her first motorcycle when she was five years old, but she p
layed in the ocean long before that. She lives in New England with her family.

  Visit her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/meliraine

  Join her New Releases and Sales newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/beV0gf

  She also writes romantic comedy as Julia Kent, and is half of the co-authoring team for the Diana Seere paranormal shifter romance books.

  http://www.meliraine.com

  Meli Raine

  www.meliraine.com

  meli@meliraine.com