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Framed

Page 12

by Leslie Jones


  She shifted restlessly against him, running her hands over his shoulders and chest. Gripping the bottom of his T-shirt, Lark lifted it to his chest, and, without thinking, he stripped it off the rest of the way.

  “Holy God!”

  Oh, shit.

  “It looks worse than it is,” he said, echoing her previous words.

  “Like fuck it does,” she said, tracing shaking fingers over the substantial bruises on his shoulder and ribs. “If you didn’t have your supersuit on . . . God, Mace, you’d be dead right now.”

  “Shh,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I’m all right. Bruises fade, okay? I’m fine.”

  She snuffled, and his heart stuttered. “Please don’ cry, chér’.”

  “I can’t help it. Because of me—”

  “Because of them,” he corrected.

  She dropped her forehead to his shoulder, nodding. “Because of them. Fuckers.”

  For several minutes, they simply held one another. Mace had never been more contented. Then Lark moved, pressing down and wriggling her bottom. The sensation made him groan.

  He grabbed her hips and held her still. “We should stop, little bird.”

  “Do you really want to?” Uncertainty put a wobble in her voice. “I mean, I’ll stop if you don’t want this.”

  “Lawd a’mercy. I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

  “Good.”

  She shifted off him, her clever hands sliding his zipper down. He pushed his jeans to his hips, shuddering and jerking involuntarily as she stroked him through his boxer briefs. This woman knew exactly what she wanted, and he was glad as hell she wanted him.

  Her tongue swept into his mouth. She tasted sweet and hot, much like Lark herself. With her taste still on his lips, he thought maybe he’d died and gone to heaven, but she proved him wrong when she pulled away from him, eyes glazed and mouth damp, and shimmied out of her dress. It pooled at her feet. She stood before him in nothing but her red lace bra and those sexy high heels. He swallowed audibly, nearly weeping at the sight of surprisingly full, perfect breasts. She might be small, but she had curves in all the right places.

  Smiling like the vixen she was, she crawled onto the bed and knelt there, legs slightly apart, looking like sex on a stick. Capturing his gaze, she ran a hand down between her breasts to her navel. He was next to her before he even realized he’d moved, hauling her into his arms and kissing her like she was a banquet and he was starved.

  “Pants off,” she ordered, trying to push his jeans farther down his legs. He stood only as long as it took him to shuck his jeans and underwear, then rejoined her.

  “Holy baby Moses. Pretty sure that’s not going to fit.”

  He chuckled, running his palms up her silky legs. “Pretty sure it will.”

  She licked her lips, the minx. “Can’t wait to find out.”

  Mace wrapped his arms around her, turning her onto her back. He followed her down until he nestled right where he ached to be. The sensation wrung a gasp from him and he hung his head, fighting the need to be inside her that very second. They fit together perfectly.

  “Condom,” she gasped.

  He reached blindly for his jeans, yanking his wallet out and snatching a foil packet, tearing it open and rolling it on in a flash. Lark giggled.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready to tell you what happened tonight.”

  Wait . . . what? He forced himself to stillness. “Now . . . ?”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, my God. Your face!”

  He had to force the words out through vocal cords that didn’t want to work. “If that’s what you want.” Sit back, he ordered his body. But he couldn’t move, still poised over her body.

  “I’m kidding,” she said. The look on her face was pure sex, a full-out I-want-you-right-now expression that nearly crippled him.

  Relief washed through him. Holy freaking God. How did she have enough control to joke?

  “Later,” she said, letting her legs drop open in clear invitation. “Much later. Right now, I need you inside of me. Right fucking now.”

  Reason and logic left him in a rush. He positioned himself at her entrance and pushed home in one long thrust. The incredible caress nearly made him come right then and there. “God, you’re so wet. So tight. So perfect.”

  “Ahh. Perfect. Yes. That’s the word.”

  He withdrew almost all the way, then thrust home again. And did it again, loving the way she writhed under him. He tried to slow down, but she wasn’t having any of it, wrapping her sexy heels around his butt to pull him in more deeply.

  “Ah! Yes!”

  He gave up control then, stroking inside her fast and hard. The sighs and moans she uttered made him crazy. She rolled her hips in a slow circle that nearly blew his head off.

  “Don’t. I don’t think I—”

  She exploded beneath him, gasping his name over and over as she clamped down on him, trembling and convulsing. It sent him hard over the edge. He thrust deep and held himself there, moaning as he came right behind her, the sensations so intense the world grayed around him.

  When he could finally move again, he rolled them both so her head rested on his chest. They were both still out of breath. He ran his fingers up and down her spine lazily as their bodies cooled.

  She started to giggle, which made him smile.

  “What is it?”

  “You are built like a Greek god.”

  A soft laugh rumbled through his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. “And you’re damned good for my ego.”

  “Wow,” she murmured sleepily. “Just . . . wow.”

  Wow, indeed.

  Chapter 21

  Sunday, February 19. 8:48 a.m.

  Extended Stay Hotel. Boston, Massachusetts.

  Lark groaned, burrowing under the blankets to shut out the bright morning light. It was February, for God’s sake. The sun should have better sense than to shine.

  Her stomach growled. She reluctantly rolled over to look at her clock. Only it wasn’t there. Nor was her Tardis table lamp. Sitting up, she yawned and stretched. Oh, yeah. She’d spent the night with Mace. A satisfied smirk curled her lips as she flopped back onto the pillows.

  Voices drifted into the bedroom. Ugh. People meant she’d have to put on clothes. And the only thing she had to wear was her torn dress. In the end, her need for caffeine trumped her desire to stay in bed.

  Climbing out from under Mace’s sheets, she found her underthings and put them back on. Rooting through the bureau drawers netted her a pair of gym shorts that would work if she tied them tightly. She did so, then pulled on a clean olive-colored T-shirt. She peeked out the door; the voices came from the adjoining suite. She darted into the bathroom, took care of business, then brushed her teeth with toothpaste and her finger. She did what she could with her hair. It would have to do.

  Creeping toward the connecting door made her feel like a teenager trying to sneak past her parents when she missed curfew. Who was there? The voices became clearer. So did a heavenly smell. Bacon?

  “. . . only a matter of time.”

  “We’ll blow up that bridge when we get to it,” Mace said.

  “We have to know the threat level. Did she—”

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” someone said behind her. She jumped, turning to see a man walking through the suite door juggling—thank you, Caffeine Gods—a drink carrier full of coffee cups.

  “Is one of those for me?” she asked, hope in her voice. She could take him, she thought. Wrestle him to the ground. But then he might drop the caffeine.

  The man, a blond-haired, blue-eyed country boy, lifted one of the cups and handed it to her. “Venti quad shot cinnamon dolce latte. Extra hot.”

  “Thank you thank you,” she said, nearly snatching the cup from his hand. She inhaled the steam, then sipped. It burned her tongue and throat. “Perfect.”

  Mace stepped out of the adjoining suite. “Did I hear . . . ah, you’re awake.


  Lark’s heart skipped a beat. At least, that’s what it felt like. But damned if he didn’t look yummy in the morning. He’d obviously showered and shaved, and wore clothes almost identical to the ones she’d borrowed. He looked magnificent.

  He came over to her and wrapped an arm around her waist, bending to kiss her full on the mouth. “Good morning. My clothes never looked that good on me.”

  “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, raising her coffee out of reach. “Careful.”

  Mace released her and turned to the country boy. “This knucklehead is Alex Wood.”

  Alex stuck out a hand. “Pleasure, ma’am.”

  She groaned as she shook it. “You ma’am me again and I’ll . . . I’ll do something awful that I’ll think of later when I’ve woken up properly.”

  Alex gave an aw-shucks grin.

  “It’s just Lark, if you value your life,” Mace said. “Come in and meet everyone else.”

  Lark obediently followed him into the connecting suite. Conversation ceased, and she became the focus of all eyes.

  Mace pulled her to his side. “The scowly one there is John McTaggert. The one on the crutches is Gabe Morgan, who couldn’t land a simple night jump without breaking his ankle.”

  “Nice to meet you.” White teeth flashed against tanned skin as Gabe grinned at her from across the extended-stay’s full kitchen. With his shaggy golden hair, two-day beard, and cleft in a strong chin, he looked like a fallen angel.

  Compared to Mace’s gunmetal blue eyes, high cheekbones, and the dimple-like grooves along his jaw, Gabe simply disappeared. She leaned against Mace, her innards melting as his hand immediately slid around her waist.

  She waved her coffee cup in their general direction. “Hi, guys.”

  John McTaggert merely nodded and turned back to the stove, where he scooped bread coated with egg onto a spatula and flipped it over.

  “French toast?” she asked, already salivating. He was also scrambling some eggs, and bacon strips lay on paper towels to catch the grease.

  Mace pointed to the small table, where plates had been set out, along with butter and syrup. She went to sit.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Going on nine,” Mace told her. “You were dead to the world when I got up.”

  “Which was when?” she asked, gulping some more coffee. Come on, brain. Wake up.

  He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Around five, I guess.”

  “That’s not even a time. That’s the middle of the night. What, do you hate sleep?”

  Mace quirked an amused brow at her. “I needed to go for a run. The guys kept an eye on things while I was out.”

  John McTaggert came over and slid four pieces of French toast onto her plate, adding bacon and eggs. The other men sat down and were similarly served.

  “Thank you, John,” she said shyly. Who would have guessed that the big scary man could cook?

  “You can just call me Tag,” he said. “I’m not sure I’d remember to turn around if I heard someone call me John.”

  “Tag it is. What about you, Alex? What’s your nickname?”

  The farm boy moved a shoulder as though ridding himself of a fly. “I got called a lot of things growing up I’m glad never stuck.”

  Lark dug in to the food. “Yum. Do they teach you to cook like this at supersoldier school?” The sudden silence made her glance up and around. “I mean, logistics school? If there even is such a thing.”

  The men looked at one another uneasily.

  “I know, I know,” she groused. “Beans and bullets. Got it. But just in case you do something besides deliver toilet paper, thank you for your service to your country.”

  No one answered. She drained her coffee cup and pushed back her chair. “I gotta run. I need to go into the office.”

  “Lark.” Mace caught her arm. “We need to talk.”

  “Later.”

  “Now.” He gently but firmly pulled her back to the table. “What happened yesterday?”

  Avoiding talking about it also meant she could ignore her fear. “Nothing. Well, a lot, but I’m not ready . . . I’m going to get into trouble if I don’t get to work.”

  Mace frowned. “It’s Sunday. It’s best to get it out. And we need to know.”

  It seemed her reprieve was over.

  “It’s so surreal. Almost like it never happened at all.” She sighed, sliding her plate out of the way and settling her forearms onto the table. “CliffsNotes version? Some guy named Viktor Sokolov accused me of stealing fifty million dollars from him. I have to find the real thief, or he’s going to kill me.”

  A stunned silence greeted her bald statement. She looked around at these big, tough he-men, staring at her like she’d grown another head. “What?”

  “What? What?” Mace nearly shouted. “What the hell, Lark? Why would a mobster think . . .” He stopped. Took a deep breath, then another. “Lark, you have exactly one opportunity here to tell us what you’re involved in and why.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not involved in anything. And fuck you for thinking I would be. I’m being set up.”

  “Who by?” Alex asked.

  Toying with her fork, she managed a careless shrug. “By someone who spread my signature all over a hack. I haven’t seen the logs. I need to see the code if I’m going to have any hope of finding the real thief. Some dude named Elliott gave me a thumb drive.”

  “Do you have any idea why someone would want to hurt you that way?” In contrast to his low brows and seemingly permanent glower, Tag’s voice was gentle.

  “Besides getting away with fifty million dollars?”

  “Yes,” Gabe said. “Someone sophisticated enough to execute that kind of theft could very probably leave no trail at all. Why point it to you?”

  “No idea.” Lark pressed her palms into her eyes, but when she opened them, nothing had changed. Mace had retreated to the kitchen. She couldn’t even look at him. How could he think she would steal a nickel, much less millions of dollars? He clearly did not know her at all.

  “Take us through it. Please,” Alex said, casting a chiding glance at Mace.

  “Fine.” Lark thought about what to say. “After I saw Mace get shot, I was thrown into the van. They put a bag over my head so I couldn’t see where we were going. I don’t know why they bothered, except to scare me. We drove to Mr. Sokolov’s home. He served me tea and cookies. I left.”

  “Uh, maybe you want to expand on that a little?” Alex said.

  Lark blew out an annoyed breath. “Okay, fine. I sat in a basement for hours before I got dragged up to his office. He hit me and threatened to chop off my finger. But even though he believed me about not stealing his fifty mil, he says I need to find it and get it back to him in less than a week.”

  Silence filled the room.

  “Or what?” asked Tag.

  “Or, you know, Palachka tears me to pieces.” She looked at her plate rather than any of them. “Iggy, the guy who shot Mace, drove me home. End of story.”

  Mace came over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Yeah, well, men are idiots.”

  Tag laughed. “You got that right.”

  Lark stood, and Mace’s hand slid away. “My laptop’s still at the hotel. I need to grab it before I head in to work.”

  “Why don’t you stay here instead?” Mace said. “Alex can check you out and you can work here.”

  She shook her head, not looking at him. “I need the FBI’s computers.”

  Tag collected the plates and brought them to the sink. “Alex, you’ve got washing detail. We’ll start back to Fort Devens after we clean up. We have training this morning at eleven hundred hours, don’t forget.”

  “Shit. Do you think—”

  “No. Don’t even try it, Mace. We train no matter where we are. And it’s the whole squadron.”

  Mace muttered a curse. “Lark, I’m d
riving you to work. No arguments, okay?”

  Lark ducked her head, warmed by his concern. “It’s not necessary. I’m safe for a few days. Sokolov needs me to find the money, remember? Tag, thanks for breakfast. It was delish.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, frowning at Mace. “Okay, fine, we’ll follow you in the rental, then pick you up and head west.”

  She grabbed her purse and waited by the door, glad to spend more time with Mace. He joined her, jingling his keys in his hands. Hands—and fingers, and tongue—which had brought her immense pleasure the previous night. But she wasn’t ready to forgive him for thinking she might be involved in the theft of mob money.

  They walked to her car in silence. He held the passenger door for her. She slid inside and buckled herself in, deliberately silent and a little sullen. Why she still held out hope that someone would just accept her for who she was—and trust her—was beyond her. It never happened, no matter how much she wanted it to.

  He turned the key. It started up, and he backed out of the parking space and pulled onto the street.

  “Do you need directions?” she finally asked.

  “I remember where you are,” he said. “Look, I’m really sorry for my reaction back there. It was uncalled for.”

  “Yes, it was.” She watched the trees go by as they left the hotel behind.

  Mace glanced over at her. “You used to be a hacker?”

  She took in a lot of air, then blew it out noisily. “Yes. Okay? Yes, I used to do that. For fun, though. Not to steal anything, or even damage anything. It was empowering, if you must know. My parents . . . well, you met my mother. She’s determined to make me a proper lady. A proper Larkspur. I went to Cotillion, for God’s sake.”

  Mace began to laugh. “It’s odd how things work out. So did I.”

  She stared at him, mouth open. “You did?”

  “Yep. My mother insisted we have some culture in our lives. She was from N’Orleans. My da courted her, and she moved into the Bayou when they got married, but she didn’t want us stigmatized by our roots. Her words, not mine.”

  Curious despite herself, she twisted to face him. “What stigma?”

 

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