Locke and Key (Titan Book 12)

by Cristin Harber

  “You like?”

  “There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t appreciate how you look.”

  Now it was her turn with the smile she couldn’t help. “Was I too easy to spot?”

  “No.” He gave an easy headshake. “I think I’m just damn good at knowing what you look like, Cassidy.”

  She shivered, his words traversing up her spine and pricking down her arms, leaving the hairs on her arm standing on end. “Oh…”

  “It’s hot. I’ll give you that.”

  She blushed. “I was just going for different. And club appropriate.”

  Locke’s smoldering blue eyes melted away every other person on the street. “Whatever you were going for, it worked.”

  Her heart jumped past a few beats before it exploded into fireworks. “Thanks.”

  He let that sit for a second before nodding. “Are you ready?”

  “Off to work we go.” She hoped she could pull it together and breathe like a normal, sane person. Time would only tell.

  Locke put his hand on her back, escorting her down the sidewalk, and at that point she wagered that no, she wasn’t going to be able to breathe easy around him. They passed the long line, and his fingertips pressed against the base of her spine, sliding to her hip. He had a casual, chill demeanor, and he approached the bouncer, quietly conversing before the man stepped aside. Whatever or whoever Titan knew, it came in handy.

  “After you.” Locke’s hands trailed along her waist, falling away from her butt just as she ascended the stairs and walked in.

  Yes, it was work, and they both knew how to dig into a cover, but his hands on her body were the things dreams were made of. “Thanks.”

  Once Locke and Cassidy were in the door, those hands possessively found her waist again, and the familiar position of her back to his stomach came into play. For two people who didn’t know one another in a very personal way, they had clocked a lot of body-against-body time.

  “Do you see Alex?” Locke asked as they made their rounds.

  “No. You?”

  “I see nichto.”

  She turned in his arms. “Is that zero?”

  “Maybe? Good guess? I don’t know.” Locke kept his arms around her, walking them to the edge of an intimate dance floor with electronic beats. The lights were low, and blue lasers jumped across the crowd as they swayed with the downbeat.

  She couldn’t help but dance to the music. She didn’t know whether to blame the fact that he towered over her, that he had to dip closer to be heard, or even that they were simply pretending to hit the club, but her hips had a mind of their own as she rolled with the music. As she grooved, he moved with her, and when she caught his face, she liked that he wasn’t unreadable. The man of stone was no more, starting with his smile but not ending with him moving on the dance floor.

  Beckoning him closer, she whispered, “I was wrong about you.”

  His hair tickled her cheek as he brushed her ear. “Say that again?”

  “Maybe I was wrong.”

  Locke pulled back and squinted, shaking his head.

  He still couldn’t hear her? It wasn’t that loud. Cassidy grabbed Locke’s cheeks and pulled him close, her lips pressed next to the shell of his ear. “I was wrong about you too.”

  “I know.” He laughed as her hands drifted from his cheeks, but he gripped them there, sliding down her forearm.

  Her eyes went wide. “You could hear me!”

  “Every word.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Do I have to apologize for that too?”

  God, it felt good to let go in his arms. Cassidy laughed like she hadn’t in… forever. It had to be the dress and the club—or the wig—or the man forcing her to relax, because she hadn’t had a drop to drink. “Okay.”

  “Okay? That wasn’t an answer to my question.”

  Cassidy sobered as they stood stomach to stomach. They still hovered on the periphery of the gyrating dance floor, and the darkness swirled around them. Her arms folded in between them, almost as though she could rest her chin on her knuckles, and Locke let go of her and moved his grip to hold her wrists, his thumb gently smoothing over her skin.

  “You’re not the one who’s been hardheaded.” She wondered if he knew the gentle touch made her want to kiss him. Funny, he was only touching her hands and her knuckles, but everything about the caress was soft and careful. It made her insides flutter knowing how he could do opposites: hard and harsh, gentle and soft. He was Special Forces, an elite warrior, one of the strongest, bravest men she’d ever seen work. But here he was, and she loved it.

  Locke’s thumbs stopped, and he winked. “What’s your angle here, Roxy? Reporters always have an angle.”

  Oh, the wink she was powerless to. His timing was flawless, but she wouldn’t let him know—though all she could think about retorting with was the nickname. “Roxy?”

  “Sounds like a redhead’s name.”

  She wrinkled her nose and gave a little headshake. “Not really.”

  His hands glided over her forearms to her biceps then slid up and down her sides. The DJ brought down the song and transitioned to another. “Rusty.”

  “No.”

  “Big Red.”

  “Really?” She pulled back, not actually going anywhere, needing her hands on him like the club needed the music to flow.

  Locke’s grip lingered, reeling her back. “Back, babe.”

  Close again, they were swaying as though slow dancing in the mess of an electronic beat. “Why does there have to be a nickname?”

  Locke stopped as the bass went staccato and the crowd grew wilder. “Everyone calls you Cassidy, Cass…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want something different.”

  Her stomach dropped. Aware of her breathing—hell, she was aware of everything—Cassidy wanted to say something but didn’t know what. He gave her a silent squeeze that sent shivers along her skin.

  “Why?” she finally worked up the nerve to ask.

  “Because I’m selfish when it comes to you.”

  It would be the worst time for an awkward silence. She should flirt. Be cute or sweet. Say something. Anything. Kiss him! But she couldn’t because the nerves paralyzed her tongue.

  Locke chuckled. “Flame?”

  “Uh… n-no,” she stammered, thankful Locke wasn’t one to hang on to awkward moments where the career reporter was unable to speak coherently.

  “Firecracker?”

  “No!” That brought her back. Awkwardness gone, she play-pushed him—and Locke grabbed her hand as she clung, unsure of their fingers threading together before they fell apart. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Ginger.” He ducked close but dropped his voice. “My personal favorite has been Flamethrower.”

  “I’m not a redhead tonight. Remember? See?” She held out her obviously black hair for his inspection.

  “But, Cassidy, you are gorgeous.” He cupped her face. Those were the same palms that had held her semi-innocently—enough that she could pretend this moment wasn’t upon them. He’d swept under her hair, and his thumbs worked slowly back and forth across her cheeks. But a move like this? There was nothing semi-innocent about it.

  The moment when a guy could kiss a girl and she couldn’t care less about anything other than them… that was this moment. Except they were there for Alex and had stopped looking for him the second they’d walked in. Was she ruining her career rebound over Locke?

  “That’s not a nickname.” Breathless, she tilted her head away, free of his hands, her blushing surely evident on her cheeks. Every part of her body was on fire, and—

  He stepped to the side, staying in line with her turning. “Are your eyes blue or green?”

  She cast a look at him, and they said simultaneously, “Both.”

  Cassidy could hear blood rushing in her ears louder than the music. Silliness was a schoolgirl crush on the big, broad man before her. Alex Gaev and the Mikhailovs—they were a career-saving story as soon as she figure
d out what was happening. There wasn’t time for… whatever this was.

  But God, there must have been pheromones pumped through the air vents, because she was going to choke on the sexual tension and dirty thoughts.

  “Do you think we should… go…home by ourselves?” She gestured and couldn’t finish.

  Locke’s blond hair fell over his forehead. “No. I think we should stay here.”

  “Why?” Maybe if she put bravado into her words, she’d have a stronger spine. Maybe he’d be convinced, because her traitorous body was willing to give up a career as long as she rubbed against him.

  “Because of…” He stepped even closer. “These minutes before I kiss you? I’m loving every second.”

  “You didn’t just say that,” she murmured, melting under the heat of his stare. “Locke…”

  The butterflies that swarmed in her stomach were rabid and sighing. They weren’t a good barometer of how she should feel while at work. Which this was supposed to be. But she’d known that walking in…

  “I messed up before, Beauty. I bit your lip, and you think all is ruined between us.”

  Beauty. That worked. There wasn’t a better nickname that he could bestow.

  “What’s that look?” he asked.

  “I like Beauty…”

  Locke dipped his head close but danced his mouth over her cheek and up to her ear. “Good. Because it suits you. Inside and out.”

  The world slowed and spun. He dipped his head closer, and the club tipped to a dull roar as Locke’s lips brushed against hers. Music pounded with her pulse, and he pulled her firmly, urgently, closer, as if he needed her mouth against his too.

  Locke groaned, satisfaction vibrating from his chest. Just like before, he opened her mouth. She shuddered in his sturdy hold as his tongue forged past her lips, dipping into her mouth. His rough hands threaded into her hair, tilting her back, exposing her neck and the vee of her dress. The heat tore through her, debilitating arousal making her senseless as she fed at his lips, letting their unspoken desperation come out. Damn it—she fell apart, needing this, not giving a damn about anything anymore.

  “Locke,” she moaned, his name caught in her throat, her mind, everywhere.

  The rough denim of his jeans scraped against her bare inner thigh as he pushed his leg against her. Oh, she grew drunk on him, and this was just a kiss. A sweet intensity, sexual and primal, grew deep inside her, igniting her core. She needed friction against her clit. The tight clench of her vaginal muscles screamed for far more attention than their lip-lock could bring, but his tongue, exploring and teasing, was dead set on testing the limits of her need. Cassidy rocked on his powerful thigh, and he groaned. His fingers flexed against her scalp, and she wrapped her arms around his thick, corded neck. Her pussy was tightening with awareness; her breasts were beaded and swollen, brushing against him. “Oh. Please.”

  For one heart-stoppingly long second, she imagined just them. No club. No clothes. He was consuming her kisses like a man meant to discover his new woman, and mixed with his possessive hold, she let him brand her with kisses in public. His hard body couldn’t have been harsher, and his sweet lips couldn’t have been plumper, devouring her, making her mind spin—as if a kiss could be like sex, and sex could be like a dream.

  Her breath hitched as they slowed. Whatever that had been, it was savage, and she would remember the white-hot desperation behind each stroke of his lips because it mirrored everything she’d felt in her Locke-crazed mind.

  His lips lingered, his thrusting tongue now just teasing, slipping languidly along hers until he abandoned her mouth and trailed wet kisses from her swollen lips, moving along her jaw line, to her ear. He took his time, and with every lick against her skin, he claimed her with pure male possession as the best shivers sparkled across her skin, surging her hunger for him to a level of intoxication she hadn’t known could exist. There was no subtlety between them anymore, and her needs were his. That was how it seemed.

  “Beauty.” His fingers touched below her chin, tilting her to face his brilliant eyes. “It’s a good nickname. We can go with that.”

  ***

  Locke focused on Alex Gaev, Ivan Mikhailov, and crew as they walked by. Trying not to ruin yet another time his lips were on Cassidy’s, he ran his fingers over her cheek, lost in the sweet addiction that was starting to consume his every thought.

  Starting to? Anger had consumed his thoughts and actions for years. He’d been drowning in it, breathing in the rage every day his feet hit the ground. He didn’t enjoy life like he used to. He didn’t even talk to friends and family like he used to—because his friends were dead. When he saw her again, that overwhelming wave of hatred curled and drew back, ready to strike like a snake. Except everything changed. How and why—fucking hell, he didn’t know, didn’t care as he drifted the pads of his fingers down her chin, hating that the two of them had to work and he couldn’t just revel in how she tasted like honey and sugar.

  Maybe they didn’t really have to—there wasn’t a paycheck assigned to hunting Alex and figuring out what he was doing. Jared and Rocco weren’t breathing down his neck, issuing orders—but Locke couldn’t just ignore the Mikhailov group. For Cassidy’s sake.

  Against his better judgment, Locke tamped down his need. “We should work.”

  She hummed, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and raising her eyebrows before releasing it. The woman didn’t know, she couldn’t know—or hell, maybe she did know how badly he wanted to lick that lip. He liked to use his tongue. There was something about licking a woman, sucking her, kissing her—whether it was her lips or her pussy—that made Locke drunk on who he was with. With Cassidy, a simple touch of her lips was like a shot of sweet whiskey, and when her tongue tangled with his, need like he hadn’t known wove with the newfound reasoning he’d found when Parker made him watch her work.

  She was as tenacious as she was beautiful, and fuck… now, he was as hard as fucking stone, juggling priorities, and that little lip trick she had going on did shit to help.

  “He’s behind me?” Cassidy’s gaze jetted right and left without turning.

  “Affirmative.” He nodded and wrapped his hands around her waist as she kept her body soft and relaxed, then he turned her around, taking advantage of the move to feel the slide of the silky fabric against his skin. There was still a cover to maintain, still a daring woman who had his blood racing, and he’d use whatever excuse he could to keep her close as they tried to see what they could.

  Parker had equipped him with a few low-tech gadgets to sweep conversations, and if they could get close enough, maybe Locke could get a bead on what the Russians were discussing. If the topic of the evening was cars or racehorses—something completely boring and legal—then Cassidy could calm her hunt and divert her attention back to him. They were here, the lights were low, and her dress made his dick hard as much as her mouth made his mind race. No telling how the night would end up, but he had his fingers crossed that the Russian criminal and his former target were the best of friends with no ill agenda. If there was more, then she would have something to go on, and they’d have to table the kisses they’d just started.

  “Let’s get closer.” They pressed forward, surging through the dancing crowd in the direction Alex had gone. Cassidy swayed her hips, and Locke gritted his teeth even though he enjoyed each time her ass bumped against his swollen cock. His mouth watered, and the urge to confirm that she was as turned on as he was dictated every step. Control was the name of the game, and he focused on the sugary scent of her body.

  “There he is,” she said, turning around.

  The Russians and Alex were in a velvet-roped section. Locke nodded sharply. The earpiece was already in place, well hidden by his too-long hair.

  “Let me get a picture.” Cassidy positioned herself to take a selfie, making the obligatory duck face but dropping the focus on the background to photograph the people Alex was with. Locke—and, he guessed, Cassidy—had a hard ID on Ivan but
not the others. Titan could work on that, and Cassidy knew what she was doing even if she didn’t know he could help with facial recognition. She was a reporter first. Locke liked that she was doing her own thing and that they each brought something to the table, though he hadn’t told her much more than that he’d accompany her. She didn’t know about the earpiece, which was good because he wasn’t picking up anything as he turned a dial in his pocket, filtering out music and nearby ambient noise as he watched her take another selfie. Those lips… they were kiss-swollen. He wanted to watch that sweet, pouty smile work its way down his stomach.

  “I’m good—what’s that look for?” Black hair fell over her cheek, and she brushed it off.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He winked, shifting his weight and trying to discreetly re-adjust his bulging cock that was starting to edge on the line of uncomfortable. “Let’s try a little closer.”

  They eased closer, still out of eyeshot, and she tossed an arm over one of his shoulders as someone pushed by. “Damn, you smell good.”

  Her fingers kneaded into his neck. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  Even surrounded by the booze-filled crowd, she still smelled sweet as honey. He rubbed up her back, but more and more, he wanted his hands under that dress. Cassidy rested her chin on his chest, blue-green eyes looking up. Maybe she had the same idea. She lingered, and it hit him hard—from not wanting to be saving her off a mountain to being unable to keep his hands off her, that was a wild rollercoaster.

  “I hate that I can’t read you,” she said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Oh, Red Riding Hood…” He groaned and dropped his head back, taking a deep sigh, and coming back again. “You look good enough to eat.”

  Locke dropped his lips to her neck, and she made a soft noise that broke through the pulsing music and vibrated through his limbs. If she mewed like that when he kissed her neck, he needed to know how she’d writhe when his stiff tongue fucked her pussy.

  Cassidy, unaware that he was more interested in sliding his fingers up her thighs than finding out what the Russians were doing, turned her head. “What if he sees me?”