Tropic of Trouble

by Wynter Daniels

  Hours later he lay on the sofa, surfing through a hundred channels with the sound muted. Kelsey’s bedroom door opened and light spilled out into the hallway. She padded into the living room in an oversized nightshirt. Her hair hung loose and tousled and beautiful and she didn’t have her glasses on. Without a stitch of makeup she looked just as lovely.

  “Can’t sleep.” She stood over him and chewed on her lip.

  He turned onto his side and patted the cushion. Without hesitation, she snuggled against him. He wrapped his arm around her and she sighed contentedly. The swell of her rounded ass fit so perfectly against his cock. He ran his hand along the gentle curve of her waist, over her hip. She smelled like soap and flowers.

  He backed away a little when his dick grew hard, so as not to offend her. Only she didn’t seem to mind. His erection fit perfectly along the crease of her ass.

  He pictured her naked, practically tasted her skin as he imagined kissing her taut points, suckling them until they swelled with need. Then she’d part her thighs for him, expose her pussy, glistening with her cream.

  She squirmed on the couch, fitting herself against him, completely unaware of his lustful daydreams. If he didn’t quit, he’d risk giving her a lot more than comfort. He tried to tamp down his desire, thought about the most unsexy thing he could come up with—the jail. Only it didn’t work, not as long as his hand rested inches from her breasts. Yeah, he knew all along he was destined to have blue balls tonight.

  What the hell would he do with this woman, so full of contradictions?

  Keep her alive.

  With any luck, the killer would show up at the book fair tomorrow. Once he wrapped this case up, they could delve into whatever had started developing between them. He could only hope Kelsey wouldn’t walk away when she no longer needed his protection.

  Chapter Five

  Lilith slipped on her dark sunglasses before she stepped out of her car. Not that she’d run into anyone she knew in this neighborhood, God no. But if someone ever connected her to her lover she would be in deep trouble with her husband. She’d learned long ago that provoking him always proved detrimental to her well-being. She cringed at the image of his cruel face that flashed in her brain.

  Shaking her long hair forward to conceal her face, she hurried up the dilapidated concrete stairs on the outside of the building to her lover’s apartment. Using the key he’d given her, she let herself inside.

  “I thought you said you’d be here around eight.” Thomas stood shirtless at the sink, washing a dish in the tiny kitchenette.

  She removed her glasses, set them and her purse on the plaid couch and waved away his complaint. “I have a life, you know. My husband left the house late. What could I do?” At least Thomas had straightened the place up. No more balled socks strewn on the worn carpet or dirty dishes left on the narrow counter separating the living room from the tiny kitchen.

  He dried his hands on a threadbare dishtowel. “I’m sorry. I know you have no control of that sometimes.” He opened the mini refrigerator, pulled out a bottle and set it on the counter. “I bought your favorite.”

  She rolled her eyes. Honestly, had he been raised in a barn? “One doesn’t refrigerate red wine.” She peeled off her skirt, folded it carefully then set the garment over the back of the sofa. When she glimpsed the forlorn expression on his face, she huffed. That was the dilemma with men so young. They had loads of stamina but no confidence. How had it become her job to bolster his fragile ego? “It’s fine, love. Just pour me a glass.”

  That elicited a smile. He fumbled with the corkscrew for several minutes before finally succeeding. “Here we go.” He carried over two glasses, handed her one.

  “Bring them into the bedroom, please.”

  His eyes lit up. “Of course.”

  She followed him into the short hallway leading to the bedroom, then stood at the door, scanning the sparse area. A double bed with a simple beige spread, a single dresser circa 1970. Far from the huge master suite at her house. At least he’d remembered to make his bed. How refreshing. A man who actually listens to a complaint and does something to rectify the situation.

  For years now her husband had ignored every suggestion she’d made. Ever since he’d forced her to abandon her career, he seemed to purposely do things to irritate her. And worse.

  Her chest tightened with anger. She grabbed her wine and took a healthy gulp. “How gauche. Pardon me. I was thinking about my husband. You know how upset that makes me.”

  He closed the distance between them and planted his hands on her shoulders, massaging. “Don’t think about him. You’re here with me now.” He kissed the back of her neck.

  She twisted around to face him and started unbuttoning her blouse. “I don’t have much time.”

  He stripped naked in mere seconds. How she loved his firm, young body and his unflagging readiness. She studied the washboard abs, the trim waist and lean legs. He could be taller, but she couldn’t have everything. At least he had blond hair and blue eyes, unlike her husband. And he took orders well. Particularly in the bedroom. She loved that in a man, but so few had enough self-confidence to acquiesce to a woman’s control.

  Her asshole husband loved to boss her around, force her to do things she hated. But she didn’t want to think about him now. She needed a man to follow her lead, to pleasure her as she wanted to be pleasured. And her young lover fit that bill perfectly. Meeting his gaze, she lifted an eyebrow seductively.

  He took her hand, led her to the bed and pulled her down beside him. She slid a fingernail over the length of his erection and felt him shudder. Always ready, whenever she needed him, as often as she liked. Youth was a wonderful thing. Swiping the drop of semen on the crown of his cock, she gave him a wicked grin, then sucked her finger into her mouth.

  His eyes glazed over and his jaw dropped. “God, Lil, you’re so hot.”

  He kissed her, hard and a little too anxious. She centered a hand on his chest. “Easy.”

  After an obedient nod, he grasped the lapels of her blouse, slipped her shirt off her arms and gasped.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s nothing.” How had she forgotten? Usually, she covered the bruises with makeup.

  He jumped off the bed as if some monstrous creature had bitten him. “It’s not nothing. He’s a bastard. I could kill him with my bare hands.” His face reddened and his chest heaved.

  She stood and extended her arms to him. “As soon as we have that book in our possession, you and I can start a new life. Maybe in Europe.”

  Stepping into her embrace, he softened against her. “He has no right to lay a hand on you. Of all people. Someone in his position—“

  She touched a finger to his lips. “Save all that passion for our lovemaking.”

  “Why do you always change the subject? I could make it look like an accident.”

  She’d gone through this with him before. “The spouse always tops the list of suspects. They’ll dig until they find out about you. How long do you think it’ll take the police to discover you were my grad student and you happened to move here the same time I did?”

  Or that my husband forced me to sign over control of my inheritance—a perfect motive to kill him.

  Releasing a sigh, she crooked a finger at him. “He’s not worth the risk.”

  He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, stripped it away. “I’ll do whatever you want. I always do.”

  She counted on that. “As long as Jones refuses to part with the book, we’re stuck.”

  “I could try to steal it again.”

  “Let’s not discuss it now, darling. I have other things on my mind.” Hadn’t he done enough damage by killing that woman at the bookstore? She’d made it very clear to him that all she wanted him to do was lift the book. He’d obviously panicked. Now she’d become an accessory to murder.

  She clenched her teeth as she recalled his previous attempt to steal something. What a debacle. When she’d instructed him to break into
Art Stephens’ house several months ago to find a valuable Chaucer collection Stephens had acquired, Thomas had not only neglected to take the book, but he’d actually dropped his wallet there. Thank goodness Stephens had accepted her offer. He amended his original police report and said he’d forgotten Thomas had visited him earlier in the day. That little save had cost her five hundred bucks. Her lover did many things well, but thievery wasn’t one of them.

  He cupped her breasts then tweaked her nipples absently. “Why that book? There must be another we can trace that’s easier to steal.”

  She supposed he deserved to know the whole story. “That edition is the mother lode.” She slid out of his reach. “My father began his collection when he served as chancellor at Princeton. Took him more than twenty years to amass a fortune in rare volumes of Elizabethan literature. Only a few copies existed of this Shakespeare edition, but he could never seem to lay his hands on one.

  “Then he read someone had stolen one from a museum in England and he began a quest to find it on the black market. He thought he’d located it, but about eight years ago it completely disappeared. A few weeks before he died he asked me to help him acquire it.” No one had ever understood how close she and her father had grown. Both her husband and her mother were jealous.

  “I promised my father two things. I’d find that book for him and I’d leave my husband.”

  “But your father’s dead, Lil.” He ran a gentle finger along her thigh. “Anyway, I thought you wanted to sell the book.”

  “I will sell it. And that money will allow me…us to live well after I divorce my husband.”

  And my father’s wishes will be granted, even if I only keep the book a short while, I will possess it.

  She grinned as she leaned back on her elbows. “Jones will require some persuading, though. I think I’ve located his Achilles heel.”

  “Which is?” He climbed over her, kissed her neck and the valley between her breasts.

  “A woman, of course. We may have to get to her to make Jones comply.”

  He murmured something akin to a moan against her skin. All his gentle kisses were fine, but she didn’t have time for such extravagances. She lay back and pushed on his shoulders to let him know she wanted him to concentrate his attention lower. He slid toward the end of the bed and spread her legs wide. His tongue teased along her folds and he slipped his fingers inside her, exactly how she enjoyed. She shut her eyes and luxuriated in the sensations. Thomas rubbed and licked and coaxed her to orgasm. Waves of pleasure rolled through her. Not enough.

  “Make me come again, love.”

  Thomas nodded. She loved how he was always so eager to please her. He shifted on the bed and caught her breast in his hand. She arched her back and savored his touch, still a bit awkward and unsure, but more loving than her husband had ever been. Pinching her erect nipples, he licked her clit and her lips like she’d taught him.

  As he pleasured her, she thought about the moment she’d have the book in her hands. With her connections, she could sell it for millions. She’d be able to tell that bastard of a husband to go screw himself.

  She’d loved him once, and he’d worshipped her. But all that had changed when he’d been unable to perform in the bedroom. The physical punishment had begun shortly after the third instance, when it became obvious he had a problem. His cruelty escalated when the board promoted her to chairman of the English department. Suddenly she earned more than his public service job would ever garner him.

  Now he was nothing but a monster. And worst of all, he’d turned her into one as well. Thoughts of that bastard totally blew her concentration. She shoved Thomas off her and clamped her legs tightly shut. “Go get the whip, Thomas.”

  He sat up and sucked in a breath. His eyes sparkled with excitement when he climbed off the bed. Hurrying to the closet, he said, “Let’s use the belt today. The buckle end.”

  “Fine.” She sat up and waited as he rifled through the tall dresser wedged into one side of the closet.

  Finally he faced her, the thick brown belt in one hand and a condom packet in the other. Leading with his erect cock, he strode toward her. He handed over the belt then rolled the condom on to his hard-on.

  “Turn around.” She rose to her knees and felt her nipples harden.

  Thomas turned his back to her and she stared at his white flesh. He was thinner than her husband, but she had a good imagination. Pulling the thick leather through her fingers, she smiled. Then she let loose a strike to his skin.

  The muscles in his ass tightened and he backed away a few inches. “Harder.”

  She wrapped the end around her hand and reared back. Then she flicked the belt hard. He cried out in pain, but remained where he stood. A red welt had already started forming on his skin.

  Her juices start to flow in her pussy and her breath grew ragged. She whipped him again. And again. Harder each time, but he never asked her to stop. The desire to totally dominate him rose in her chest.

  Her hands shook as she set the belt on the bed beside her. “Come here. Lie down. I want to fuck you now.”

  Like an obedient puppy, he did as she said. His cock was stiff as his wood dresser. She climbed over him and impaled herself on his shaft. Easing herself down, taking him deeper and deeper, she let the pleasure flow through her. Closing her hand over the belt, she coiled the buckle end around her hand and ginned down at Thomas.

  “Go ahead.” He shut his eyes.

  She rolled her hips, lifted up and down, but she needed more. Holding her breath, she flicked the belt at his chest. Harder the next time. Again and again and again she cracked her belt on his bare flesh, raising red marks and puffy welts on his skin.

  Baring her teeth, she dropped the belt to the floor. She didn’t need a weapon. Her bare hands would work just fine. Leading with her fingernails, she raked her fingers over his skin from his pecs to his waist, drawing bright red gashes.

  Thomas’ eyes flew open wide and he screamed.

  But he didn’t push her off.

  She ground her sex against him, so close to her release. Thomas held fast to her hips, tunneling into her with a ferocity she’d yet to see from him. Her orgasm exploded in a sweet, burning rush. He pounded into her a few more times, then squeezed his eyes shut and made that odd wolf sound he always did when he came.

  She tightened around him and he gasped.

  “Oh yes. That’s great.”

  She eased off him and lay across the bed. He snuggled against her, but she shoved him back. “You know I don’t like that.”

  “Sorry.”

  She glanced at her young lover, who’d worked so hard to satisfy her. He’d proven himself invaluable, but once she had the book, she wouldn’t require his services anymore. For now, though, she needed him to get to Jones’ girlfriend.

  Once Jones understood the threat to his lover, he would be more open to negotiation. She was sure of it.

  * * * * *

  Where had she hidden that damn black book? He’d pored over his surveillance video, but he’d never seen her move the thing from the dresser. One by one, he removed each pair of panties, each bra, every pair of pantyhose and ball of socks and set them aside. Staring into the empty drawer, his temper flared. He smashed his fist on the wood dresser top. Her perfume bottles toppled like bowling pins, but none broke.

  He had to hand it to her. She knew how to hide things. Always had. Could he have missed someplace last night when he’d searched the entire house and even her car for that cell? Unfortunately, he’d come up empty-handed. She couldn’t possibly be that stealthy—she didn’t have the brains.

  Sure, she was book smart. But brainy college professors often lacked the common sense to make it through the day. He’d been right to make her resign her post. How could she concentrate on him, be the kind of wife someone of his stature needed? He’d tried to teach her the way a marriage ought to work, but she’d resisted his God-given right to be in charge almost from the start.

  Glancing o
ut the front window, he hoped she wouldn’t pull into the driveway any time soon. He swept his gaze around the bedroom. His gut told him the book was somewhere in here, but he’d checked every piece of furniture—except the bed.

  That had to be the place.

  An excited growl rumbled in his throat as he lifted the mattress and peered underneath.

  Bingo! I’ll beat you at your game, bitch.

  Grabbing the book, he released a satisfied sigh, then eased the mattress back down. Skimming the pages, he found one dog-eared with a handwritten phone number. Rifling through the nightstand, he came up with a slip of paper and a pen and wrote the number. His pulse leapt like a jackrabbit, but he had to be careful. He couldn’t risk making the call from home or even from his cell.

  One of those throwaway phones would work. Before he left, he returned everything exactly as he’d found it. No sense in tipping off the bitch that he was on to her.

  Half an hour later he sat in his car in the electronics store parking lot and dialed the number his wife had worked so hard to keep from him.

  Voicemail picked up. “You’ve reached Sergeant Jason Jones…”

  “Son of a bitch.” He immediately disconnected. His head started buzzing. Disbelief mixed with rage soured in his gut.

  “I’ll kill you, you bastard!” They wouldn’t get away with this. He’d make them both pay dearly for making a fool of him.

  Sharp pains stabbed at his head. He needed to blow off some of the tension his bitch wife was causing. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked her, or even wanted to. That was the problem. He grabbed his sunglasses from the console and slipped them on.

  He drove north to Biscayne Boulevard, then slowed his speed as he searched for a whore. When he pulled to the curb alongside a cute black girl in a miniskirt and a bikini top, he rolled down the passenger window.

  She approached the car, set her hands on either side of the door. “Hey, honey. What’s your pleasure?”

  Damn it. Her teeth were too perfect. The last thing he needed was to be hauled into jail in a reverse prostitution sting.