Wicked Firsts

by Naughton, Elisabeth

  But none of that suited her to this assignment. “Have you done undercover work before?”

  Her gaze darted to Rio and held a moment. When Rio didn’t speak, Brooks glanced back at Taft. “No. I’ve been—”

  “Look, Cordova.” He turned back to Rio. “This is your gig, and you know I respect your opinion, but I know these bastards. That’s why you asked me to come in on this—”

  “So do I,” Brooks broke in, her voice a new blend of command and chill. “I’ve arrested thousands of them. Killed several. Taken billions in drugs and weapons off their backs. I know their routes, their methods, their organization. I know how they think. How they work.” She paused until Walker reluctantly met her gaze again. “I know these bastards too.”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. “So you can string a decent sentence together.”

  She looked at Rio, circled her empty fork in the air. “Seriously?” Then turned back to Taft. “Why is counterterrorism interested in this?”

  “If you knew these bastards, Brooks,” Taft taunted, “you’d know they’re trafficking more than drugs and weapons over the border. They’re trafficking terrorists. And if you had let me finish, I was going to say that these guys are extremely perceptive. They’ll spot the slightest glitch. I don’t doubt your abilities in the field. Cordova only works with the best. But this job isn’t about playing renegade in the dark. It’s about finesse. And grabbing Picasso is big.” He turned to Rio with his best take-pity-on-me-brother grin. “I know this is a partner-type deal, and I’m fine with that, but you know I’m not good with newbies. I’m no teacher, Cordova.

  “And I’m no newbie,” Brooks shot back. “Is Picasso his real name or an alias?”

  Taft sat back. “You’re a feisty little thing. I admire that. I know you do rough work at the border, and when you do your job well, you make my job easier. I just don’t want you on this job. It’s not personal.”

  She turned fiery emerald-green eyes on Rio. Taft expected her to open her mouth and talk herself right out of a job. Rio liked spirit. But he didn’t take shit. And he knew the difference.

  But she remained silent.

  “Ernesto Picasso,” Rio said. “It’s his real name.”

  “I’m sure she knows her shit when it comes to the border, Cordova, but undercover… Dude. You’ve been there. You know.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but Rio put up a hand.

  “Just cool your jets. Both of you. Neither of you may be too eager to jump on this when I finish giving you the details.”

  Taft let out a frustrated breath. He was ready to get going. This Brooks snag was just a pain in his ass. If he could just push her over the edge… He eyed her, then her plate. Just because he could, Taft made a stealthy grab for a piece of bacon and sat back.

  “Hey—” she started, then pressed her lips together and glared at him.

  He grinned with the bacon between his teeth, and her lips twisted into a reluctant, irritated smile.

  Well, that had backfired, and he found himself smiling back.

  “The smoke shop sits between an alley that leads to the parking lot and another store,” Rio said, cutting another piece of omelet. “The owner of the other shop has a brother doing time in Donovan State Prison. It took a lot of circus moves, but we got her to turn the store over to us for at least three weeks to use as a base for surveillance in trade for lightening the brother’s sentence.

  “We’re using two agents because someone will have to be conducting surveillance of Fumar and someone will have to be working the store.”

  Taft glanced back at Brooks as he chewed her bacon. If he had to get stuck with her… “Can you run a cash register?”

  She rolled her eyes right back to Rio, her jaw clenching.

  “Walker,” Rio said. “I’m not finished.”

  He shrugged. Swiped half of Brooks’s English muffin.

  She picked up her fork and fisted the handle, holding it over her plate with a go-ahead-make-my-day glint in her eye.

  Taft laughed. At least she had a sense of humor. If nothing else, he’d get some entertainment value out of annoying her.

  “Because of the nature of the store, you’ll have to work as a team,” Rio said, killing Taft’s idea of relegating Brooks to shopkeeper. “The cover is for a couple taking over new management of the shop.”

  “Why?” Taft didn’t try to hide his disdain. He was so not going to couple with Brooks.

  Rio picked up his coffee and sat back in the booth. He took a long sip and met both their gazes in turn.

  “Because it’s an adult store,” he said, then clarified. “A sex shop.”

  Surprise made Taft bust up with laughter, interrupting Rio. “Sorry, dude. Sorry. God, I love this job.” He gestured. “Go on.”

  “And since we need two agents to run the op,” Rio continued, “a heterosexual couple seemed like the most believable scenario.”

  Oh, yeah. That partner thing.

  “Also,” Rio said, “Picasso evidently has a thing for porn. Specifically live porn. He gets off on watching couples get it on and would be attracted to a young, hot couple running a sex shop. If we’re lucky, if it’s played right, he could go to inspect the tunnel, see the shop, see you two—or the agents running the shop—and walk straight to us.”

  Taft sat back, took a big bite of the English muffin, and chewed around a lingering grin. He glanced at Brooks. Her mouth was open, her face drained of color.

  He chuckled and slid a purposeful, hot glance over her face and chest. It took effort. Nothing turned him off more than a woman in uniform. “Now I know you’re not going to work out for this assignment.”

  “What,” she said, her voice ice cold with warning, “does that mean?”

  Taft glanced at Rio. He was watching closely—to see how they’d work together, Taft knew. Which was perfect. He was going to send Brooks over the edge. Then maybe he’d get a hot partner he could authentically get it on with.

  He leaned over and glanced beneath the table, then sat up with a heavy sigh. “Baby, you couldn’t sex yourself up enough to fit into a store like that if you worked at it for a month.”

  Her fork hit the plate again. But this time it hadn’t fallen. She’d thrown it. “Oh, you don’t think so?”

  “Okay,” Rio broke in, “hold on—”

  “Nope,” Taft said to Zoe, ignoring Rio. He shoved the rest of the muffin into his mouth. “I know so.”

  She slid sideways out of her chair and stood. Instead of storming out like he expected, she held his gaze and rolled her shoulders in a slow shrug. The oddly sensual move made her jacket fall off her shoulders. But the look in her eyes was what hinted that Taft was about to eat his words. As unfathomable as that still seemed.

  The jacket moved down her arms in a smooth slide until it reached her hands, where she fisted the fabric and tossed it onto the chair without looking away from him.

  Taft slouched back and waved his fingers in a bring-it gesture. “Gonna give me a lap dance, Agent?”

  “In your dreams, Agent.” She lowered her hands to her duty belt and stroked the leather. Her fingers were long and slender. The scraped knuckles seemed out of place. Slowly, purposefully, she unlatched her belt and dropped all her cop crap to the empty seat beside hers.

  Taft’s gaze rose from her slim hips, evident now without all the weaponry covering the great curves. She swept off her ball cap and shook out her hair.

  Long, thick, shiny waves of copper tumbled around her shoulders, softening everything about her. And with her hair down, her hat off, a full view of the way those green eyes dominated her delicate face…

  Oh yeah. He was going to eat his words.

  “It’s getting hot in here.” She fanned herself with the ball cap. “Don’t you think, Agent Cordova?”

  “If you’re hot, Agent, make yourself comfortable.” The humor in Rio’s voice dragged Taft’s gaze away from all that glorious hair. Rio crossed his arms and grinned at Taft with a you-sta
rted-it shake of his head. “You’re no longer on the clock.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she breathed with exaggerated drama, drawing Taft’s gaze back just as both her hands moved to her uniform shirt and yanked it open. The snaps popped from her sternum down to her bellybutton in split-second succession, revealing a white undershirt.

  Taft’s gaze widened in shock at the brash movement in such a public place. A second later, his body caught up with a rush of blood between his legs. He glanced at the tables nearby, found amused customers watching as well. But Brooks didn’t look the least bit apologetic or embarrassed as she slid the uniform shirt off her shoulders the same way she had her jacket. Beneath, the white undershirt turned out to be a body-hugging tank with ribbon-like straps, making Taft’s throat go dry.

  The woman had a great rack.

  “Are you a”—as his gaze roamed all the new curves, her nipples tightened beneath the fabric and heat exploded at the center of Taft’s body—“closet exhibitionist, Brooks?”

  She folded the uniform shirt and laid it in Taft’s lap, leaning so close the heat of her skin and soft floral scent of her hair bathed him.

  He caught her arm in his hand, gently. She froze. Her eyes snapped to his, and this close, he could see a smoky blue rim around the irises’ edge. “Those are some nasty bruises.” When she didn’t flinch or pull from his touch, he caressed a thumb over the cursive Z tattooed along her upper arm and continuing over her shoulder. A sweet, girly thing, with curlicues, ribbons, and flowers. “And this is awfully…feminine. Done by a fine artist.” He grinned up at her. “I’ve bet you’ve got some interesting…layers.”

  A slow smile lifted her mouth, drawing his attention to her lips, to their shape, to the pretty teeth beneath, to the way her eyes lightened when she smiled. And he realized, he already had a really smokin’ hot partner. She just had all that heat tucked away, making her that much more intriguing.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she whispered, more of a tantalizing invitation than a snipe.

  She straightened, and Taft let her arm slide through his fingers as she moved. Soft. Toned. She took her seat, pressed her forearms to the table, and leaned forward. He knew she was doing it to show off her cleavage, so he kept his gaze on her face.

  Brooks picked up a piece of bacon, took a languid bite, then pressed the meat to Taft’s lips. “Want a bite, Agent?”

  Taft took the rest of the piece up to her fingertips, making her gasp. Then smile. And, hell, those two things combined did wicked things to his body.

  She tossed her hair to one side, rested her chin in her hand, set her lids to heavy, her voice to smoky, and said, “Still don’t think I can sex myself up enough for the job, Agent?”

  Taft picked up Brooks’s orange juice and downed the small glass. She didn’t make a sound of protest. In fact, she smiled. A slow, hot smile…that did slow, hot things to his body.

  “I have a whole new appreciation,” he said, drawing air, “for just how much of a woman a uniform can hide.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ZOE’S HEELS CLICKED ON THE STAMPED CEMENT of the Otay Mesa Premium Outlet mall. She turned down the row of shops housing Incognito and Fumar and paused in front of the adult shop.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected but was relieved to discover a tasteful window display designed around poster-sized images of attractive couples engaged in pleasurable embraces, the centerpiece an oversized, glittering masquerade mask suspended from the ceiling.

  “Okay,” she murmured. “This might not be so bad.”

  Next door, Fumar’s interior hid behind flat gray blinds. A sign above the door handle read: MEMBERS ONLY.

  Zoe took a deep breath and turned toward Incognito again. Nothing to do now but face…Walker. And…a store full of sex toys.

  She grimaced. Then flashed back to Walker’s amazing face…body…voice…laugh.

  After they’d stayed at the café another half hour going over the case, he hadn’t turned out to be as big an ass as she’d originally thought. Once he’d seen beneath her uniform and decided she was sexy enough to pull off that part of the cover, he’d dialed back the sarcasm and gotten down to business. Taft Walker had turned out to be knowledgeable, reasonable, confident.

  Playful.

  Funny.

  Zoe bit her lip against a smile. After one short hour, he’d made her laugh as much as she laughed with the guys on her team whom she’d known for years. In fact, she’d grown to like him so quickly it sort of unnerved her. But all she had to do to cool her growing attraction was remember his lingering reservations over her abilities. Because while he thought she was sexy enough to be here, he wasn’t convinced she was talented enough to work undercover. And that irked her.

  She replayed her fear from the night before and forced Taft’s strong body and all that black, wavy hair from her mind.

  But not for long.

  The first thing that hit her when she stepped into the store was his laugh. Deep, warm, and filled with a hot edge of innuendo.

  Dammit. He shouldn’t be here yet. She’d come an hour early to get her bearings without him hovering or inspecting or ordering…

  “There she is.” His smooth, deep voice cut across the small space and filled her belly with heat. “Hey, baby.”

  He stepped out from behind a shelving unit in black jeans and a royal blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves and open over a ribbed white tank, showing too much of his tanned chest and too many packed abs. His hair reminded Zoe of licorice and—kill me now—he’d powered his smile up to melt.

  Walker’s dark eyes warmed and his gaze roamed her body with a familiarity he didn’t have. “Ah, hell,” he murmured with a hunger Zoe felt in her belly. “It’s gonna be hard to concentrate tonight.”

  Three others stepped into the aisle to check Zoe out, two women and a man. From the information Rio had given her, Zoe knew one of the women was the store owner, Xiomara Cruise. She guessed the other two were customers.

  Walker set the box in his hand down on a shelf and started toward Zoe. She knew a lot of men, but only a few who could pull off a good swagger and even fewer who could make it look sexy.

  Walker was one of the fewest.

  He gathered Zoe into his arms with an ultimate sense of confidence that fascinated her. It was as if he knew her body intimately, knew exactly how they’d fit together and simply placed all the pieces where they were meant to be.

  She pressed her hands to his chest and leaned away automatically. It wasn’t like she had guys sweeping her off her feet every day. Unless, of course, she counted the illegal immigrants who somersaulted with her down an embankment, then held a gun to her head. Zoe hadn’t had a normal guy hold her like this in over eight months. Hadn’t had one make her feel this…untied…this quickly in…forever.

  Her body filled with the same languid pleasure that came with a deep-tissue massage, or sinking into a Jacuzzi after a stressful week. But Walker’s hot body and spicy scent added an edgy quality that made Zoe restless. Hungry. Impatient.

  “You clean up nicer than I expected, Brooks.” His gaze slid slowly to her hands holding him away. His full lips tilted in challenge or mockery, she couldn’t tell which, and he met her eyes again. “But…are you on board…or not?”

  “O-of course.” Her voice broke, and color burned her cheekbones.

  Walker grinned. That grin that made her spine soften. “Then relax, sugar. And enjoy your work.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her.

  He kissed her.

  And Zoe had one of those surreal how in the hell did I get here? moments. She was standing in a sex shop, kissing a stranger, in front of more strangers.

  But his kiss was nothing more than a soft press of his lips. And not the least bit romantic with his eyes open and on hers, filled with silent challenge.

  Now, challenge was something Zoe knew all about.

  When he leaned away, Zoe released her air, let her body relax against his, and linked her finge
rs behind his neck. She hummed at the sensual feel of all that muscle, and her underused libido surged.

  “Oh yeah,” he murmured, his voice soft, thick, and lavishing approval. “That’s better.”

  “Wait,” she whispered. “I’m not done yet.”

  She stretched, sliding her body along his slowly, feeling every swell and groove and plane before she pressed her lips to his. His mouth remained firm, chaste. His eyes remained open, but a clear new awareness burned hot.

  She tugged on his neck, pulling their mouths flush, and licked his bottom lip. His hands fisted in the waistband of her slacks.

  She gazed into those blazing golden eyes and pulled back just enough to whisper, “Are you on board, Walker, or not?”

  He growled. Opened his mouth. Closed his eyes. And really kissed her.

  Zoe swore a conduit existed between her mouth and her sex. The touch of Walker’s tongue flooded her pelvis with heat where it melted between her legs. He tasted like specialty coffee heated to perfection. Sweet, bitter, and decadent. One hand curled into her hair and cupped her head. The other used her belt to pull her hips up and into his, making sure she felt every inch of his package—not easily missed. His tongue slowly stroked hers, moving, probing, tasting. Zoe had never realized how much like fucking a kiss could be. But she’d obviously been kissing the wrong men. He broke away only to suck at one of her lips, then dive back in to do it all…freaking…over…again.

  Christ…that was so…goooooood.

  She had no doubt sex with him would be even better.

  “Excuse me…”

  An expectant female voice pulled Walker out of the kiss. But not away from Zoe. His gaze had darkened to molten bittersweet chocolate, his breath hot on her lips. “Damn.” His voice touched her ears in a thick rasp. “I love this fucking job.”