by Low, Gennita
Holy shit!
She’d come so close to blowing everything she’d worked for the past twenty-four hours.
Though joy surged at Remy’s reappearance after more than a year, dread tempered her happiness. If he knew what she was up to, he’d go all macho and refuse to let her go through with her plan. She had to talk to him. But she knew she was being watched and Rocco would be close, following her every move. The man hadn’t gotten away with the horrible things he’d done by being careless.
Chapter Two
‡
Remy had gone to dinner with his teammates, glad for the good food after months of MREs in the sandbox. He’d almost passed on the strip club, but the thought of returning to an empty apartment when he’d had such high hopes for the night was too much to consider. So he’d gone to the Naughty Ladies Lounge and watched as the guys made fools of themselves over the women dancing, drooling over the women waving their asses and boobs in their faces.
He almost hadn’t recognized Mitchell when she’d come on stage. She’d bleached her straight hair a much lighter shade of blond and made it kinky curly. What had thrown him most was the thick makeup disguising her eyes. She appeared to be an entirely different woman. Not until he’d seen the tattoo of a rose on her left hip had he known for certain. Thank goodness, none of the others put CC Hart and the down-to-earth, girl-next-door Mitchell Sanders together.
“Hey, this place is shutting down in thirty minutes.” Irish stopped in front of his table. “The guys want to hit an all-night diner before we go sleep it all off. You comin’?”
Remy stood and stretched. “No, I’m still full from dinner. I’m headed home.” Not a complete lie. He was headed home. After he had a talk with Mitchell. And if all went well, maybe he’d bring her along. “See you guys tomorrow, sometime.”
“You gonna watch the game with us?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
Irish touched his shoulder. “Sorry things didn’t work out with Mitchell.”
Remy shrugged. “Yeah. Some things just aren’t meant to be.”
“How are you getting home?”
“I’m going to walk for a while and catch a cab when I get tired.”
Irish’s brows rose. “You sure? This isn’t the best part of town to be hoofin’ it alone.”
“Thanks. But I can handle myself. And I need the air.”
Irish, Fish, Nacho, Swede and Dustman jostled each other as they left the club, each talking about their favorite dancer and wishing they’d gotten phone numbers.
Following them out of the bar, Remy headed down the sidewalk, pretending he was walking home. When his buddies drove past hooting and hollering, he waved, slowing his steps until they were out of sight and switched back.
He leaned against the corner of a building, sticking to the shadows, and watched the door to the lounge as customers exited, and the bouncer closed the door behind the last one.
When the neon lights blinked off, Remy left his corner and rounded to the back of the club and hid behind a large trash bin, out of sight of anyone leaving. And he waited for Mitchell.
Several ladies, dressed in jeans and lightweight jackets or sweaters left the building in a group, hurrying toward their respective vehicles and calling out good nights to each other as they climbed in.
A lone woman stepped out of the back of the building, pulling up the collar of her leather jacket around her neck. She glanced left, then right and back over her shoulder before stepping out, walking with a determined gait.
From where he stood, with nothing but a dark body moving through the gloom to go on, Remy could tell the women was Mitchell. He’d watched her so often from a distance when she’d dated Derek that he knew the subtle sway of her hips, the way she walked with her shoulders back and her long legs eating up the distance. She wasn’t very tall, but she walked tall, and looked sexy as hell.
Though moving forward, Mitchell kept looking back over her shoulder. When she came abreast of his position, she spoke in a low voice, “Fall in step with me and pretend you’re purchasing my services. We’ll be followed.”
Remy started to turn, fists clenched, ready.
Mitchell hooked his arm and led him toward her vehicle. “Don’t look back, just walk.”
His arm tensed in hers and he whispered, “What the hell is going on?”
“I’ll tell you later. Get in.” She hit the key fob, unlocking the door to a car he didn’t recognize. One that looked like a rental.
Once inside, she leaned across the console, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Not a welcome back kiss, but a I-wanna-fuck-you kiss.
Taken off guard, Remy returned the kiss, his cock hardening instantly. He cupped her shoulders and held tight, blood pounding in his ears. For a few seconds he forgot it was all for show. He was kissing Mitchell and she was kissing him back. How many nights had he lain awake dreaming of a moment like this?
When she broke away, she touched her hand to her mouth, dragged in a deep breath and backed out of the parking space. She turned and pulled onto the main road, switching on the radio to rock music.
“Do you mind telling me what’s going on?”
Flashing a smile, she raised a finger to her lips. “Just wait. You’ll have the best night your money can buy.”
Remy started to say something else. Before he could Mitchell turned up the radio louder.
While glancing her way, he noted headlights behind them. When Mitchell turned, the vehicle behind them turned. She’d said something about being followed. But by whom?
Maintaining the speed limit, Mitchell drove to a seedy motel in a shady part of town.
He glanced out the window and his gut clenched. The motel was the kind that rented by the hour, the neon sign was no longer lit, the tubes having burned out long ago. The only light shined through the dirty office window.
Mitchell parked in front. “Stay here. I’ll take care of everything.”
When he saw her getting out, Remy’s hand went to the door handle.
She bent and looked across the seat at him. “Please stay. I know what I’m doing.”
Not liking the situation at all, and with several questionable characters loitering in the shadows, Remy kept his hand on the door handle, ready to jump out and take care of business.
After a moment, Mitchell returned with a key to one of the rooms. She got in behind the wheel, drove to the end of the building and parked.
At the sight of her reaching for the door handle, Remy grabbed her arm. “We’re not going in there, are we?”
“It’s expected. We can talk once we’re inside. Please, play along.”
She grabbed her purse and climbed out, fitting the key in the door lock. The carpet was stained and the wallpaper was peeling, but the sheets looked clean, if a little threadbare.
He stomped into the room behind her. “Now, are you going to—”
“Wanna listen to some music, sweetie?” She pulled an IPod out of her purse, attached a mini speaker and set it on loud rock and roll music.
Past being patient, he gripped Mitchell’s arms. “Tell me what’s going on now.”
Pulling him close, she wrapped her arms around him and nibbled his ear. “Mmm, you smell good,” she said in a loud voice and then whispered, “I’m working undercover to get close to Rocco Hatch.” Mitchell reached for the hem of his shirt. “I need him to think I’m a working girl, if you know what I mean.” She lifted his shirt up over his head and dropped it on the bed. “He’s very cagey and seems to know more than a casual observer. I think he has his own surveillance equipment and he doesn’t let anyone close to him.”
“I don’t like this.” He planted his hands on her hips, needing the connection.
“You don’t have to.” In a louder voice, she announced, “It’s one hundred for a quick fuck. You have to pay me upfront.”
“What the—”
“Pay or we don’t play.” She held out her hand, her brows rising.
Feeling a
s if he’d stepped into a bizarre dream, Remy pulled out his wallet, extracted a one-hundred-dollar bill and handed it to her.
“Now the fun begins.” She shimmied out of her jacket and tossed it over a chair, then moved to the music much as she’d dance that night on the stage.
Despite the strangeness of the situation, Remy couldn’t stop his body’s reaction to her. She wore a low-cut rib knit blouse, short, tight skirt and high heels. It was the heels that had him. They made her long legs even longer and sexier.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not liking it.” Well, he did, but that very fact bothered him.
“You think I like playing the whore?” She pushed him backward until his knees bumped into the bed and then attacked his belt buckle. “At least, I’m not doing this with a stranger.”
“Why are you doing this?”
After unbuttoning his jeans, she slid them down his legs, helped him out of his boots, then jeans and straightened.
Fully naked now, his cock stuck straight out, hard as fuckin’ nails and ready for whatever game she was playing, as long as it ended up inside her.
“Say something sexy and loud enough to be heard over the music,” she said as she nibbled his earlobe, yet again.
Sexy? His mind went blank and the only thing he could think of was, “Want some of this baby?” He lowered a hand to his cock and hefted it.
Mitchell laughed. “Really?”
Remy dragged her against him, wincing at the pressure. “I’m at a disadvantage here. I don’t know what you’re up to. I don’t like being kept in the dark, and I really don’t like the fact that someone might be listening in.”
“Sorry. But you walked right into my operation.”
“If you’re in an operation, where is your backup?”
“There’s the problem.” She bit her lip, pushed him back on the bed and straddled his hips. Then she slid her skirt up over her ass, and tugged off that darned G-string that had been under her less-than-there leotard earlier. “I don’t actually have a backup,” she whispered. Louder, she said, “You got some protection, honey?” Leaning over the edge of the mattress, she reached into his jeans pocket, removed his wallet and plucked out a condom packet. Her voice dropped below the music volume. “And this isn’t a sanctioned operation.” Sliding the condom over his dick, she tossed the foil packet to the floor. “Now, big boy, fuck me like you mean it.”
Mitchell rose up on her knees and sank down over him, poised to take him inside. Her gaze connected with his and held. “No, really, make love to me like I’m a bought-and-paid-for whore.”
Despite the circumstances, which he wasn’t happy about, Remy couldn’t deny his body’s reaction to hers. Hell, what red-blooded male would? With the tip of his cock nudging her entrance, he could barely breathe, much less think. “I didn’t picture this night ending like this.”
“Me either, but I had to talk to you. The only way I could and look legit to Hatch was to do you. Now, do it.”
Chapter Three
‡
When Mitchell had first heard Remy’s voice in the crowd, she’d almost lost her focus. Over a year had passed since that horrible night when she’d temporarily lost her mind and made love to him.
She still hadn’t forgiven herself for her brief lapse in judgment. Derek had loved her, had expected to come back from deployment to marry her. The whole time he’d been gone, she’d pretended everything was all right. But it wasn’t. She’d loved Derek… but not like he’d wanted her to. Her feelings for him had been less and less lover-like and more and more brotherly. As dumb as that description sounded, that was how she’d felt.
Knowing how difficult their missions were and the dangers they faced in the deserts of Afghanistan, she couldn’t tell him over email, Skype or text. She’d waited, knowing that when he got back, and as soon as he was rested up, she’d tell him she couldn’t marry him. Derek was a damned good guy and he deserved a woman who loved him with all her heart as a lover.
The problem was, she’d been attracted to Remy, and not in any way, shape or form in a brotherly fashion. No, she’d wanted to have hot, raunchy sex with him, to ride him like a stallion and make love to him until neither of them could see straight, and then do it all over again.
Nothing about her break-up with Derek was going to be easy. And she really didn’t think she’d stand a snowball’s chance in hell with Remy once she broke his best buddy’s heart. During her lowest moments, she’d actually wished Derek were out of the way so she could pursue Remy without guilt.
Then Remy had come back with Derek in a body bag.
The shock had been instant and complete. Derek couldn’t die. She really did love him and hadn’t wanted him dead. The reality was like losing the brother she’d never had, a family member she treasured, and he’d been such a nice guy, deserving a long happy life.
Guilt warred with grief as she watched them lower his body into the ground. His parents had been there, his mother sobbing and inconsolable. And Mitchell had stood silent throughout the eulogy, her heart sore, her chest aching with her loss.
Remy had been at her side. He’d put his arm around her and she’d leaned into his body, needing the warmth and strength he represented.
When he’d driven her home, he’d offered to sit with her, to be with her until she didn’t need him.
In something of a trance, she’d led him into her apartment, sat with him on the couch and wrapped her arms around him. The next thing she knew, she was kissing him, unbuttoning his shirt and stripping her dress off her shoulders.
She’d shimmied out of the dress, panties and bra and straddled him on the couch. For a moment, he’d hesitated, opening his mouth to say something.
Mitchell hadn’t let him, refusing to break the trance and face reality. She slid down over him, taking him into her, as if by filling her so intimately, the act would fill the gaping maw created by their shared loss.
For a short time, she forgot they’d been at a funeral, forgot her boyfriend had died, and forgot that making love to his best friend before the grave had time to settle was wrong.
But damn it, Derek hadn’t come back to give her the opportunity for the closure she’d so badly needed. Angry at him for dying, she wasn’t thinking straight. She wanted to hurt him for leaving her and she wanted to forget the pain.
When she took Remy inside her body, tears spilled down her cheeks. Angry at herself for giving in to grief, she drove her body faster, harder, her fingernails digging into Remy’s skin.
They’d made love on the couch, their joining, hot, desperate and uncontrolled. She’d begged him to spank her, knowing she deserved to be punished for giving in to her baser desires after burying the man she was supposed to love.
When making love on the couch wasn’t enough, she’d dragged him to his feet. Still hard, wet and throbbing, Remy had bent, scooped her up and wrapped her legs around his waist.
Mitchell and Remy did it in the living room, against the wall on the way to the bedroom and finally collapsed into the bed where he’d slowed the pace and caressed every part of her body with a gentleness she didn’t deserve. By the time he came inside her, she was crying again, silent tears, streaming down her cheeks.
He rolled to his side and gathered her close, holding her until her sobs subsided and she came to her senses.
Then she’d booted him out of her bed and her apartment and refused to see him, the guilt too much to bear. A year had gone by and the guilt had faded. One day, she’d answered an email from Remy. He’d texted her and she hadn’t deleted it. Soon they were talking electronically and on his last deployment, she’d emailed him every day.
She’d let herself believe they might finally get past Derek’s death and the terrible thing they’d done. They’d gone so far as to promise each other that if they didn’t have a date for Valentine’s Day, they’d go out together.
Mitchell knew she wouldn’t have a date. She hadn’t been seeing anyone in the year since Derek’
s death. But Remy was a very attractive, sexual man with needs. She couldn’t expect him to go a year without dating someone on redeployments stateside. Still a slim hope that he’d call when he returned from deployment had remained firmly rooted in her mind.
Then a week ago, Kelli had disappeared and her boss had given the case to an incompetent ass. Mitchell had to go rogue undercover in hope of saving her friend.
Now she was trying to salvage a mission she’d assigned herself, and Remy was there, holding her, sliding his throbbing cock into her. Sometimes she thought fate was playing cruel games with her life.
As she sank over him, her memories of the last time they were together ebbed and flowed though her. Her body knew his as if their one night together had only been yesterday.
She lifted his hands to her breasts and arched her back, pressing them into his palms. If she let herself, she could almost forget that one of the most formidable mobsters was outside their door, with listening and infrared devices, checking her out, making certain she was who she said she was. A whore, who’d take money for sex.
Mitchell rode Remy, the firm thickness filling her; the added danger of her situation made her even more turned on than she could imagine. That someone could actually see the heat images of her and Remy getting it on made her pussy tighten.
Remy stilled, his hands on her hips, then he lifted her off him and flipped her onto her back, coming up over her. He leaned down. “Do you really think he’d be watching us?”
“Yes.” Mitchell wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. “He doesn’t let anyone close, and he checks out all of his dancers.”
His brow wrinkled in a frown and he paused in mid-thrust. “Why?”
“I think he’s responsible for some of the women who’ve gone missing from the Virginia Beach area. I think he’s either selling them or drugging them and forcing them into prostitution.” She tightened her legs around him. “Don’t stop. We have to make this look convincing.”