Hard To Resist

by Kylie Brant

  There was danger in that way of thinking, and she mentally veered to avoid it. It would be a mistake to read too much into their relationship. A mistake to depend on him too much. Logically she knew that. Accepted it. Emotionally she was wrapped up in the moment.

  His mouth went to her throat and she arched her neck, allowing him access. She could hear his heart thudding close and realized with faint surprise that it echoed her own. She’d never experienced this: a deliberately gradual rise of simmering arousal, with no hurry to get to the final act. One of his hands touched her bare back, the other cupped her bottom, pulled her infinitesimally closer.

  “Are you cold?” His lips brushed her ear, and she realized with a start that she was trembling. She shook her head, fascinated by the curl of male satisfaction on his lips. He would know, of course, that he was responsible for her reaction. The thought dissipated in the next moment when her hips grazed his and she felt the unmistakable hardness there.

  Heat surged through her veins, fueled by an innate womanly satisfaction. If she was affected by Dare’s nearness, he was just as affected by hers. Closing the small distance between them, she rested her head on his chest, felt the hammering of his heart beneath tightly drawn muscles. His fingers dipped below the fabric at her back and skimmed over her tailbone. Her next act wasn’t conscious; it was instinctive.

  She unfastened his shirt, one button at a time, pressing a warm kiss to each inch of golden skin she bared. When she had a smooth wedge of flesh bared, she rubbed her cheek against it once, her eyes sliding shut even as she pulled the shirt tails from his waistband. His hand tightened on her hips, brought her closer against him.

  Pushing the shirt over his arms forced him to release her, but not for long. She stepped into his arms again, tested a firm pectoral muscle with her teeth.

  His mouth found hers with evidence of a keen edged need that was reciprocated. This time would be different from a few nights ago. She wanted to unleash the animal that lurked just beneath the surface. Tonight she’d have it all.

  The air crackled with the electricity they created. His mouth went in search of hers, and their tongues tangled. He pushed the straps from her shoulders, and shock arced through her when it pooled around her feet. She hadn’t felt him release it.

  She was grateful for the candlelight. The dress hadn’t allowed for a bra, and all she was left wearing was a wisp of black lace panties and her sandals, while he…he was definitely overdressed.

  For the moment, at least, it appeared he intended to stay that way. He bent his head to catch her nipple in his lips and sucked strongly from her. Her knees buckled in sudden violent response. Her fingers went to his hair, unconsciously drawing him closer as the sensations crashed over her, one wave after another.

  She released his pants and found him, cupping his heavy masculinity. He surged into her hands. It was shockingly arousing to be nearly naked in his arms when he was partially clothed. And as much as she wanted to equalize the situation, she didn’t want to stop touching him.

  He reached beneath the elastic of her panties, found her warm wet heat and stroked a finger inside her. She cried out reflexively, her fingers tightening around him. His mouth went to her other breast and the dual assault was more than she could bear.

  His voice was ragged, muffled against her skin. “Let’s go into the bedroom.”

  Her touch grew more deliberate. “I want you inside me. Now.”

  His breathing ragged, he gave her a long, deep kiss, and began to move her toward the bedroom. She had no intention of cooperating. She didn’t want to give him time to regain his flagging control, to set limits on his own passion, while provoking an aching response from her. She wanted, quite simply, to destroy him, as completely as their love-making destroyed her, before the shattering explosion completed her again.

  “The bedroom,” he panted, his mouth moving to her jaw, her ear, her throat. “Now, Addie.”

  Instead she went to her knees before him, pressed her lips against his hardness. It was gratifying to feel his body quake against her, to feel his shuddering response. She traced her tongue down the length of him, exploring him with lips and tongue, until he hauled her to her feet and into his arms.

  His mouth covered hers fiercely. His kiss evoked a similarly violent response in her. She responded to his violence with more of the same, demanding a response. He backed her up against the wall, then reached down, shredded the panties that shielded her from him.

  The savagery of the action shocked and aroused her. “Dare.” He pressed his mouth to hers and swallowed the sound, while cupping her bottom and lifting her to impale her with one long stroke.

  The sweet velvet slide on his shaft, the delicate pulsations as her body adjusted to his invasion, was almost more than he could bear. He didn’t think about the need for protection, didn’t consider anything but this moment. This woman.

  Surging forward, he heard her moan and went in search of her mouth. Sealing it with his, he pistoned his hips, thrusting hard and deep, wringing wild cries from her. Her legs were wrapped around him, her arms clinging to his shoulders. Each savage thrust flattened her breasts against him and the exquisite sensations threatened to send him over the edge.

  Fingers digging into her bottom, he held her steady as he pounded into her, his vision graying, beginning to blur. He dimly felt her heels pressing into his back, her body tensing then clenching around him. He was blind, deaf to all but this woman.

  When he felt her release, he lunged harder, buried himself inside her to the hilt and followed her into oblivion.

  They made it, eventually, to the bed. Night fell, passion rose again, was satiated with clever mouths, pleasuring hands. The hours spun into an endless cloak of pleasure. One neither of them wanted to relinquish.

  She came out of the bathroom the next morning wearing one towel and drying her hair with another. “Where do you hide your blow dryer?”

  He decided then and there that she was the only woman alive who could look elegantly sexy even wrapped in terry cloth. She would look even better in nothing at all.

  He reached out and gripped the edge of the towel, gave a tug. “Come over here, and I’ll tell you.”

  She pulled away, then stopped when her action nearly succeeded in loosening the precarious knot holding up her covering. Dropping the towel she’d used on her hair, she used both hands to secure the one that was rapidly slipping. “Behave yourself. I don’t have time to wrestle this morning.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “No? Then maybe you should throw in the towel.” He gave a yank, and she hit the bed at approximately the same time her covering dropped to the floor. They rolled across the bed, and she laughed, struggling in vain to evade him.

  “You have a one-track mind. I know your type, McKay.”

  “You’re my type, Jacobs.” He wrestled her to her back, stretched out on top of her, holding both her wrists above her head with maddening ease.

  There was a feminine curl of excitement at the sight of him leaning over her, his face stamped with primal male appreciation. Her voice was more breathless than she would have liked when she asked, “What type is that?”

  “Tall, blond and naked.” He kissed the smile from her lips, turned it much too easily to need. He let go of her hands to cup her face, and she promptly twined her arms around his neck, fingers raking into his hair.

  The ringing of her cell phone seemed to come from a great distance. When it became apparent that Dare would ignore it, she wiggled free to pick it up from the bedside table where she’d left it. Her voice was breathless when she answered, made more so when his arms suddenly snaked around her. Flipping her to her back, his mouth did sneaky sexy things to the cord along her throat.

  It was an effort to make sense of Song’s message. Once she did, she pressed one palm against Dare’s chest to stop his distractions and straightened slowly.

  “I’ll get there as soon as I can. No, don’t expect me. I’ll drive directly to lockup. Do we know who his
public defender is yet? Find out. And when you do, set up a time for him to meet me at the jail in two hours. Give the same message to Stanley.”

  Dare had raised his head, was studying her carefully. She listened for another moment, then said, “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way. Thanks for tipping me off, Song.”

  She ended the conversation and flipped the phone closed.

  “Sounds serious.” Dare’s expression was quizzical.

  “I think it is.” Excitement of a different sort sizzled through her veins. “Delgado fired Paquin last night. Sounds like he’s ready to deal.”

  Chapter 13

  A.J. had never met Hank Rambo, Delgado’s new public defender before, and she took the time to update him on the recent offer her office had made to his client.

  “I think you should know, Ms. Jacobs, that I’ve cautioned my client not to rush into any sort of agreement with you until we see something in writing.”

  Without a word Mark Stanley handed the written agreement to the man, who skimmed it rapidly. When he’d finished with it, he said, “Mr. Delgado is willing to speak to you, only as a matter of supposition at this point, admitting to no wrongdoing in his current case or in his past.”

  She nodded her agreement.

  Delgado took over then. It was obvious he and his attorney had worked out their roles earlier. “Let’s say maybe you’re right, and maybe I did some work for some people. I give you names, and then what?”

  “Then nothing,” she told him bluntly. “Names are worthless if you can’t back them up with irrefutable proof.”

  “Irrefutable.” He turned the word over, smiled chillingly. “How ’bout tape recordings of the transactions? Would that be irrefutable enough for you?”

  “He’s bluffing,” Mark put in. “If he had that kind of evidence, it would have been found when the cops seized his possessions in Ohio.”

  Delgado never even spared him a glance. His gaze was fixed on A.J. “What do you say? I’ve got the guys on tape, describing the job, giving me my orders and promising me cash. Half on acceptance of the assignment and half on completion.”

  Assignment. Completion. He made the topic sound like they were discussing schoolwork. Determined to disguise the revulsion she felt, she gave him a short nod. “Upon delivery of the tapes, and upon our satisfaction that the voices match the names you give us, then you’ll have your immunity granted for the Dorsey homicide.”

  “What about this crap you’re trying to pull on me committing some hit in prison?”

  Her smile was cold, ruthless. “One thing at a time, Paulie. This deal is for the Dorsey hit only.”

  “Alleged hit,” his attorney put in. The other people in the room ignored him.

  Delgado leaned back in his chair, studied her. “And if I can come up with more than just those two tapes?”

  “Then we’ll discuss the matter further. Right now I want the name of the man who ordered Dorsey killed.”

  Delgado was still playing it cagey. “Suppose I could guess…”

  “Yeah, why don’t you do that.” Suddenly she was out of patience with the whole thing. “Guess who might have given the order to have Dorsey murdered.”

  He pursed his lips, gave the appearance of a man deep in thought. “If I was to guess I’d say Mulcahy.”

  Releasing a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding, she nodded. The name matched the one Benson had given her. But this interview wasn’t done yet. “And who would you guess wanted Patterson and Connally dead?”

  His eyes went sly, and his mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. “My guess would be Mannen. Victor Mannen.”

  “He named Mannen,” A.J. informed Beardmore an hour later in his office. “Now we wait and see if he can deliver the tapes he claims he has.”

  “We still have to match the voices on it,” Stanley reminded them. “That’s not going to be easy. With the technology available today there must be a dozen ways to alter tape recordings.”

  “And just as many ways to detect such alterations. We’ll have his testimony, too,” she reminded him. “I have the feeling this thing is just starting to unravel. Delgado must feel the same way, or he wouldn’t have unleashed Paquin and gone off on his own.” She had no doubt that the defense attorney had tried to talk Delgado out of the action he’d taken, resulting in his firing. Since it was certain he hadn’t acted in his client’s best interests, he must have been protecting someone else. Mannen?

  “We’ll have to proceed with caution.” Dennis wore a ponderous expression. “There’s the potential for a huge success here if this thing pans out. If it blows up in our faces, however, the embarrassment to the office would be devastating.”

  And, she thought, put the kiss of death on his candidacy. “We’ll take it one step at a time,” she promised. “Delgado’s new PD is already making noises about filing for a delay, with the excuse that he’s new to the case. Do you want me to counter if he does?”

  Beardmore shook his head. “No, let it play out. More time can only aid our investigators in their task.” He stood, indicating the meeting was over. “Good work, A.J., Mark. If this proceeds the way we hope, our office will receive national exposure.”

  For once A.J. didn’t let his ambitions mar her mood. They were close to nailing Delgado, and with him, Mannen. Nothing could ruin her satisfaction at the prospect of putting the pair of men away for good.

  Dare hung up the phone, excitement spiking. He rolled his chair to his computer, typed in the name he’d just acquired and waited impatiently for his personal files to unfold. He scrolled from one to the other, skimming. He was already fairly certain that his supposition was correct, but when he found the information he was seeking, the jolt of realization was still sharp. “My God,” he muttered, shoving his wheeled chair away from his desk. “All this time, and we’ve had a prime lead right under our noses.” He picked up the phone again, this time to dial Connally’s number. “Where are you?” he asked, wasting no time on preliminaries when the detective answered. “At your desk? Well, put down your coffee, quit trying to sneak that cigarette and get to the computer.” He grinned at the other man’s suggestion. “Still testy, Connally? Nicotine withdrawal is hell, isn’t it? Punch this name in and see what you get—Peter Rollins.”

  He waited, not quite patiently. It was a measure of their growing friendship that the detective didn’t balk, although his cooperation wasn’t accomplished without griping.

  Gabe’s voice came on the line again. “I’ve got three hits—two currently in prison and one aggravated assault, pleaded out two years ago. What am I supposed to be looking for here?”

  “Try the assault. Does he match this social security number?” He recited a string of numbers, and Connally affirmed them. Dare’s grin grew wider. The picture was so sweet when the pieces fell together.

  There was a hint of grudging admiration in the other man’s voice. “McKay, how the hell do you get your hands on that kind of information?”

  “Trade secret, m’boy. Peter Rollins used to be Peter Randolf until he changed his name nine years ago. Did it all nice and legal. His employer is the careful type. But while he was Peter Randolf he served time in Leavenworth. Bet if you enter that name into the computer you’ll get a whole list of hits.” He waited, until the name he’d mentioned rang a bell in Connally’s memory. He didn’t have too wait for long.

  “Son of a—Randolf is one of the names Benson mentioned as witness to the knifing at Leavenworth.”

  “You get ten points for putting it together, son, but I gotta deduct a few for lack of speed.” He chuckled at the detective’s expletive. “You want me to tell you where you can find that fellow now?”

  “I have a feeling you will anyway.”

  “You’re right.” Dare felt undeniably cheerful. “I’ll save you the trouble of tracking this one down on your own, and we can talk about what you owe me later. Peter Randolf has been working in Chicago for the past nine years. He’s Victor Mannen’s right-hand man.�
�

  Mannen’s office had the artwork of a museum and the opulence of a palace. He sat behind an acre of burnished cherry, both curator and king. When his visitor was shown into the area, he had his hands folded serenely, his face arranged in an expressionless mask.

  “Mr. McKay.” He arched one slim brow. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure.”

  “Mannen.” Dare cast a derisive eye on the glittering surroundings. “Crime seems to be paying off well for you.”

  Mannen’s diamond pinkie ring caught the light, shards of brilliance reflecting from its surface. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to. Please state your business before I lose patience and call security.” He allowed himself a small smile as he contemplated the possibility. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t care for their methods for your removal.”

  Ignoring the office chairs spaced around the room, Dare pulled up a scrolled ornamental piece that was obviously an antique. The flicker of alarm on Mannen’s face when he dropped his weight into it was worth the trip over. “Threats? After all we’ve been to each other? Gee, Vic, I’m hurt. After I came here to do you a favor, too.”

  The man made a show of checking the slim gold watch on his wrist. “I really am pressed for time.”

  “Yeah, I could see out front that this place is a real bustle of activity.” There was no denying it, Dare was enjoying himself. He’d worked too long for this moment for it to be any other way. “But I won’t keep you. I just wanted to ask a couple questions about one of your employees. Peter Rollins. Used to call himself Peter Randolf.”

  With meticulous precision, Mannen adjusted the cuffs of his suit. “Peter is out of the city at the moment. What possible interest could you have in him?”