Stilettos, Inc.

by Lexi Ryan

  The dark-skinned beauty was blindfolded. She sat nude on the edge of the bed, beautiful, peaceful, infinitely feminine. She was soft where women should be soft—heavy breasts with large, dark nipples, a softly rounded belly, soft thighs Nicholas dreamed of sinking between, long legs he wanted wrapped around him. Her masses of almost-black hair were pinned up, exposing the smooth, caramel skin of her shoulders, her long, graceful neck. He focused on her nape—she was sensitive there. The brush of his lips could undo her. He wanted to start there—kiss, nibble, and suck, and then move to every other part of her body. Her lips curved in a smile as he climbed on the bed and sat behind her.

  “Where you going, Nicky?” she asked, her words thick with a Mexican accent.

  “Nowhere,” he whispered. He wrapped his arms around her and cupped a breast in each hand before lowering his mouth to her neck. Her thick nipples were hard against his palms and he pinched one, rolling it between thumb and forefinger while he sucked at her neck, moving his way up and down the long, sensitive column of skin. She arched, pressing her breasts harder into his hands and moaning softly. Unconsciously, she began to circle her hips in a primal, instinctive response, grinding her bare ass into his erect cock.

  He slid a hand down the front of her body and slipped it into her curls.

  Chrissie fought the urge to shift in her seat. Fernandez wanted her to back down, and she wouldn’t. She didn’t lose battles of will. She didn’t back down, and he continued to pump all his mental energy into the memory, letting her watch from his eyes as he loved this strange woman.

  “Should I be impressed?” Chrissie asked, trying to be a hard ass. Trying to hide how turned on she was.

  Fernandez smirked. “You want more?”

  Hell, yes. She shrugged.

  Two tables back, Josie caught Chrissie’s attention and cocked her head, her question clear. What the hell are you doing? Shit, she was so busted.

  She shifted her focus from his memory for a moment. She had to salvage this.

  “What’s Collin doing?” she asked.

  And there it was. He slammed down the wall on the memory seconds after she wrapped her mind around it—protecting it on every side by thinking of sex, sex, and more sex—but it was too late. She saw it. Maybe it was nothing, but it was a start.

  She withdrew her hand. “Nice seeing you,” she said, then raked her eyes down the body she’d just spent the better part of ten minutes watching fuck another woman. Not bad. Not bad at all.

  The meeting room was crowded, and Fernandez was sweating in his suit. He wanted to get out of here and find that bastard. Their intelligence kept picking up threats to the president-elect’s life.

  “This is our primary suspect,” the lieutenant said, “Collin Raines. Raised in a civilian, non-Special home, came into his abilities at the same time as everyone else, presumably, but he didn’t discover them until he was seventeen and met another teenage Special.”

  The lieutenant clicked his remote and the screen changed to show a picture of a younger Collin in graduation regalia.

  “The SIA tried to recruit Collin shortly after he graduated college, but he wasn’t interested. He didn’t want to work for any government agency.”

  The screen changed again, now showing a picture of Collin standing on a busy New York street corner with Paige.

  The memory was brief, but it told Chrissie was she needed to know: the SIA had known there would be a threat against the president tonight. That’s why they’d been at the ball. And they thought the threat originated with Collin. It didn’t come as a real shock to Chrissie, but she didn’t want to believe Collin capable of such a betrayal of his country.

  Now she needed to figure out how and when to tell Paige, who would undoubtedly want to get involved.

  Chrissie thought of the picture of Paige from the memory. Her hair had been down in loose waves around her face, and her cheeks had been flushed. Her smile reached her eyes and made them shine with life and youth. Chrissie had known her then, back when she still thought she could take on the world. When she still believed in love.

  She sighed. None of this was doing anything for her buzz, but at least she was feeling a little less like she might jump the first available man—an unwanted side effect of taking Fernandez up on his challenge.

  She glanced at Fernandez over her shoulder and he smiled in return. Her thighs clenched, and just as suddenly as the arousal had come, it was washed away with a wave of guilt.

  She saw a lot of sex in her line of work. She kissed strangers, flashed her tits, showed her ass, and made promises she’d never keep in the name of getting the job done. Those things never made her feel like she was betraying her boyfriend. But that was exactly how she felt about what just happened with Fernandez.

  The dance floor called her. She needed to cut loose before Rider came home tonight. Before she had to feel like a whiny girlfriend who told her guy he was neglecting her.

  Chrissie tapped Collin on the shoulder, careful not to touch any bare skin. The redhead he was fucking earlier was curled in his lap now, running her fingers along his chest, and she glared at Chrissie.

  Collin turned, and Chrissie winced at the sight of the ugly scar that divided his face. The scar always caught her off guard, the cruelty of it. The evidence of what he’d sacrificed to rescue Paige before Paige had known there was a whole world full of Specials like her.

  “Get out,” Chrissie said, forcing the words out before his too-familiar ice blue eyes could make her back off. She knew those eyes. Loved them. Spent hours gazing into them. And even though the eyes she gazed into were on another man, this set had the same mysterious power over her.

  “Chrissie.” Collin smiled. “How’s my brother?”

  “Rider is fine. You wouldn’t have to ask if you didn’t make a habit of disappearing for months at a time.”

  “Good. I’m glad he’s well. And you?”

  She gritted her teeth. “I’m not here to catch up, Collin. I want you to leave.”

  “Ahh, Paige is still upset about our meeting earlier tonight.”

  Chrissie put on her best poker face, but it was too late. Collin saw her surprise.

  “She didn’t tell you about our talk?” He nodded and smiled slowly. “Isn’t that interesting?”

  * * * *

  In a month’s time, Darian Lorring’s life had been rocked, rolled, and turned inside out. And it was all thanks to the tight-assed brunette who left him on the dance floor.

  He’d always found her beautiful. It wasn’t uncommon for the SIA to put him on a case that Stilettos, Inc. was already working, so he’d known her for a few years.

  Everything had changed a month ago when he’d tried to recruit her to join the SIA. She’d considered it, but she’d been livid when she realized they wouldn’t have her in the field. He’d followed her to Eden to try to talk some sense into her, and instead of telling him off, she’d shown up at his room, dressed to kill.

  From that moment, he’d been doomed. He couldn’t get her off his mind.

  She was laughing with her friends now, looking flushed and…almost happy.

  Darian and the guys had chosen this club specifically because the Stiletto Girls were here, and the lieutenant had ordered Darian’s unit to keep an eye on them.

  “Where do you think they’ll go from here?” Fernandez sipped his drink.

  Wiley pulled his eyes from the blonde Stiletto Girl long enough to answer. “I took the perp in to be pressed by SIA Readers. Hopefully they can get something out of him. He wouldn’t tell me shit.”

  “The girls weren’t involved,” Darian said. “I’m not convinced they know anything about what Collin’s planning.”

  “Or,” Fernandez said, scowling, “they are involved and ‘saved the day’ tonight to make it look like they’re the good guys.”

  The girls were catching more and more male attention. Their table was getting crowded. He wondered if they knew how much they reminded a guy of the old Charlie’s Angels
TV show. From everything he’d gathered on the girls from the time he’d been asked to track them, the reminder was pretty accurate, too. They had brains, attitude, and beauty that could knock a guy to his ass—if their Jujitsu moves didn’t do it first.

  Josie looked more like a pinup girl than a secret agent—great rack, tiny waist, tight ass. She was bombshell, pin-up sexy. The eighteen-year-old boy’s fantasy. Which, Darian supposed, was probably why Wiley couldn’t keep his eyes off her. The guy was allergic to anything resembling maturity.

  “They had nothing to do with that bomber’s plans.”

  “Even if they’re not involved,” Fernandez said, pointing a finger, “the blonde is a precog. She has to have some idea of what’s coming.”

  Darian frowned. That bothered him. Even though Collin’s abilities prevented Specials from using their powers on him, there had to be enough people involved in whatever he was cooking up that Josie should have gotten something—an inkling, anything. If she had, she hadn’t shared it with the SIA. Until now, Stilettos, Inc. had always been willing to share their intelligence when it applied to government security. They just hadn’t been willing to stay out of the fight or to follow anyone’s rules but their own.

  “You’re assuming she’s come into contact with someone whose future is going to be affected by whatever Collin’s planning,” Darian pointed out. “She has to touch the person for her precognitive abilities to work, and then she only sees bits of that individual’s future.”

  “Bits that can change with something as simple as the person choosing to take the interstate instead of driving through town,” Wiley added.

  Fernandez leaned forward and spoke softly. “We’re talking about a possible assassination attempt on the president of the United States. Don’t tell me she hasn’t come into physical contact with someone that would affect. We’re in Washington fucking D.C.”

  Darian shrugged. “There are too many variables.”

  Fernandez rolled his eyes and said something about scientists under his breath.

  “I figure,” Wiley said, “there are three possibilities. One, she knows something and she’s not sharing because she’s in on it.”

  “That’s where I’d put my money,” Fernandez said.

  Wiley continued. “Two, she knows something and she’s not sharing because she doesn’t trust the SIA for some reason.”

  Darian nodded. “That’s possible.”

  Fernandez threw up his hands and said, “Why the hell not? We’re the fucking good guys!”

  “Or, three, for some reason, she doesn’t know anything.”

  “I just don’t see how that’s possible,” Fernandez grumbled. “Even with all the Blockers out there, there has to be one Special or ordinary person she’s come into contact with who will be affected by what Raines is planning.”

  Darian groaned and ran his hand down his face. “You don’t even know what that is. How can you base so much ‘logic’ on information that’s not even there? That’s not logic. It’s prejudice.”

  Fernandez shook his head and sighed. “You always believe the best about people, Lorring, and someday it’s gonna bite you in the ass.”

  Wiley tapped his glass on the table thoughtfully. “What about the postcog Reader?”

  “Chrissie Elliott,” Fernandez supplied. “Yet another conundrum for the man who believes the girls aren’t withholding.”

  “I have more trouble believing that she isn’t holding back,” Wiley said.

  That made sense. Josie’s motivation would be weaker than the other two. Paige was Collin Raines’s ex-lover, and Chrissie was dating Collin’s twin brother. Even Darian had to admit the relationships were problematic.

  Chrissie was the rule breaker of the trio. Who would have guessed that the once-legendary tagger would have ended up working alongside the United States government? She was Punk Girl Incarnate. Her dark black hair was streaked in thick chunks with platinum blond, and she had tattoos on her ankle, wrist, shoulder, neck—God (and lucky men) only knew where else.

  Darian took a sip of his beer and, as always, his eyes returned to Paige. She leaned over the table where her friends sat, her legs straight, her ass out. The move was reminiscent of strippers and g-strings—but so much better because it was Paige.

  Her jeans had slipped, revealing a crescent of smooth skin between the dark denim and her little white T-shirt. He’d never gotten his mouth on that strip of skin. She’d sneaked away before he was done with her. He’d never gotten to run his lips down her spine, never gotten to bite that perfectly rounded ass as he slipped his hand between her legs.

  Paige was the most modest of the trio. The Stiletto Girls were notorious for favoring their bodies over their guns to get the information they needed, but Paige was less likely to do it just for show.

  “You figure out a way to make her innocent yet?” Fernandez asked.

  “Shut it,” Darian said, keeping his eyes on Paige.

  At thirty-three, Darian already had two Ph.D.s, and, before he’d left to join the SIA, he had been a tenured professor at MIT. He was a Nobel Laureate for his work in quantum physics, and had enough other miscellaneous awards that they’d become meaningless. Very little surprised him.

  When he’d learned that some secret government agency with military associations wanted to work with him, he hadn’t been surprised.

  He hadn’t been surprised when they’d run him through physical and mental examinations of every kind before telling him what the hell they were about.

  He hadn’t even been surprised to learn that there was an entire secret government agency filled with wackos like him who could do things with their minds. Things normal people thought only existed on bad television dramas.

  None of it surprised him.

  He hadn’t been surprised until a month ago when he’d touched Paige Sykes for the first time. He hadn’t been surprised by a damn thing until he couldn’t get her off his mind.

  He wanted her. Every second of every day, he wanted her. He wanted her, he’d had her, and he’d have her again.

  “You know, tonight was just the beginning,” Fernandez said. “The intel is good. Don’t fool yourself that this thing is going to end up happily for you and the empath.”

  “I know the score.” He watched as Paige flashed him another glance over her shoulder. She’d been doing that since she’d walked away. Not smiling at him, but watching him. Like she couldn’t help herself. He couldn’t complain. He liked knowing he was on her mind. She laughed at something the blonde said. She had a great laugh, deep and rich and genuine.

  “You’re embarrassing yourself,” Wiley said. “That ride around the dance floor was not about you.” Wiley nodded toward the corner of the room, where Collin Raines was making out with a redhead.

  Fuck. How off his game was he that he didn’t even see public enemy number one in the room?

  Fernandez raised a brow. “She’s not as innocent as you think. And she sure as hell still has questionable motivations.”

  “I think the jury is still out on her motivations,” Darian said. “Otherwise, what the hell are we wasting our time for?”

  Wiley pulled something up on his cell phone before handing it across the table to Darian.

  The picture on the screen showed Paige in the simple blue gown she’d worn tonight, kissing Collin on the snow-blanketed sidewalk.

  Darian’s stomach clenched. He handed the phone back to Wiley and stood.

  Fernandez straightened. “Where are you going?”

  Ignoring him, he took strode across the room to where Paige was sitting with her friends.

  “Hey,” Chrissie said with a smile when he reached the table. “Join us, why don’t you?”

  He kept his gaze fixed on Paige. “A minute of your time?”

  She swallowed and lifted her chin slightly. “Sure.”

  When she stood, he grabbed her hand and pulled her away from her friends and nearer Collin’s table.

  “What are you—?” />
  He projected arousal, swamped her with it, and she didn’t say another word. He was damn near depleted after tonight, but somehow he always had a little more to give when Paige was involved. Not that it mattered. The second he touched her, his power would come back. Not in sips, as it always had when he’d kissed other women, but in gulps. The sexual energy was just too intense between them.

  Five feet from Collin’s table, he pressed Paige against the wall and clamped his mouth over hers. He pumped all his mental energy into making her hot, showing her with his mind how she looked when she’d laid herself out on his bed and opened her legs to him. He showed her how she looked, pink and swollen for him, made her feel how much he wanted her—the pulsing ache of his cock on the dance floor, how much he wanted her every time she walked into the room. How much he wanted her now.

  The music pumped around them, bodies writhed in every state of dancing and making out. Some couples were discreet, some less so.

  He watched her catlike green eyes as he ran a hand up her side, then down, not bothering to be gentle. More interested in having his hands on her. Now. When he ran his hand up again, he slipped it under her shirt, running his fingers over her ribs, grazing the soft, subtle swell of her stomach. Up again, he cupped her breast, then squeezed. Every touch saying, I want you and I’ll take you. Now.

  She had beautiful breasts. Not too small, not too big. Just enough to fill his hands.

  She clung to him, first her fists in his shirt, then wrapped around his neck, then in his hair. Maybe she’d danced dirty with him because she wanted Collin to see, but she wanted Darian now. He didn’t doubt it.

  Her nipples were hard and ready for his touch. He grazed one with his palm again and again, thinking about licking and sucking and making her arch under him, making her writhe with his thoughts.

  He broke their kiss and moved to her neck. Lifting her slightly, he positioned her so her weight was between him and the wall. He lifted her leg at the knee and positioned it around his waist, letting her feel the hard length of his cock through her jeans.