by Неизвестный
“I’m hardly helpless, Connor,” she said.
“Right, you have a gun.” He rolled his eyes, then walked through the house pointing out all the security flaws. She had no choice but to follow him. “Your house has more windows than walls. Anyone can see you. Take a sniper shot.” He started pulling down blinds, then continued through the rest of the house.
“Connor, stop. You can’t stay here.”
“Why? This place is certainly big enough.”
Not big enough for us to sleep under the same roof. She’d never sleep knowing Connor was in the room next to hers. Or on the couch downstairs. After that kiss this morning… “You can’t stay.”
Connor stopped checking the locks and turned to her. He was only a foot away, his dark eyes boring into hers. “Why not?”
“I… because… it’s not…” Her face flushed.
“Because you’re afraid I’ll do this?”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. Before she could catch her breath, his lips were on hers, hot and hard, capturing her voice and eliciting a groan deep from her chest.
His body was solid muscle, his stomach flat. He held her with ease, she couldn’t move if she wanted to. And she didn’t. This was what she wanted. It was what she had wanted without knowing it for five years.
She groaned again and adjusted her head to kiss him with greater intensity. Her hands found his neck, his hair, held his head to her face, relishing his touch on the small of her back, the way his hands fisted in her dress, the way he nibbled on her lips, her tongue, trailing kisses down her jawline to her ear. When his heated tongue hit her earlobe, she gasped, the sensation full of promise, the heat penetrating her skin, setting her blood on fire.
She pushed Connor down on the couch behind him, hands on his shoulders as she straddled his lap and stared into his fathomless black eyes. His voice was low and gruff when he said, “Are you sure?”
She couldn’t speak, so she showed him how sure she was. In a wanton move, she pulled her dress over her head.
Connor stared at Julia’s breasts, barely restrained in a black lace bra. His hands went down to her ass—and found it, in the flesh. The conservatively dressed prosecutor was wearing a thong, and he couldn’t help but smile. She smiled back and kissed him.
Connor had known from that first kiss five years ago that Julia had a core of passion waiting for the right man to tap. She’d now unleashed herself for him, and he relished it.
His hands molded her skin, all the way up her back to her bra, as she sucked his bottom lip, driving him to such total distraction that he couldn’t figure out how to unclasp the darn latch on the bra. She laughed into his mouth—a low, sultry sound—then leaned back and reached between her breasts. With one hand she unclasped her bra and shrugged the piece of lace off her shoulders.
Beautiful. He took one breast into his mouth and she arched her back, a gasp escaping her lungs. He kneaded the other breast while he suckled and licked, bringing her nipples to full attention. Julia’s skin was hot to the touch, a light sheen of sweat breaking out as he gave her breasts all of his attention. He switched sides, enjoying Julia’s reaction as much as tasting her, touching her. She was a temptress hidden beneath a business suit and professional attitude. A beautiful, sultry goddess that he had wanted for so long.
There was no turning back. He brought his mouth to hers, tongues dueling, her breath tasting of lust and need as she moaned into his mouth and tried to push him down.
He grabbed her wrists and whispered, “Ladies first.” He untangled their entwined legs—hers smooth and naked, his in jeans that he couldn’t wait to get rid of. But first, Julia.
Julia wanted to make love now. Patience had never been her strong suit, and she’d always been the one to dictate the rules of lovemaking. She should have known Connor wouldn’t comply, but she was in no position to complain. He lowered her onto the couch, staring at her body while sliding her thong down her legs.
He kissed her foot and she shivered. No one had ever kissed her foot before. She gasped when his hot mouth covered her toe and sucked. Then her ankle. Her calf. Her thigh. He gently pried her legs apart and settled his mouth firmly on her clit, his tongue parting her vaginal lips with the confidence of a man claiming his mate. She shuddered, trying to slow her reaction. Trying to savor his mouth, his tongue, the way his hands grabbed her ass and massaged it in rhythm with his mouth. In and out, squeeze and release, in and out. Soon she was gasping, unable to control herself, her orgasm washing over her before she could stop it.
Her body wet from perspiration and lust, she might have felt embarrassed since she was completely naked and Connor completely dressed. But instead she felt sexy and wanted. He trailed kisses along her stomach, her breasts—oh, God, what he was doing to her breasts, his tongue wrapping around her nipples. Her neck, then her mouth. Hard and fast, he kissed her, his tongue going in and out, mimicking what he’d done to bring her to orgasm only a minute before.
Already, she felt herself spiraling upward again.
Connor stared at Julia, emotions churning inside, feelings he hadn’t fully explored that he could no longer contain. Sexy lingerie aside, Julia wasn’t the type of woman to jump in and out of bed with different men. Law enforcement was a closed community, and cops knew who slept around and who didn’t.
Julia didn’t.
Looking at her, at her half smile, her eyes that pinned him with their honesty, Connor couldn’t give her up. He didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, the next day, the next year, but he wanted her now and he had wanted her for five years.
Standing, he picked her up. He and Patrick had checked out the house earlier for security purposes, so he knew exactly where her bedroom was.
She gasped and held on to his neck.
“I’m not going to drop you.” Then he pretended to let go and she grabbed on tighter. He laughed.
“Jerk,” she said and laughed right back with him. She kissed his ear and he involuntarily shivered. “You like that?”
“Hate it,” he said. She kissed his ear again, sucking on his lobe the way he had done to her, and he groaned. “Stop that.”
“No,” she whispered, lightly biting his lobe, sending additional shocks directly to his already-hard dick straining against his jeans.
He took the stairs two at a time, turned right, and pushed open the double doors that led to the master suite. He dropped her on the bed, which pillowed around her.
“What kind of bed is this?” He pushed onto the mattress that wasn’t a mattress.
“A feather bed.”
“Are you serious?”
“You’re not allergic, are you?”
“We’ll find out.”
He must have set a world record stripping off his T-shirt and jeans. Finally, he lay naked next to her, hot skin against hot skin. He couldn’t stop touching her, her round hips, her full breasts, her flat stomach, the wet spot between her legs just to hear her moan and tell him, “I want you, Connor.”
He rolled on top of her, holding his weight off her as he kissed her. Again and again, bringing her back to the edge, holding her there. Holding himself off until he was going to lose it. His voice was heavy when he whispered, “Are you ready?”
“You know damn well I’m ready.”
He grinned at her impatience. “Are you sure?” He kissed her lightly.
Julia was more than ready. She reached down and found his heavy penis and placed it between her legs. Then she arched her hips and took the tip inside her.
He groaned, all teasing and games over, as he thrust himself deep inside. She tensed. How long had it been since she’d had sex? A year? Two?
He stopped pushing. Kissed her. Her neck. Her ears. His hands were in her hair, rubbing the back of her head. Holding her tight against him. She squirmed, trying to bring him closer though they were as close as two people could be. Slowly, he pulled out, then back in. The friction, the pressure, brought forth a guttural respons
e she was shocked came from deep within her. Connor’s breath came hot and heavy onto her neck. She pulled her legs up and out as far as she could to give him as much as possible.
“More,” she gasped, and he complied, holding her ass as he thrust deep inside her and held tight. Sweat coated both of them as they tried to slow down the race to the finish line, to force their bodies to draw out the ecstasy. She grabbed his head, pulled his mouth to hers, and as their tongues dueled, their legs entwined, she arched up against him.
“Julia, Julia.” Connor kissed her, wrapping his arms around her back and pushing himself all the way in; hips rocking, bringing her up and over the top with a second orgasm. She cried out in response. He groaned as he came, kissing her over and over, their bodies still vibrating.
Connor held Julia close, unwilling to break the connection. He had his ear on her chest, her heart beating loud and fast. He listened to it as it slowed, a soothing, relaxing vibration. It lulled him into a half sleep, pushing from his mind all thoughts of how they were going to make this work.
TWENTY-FOUR
FAYE SAT ON THE END of the couch and stared out of Cami’s bedroom window into nothingness. They had gathered here after midnight. Her father thought she was home in bed. Not that he would know. He was someplace else, in another bed, screwing his woman of the month.
Her stomach groaned uneasily. She didn’t know if it was because she hadn’t been eating well or if she was worried.
“You should never have tried to kill her,” Skip said. He paced the room, worried. Frantic was more like it.
“It had to be done,” Cami said. “Julia Chandler’s digging too deep.”
“Bullshit!” Skip shouted.
“We agreed—” Cami started.
“You agreed,” interrupted Skip. “You’re the one who’s made all the rules, deciding who lives and who dies. Emily is in trouble because of your stupid idea to kill Victor Montgomery.”
“It was part of the plan.”
“Your plan. One you haven’t shared with us.”
Cami’s voice quieted, a sure sign she was ticked off. “The weak panic when the road gets rocky.”
“The smart survive,” Skip countered. “And you’re not being smart.”
“Don’t start, Skip.”
“Why? You going to try to kill me, too?” he taunted.
Cami’s lips pursed. “You’re treading on thin ice. All we have to do is lay low.”
“We shouldn’t have killed Dr. Bowen so soon after Judge Montgomery,” Faye said, speaking up for the first time that night.
Everyone looked at her. She’d never contradicted Cami in front of Skip and Robbie. Cami looked betrayed. “Faye, you said—”
“I know what I said. But looking back I think we made a mistake. But it wasn’t our mistake, was it? He wanted it done. There must have been a good reason. But I still think it was too soon.”
“I want out,” Skip said.
“There’s no getting out,” Cami shot back. “Don’t even say it. Don’t even think it. No one can connect us to Dr. Bowen’s death. No one can connect us to anyone.”
Faye’s stomach clenched. She felt like puking. Skip had just signed his own death warrant. Nothing was working out like it was supposed to.
“I’m going to kill my dad,” Robbie said. “By myself.”
Cami jumped off her bed and slapped Robbie. “Don’t you dare. That’s not the plan. Just sit tight and wait. I promised you he’d be next, but we have to wait.”
“I earned it. I did. I did what you asked me to do.”
“Actually, you didn’t. You didn’t kill Julia Chandler,” Cami said.
“We’re all going to jail,” Skip said. “Julia Chandler’s a freakin’ government lawyer!” He jammed his hand into the wall, wincing as the plaster cracked and blood seeped from cuts in his knuckles.
“Cami.” Faye shook her head. They should never have told Skip about Robbie’s failed attempt to kill the prosecutor. He was their weakest link. Even druggie Robbie was more reliable than Skip. Faye should have gone after Chandler herself. She would have succeeded.
Faye didn’t want to kill Skip. She liked him. He’d been kind to her when he didn’t have to be.
Skip stared at Faye and the realization of her duplicity sunk in. “You knew about trying to kill the lawyer lady?”
She nodded. Cami stared at her and Faye realized she had screwed up. Big-time.
“How’d you know?” Cami asked her.
“Robbie told me,” she lied, looking at Robbie and pleading to him with her eyes.
Robbie shrugged. “What’s the big fucking deal who knows? She didn’t see me. She didn’t see anything. I would have got her, too, if that other guy hadn’t shown up.”
“What other guy?”
“The one Cami was sliding up against in Bowen’s office Saturday night.”
Skip’s fists clenched. He winced as his knuckles stung. “We’re all fucked.”
“No, we’re not.” Cami crossed to the center of the room, got their attention. “Everything’s under control. The police have nothing. There’s no way to trace any of us to Wishlist. We’re covered. You have to trust me.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word trust.” Skip left.
Faye walked over to Cami and touched her face. So enraged, Cami was shaking. “He’s going to blow.” Cami looked Faye in the eye. “We have to do it.”
Faye shook her head. “No.”
Cami now touched Faye’s cheek. “Containment. We knew it might need to happen.”
Faye nodded. A sob escaped her throat.
Cami turned to Robbie. He was half-asleep on her couch. He’d also been high when he’d hit the prosecutor’s car. It’s why he had screwed up.
“Hey, Rob, let’s go take care of your truck,” Cami said.
“Sure.” He gave Faye a lopsided grin. “See ya tomorrow.”
Faye watched them head for the bedroom door. Cami gave her a stern stare.
Faye knew what she had to do, but for the first time, killing didn’t seem like fun.
Robbie dozed in the passenger seat of Cami’s sleek sports car after telling her where he’d stashed his truck. The ride lulled him to sleep. He remembered Cami’s warnings about drugs, but he’d only smoked a little pot. Okay, so it was laced with some primo opium, but it wasn’t like he was on coke again. He wasn’t a total idiot. Pot was nothing. It was just like smoking cigarettes. Better even, you didn’t get cancer.
He dozed. Cami shook him awake when they arrived at the San Marcos quarry, in a part of it that hadn’t been worked on for months. There had been an attempt at security, but earlier in the week Cami had taken care of it, and now, a couple days later, no one had noticed.
Robbie’s truck was parked between two piles of half-processed rock—exactly as Cami had directed him after he’d tried to take care of the lawyer.
Cami said, “Robbie, wake up.”
“Hmmm?” He’d been dreaming of Cami. Actually, he’d been dreaming of doing Cami and Faye together. He wondered if they’d be up for it. He knew they had something going. A couple lesbos. Okay, so they were bi. Whatever, it would be a treat. And he’d earned it, hadn’t he? He’d done everything Cami had wanted. Even some things the others didn’t know about, like taking those photographs she asked him to.
“Did you bring the pictures?” she asked now.
“Of course.” Robbie pulled the folder from his jacket, handed it to her. “Your wish is my command,” he chuckled.
She quickly flipped through the pictures. “The fucking liar!”
“What?” Robbie tried to look over and see what Cami was looking at, but she stuffed the photos back into the folder.
She handed him a sealed manila envelope from under her seat. “Time to go.”
“What?”
“Sorry, Robbie, but if the police are able to trace your truck, you have to be gone. Here’s an airline ticket to Rio de Janeiro. And I got your passport from your father’s fili
ng cabinet last night—plus fifty thousand dollars.”
“Fifty? But I have millions coming to me when I’m eighteen. Fuck if I’m leaving the country!”
“Well, a lot of good those millions will do you in prison,” Cami said.
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Robbie.
“He wanted me to kill you, Robbie, but I’m giving you life. I’m setting you free. But you have to go. The flight leaves in six hours. Park the truck in long-term parking. By the time anyone finds it and traces it to you, you’ll be basking in the sun. I’ll send more money, promise.”
“No way. It’s not fair.”
She tenderly touched him on the cheek. “I’ve always liked you, Robbie. I want to help you. This is the only way I know how.”
“It’s the guy in the pictures, right? He’s the one behind all this.”
“Go, Robbie.”
He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to watch his father die. He still felt the lashes across his back from the last “lesson.” The old bastard deserved to suffer.
“But if I run, they’ll know I’m guilty.”
Cami sighed, pulled out another folder. “I planted a copy of this in your father’s office and am sending this one to the police. See how well I copied your handwriting?”
Robbie frowned and, shaking, took the folder and opened it. Inside was a photograph of him beaten black and blue. He looked small, weak, and stupid in the picture. But it was really him and it was unaltered. The negatives were also in the folder.
The letter did look like it was in his handwriting.
Dad:
You almost killed me last week. I was coughing up blood. Some day I think you will kill me. That’s always what you wanted to do, right? Because you blamed me for Mom dying.
FUCK YOU! I’m sending these pictures to the police and to the newspapers. Ha! Ha. Deal with it. And if you think you can talk your way out of it, take a close look at the last picture. The negatives are going to the police. When you’re in prison for raping your own son, I’ll come for a visit.