Bad Boys Over Easy Page 20

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Amanda swallowed hard. “Nowhere.”

  “Good! Because I’m not going to let you get away so easily.” His lips quirked. “Face it, Amanda, we’re meant for each other.”

  “I don’t have to face anything. The article speaks for itself.”

  “There’s not going to be an article.”

  Hope bloomed in Amanda. “What do you mean?” she asked, not wanting to read too much into his statement.

  Derek pulled her onto his lap. “I called my editor earlier and told him the story was a bust.” He grinned. “Let’s just say he didn’t appreciate the three A.M. wake-up call.”

  “Oh…” she managed, before wetting her lips. Amanda’s gaze locked on Derek’s mouth. She wanted him to kiss her so bad. She parted her lips to ask, but needn’t have bothered.

  Derek’s mouth descended upon hers, ravaging her lips, igniting her body. His kiss was long and drugging, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, before retreating. Minutes later, he pulled back. His breath mingled with hers, heating her skin, echoing like a cry in the silence of the apartment. He picked her up and walked the short distance to her bedroom. Instead of stopping there, he proceeded to the bathroom.

  The warmth of Derek’s body surrounded her, seeping into her blood, before settling in her bones. Amanda sighed. She did love this man. One night without him and she’d been miserable. It would take a while to rebuild the trust she’d automatically felt toward him, but they had a lifetime to work on it.

  “I thought we could both use a shower, since it’s been a long night.”

  “You’re probably right.” She shivered in anticipation.

  Derek set Amanda down on the toilet and then turned on the water. He kept shoving his hand under the spray until he was satisfied that the temperature was right. Then he turned to face her and began to undress.

  Amanda’s mouth went dry as his shirt hit the bathroom floor. His pants followed quickly, revealing his magnificent erection. Try as she might, Amanda couldn’t rip her gaze away from the pale organ with its violet crown. Derek’s lips twitched in what appeared to be amusement, as pure unadulterated hunger filled his eyes.

  “Care to join me?” he asked as he stepped inside her glass shower.

  Steam rose in plumes as Derek leaned forward and drenched his head. Amanda stared in awe as the droplets of water cascaded over his broad shoulders, tumbling down his back, before curving decadently around the slope of his tight butt.

  Her fingers trembled as she slipped her sweats down her hips. Her T-shirt followed suit as she stepped in behind Derek and closed the door. It was like stepping into the ring with a ferocious lion. He turned on her, his movements swift and controlled. His hands gripped her shoulders before sliding down her arms and around to her back.

  He reached lower until he found her hips. His grip tightened and Derek spun her around, controlling her movements so she didn’t slip and fall.

  “Put your hands against the wall, Amanda,” he whispered seductively in her ear.

  Amanda whimpered, then did as he’d asked.

  “Now I want you to spread your legs.”

  He gently kicked them apart like he was about to frisk her. Amanda’s pulse quickened and her nipples throbbed painfully. The spray from the shower barely hit her, because of Derek’s body blocking its force. The effect left the front of her body cool while her backside scalded.

  Derek slipped his hand between her legs and played with her slick opening. She dripped and it wasn’t because of the shower. He teased and circled, drawing near and then away from the bundle of nerves that ached for his touch. Her lower body strained to get nearer.

  “If you move, I’ll stop.”

  He was torturing her. Torturing her with his touch, his words, and the heat of his body at her back. Soon, she’d surrender willingly to anything.

  “Derek, please,” she muttered.

  Amanda felt the ridge of his shaft slide between her buttocks before slipping to her needy core. She shuddered, her breath coming out in gasping pants.

  Derek teased her flesh with the head of his cock, before slipping an inch inside. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, nibbling on her ear.

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea.” Amanda glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled, before resting her forehead against the moist tile wall.

  Derek thrust forward hard enough to bring Amanda to her toes, burying his shaft to the hilt inside her body. His hips bucked and rolled, plunging and spearing deep enough to feel as if he’d reached her heart.

  In truth, he had.

  His fingers sought and found her buried treasure, flicking the greedy nerves with the edge of his fingernail as his hips pistoned behind her. Amanda moaned. The slap of wet skin and warm spray filtered through her senses as they made love without the lies, without the deceptions. Nothing stood between them now, but the truth.

  Her body tensed as her need rose. She could feel Derek’s raspy breath against her skin, then the sting of his teeth as he nipped her shoulder. One hand held her, while the other explored.

  Amanda no longer inhabited her body. She mewled as her orgasm rocked her, rolling her in a spasm of endless desire. A short time later, Derek grunted behind her and followed in her wake.

  They stood in the shower, bodies trembling for several minutes, until it registered that the water had turned cold. Derek slipped from Amanda and then turned to shut off the faucet.

  He kissed her shoulder where he’d bitten her and then stepped out and grabbed a towel. He held it wide and waited for her to come to him. She did and he enveloped her in warmth. Derek dried Amanda as if she were made of porcelain. He rubbed her skin until not a drop of water remained, then he dried himself, his movements brisk and efficient like the man.

  Exhausted, they dragged themselves back into the bedroom. Derek threw the covers back and waited for Amanda to crawl under, before following her. He pulled her next to him, tucking her into his shoulder. His hand ran over her arm as he placed feathery kisses on her brow. This felt right, they felt right. Amanda relaxed.

  “So what are you going to do next, if you don’t turn in a story on me?”

  He shrugged. “I thought maybe we could write the story together. You’d even get final say-so.”

  “Really?” Amanda’s eyes lit up.

  “Really.” He grinned, and then kissed her nose. “Don’t you know you’ve had me mesmerized since the first time I laid eyes on you?”

  Her gaze widened in surprise. “I did?”

  He kissed her cheek. “Yes,” he murmured. “You did.”

  Amanda bit her lip. “I suppose it’s only fair that we both fall under the same hypnotic spell.”

  Derek rolled her beneath him. The ridge of his erection teased her tender flesh until her breath caught. “Abracadabra, baby.”

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  “Don’t you think we’ll end up more frustrated if we keep talking and it doesn’t go anywhere?”

  “Well, last night would have been too soon, but now…”

  Now, what? Joe came up with an answer for her. “Now I’ve passed the Miss Trevellen school of larceny and good manners?”

  She laughed aloud. Out of her peripheral vision she could see that Gregory Randolph had the hood up on Joe’s car. How long did this disabling business take? She was in a cold sweat, gulping her cocoa like it was courage-giving whiskey.

  Greg was bent over the open hood of the car, his white T-shirt gleaming against the darkness. Please let him get the job done quickly.

  A computerized ping broke the strained silence in the office and Joe said, “Ah, my e-mail.”

  He started to turn his chair around to his computer, which faced the window, which looked out on a man screwing with his car.

  She had to stop him. No t
ime to think. She stuck her foot out and stopped the chair mid-twirl.

  “Emmylou, I need to get that,” Joe said, an edge to his voice.

  “But I need you,” she said, hoping that her voice sounded husky with passion and not strained by panic.

  He opened his mouth, no doubt to tell her to get a grip, or at least wait until he’d read his e-mail. She couldn’t let that happen, so she launched herself at him, sloshing cocoa mug and all.

  “Whaa—” he managed before her lips clamped over his.

  Blindly she managed to get her mug onto the desktop so her hands were free, then she plunged them into his hair, making a human vise to keep his head from turning. She opened her legs around his and snugged up tight onto his lap.

  It was a move born of desperation and if he pushed her off him, which she was pretty certain he’d do, she’d end up sprawled on her butt all over the rug and when he turned around, he’d view more than his e-mail.

  She expected to go sailing through the air and hit the rug ass-first. She expected outrage when he caught sight of Greg out there messing with his car. What she hadn’t expected was that after a startled second of total stillness, Joe would kiss her back.

  Oh, not just kiss her, but make love to her mouth.

  His passion exploded around her and in her, sparking her own. She nipped at his lips, grabbed the back of his head to pull him closer, felt his mouth so hungry on hers, on her skin, his hands in her hair, on her neck, racing over her back.

  “…want you,” he said and the echo of those words played over and over in her head. Want you, want you, want you…

  Heat began to build in the three-point triangle of nipples and crotch. If Dr. Beaver was right, she had a dandy little electrical circuit running between those three hot spots.

  He moaned with hunger, or maybe that was her, hard to tell over the pounding of her heart.

  He pulled at the buttons on her shirt, fumbling open the top one, and then the second, while she waited in a fever of impatience. She forgot why she was doing this, forgot everything but the fact that she needed this man and she needed him now. He got the rest of the buttons undone, not smoothly but fast, then pushed the sleeves down her arms to her wrists and stopped, so she ended up with her arms bound behind her, a circumstance he seemed to enjoy.

  With some wriggling she could easily free her arms, but he looked so pleased with himself she let well enough alone.

  “I like you in this posture,” he explained with a devilish glint in his eyes. The fatigue had vanished and he pulsed with energy. “Your breasts thrust forward, and your busy hands still. No bread baking, flower arranging, cookie cooling. All you can do is sit there and let me touch you.”

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  The drapes over his motel room’s window pulled open, Eli McKenzie stood and stared through the mottled glass, squinting at the starburst shards of sunlight reflected off the windshields of the cars barreling down Highway 90 in the distance.

  Second floor up meant he could see Del Rio, Texas, on the horizon, and to his left a silvery sliver of the twisting Rio Grande, a snake reminding him of the venom he’d be facing once he harnessed the guts to cross.

  The room’s cooling unit blew tepid air up his bare torso, making a weak attempt at drying the persistent sheet of sweat. Sweat having less to do with the heat of the day than with the choking memory of the poison he’d unknowingly ingested on his last trip here.

  An accidental ingestion. A purposeful poisoning.

  Someone in Mexico wanted him dead.

  The only surprise there was that no one but Rabbit knew Eli’s true identity. Wanting to dispose of an SG-5 operative was one thing, but he hadn’t been made. Which meant this was personal.

  This was about his covert identity, his posing as a member of the Spectra IT security team guarding the compound across the border.

  An identity he’d lived and breathed for six months until the nausea and dysarthria, the diarrhea, ataxia and tremors turned him into a monster. One everyone around him wanted to kill.

  He’d tried himself. Once.

  Rabbit had stopped him and sent him back to New York and to Hank Smithson, the Smithson Group principal, to heal. Eli owed both men his life, though it was his debt to Hank that weighed heaviest.

  Hank, who plucked men in need of redemption off their personal highways to hell and set them down on roads less traveled. Roads that took the SG-5 operatives places not a one of them wished to see again after reaching the end of their missions.

  Places like the Spectra IT compound in Mexico.

  Scratching the center of his chest, Eli shook his head and pondered his immediate future. He and Rabbit were the only ones inside the compound not working for Spectra. Outside was a different story.

  And there had been one person nosing around and causing enough scenes to make a movie.

  Stella Banks.

  Stella Banks with her platinum blond hair and battered straw cowboy hat and legs longer than split rail fence posts. She was an enigma. A private investigator who dressed like a barrel racer and looked like a runway model.

  She kept an office in Ciudad Acuna, another in Del Rio. He knew she was working the disappearance of her office manager’s daughter, Carmen Garcia. The girl was fourteen, and like so many of the others gone missing recently, a beauty.

  She was also currently being held inside the compound, waiting to be shipped away from her family and into a life of prostitution courtesy of Spectra IT. Or so had been the case last Eli had checked in with Rabbit.

  The room wasn’t getting any cooler, the day any longer, the truth of what lay ahead any easier to swallow. Like it or not, it was time to go. Once across the border, he’d make his way south a hundred kilometers in the heap Rabbit had left parked in a field west of the city.

  As much as Eli longed for a haircut and a shave, he wouldn’t bother with either. The scruffy disguise went a long way to helping him blend in, to hiding the disgust he never quite wiped from his face.

  Considering the condition of the car and the roads, he was looking at a good two hours of travel time. One hundred and twenty minutes to go over the plans he’d worked out with Rabbit to take down these bastards.

  Plans trickier than Eli liked to deal with but which couldn’t be helped. Not with the lives of twenty teenaged girls on the line.

  His plans for Stella Banks he hadn’t quite nailed down.

  He needed her out of the way.

  Before he got rid of her, however, he needed to find out what she and her outside sources could add to what Rabbit had learned on the inside.

  Only then would Eli make certain she never interfered in his mission again.

  He was alive.

  And he was back.

  That son-of-a-bitch was back.

  Stella Banks curled her fingers through the chain links of the fenced enclosure and watched him leave the compound’s security office and cross the yard to the barracks.

  She couldn’t believe it. Not after all the trouble she’d gone through—and gotten into—to get rid of his sorry kidnapping ass for good.

  Next time she’d forgo the poison and use a bullet instead.

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  “This is all Jeannie Desjardin’s fault,” Caro declared to the hallway.

  Lynn Myers blinked at her. “Who—who’s Jeannie Desjardin?”

  “My friend. She’s this awesomely horrible woman who generally revels in being bad. You know—she’s one of those New York publishing types. But every once in a while she gets an attack of the guilts and tries to do something nice. Her husband and I try to talk her out of it, but…anyway, this was supposed to be her Maine getaway. But she gave me the tickets instead and
stayed in New York to roast along with eight million other people.” And the yummy, luscious Steven McCord, Caro thought rebelliously. That lucky bitch. “And now look,” she said, resisting the urge to kick the bloody candlestick. “Look at this mess. Wait until I tell her being nice backfired again.”

  “Well,” Lynn said, blinking faster—Caro suspected it was a nervous tick—“we should—I mean…we should call the—the police. Right?”

  Caro studied Lynn, a slender woman so tall she hunched to hide it, a woman whose darting gray eyes swam behind magnified lenses. She was the only one of the group dressed in full makeup, panty hose, and heels. She had told Caro during the first “Get Acquainted” brunch that she was a realtor from California. If so, she was the most uptight Californian Caro had ever seen. Not to mention the most uptight realtor.

  “Call the police?” she asked at last. “Sure. But I think a few things might have escaped your notice.”

  “Like the fact that the storm’s cut us off from the mainland,” Todd Opitz suggested, puffing away on his eighth cigarette in fifteen minutes.

  “Secondhand smoke kills,” Lynn’s Goth teenage daughter, Jana, sniffed. A tiny brunette with wildly curly dark hair, large dark eyes edged in kohl (making her look not unlike an edgy raccoon), and a pierced nostril. “See, Mom? I told you this would be lame.”

  “Jana…”

  “And secondhand smoke kills,” the teen added.

  “I hope so,” was Todd’s cold reply. He was an Ichabod Crane of a man, towering over all of them and looking down his long nose, which was often obscured by cigarette smoke. He tossed a lank section of dark blond hair out of his eyes, puffed, and added, “I really do. Go watch Romper Room, willya?”

  “Children,” Caro said. “Focus, please. Dana’s in there holed up waiting for les flic to land. Meantime, who’d she kill?”

  “What?” Lynn asked.

  “Well, who’s dead? Obviously it’s not one of us. Who’s missing?” Caro started counting on her fingers. “I think there’s…what? A dozen of us, including staff? Well, four of us—five, if you count Dana—are accounted for. But there’s a few of us missing.”