Stripped Page 17

  “But roulette’s no fun without risk.”

  Brandon’s playful wink made it impossible to dwell on all the reasons she shouldn’t be standing next to him. She took a sip of the watery margarita she’d been nursing since her arrival and grinned over her straw.

  The croupier picked his dolly off her winning number. “Open for bets.”

  Brandon leaned over the rail and confidently set his solitary chip on the black 35 square.

  She’d have sworn when Brandon straightened, he moved closer. His presence warmed her side, and like a heat-seeking missile, her body swayed toward his. She stopped herself from sinking into his chest seconds before her shoulder made contact, and she took another healthy drink.

  His thumb stroked the base of her spine. Intentional or just an absent gesture, she couldn’t say. But damn, she liked the feel of his fingers moving over her body. If only things weren’t so complicated. If they could be simple people. A vacationing couple, like the man and woman across from her, who displayed open affection with a lingering good-luck kiss.

  Her own lips tingled, the memory of Brandon’s kiss rising to the forefront of her thoughts. With that remembrance came another, one far more earth-shattering—Brandon’s body draped across hers, the feel of his cock gliding in and out of her pussy. Electricity arced through her veins, making her shiver.

  “I didn’t think I’d find you here,” Brandon murmured as the croupier spun the wheel. He brought his free hand up to push her hair behind her shoulder. As he lowered his arm, his knuckles trailed down the side of her neck.

  Natalya ignored the chill that followed his brief touch. She tightened her fingers around the padded rail and gave him a hesitant smile. “I keep my appointments.”

  “Appointment?” Humor crinkled the corner of his eyes. “That sounds awfully formal.”

  Absolutely. That way, if the man to her right, who had developed a habit of watching her, swore allegiance to Dmitri, this would still appear casual. Strictly business. Even if Brandon’s hand had slipped lower and that taunting thumb now swept back and forth over the waistband of her skirt. Her awareness honed in on the lazy stroke. Up, to glide over the muscles framing her spine. Bare skin tingled. Down, drawing her focus to the weight of his hand. Her womb tightened. Up. Down. Up…

  “Figures.” Brandon let out a husky laugh. “Never bet your age.”

  Zapped out of the blissful sensations ebbing through her body, Natalya looked up to find the roulette wheel stopped, the ball resting in the red 1 pocket.

  His age. They were the same age. She should’ve remembered that from his file, but she’d forgotten. Why it mattered escaped her. Nevertheless, a foreign pleasantness crept beneath her skin. Giddiness. She hadn’t been giddy since college.

  Damn it felt good. Like maybe, despite all the darkness surrounding her, hope still remained she could find forgiveness for the girls she’d harmed. The lives she’d ended. Maybe someday, she could still reclaim innocence.

  She turned to Brandon, releasing all the lightheartedness with a genuine smile. “Did you still want to get something to eat?”

  Hot and laden with suggestion, his gaze raked over her body. The corner of his mouth quirked, and he bent his head to hers, his lips a heartbeat from her shoulder. “Are you on the menu?”

  She backed away from the table, grabbed him by the wrist, and headed for the Simple Kitchen where the aroma of maple syrup hung heavy in the air.

  He caught up with her in one easy stride. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  Laughing, Natalya glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “I haven’t made up my mind. Feed the stomach. Then we’ll talk about the rest of me.”

  His eyes sparked deep gold. A slow sensual smile curved his lips, and he took the lead, slipping his hand into hers and escorting her inside the sparsely populated buffet, where they claimed a booth in the farthest corner from the door.

  B

  randon eyed the way Natalya sipped her orange juice through the straw, imagining how it would feel to have those full, pink lips locked around his dick. The swirl of her tongue. The firm pressure as she sucked. He shifted in his seat. Spending the rest of the remaining hours of early morning tangled together had morphed from desire to fierce, aching need. Their banter drove him insane, though he was aware she purposefully tried to push him into insanity.

  She’d done a good enough job of it. His cock was so swollen it hurt. If he could have gotten away with it, he’d have swiped their empty plates off the table, dragged her on top of it, and fucked her right here.

  But he wasn’t the only one affected by their conversation that had, to his shame, drifted nowhere near to the purpose he’d convinced himself he sought. He’d come no closer to answers about her childhood, her background, or that devastating knee. Instead, they talked about the mundane. What movies they liked. What books they read—he didn’t; neither did she. They both jogged, which explained the strength in her fantastic legs. They both hit the gym when schedules allowed.

  They both liked Chinese food. And pancakes. With a double helping of fresh strawberries and one fat dollop of whipped cream.

  And they both found sitting at home with a rental far more enjoyable than clubs, crowds, and the blinding lights on the Vegas Strip. A discovery that, for some strange reason, warmed Brandon from the inside out.

  “So,” he murmured, mesmerized by the deepening color in her eyes and the heavy droop to her long eyelashes. They’d dropped the same way just before he’d kissed her.

  “So,” she echoed.

  They were dancing around the one subject that stood out like a pink elephant—mutual desire. Why the hell couldn’t he spit it out? Come back to my place. It wasn’t like he’d ever had a problem making the suggestion before. But no matter how he worked the thought around, he couldn’t get it to slip loose.

  Because you’re afraid she’ll say no.

  She had earlier.

  He opted for a different topic—one he should have been focused on all along. “That kick. Where’d you learn how to do that?”

  For a fleeting instant, something passed across her face. Something he couldn’t recognize, but it had surfaced more than once over their short breakfast. As she dropped her gaze to her lap and plucked at her paper napkin, it hit him—shutters. That brief lowering of her eyes, the slight shift in her focus, blocked him out like someone might close shutters over a window.

  He’d seen it before too. When he asked about Sergei. When she talked about her parents. It had snapped closed when he brought up the subject of children.

  She was hiding something. But what? The history not in her file, or something more sinister? Jill’s warning rose in his memory: If she’s working here, it isn’t her money. No, not that either.

  He sighed inwardly. Whatever the secret, she hid it well. He’d have never noticed if he hadn’t been so damned interested in finding out everything he could about this seductive redhead. Another guy, one who hadn’t become accustomed to looking for lies, would’ve never given the insignificant tension that touched her soft lips a second thought.

  “Self-defense classes,” Natalya answered as she reached for her juice.

  Not in any self-defense class he’d ever taken. A kick, sure. Not to the chest. Not so precise, and certainly not so deadly. A hair more to the left, and she could have cracked that man’s ribs, punctured a lung, or worse, thrown him into cardiac arrest.

  He let it slide. He’d find out. Maybe not tonight, but he’d dig out that answer one way or the other. Besides, experience proved he’d have better luck in the bedroom… er, on the couch. Or the floor. Or wherever he could have her, so long as his bed didn’t enter the game.

  Glancing at his watch, he noted it was going on six in the morning. He reached across the table and captured one of her hands in both of his. His thumbs caressed smooth skin. He lifted his gaze to her face, his air strangling in the back of his throat when he observed her expression.

  Lips parted, she studied their jo
ined hands. Her long, slow blink told him her thoughts had found the same path his had wandered all night. But it also carried a curious touch of an emotion he couldn’t name. Pain? Remorse? Maybe fear? When she dragged her eyes to his, those shutters stood wide open. He gazed into fathomless jade green pools that rippled with a reflection of a woman who resided behind the conservative clothes, the come-get-me heels, and the cool confidence. A dash of vulnerability, a sprinkling of simplicity, and a whole hell of a lot of femininity.

  That woman, whoever she was, cast a spell over him. And she only ever surfaced when Natalya forgot whatever she harbored and desire began to dominate her mind.

  He cleared his throat to regain control of his voice. But his words still came out hoarse. “Want me to give you a ride home?”

  Her fingers trembled against his, and she swallowed with visible difficulty. “Please. I walked to work.”

  Walked? No, he absolutely wasn’t going to ask. More questions would mean sitting here longer, and right now, all he wanted to do was find the remotest, most isolated corner he could claim and feast on those parted lips. Her house suited that need perfectly.

  Reluctant to let go of her hand, he slid his own away slowly, allowing their fingers to touch all the way to the tips of her conservative nails. He pulled out his wallet, tossed two twenties on the table, and eased out of the booth. It took all the self control he possessed not to fit his hands on her hips, pull her against his body, and steal the kiss he’d hungered for since the moment his lips left hers earlier that night. Instead, he gently took her by the elbow, and without a word, led her through the exit, out the casino’s front doors, and around the corner to where he’d parked his Mustang Shelby—the one luxury he possessed, though some might question the validity of luxury.

  For Brandon, who’d spent most of his adult life in the same red Chevy pickup he’d purchased at sixteen, the car defined opulence. He’d earned enough in the last several years to purchase it in cash. Not like he had a whole hell of a lot to spend his paycheck on anyway.

  He opened the passenger door, and as Natalya slid into the leather seat, he caught a whiff of her sweet perfume. He closed his eyes, breathing it in. The desire flowing in his veins intensified. God, he liked that sweet scent. It made him think of springtime, and he loved spring. Winter let go. The temperatures climbed. All the shit he waded through in narcotics undercover brightened.

  Shutting her door, he fought the anxious hum bubbling in his veins. Get a grip, man. You’re acting like a fourteen-year-old about to get his first blowjob. At least his hands were shaking like they had on that fateful day.

  He slid behind the wheel and started the car. “Where to?”

  “Turnberry Towers.”

  This time he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. With an incredulous blink, he asked, “You walked three miles to work?”

  “Yes.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “To work some things off my mind.”

  He gave her a dubious look. “What kind of things take three miles to work off?”

  Natalya held his gaze quietly, those curious shutters once more wide open for him to look straight into the depths of her soul. A shiver coursed through him, despite the sudden warming of the air around them. His skin felt tight, his chest too narrow for his lungs. He knew what she would say, before her whisper slipped free.

  “You.”

  Brandon choked back a groan. Swallowing hard, he curled his fingers into the steering wheel, but clutching it in a death grip didn’t stop his voice from catching as he asked, “Did it work?”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth. She licked her lips, lowered her eyelashes for a suspended heartbeat. Blood surged to his cock, and the racket behind his ribs intensified. His body coiled tight, a hair trigger ready to discharge with the slightest pressure of a steady hand.

  The catastrophic squeeze came with her barely audible answer.

  “No.”

  He didn’t know who moved first, who breached the distance between them by leaning over the center console. But their mouths met hungrily. His hands tangled in her hair, hers squeezed into his shoulders. She tasted like heaven. Sweet like the syrup on their pancakes, but beneath that sugary layer was a darker flavor. A tang that branded her as a woman who knew the meaning of passion and wouldn’t shy away if things got a little rough. A little out of control.

  His teeth pricked her lower lip, testing the theory.

  The low moan that rumbled in the back of her throat nearly made him come right there. He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled away. The rasp of their breathing filled his ears. Tightening one hand at the base of her neck, he pressed his forehead to hers and concentrated on returning his heartbeat to a moderate level. “If I don’t get inside you soon, Natalya…” I’m going to die.

  He couldn’t bring himself to voice the rest of the thought. It had to be an exaggeration. He couldn’t have become that desperate for a woman in such a short time. But damned if he could remember wanting someone the way he wanted her. The thought that he might not have her constricted his heart and filled him with crazy ideas of carving holes into the man who did.

  Her hands shook as she slid them down his arms and slowly retreated into her seat. In the dim lights from the dash, he watched the hard rise and fall of her breasts, taking some relief in the fact she seemed to be as needy for him as he was for her.

  “Turnberry,” he murmured to fill the quiet with something other than the sound of ragged breathing.

  Dropping the car into gear, he navigated out of the parking lot.

  Nineteen

  N

  atalya tried like hell to keep the hurry out of her stride as she made her way through Turnberry’s lavish lounge to the elevators with Brandon at her heels. The cautious voice of reason screamed what she was about to do was sheer insanity. Sergei, though his remarks had been completely out of line, threw it all in her face with black-and-white terms. Brandon had a right to know what he was getting into. It was his decision whether sex might be worth his life. If she possessed a shred of human decency, she’d tell him as soon as the doors to the elevator closed. Brandon was a cop. In her gut, she knew Sergei called him straight—he couldn’t be anything less than clean. Maybe a little unorthodox in how he resolved his cases, but he damn well didn’t work for Dmitri.

  She didn’t want to believe in Brandon’s goodness because believing stripped away all the reasons she shouldn’t let desire have control. The truth, however, refused to stay behind her veil of ignorance. Beyond all of Sergei’s sound arguments, she’d witnessed the proof in the car, when Brandon had kissed her with wild abandon. Dmitri’s goons might have tried to set her up, out of envy for her position, or even because Dmitri asked them to test her loyalty. Yet, no one under his employ who actually wanted her, would dare risk his neck by trying. He’d be just as afraid she’d rat him out, as she was afraid of being ratted out.

  But the raw hunger in Brandon’s kiss wasn’t fake. In thirty-five years, she’d never been kissed so recklessly. Nor had she ever returned a kiss with her whole soul, as she had less than ten minutes ago. She’d thrown herself into the heady warmth of his mouth, the velvety caress of his tongue, desperate to return to that place of abandon he created in her office.

  She stared at the closed elevator doors, excited and nervous. It’s his choice, not yours.

  Yes. She’d tell him. Give him the choice. If he walked away, it would sting. But maybe they could gain an ally. Lord knew they needed one. If Brandon wanted her to, she’d even confess her security breach to the agency and arrange some way to keep him sheltered, should the assignment go south.

  The elevator dinged open. To her immense relief, the wood-paneled cubical stood empty. She took a deep breath, stepped inside, and thumbed the button for the forty-sixth floor.

  Brandon hauled her into his arms the second the doors slid shut. Hard and hot, his mouth captured hers. His hands slid around her waist, his fingers splayed over her bottom. Urging her backw
ard, he pressed her into the wall and sank his weight into her. Their bodies aligned perfectly. His hard chest warmed her heavy breasts. Powerful thighs brushed hers. His fingers curled into her bottom, lifting her, guiding her hips into his, and his thick cock fit neatly against her damp pussy.

  An electric shock surged through Natalya. Oh, wow. That felt good. He felt perfect. The way his fingers kneaded into her buttocks, the firm grip that trapped her exactly where he wanted her and made his intentions perfectly clear. The slight undulation of his hips that stroked her swollen clitoris—he wanted entrance and intended to have it.

  She arched her back, which scraped her aroused nipples against his firm pectorals. Her hands slid up his shirt, over the taut sinews of his chest, across intimidating shoulders, and into the cropped hair at the back of his neck. Her nails scraped against his scalp.

  “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, leaving her mouth to trail his lips down the side of her neck.

  Sharing his confession, she turned her head, her breathing hard, and dragged her nails down his back. Clutching at what remained of her senses even as she clutched at him to bring him somehow closer. “We need… to talk…,” she managed through short, breathless, gasps.

  The tip of his tongue traced the line of her V-neck collar and dipped into the valley between her breasts. “Later,” he murmured. “Can’t think right now.” His breath was hot and moist against her flesh. Her nipples tightened so sharply, she let out a soft moan.

  “Just want to feel you.” He rubbed his erection against her aching center as one hand slid between them to pop the topmost button on her jacket and tug the lace of her bra over her hardened nipple. “Taste you.”

  A gasp ripped free as Brandon closed his lips over the pert nub, and Natalya’s knees threatened to give out. She grabbed at his shoulders to stop the sensation of falling and let her head drop to the wall in surrender. He sucked hard, pulling sensation through the soles of her feet and into the depths of her womb. Her pussy clenched, moisture flooded between her legs.