Assassins Bite (5 page)

But to my relief, Elena only nodded. “Blackthorne reported it.”

“To you? Why? It happened in Redfox Village, not here.”

Her eyes flicked away. “We have a special investigative division here. A regional center for inquiry into these sorts of things.”

“What sort of ‘things'?”

She hesitated a fraction of a second before saying smoothly, “Unexplained explosions.”

But that flick of the eyes, that hesitation told me she was lying. Somehow I knew she really meant the whole fangy bloodsucking mess. “Tell me straight, Elena. After last night I think I deserve to know. Are you talking about vamp—”

The shattering of wood interrupted me, the door bursting from its hinges. Elena jumped to her feet, gun drawn. Belatedly I fumbled mine out. A man rushed in, all tall dark muscle.

Aiden Blackthorne.

He stood, fists clenched, nostrils white as his magnificent chest heaved. “I smelled blood.” His gaze nailed me. “Are you all right?”

He looked so heroic my heart burst into song, my words dried up and I stood there like a radish. I did manage to nod. Inanely I said, “Hello, Blackthorne.”

He blinked, his tell for extreme surprise, then relaxed ever so slightly. The corners of his mouth tilted, flirting with a smile so sexy it burned my brain.

“Hello, Sunny. Shirtless again?”

Chapter Five

“Blackthorne?” Elena's gaze narrowed. “Why are you here?”

Thank goodness she didn't pick up on the “shirtless again” comment.

Blackthorne glided into the small room, filling it with danger and raw masculinity. “Simply passing by. I saw signs of violence outside and came inside to check it out.”

“As you can see, everything's handled.” Her implied dismissal was clear.

His feet remained planted. His head swiveled toward me. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“Mostly. It burned but I'm better now.” I lifted the towel to show him.

He hissed. I flinched, thinking he was going to swoop down on me jugular-first, but he checked himself. Not easily, because his fists were clenching and that lovely muscle in his jaw worked hard. “Who did that to you? I'll kill him.”

My mouth dropped open. He was boiling up vampire because
he cared
. Touched, I nearly answered
my idiot sibling
when it occurred to me “kill him”, for an assassin, might not be hyperbole. “It was an accident.”

“Those cuts aren't accidental.” His tone promised pain before the killing. “I demand to know—”

“Blackthorne.” Elena's tone, cutting in, was cop flat. “Your fly is open.”

I admit it. I looked. Disappointingly, it wasn't.

“I don't care.” His canines flashed a little long and I realized it was a euphemism for his vampire showing. “I want to know the name of this heinous miscreant. Sunny. Name. Now.”

“Umm…” I glanced at my chest, then into his eyes, which were shading a distinct red. “Honest, it's no big deal. He was cutting me out of my shirt to do first aid on the burn.”

Elena gestured toward the door. “So now that that protector instinct of yours is satisfied, you can leave.” She eyed the splintered jamb. “Wish you'd knocked. Well, what are you waiting for, Blackthorne? Shoo.”

He raised one black brow but finally glided out of the room.

She shook her head. “Let's find another place to talk.”

I grabbed my jacket and blouse and clutched them over the ice-filled towel to preserve my modesty. “I wish I could do that.”

“What?” She ushered me through the broken jamb and down the hall.

“Give an order and make it stick. I haven't quite mastered the proper gravitas. I hoped the uniform would do it.”

“It does, for most people. Blackthorne's not most people.” She led me to a small office filled nearly wall-to-wall with desk, the tombstone-size name plaque reading
Capt. Titus
.

“You seem to know Blackthorne pretty well.”

“Not really. He's a bit of a loner. Only has one friend, who married a Meiers Corners gal. I met Blackthorne through her. I can't believe you got him to smile.”

I chuffed a surprised laugh. “That lip-lift was a smile?”

“For him, yeah.” Elena shut the door and locked it. “Listen, he's the reason I brought you in.” She lowered her voice. “You'd recognize him again?”

“I'm trained to identify and retain distinguishing characteristics.” I didn't tell her I'd recognize Blackthorne anywhere from just the color of his nipples.

“Good. I've got a job for you. He normally lives in Minneapolis, as a sort of fixer for Ric Holiday.”

“Holiday Buzz advertising? The guy who could sell deep-fried chocolate bars to an anorexic? That Ric Holiday?”

“Yes. I'd like to know why Blackthorne has suddenly taken a job here.”

“Why not ask him?”

She grimaced. “I did. He's not talking.”

“But I'm not MCPD. Assign Dirk…” A brief image hit me of my brother stalking the shadowy assassin like Elmer Fudd. “Or you?”

“I'm swamped. Besides my regular work, I'm keeping my eye on the new owner of Nieman's bar, and then there's a rash of missing ‘persons' I'm investigating. Frankly, you'll be doing me a solid just keeping your brother occupied.”
Brnng.
Her cell phone cut her off. “Sorry. I have to take this.”

The conversation on her end was short. When she thumbed off, I expected more instructions, but she said, “I have to go. One more thing. The shift captain.” She thumped the huge desk. “Titus wants to see you when he gets in.” She pronounced it Tight-Ass. “He'll be here at midnight.” She eyed me critically, almost as critically as she'd eyed Blackthorne. “You should take some time to recombobulate. And when you talk to Tight-Ass, try to be…” She reddened.

“Not such a Ruffles?”

She quirked her own variation of a smile. “Yeah.”

I had less than an hour to clean myself up before Titus arrived. That wasn't quite enough time to go home and come back—at least, not if Mom was awake and talking—so I went to the restroom. I'd been at the MCPD before so I knew where they were. I put on my jacket and shirt to walk there. I wasn't shy or particularly modest, but I didn't like offending anyone else's sense of propriety.

I regretted that decision. The cut blouse was no protection and each step rubbed scratchy wool against my poor skin. By the time I got to the restroom I was biting back whimpers, my eyes stinging with tears.

The first floor ladies was three stalls, scarred wood countertop, sink and mirror. Various sticky notes decorated the mirror, including a couple that read “Glock For Sale. Retired officer, rarely used. Contact Blatzky”. I stood in front of the mirror, peering at what showed of my pale, round face as I opened the buttons and peeled off wool and cotton. I set the shirt and jacket on the sink.

My chest was red and raw. Smeared blood streaked my skin. No wonder it hurt so much.

“Nasty.” Behind me, a shadow separated from the gunmetal-gray stall doors.

“Crap!” I spun. Aiden Blackthorne was
right on top of me
, his eyes burning. I swallowed hard. Inanely, I said, “Can I help you?”

The corners of his lips turned up, making me want to grab him by the ears and scuba dive. He said, “I want to help
you
.”

My experience with people trying to help was my mother baking brownies for my GirlGroup Troop, treats which sent us all running for the bathroom because she'd substituted sauerkraut for sugar because they both began with S. Not that I was doing so well on my own, but the pain made me whiny and he got the brunt of it. “Nobody can help me. Have you paid your parking ticket?”

“I have ten days.” His head tilted as he considered me. “Let me treat your wounds.”

I coughed. “No thanks. You're not supposed to use ointment for burns—”

“Not ointment. This.” He seized my wrists. I was so surprised I let him lift my arms up and away from my body, exposing my chest to whatever he wanted to do. Which was to drop his head, open his mouth…and
lick
me, one broad swipe across the length of my collarbones.

My pain…lifted. Just along that swatch, so I knew it wasn't coincidence. My belly fluttered. He had a magic tongue?

He licked again, and though his hot, rasping tongue should have been excruciating, it was lovely, exhilarating. As he continued licking, my pain melted away.

Gradually I became aware of how intimate this was. His rough tongue, the heat and moisture of his mouth, excited me—and he was heading lower. In a few more swipes he'd be tonguing the tops of my breasts. My belly thrilled at the thought.

So when he released my wrists, I slid my fingers into his black hair, thick and strong yet silky warm, and urged him to go lower. Faster. “
More
.” I moaned it.

With a satisfied growl, he complied, swiping heat into the valley between my breasts.

I sighed in pleasure and lifted my breasts, encouraging him to do more, again. My flesh tightened in anticipation.

But he raised his head and looked me in the eye, an unspoken question in his. How far did I want him to go?

In response I smiled.
As far as you want.

He made a small, choked noise and dashed to the bathroom door. Before I could panic, he flipped a shiny-new thumb lock with an urgent
click
and stood before me again almost instantly.

That revved me hotter.

Cupping my chin, he asked another question with eyes gone velvety black.
Are you sure?

I didn't know what this hot attraction between us meant, or if it was more than physical—after all, how permanent could an assassin get with a cop?

But for now? I nodded and smiled again.

With a sigh, he reached around and unhooked my bra with one quick flip. His eyes flicked over my revealed breasts as he tossed the bra onto the counter. Before I could wonder how interesting he'd find my small, tight body, his gaze went nova. “You're perfect.” He bent, grasped my breasts, one in each hand, and lifted them to his mouth.

It was hard, hot and fast. As if he wanted to devour them both at once, he kissed and licked and sucked nipples in quick turn. Whichever breast he wasn't lavishing with attention he stimulated with his thumb.

I gasped. His kisses were hot; his suckling was incendiary. His fingers were extraordinarily strong and clever. I'd been with older boys—these were a man's hands fondling me, strong and sure. I closed my eyes and savored.

He finally settled on my left breast and suckled the nipple until it was diamond-hard with longing. My fingers threaded into his hair again and tightened in response to each tug, until I was practically pulling his hair out by the roots. All he did was make a tiny sound, half-pain, half-bliss.

He kept suckling. Each draw on my nipple yanked a silken cord of need deep inside. The sensations came closer together, hotter, deeper, until I was churning with them. My belly was heavy, my lips swollen, my legs yielding and my skin screaming to shed the rest of my clothes. All that, just from
suckling
.

My mouth ached with the need to suck on him in return. My fingers were still tight in his hair so I wrenched on his head, trying to lift him from my breast, to get my hands under his shirt and peel it off over his head.

He made another small sound, an
uh-uh
of undeniable
not slowing
, and continued to suckle.

With the last of my willpower I reached over his bent head, grabbed his sleeveless T-shirt as far back as I could and started winching it toward his neck.

I'd made about two inches of headway, barely enough to expose the small of his back, when the suckling drove me completely insane. I gave a throttled shriek and tried to rip the shirt off.

He chuckled. With a see-you-soon lick to my ripe nipple, he straightened and finished what I'd inadequately started, stripping himself of the shirt even faster than last time.

My eyes drank their fill. If he was a vampire it didn't show in his skin, a sun-drenched bronze. His nipples were tight and dark. His chest was smooth and hairless. I reached for it.

He tossed his shirt on top of my bra and reached for me at the same time. As I palmed his pectorals, he crushed me to him. My breasts and palms flattened against male flesh, its warm scent filling my every quickened breath. He grabbed my mouth in a searing kiss and his taste filled me. I basked in him, touch, scent and taste, meeting his mouth and clutching his chest and rippling against him with the need for even more.

Opening his hands on my back, he went exploring, gliding along my skin until he met the thick wool of my trousers.

If I thought that would stop him, I didn't know him very well. His hands continued to glide down, rubbing the cloth over my buttocks, then grasping me and pulling me into him. My hips met a large, firm and growing bulge. He backed off on the kiss, his tongue flicking and teasing. Now he was trying to go slower, but I wasn't having any of that.

I stood on tiptoes and went after his mouth, thrusting my tongue between his lips and rubbing my hands over him, feeling the pinpricks of his nipples roll under my palms.

He huffed, and his teasing tongue got serious, diving back into my mouth to claim me. I thrust my tongue in return, finding much more of him to deal with. Lips that were thin but sexy when viewed were exquisite acres when tasting and licking.

He pushed a hand between us and for a moment I thought he was still trying to slow things down and moaned my protest. But a couple wags of those clever fingers managed to undo my belt and pants. The uniform slacks slid languidly open for him and coyly slipped off my hips.

With a satisfied purr, he opened one hand on the base of my spine to hold me in place—and thrust the other down the front of my panties.

I gasped.

His fingers unerringly found my clitoris, the bud already rising to meet them. I groaned. He stroked. His purr became more pronounced. He stroked again, and again, setting up a good hard rhythm. I whimpered. His purr became a rumble that shook my ribs.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him like I was going to mate his mouth. My naked breasts rubbed against his torso as he beat fingers against me. His hips rocked hungrily in the same rhythm. I dropped a hand to try to open his pants too.

He raised his mouth from mine. “Not yet. Don't touch me, I'm too aroused. You first.”

It took my breath away.

He lifted me by the waist and swung me toward the wall. I thought maybe he was going to smash me against it but he set me on the broad tiled ledge under the window. He pulled my pants off over my cop black shoes and socks. Not very alluring—until he stepped between my legs. He looked damned good between my thighs.

I reached to pull aside the crotch of my panties but he had something else in mind. He seized my mouth in a pyrotechnic kiss, brilliant bursts of lips, teeth and tongue. When I was dizzy with it and my hands limp on the ledge beside me, he slipped fingers under the crotch panel and directly into my sex.

They slid in like they were greased. I mewled. He gave a throttled groan. The purr, which had subsided, revved up again, twice as loud, deep and dark as a lion's. A thought filtered into my brain that this pleased rumble wasn't a man's sound. It was more primitive—a beast's, and a predatory beast at that. All the hairs on my body stood up at the thought.