Pretty in Kink (2 page)

But still, you never knew. Criminals had been known to make
idiotic mistakes. He envisioned her held prisoner in some shitty hellhole,
being coerced into posing against her will and some fuckhead snapping photos of
her for an underground smut website, forcing himself on her.

Protectiveness reared up, causing his hands to shake with
fury. “I’ll kill the bastard. If he laid one finger on you, I’ll kill him.”

He stared at the envelope. All her private information swam
around in his vision, her address, her phone number—or at least someone named
Britt Malone. The person in the photos wasn’t necessarily the person on the
envelope. He hoped to hell she’d consented to this kinkiness and this was her
handwriting. If so, that presented a whole different ballgame. Shit, he’d had
women in these same positions himself—tied up, spanked, flogged, handcuffed,
even on a party platform orgasming over and over, screaming for more in front
of hundreds of bikers. Yeah, those parties got damn rowdy.

But the difference? It was consensual, and he certainly
hadn’t kidnapped anyone and held them against their will. All the women he hung
out with were game as hell and begged for it all in good fun.

“Make up your fuckin’ mind, man.”

Seconds ticked into minutes as he stood in the doorway and
jingled his keys. He studied the pretty strokes of ink on the envelope and
considered his options. He didn’t need her phone number or address to uncover
more about her, or to check up and make sure things were on the up-and-up.

He had his connections. A name would do the trick, even if
the name and the photo subject weren’t the same person. His friends could be
persuasive if it came down to a need for it. They’d find out what was what and
who was who.

He could return them to the store and never look back. Of
course, that or tossing them in the trash is what even Scoundrel would’ve
normally done out of sheer aggravation at being given the wrong packet—if it
had been anyone but her in the pictures.

But it was her.

Yet he wasn’t in the market for a relationship at this point
in his life either. A one-night stand with her, oh yeah, bring it on, kink and
all. But a long-term relationship? Uh-uh. He couldn’t afford to get tangled up
in all that pain and emotion again. Divorce had put a sour taste in his mouth
and things were still volatile enough with Carolyn. Besides, he already had his
no-strings pick of women in the large circle of friends he ran with. Snap his
fingers when he desired a warm body in his bed, or spend the night in solitary
peace, depending on his mood.

He shrugged. Just a fact. Always his choice. Always. Now was
no different. So why complicate things?

Did he want to get involved and do some snooping? Really?
Hell no. He wanted to get his pictures from the store and move on.

The ones they should have given him in the first fucking
place.

He’d head to the store right now, drop her pictures off and
get his—Carolyn’s actually, who’d asked him to pick them up for her.

So he’d do what was best.

He started to turn, stopped, clinked the keys against his
thigh.

Or he could take them to her. The address was a small
beachside town not far north of Tampa called Palmetto Cove. That would cover
two bases at once—a check to make sure she wasn’t a victim of some monster, and
it would satisfy his curiosity and allow him to meet her in person.

He imagined the scenario of pulling up at her house,
knocking on her door and handing over the naughty pictures. He could look her
right in the eye, see what color they were, inhale her scent as he stood and
explained how he’d gotten them.

Diego snorted. He could say, “Hi there, gorgeous. Here’re
your pictures. See, since our last names both start with
M
, the idiot
photo-shop tech gave yours to me by mistake. Can you believe it? So… You’re
okay, right? You’re not like, being forced into some kinky shit against your
will or anything, are you?”
And if not, how about a date? Because you sure
know how to turn a guy on.

Yeah, right.

She’d just have to look in his eyes, or at the hard-on in
his pants, to know he’d seen the photographs. But he was a confident man, even
arrogant, he supposed. No doubt in his mind that despite her embarrassment and
possible outrage, he could still hand over her pictures one minute and get a
date—or have her in bed—the next.

That is, as long as she’d consented to the pictures.

Nah, scrap that. Probably a boyfriend had snapped the shots.
And Diego wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation with some asshole lover. So
maybe he should just put them in her mailbox or mail them to her anonymously?

The last option seemed more viable. Yet if he had half a
brain, he’d just return them and hope for a chance meeting with her at the
drugstore—right, fat chance of that—and ensure the copies were in her
possession, which would disprove all his suspicions.

He peeked inside the envelope one last time. “Jesus Christ.
Has to be pictures taken by a boyfriend. Has to. One without a fucking digital
camera.”

He frowned. Wait. He could make copies, that way if she
were
tangled up in some sinister crap and the pictures weren’t hers, it wouldn’t
hurt to be prepared. At least someone would have some evidence when the
missing-person news reports hit the airwaves.

He shook his head almost as soon as the thought entered his
mind. “No way, you stupid fucker. Not likely.” Better take them back ASAP. He’d
gone through his kid days as a punk thief and had learned his lesson long ago.
Best not to butt into her business.

She was fine. Just fine. Probably gonna pick them up any
minute, eager to share them with her husband or boyfriend. His jaw tensed.
“Huh. Lucky bastard.”

Copy the pictures. It’s your last chance, man.

The voice continued to nag at him, but he’d do the right
thing. He snorted. Ha-ha, what a hero. But the woman didn’t deserve to have her
privacy breached, at least not any more than it already had been.

So that was that.

He locked up the house and made his way up the walk to his
garage. With his helmet fastened, he fired up the bike and darted onto Coconut
Drive toward the drugstore with her photos tucked inside his vest pocket. Right
against his heart.

He’d better hurry, get this over with. He wouldn’t want her
to see him stroll in with her pictures and know he’d had her smoking-hot shots
in his hands. And lusted over every single pose.

Britt raced up the makeup aisle, photo packet in hand. Lexi
had found it! Something about assuming she must have forgotten she’d misfiled
them for safekeeping after putting them on the break table. But Britt didn’t
care. Elation that a potential disaster had just been foiled kept her moving at
a brisk pace toward the exit door. She wanted to get home and look at
them…before she burned the evidence that would have Doris burying her in the
nearest cemetery. Or suing her for breach of contract…or something. Doris would
find
some
reason to ride Britt’s ass for being so stupid.

Her heels clicked on gleaming linoleum. She made a sharp
turn up the next aisle and the sudden detour had her crashing into what felt
like a rock wall. The breath was knocked from her lungs. The force threw her
backward and her head spun, her purse and the envelope dislodged from her hand.
They sailed across the drugstore floor in a swish somewhere behind her.

Just before her rear end hit the hard surface, strong hands
encircled her upper arms. “You okay?”

She’d seen stars on impact into the “wall”, but now her
vision returned in full force. She looked up into the brownest eyes she’d ever
seen, thinking of warm, melted chocolate. The man’s voice still echoed in her
head in that deep, almost gruff tone. Shivers danced up her back and along her
scalp. His hold tightened as he dragged her to a full standing position. Almost
from a distance, she heard the squeak of his leather vest as he straightened.
Mute, she stood there staring into the rugged, handsome face of the devil
himself.

“Are you okay?” he repeated.

With her arms restricted by his firm grasp, she had to do a
little jerk with her head to swing a lock of hair out of one eye. “I…yes, I’m
fine.”

Britt stood tall at five-feet-ten, but even taking her heels
into account she still had to tip her head back to look into his eyes. Within
the deep shade of them, unusual gold flecks starred around the dilated pupils.
Dark lashes framed the lids, intensifying the effect, while coffee-brown
eyebrows winged above them. Despite a small knot on the bridge of his nose, it
was attractive, one that would fit on a boxer’s face. His jaw appeared to be
shadowed by a day’s growth of dark whiskers, and she wondered what it would
feel like to caress his face with her palm, to rub her cheek against that
stubble.

To have it lightly scratching the insides of her thighs…

Britt shook her head and ignored the heat that ignited
between her weak legs. Damn it, that photo shoot had done wicked things to her
mind, taking it places it never went.

She zoned in on his parted lips. Her throat went dry, and
then her mind melted into mush when he pursed his mouth in concern.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” The worry in his voice
couldn’t have been any more sincere. Neither could the expression on his face
as he devoured her from hair, to neck, to her engorging breasts and tingling
nipples. “You hit my chest awfully hard.”

Yes, your chest is definitely hard.

“I’m so sorry. I must have been a million miles away. I
should have been more careful.”

And I should probably quit gawking too.

“No, no need to be sorry,” he assured her, and the smile
that lit up his face reached his eyes and made them sparkle with mischief. His
gaze swept downward over her body, then back up to snare her mouth, her nose,
her brow. She could have sworn he’d swiped her with a torch. The thorough
inspection caused her skin to tingle, and something deep in her pussy
quickened. Never had her body reacted to a man in such a swift, wanton fashion
before.

“Yes, there is. I was a total klutz.”

“Really, it’s no problem.” He lifted both brawny shoulders.
His hot hands continued to brand her arms. “It’s not every day I get the
pleasure of scooping a gorgeous woman up off the floor.”

Seconds blurred by. She could see by the vague half-smile
that he meant it as a joke. But being parted from her naughty pictures once
again took the humorous edge off and doused all the flames.

“I, uh…” She tore her stare from his and forced herself to
search for the photo package. Stupid snapshots. They’d become a threat to her
livelihood, and a resentful disruption in her life. But she could honestly say
this man appeared to be a lethal distraction to even that danger. Yet she
refused to go through that horrid panic again at losing them, not even for this
stud.

Finally, she caught sight of the envelope over her shoulder.
It just lay there all innocent beside her purse. Almost as if to defy fate, her
eyes shifted back to him. It had the same effect as bumping into him had.
Stunned to breathlessness, it was as if she’d first severed an electrical
current by glancing away but had been struck again by its force when she
returned her gaze to him.

She groaned inwardly. Of all things, her cunt dampened and
the heat rose by a few degrees. And yet he was a complete stranger.

And not her type.

He inhaled. His nostrils flared like a wolf’s detecting her
arousal. But he didn’t say a word. Instead, he arched a brow and waited for her
to find her tongue.

His fingers were still curled around her upper arms, but Britt
couldn’t seem to untangle herself. She stared at him as she tried to catch her
breath and form some halfway adequate words to utter.

He was not only not her type, he looked
so
different
from any man she’d ever known. Rough around the edges, longish hair, a
blue-collar worker based on the button-up mechanic’s shirt he wore beneath his
vest. She caught the faint aroma of motor oil mixed with leather and smoke. And
somehow it smelled…nice. Oddly alluring. There wasn’t the overpowering scent of
expensive department-store cologne like the few men she’d slept with, and
something about that made her womb accelerate with another flash of warmth. She
tried to picture him in a suit and tie—the way most men in her life dressed—but
she just couldn’t conjure the absurd image. Rather, it faded into a fantasy of
him naked, and her with that necktie wrapped around her wrists instead of his
neck.

Similar to the pictures Lex had taken of her.

Oh god.

Britt eased herself free and stepped toward the items she’d
dropped. She bent to pick them up. “I’m sorry, I need to get my things off the
floor and—”

Somehow he had her purse and the packet in his hands before
she could finish squatting. He tucked them both under his arm and reached down
to help her up with his free hand, but he pulled her up a bit too swiftly. It
tilted her off balance on her heels long enough to have him yanking her closer
to steady her. One arm cradled her, secure and tender. She could swear his
heart thumped through the layers of their clothing. His chest singed her
breasts and made her think of lit matches searing her nipples. With an inward
groan, she ordered her areolas not to tighten further, but they disobeyed and
strained against her lacy bra and silk blouse. She inhaled deeper and caught an
underlying whiff of deodorant soap, not the pungent, cologne-laced type, but
manly soap.

For an eternity, he held her close and kept her from
toppling off her high heels. A sudden heady sensation assailed her. Unfamiliar
wickedness clawed its way out of some unknown spot deep in her soul. It dared
her to continue standing there in public with this outrageously rugged man,
while opposing warning bells sounded somewhere off in the distance.

Get a hold of yourself, Britt.

This recklessness wasn’t like her at all. There had to be an
explanation… Ah yes, that depraved posing for Lexi last night had caused her to
go temporarily sex-insane.

She shook her head to clear her cluttered thoughts.
The
pictures. Get them back before you float out of here in a swoon and forget.

Britt glanced down at the pectorals straining against
leather. Her arms were bent up and folded along the sides of her chest,
imprisoned there against his rock-hard torso. She noted his vest gaped away on
one side from the dark-gray, button-up work shirt, just enough for her to
glimpse the white oval patch on his left chest. The piece had been edged in red
stitching, and the name sewn into its center matched the border, making it jump
out at her.

“Diego. I like that.” But she didn’t like her own breathy
tone.

She expected he’d flash her that infectious smile, but
instead his expression sobered. “And I like the sound of my name on your lips.”

His words had softened to a hoarse whisper. She shivered.
The deep, quivering raspiness reminded her of her vibrator skimming over her
clitoris, bringing her to maddening heights.

“Are you cold?”

Damn her legs. They went weak again. She relaxed against
him, just enough that his half-erect cock pressed against her lower abdomen.
The shock of it tore a strangled gasp from her throat where she must have been
holding every molecule of oxygen inside. All she could do was stand there and
gawk like a tongue-tied teen as he continued to hold her closer than propriety
allowed, her purse and those scandalous pictures tucked at his side.

“No. T-thank you, no. I…I, um, really need to be going,” she
finally murmured.

He cleared his throat and glanced around the store as if
he’d forgotten where they were.

She looked down and noticed a plastic drugstore bag had
fallen and landed near his booted feet. He must have dropped his own sack to
rescue her from a fall. Her gaze slid back to the bag. Was that a packet of
photos she saw through the semitransparent sack? Had he just come from Lexi’s
photo counter too?

“Sorry about that,” he said at a more conversational volume
as he eased her away and cleared his throat. He released her and swiped up his
sack. “So do I—need to be going, that is.”

Britt stumbled back, stunned at the chill that breezed over
her skin. The air-conditioning must have kicked on. “Okay, well then…can I have
my purse and pictures back?”

He glanced down at the items still held hostage between his
arm and side, as if he had no idea how they’d gotten there. His gaze met hers.
Another swoon of dizziness swam through her head.

Surprise and confusion flitted across his face. “Oh, sorry.
Here.” He held the items out to her.

She snatched the pictures, hooked her purse over her
shoulder and hugged the packet to her chest as if it were her last chance to
ever possess it again.

“No problem.” She turned, stopped, turned back. “Thanks.
Thanks for picking me up off the floor—twice.”

“You’re welcome, Britt.”

Her spine stiffened. Goose bumps rippled up her back—and not
the good kind. The shock of her name coming from the stranger’s mouth hit her
like a stinging slap across the face. The coals that had been stoking in her
system were doused.

“H-how do you know my name?”

He blinked, and for the briefest second she thought she saw
a glimpse of guilt in his expression. “I, uh…it’s written on the envelope you
dropped. That is your name, right? I mean, you weren’t picking them up for
someone else, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t. Sorry. It’s been a pretty stressful day
.”
Of course that explains it. The damned and dangerous photo envelope rides
again.
She held out her hand. “Britt Malone. Nice to meet you, Diego.”

He narrowed his gaze, his eyes twinkling with irony. “How
did you know
my
name?”

“Remember?” Britt grinned. “The nametag on your shirt. So,
Diego who?”

“Mansini.” He took her hand in his big, warm one. The strong
grip sent a ripple of heat up her arm and surged into each chamber of her
heart. And tumbled straight down into her drenched, throbbing pussy.

Britt tipped her head, studied him one last time. “Diego
Mansini. Nice name.”

“Glad you like it, babe.”

Babe? Whoa. That really sent her hormones racing. No man had
ever called her that before, much less in such a sexy tone.

She tugged her hand free, surprised again at the instant
chill that replaced the warmth. “Well, I need to get out of here. Thanks again…Diego.”

She turned, but he caught her elbow and halted her retreat.
“Wait. Where are you going?”

“Normally, I might say that’s none of your business. But
since you’ve been such a gentleman, I’m going home.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t have to ask.” He winked, indicating in
that one gesture that he meant it. An unabashed playboy who knew the power of
his charms. He was proud of it, just as any alpha lion knew he was king of his
lair.

She blinked. The firm hold he had on her, both physically
and strangely enough, emotionally, seemed amplified as if she dreamed this
encounter. His sexual hold on her had grown out of control for sure, and with
little effort on his part. “You wouldn’t have to ask what, exactly?”

“For a woman—in this case you—where you’re going and if you’ll
go to dinner with me.”

Britt’s gaze fell on the tanned hand where it dwarfed her
arm even atop the slight puff of her blouse. The short-sleeved work shirt
revealed bared, fit forearms. She dragged her stare up inch by inch and
followed the corded arm with the whorls of dark-brown hair and the beginning of
a tattoo she couldn’t quite make out. By the time her perusal reached the
biceps bulging against the hem of the sleeve, she was panting. How
embarrassing. What was it about this unrefined man that even one touch, one
look, could soak her panties and set her pulse racing like no one before him?

“Dinner?” she croaked.

“Yes, you know, that meal that’s eaten toward the end of the
day?”

The laughter bubbled from deep in her throat. “Ah. Funny.”

His mouth thinned, the full lips pressing together. “I’m
serious. I’d love to take you out to a nice dinner. Believe it or not, I clean
up pretty good. This grease you smell isn’t permanent.”