Take Me Tonight (3 page)

She tightened her grip on his upper arms, and his steel muscles clenched under her fingertips. “You want to know what I think?”

“Maybe not,” he said, half smiling.

“I think you’re a phony.”

“Yeah?” His long lashes brushed together as he squinted in disbelief.

“I think you’re a fake. As pretend as the kidnapping itself. You’re too nice to screw a woman you don’t know.”

“Is that what you think?”

She nodded. “It’s what I know.”

Before she could take one breath, he crushed her mouth with his, kissing her with so much force and competence that it actually felt like the floor was dropping out from under her.

“You don’t know nothin’, baby,” he murmured against her lips. “Nothin’.”

Chapter
Three

I
nstinct took over. The instinct that makes a man do whatever a man needs to do not to wreck his cover. And then another, more primal instinct fought for control. This one shot fire into his already hard cock at the first contact with this sexy, willing woman and just flared stronger when he tasted her mouth.

He took a step toward the bed and she murmured, “No,” and pushed him to the door with one hand, the other already fingering his belt buckle in a way that most definitely did not match
no.
“My room.”

Oh, this chick was serious about getting what she paid for. But he was getting paid to keep her safe…not satisfied. His body and brain braced for war, but she tipped the scales with another scorching kiss and eager, demanding fingers.

Without separating an inch or breaking the collision of tongues and lips and hands and bodies, she guided him across the hall to another room, this one dark and shadowy. He smelled the city’s night air through the open windows, which sent the bodyguard in him on high alert.

But the man in him rocked into long, silky legs that wrapped around his. Round, firm, luscious breasts filled his hands. Blood surged through his body. Skin burned under his kiss. And two sex-charged bodies fell onto a bed that hadn’t been made and was about to get messier.

Johnny had absolutely no doubt that Lucy did not have this in mind when she sent him to ruin some adventurous female’s abduction fantasy. But his cover included stud service, and his customer expected the house special. Fast and furious, too.

She slipped her hand down his pants, closed a fist over his cock, and squeezed. He sucked in a breath, sliding into her hot fingers, as she finished the buckle with her other hand.

“Oh, look at you,” she cooed appreciatively when he burst free.

Yeah, look at him. Some protector of the innocent. His gun was in an ankle holster and his dick was in her hand. “Sage—”

“Shhh.” She kissed him quiet. “Let me. Let me.” She lowered her head; her hair was so soft and sexy between his fingers, the scent of exotic fruit making his mouth water.

He had two choices. Blow his cover, or…She closed her mouth over him.

“Oh,
honey.
” Forget it. He had no choice now.

Her lips enveloped him, so tight and wet and insane he damn near howled. He slid his hands under her arms to pull her up, but her skin was creamy and warm and pliant, and he had to dip into the strappy top to touch her breasts. Had to squeeze them and tweak the hard buds between his fingers.

She moaned with pleasure and rewarded him by urging his cock deeper into her mouth. Droplets of sweat formed on his neck as blood raged through his ears with the same rhythm she sucked and stroked. His lungs seemed to burst from ragged, shallow breaths. His lower back prickled with heat, his balls throbbed, his brain went blank, and every cell in his body vibrated with the rush of pain and pleasure.

Did she want him to come? ’Cause things were headed straight that way, fast.

“Baby.” He tried to pull her up but succeeded only in pulling the sports bra higher. She lifted her mouth off him and he almost growled with frustration and relief, but all she was doing was pulling off her top, giving him total access to her bare breasts as she went mercilessly back to work on his pounding erection.

She licked him once. Twice. Suckled his sac and flicked her tongue over his burning skin. He’d never…ever…last…another—

Wait a second. Who was the trick and who was the trick turner here?

He finally managed to draw her up, sliding her bare breasts across his shirt—which was still buttoned—lifting her so they were face-to-face.

“Listen, hot lips,” he said, his voice as rough as her breathing. “You gotta give me a chance or I’m going to explode.”

“You are?” Looking delighted, she cupped his balls and started to stroke him again. “Let me know when.”

He took her hand and forcefully removed it. “When.” He softened the gruffness in his voice by bringing her fingers to his mouth for a gentle, erotic kiss. “Hey, angel, who’s doin’ who here?”

In the shadows, alarm flashed through her. “You don’t like this?”

He snorted softly. “Yeah, I like it. But last time I checked, the de-
luxe
money flowed the other way.” He eased her back on the bed, his night vision strong enough to make out the shape of her breasts. The dark targets of her nipples. The narrow waist and delicate dip of her midsection. Her stomach rose and fell with tight, strained breaths, strained from arousal.

He ran a finger along the stretchy waistband of her low-cut running shorts. “So,” he managed with a soft, teasing laugh. “Deluxe…” He slid his hand inside, lower, down her flat belly to touch a tuft of glossy, feminine hair. “Means…” His middle finger stroked her mound. “This…” She was wet with moisture, slippery and ripe. “Is for you.” He dipped inside her, closing his eyes at the erotic sensation of her muscle grip. Hot and tight and magical, this perfect woman’s spot. “For you,” he repeated with a kiss on her mouth.

She sucked in a breath, lifting her hips. “No,” she whispered.

No? She wasn’t moving like
no.
She wasn’t breathing like
no.
She sure as hell wasn’t kissing like
no.
He moved the nub gently from side to side and entered her with two fingers this time.

Her body quivered. He lowered his head and suckled her nipple, rolling his tongue and gently nibbling that sweet, sweet bud before moving to her throat, licking the sheen of perspiration, tasting salt and woman. If he pleasured her, satisfied her, he wouldn’t break the unspoken code of ethics. The one that said you don’t screw your principal.

But, son of a bitch, he sure was thinking about it.

“No,” she murmured again. “Not me.”

He fluttered his fingers, making her muscles spasm. “Yes, you.”

Biting her lip, she breathed hard. “No,” she repeated, pulling his hand out of her shorts. “I…want…you. I want…you. I…”

“I get the message.” He laughed softly, thumbing her peaked breast with quick, tiny strokes. “You want me.”

She rose on one elbow and stared him down. “I want you in my mouth.”

How could he argue with that? “But don’t you—”

“Hey,” she said, tapping his chest. “The customer’s always right.”

She had him there. Her fingers closed over him again. She had him
there,
too. He swelled in her hand.

Once again, she disappeared below, covered his cock with her mouth, and vibrated it against her teeth with one long, slow moan.

He was going to be a goner.

He dropped back on the pillow in delicious defeat, shoving his hair off his face with two hands, inhaling deeply and getting a whiff of her tangy moisture still on his fingertips. The scent of her almost sent him over the edge.

She licked his head, stroked his shaft, and never let go of his balls. Closing his eyes, he let the pleasure kick in, let every drop of blood slam into one place, making him harder than he’d thought possible.

“Sage, honey. Please.” He nestled his hands into her cornsilk hair as the intensity built. Low in his back. Deep in his stomach. Down to his toes he felt the explosion bubble and threaten. Twisting, out of control, out of this world. He was done. “I’m coming, honey. I’m—”

She released him so hard and fast, he lost his breath. “Not yet!” she insisted.

Oh, man. He clenched his whole body, focused every brain cell on one single concept. Stop. Stop.
Stop
.

It would have been easier to stop a freakin’ train. But he dug down, found the strength, found the power, found one pathetic molecule of control. He stopped. He could barely swallow, move, or breathe, but at least he wasn’t going to shoot a wad from here to the Boston Common.

She straddled him, her breasts glistening in the dim light, wet from his mouth, high and firm and hard with excitement. She tightened her hips around his, then closed her thighs over his erection, sliding him between her legs against the slippery material of her shorts.

He gave a low-throated growl.

Dropping her arms on either side of his head, she lowered her breasts inches from his mouth and rode him harder.

“I don’t know what you think I’m made of,” he ground out. “But Superfuckingman couldn’t take much more than this.”

She smiled and sat up, stealing a beautiful nipple away as she wrapped her fist around him again and moved it up and down. “Johnny? I want something.”

Anything. An-y-thing. He reached up to caress her breast. “Yeah?”

“I want to talk now.” She pranced her fingers down his cock like he was the flippin’ yellow pages. “Can we talk?” She fondled his balls. “Please?”

Okay. This was a test. A really hard, impossible, miserable endurance test. And he was seriously going to fail. “Whatever you want, doll.”
Just don’t stop.

She climbed off him but didn’t let go, didn’t stop stroking and sliding her wet hands over his rock-hard dick.

Talk. Yeah. He could do that. He pushed himself deeper into her ruthless fingers. “What do you want to talk about?” he rasped.

“I want to talk about…” She circled the pulsing head of his cock with her thumb. Round and round, slow and sure and maddening. The pressure built again, agony, ecstasy, necessity. “The company you work for.”

In an instant, the tidal wave of blood shifted north and his head cleared.

“What about it?” His voice was no longer strained, but totally guarded. The Bullet Catchers? She
knew
?

“Yeah.” She curled her fingers, then grazed a nail down a pulsing vein. “You know, who works there. Who does what, who makes all the decisions, who are your clients. Just…” She squeezed. “Everything.”

“Looks like you got me by the short hairs, princess.” His laugh was raw and forced, because absolutely nothing about this situation was funny.

Okay. Not so smooth, that transition. But Sage never expected the equivalent of a male prostitute to short-circuit her last working brain cell. And her utter lack of finesse wasn’t the only thing that bothered her. She’d planned to seduce him, bring him to his knees, while maintaining some semblance of her dignity.

Hah. She couldn’t maintain some semblance of her own
top
. And, just for the record, she hadn’t faked a single moan. Who would have dreamed that almost-sex with a hooker hunk would have her humming more than any man she’d ever been with? And she’d
paid
for it.

Tamping down the mental lecture, she formulated her interview strategy. Start with benign, open him up, get him loose. She could do this. She’d gotten the mistress of BankBoston’s CEO to whisper the truth about her lover’s embezzling and gambling habit. She had uncovered the real trauma in the ER at Mass General, coercing information out of the head gyno and bringing down a few arrogant doctors in the process. Surely she could get the goods from this wiseguy who cooked for fun and fantasy-fulfilled for profit.

“Hey. Blondie.” He tucked his hand into her waistband again, nudging the shorts lower, his body back in his control, not hers. “Why don’t you forget who sent me here and just enjoy the fact that I am.”

“Uh-uh.” She shimmied her hips away from those wicked fingers. “Talk to me.”

He chuckled again, his lips tipped up in a charming smile, moving the rejected hand back to her breast to rub his finger on the underside so lightly she thought she might scream. “You know, Sage, I’m really confused.”

She didn’t know what got her more. That little tender twist in his voice that really did sound like confusion, or the fact that he actually used her name instead of princess or angel or darling. Or maybe what got her was that touch that sent fireworks between her legs.

She gently removed his hand from her breast. “What are you confused about?”

“I wanted to talk. Before.”

“You wanted to eat pasta.”

“Part of eating is talking. But you…” He closed his hand over hers—the one that still held tight to a very hard, very masculine, very large erection—and eased her away with the same purposefulness she had used. “You seem to be bent on something else. What’s going on?”

What was going on was that he was rapidly gaining his composure while hers was getting shakier by the second. “I really want to know more about takemetonite.com,” she told him. “Before I, you know, finish you off.”

She could have sworn she saw relief as his dark eyes shuttered for a moment. “You don’t have to do that, sweetheart.” He brushed some hair off her face and ran a knuckle over her jaw. “Surely you know that if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

She flinched at the words. Is that what had happened to Keisha? Had she found out too much about this bizarro operation?

“I’m kidding,” he assured her, studying her expression. “It’s a joke. Are you okay?”

No. She was not okay. And Keisha was dead. The thought steeled her, giving her the power to force a guileless smile and remember her plan.

“Yeah. I get it.” She fingered the top button of his shirt. “But I don’t think it’s so much to ask. I just want to know who sent you. Who else you’ve…done.”

She finished that button and started on another, her pulse spiking traitorously at the thought of seeing his chest.

“I told you, I don’t kiss and tell.”

She splayed her fingers over his chest. No hair. Silky smooth right down to the stone-hard muscle. She fumbled with the next button. “Yes, I know. The happy hooker has a moral code.”

He didn’t respond as she opened his shirt. Glorious. She flattened her hand over his breastbone and moved slowly from one pec to the other. Did he get told all the time how hot he was? Did other girls have to wipe their drool? Did he do this every single night?

Was she actually
jealous
?

She slammed that thought into a mental drawer. Maybe she could make him think he was so attractive, so special, so incredible, that she had to know all about the other women. How many, who they were, what they did. Then she could ask him….

With a frustrated half snort, she fell back on the pillow. Who was she kidding? She was half naked and about a thousand miles away from the original reason she’d signed up for a kidnapping in the first place.