The Watson Brothers (25 page)

Striking a pose, Cassidy asked, “Is this the kind of change you mean?”

Pete’s gaze was glued to her belly. “What?”

“You want me to change. Does the sexier underwear help?”

As if someone had doused him in ice water, Pete shot upright on the bed. Furious, he growled, “I do
not
want you to change!” Then almost as an afterthought, he said with less heat, “I like the panties, though.”

Cassidy propped her hands on her hips. “You said I could change a few things.”

He groused and grumbled his way out of the bed to tower over her. The tie remained looped around his penis, the long ends dangling down. Cassidy pursed her mouth to keep from snickering.

Pete didn’t even seem to notice. “Not your hair or your clothes.” His vehemence made the tie shiver. “Not anything that’s
you
.”

Cassidy stepped closer and smiled up at him. “That doesn’t make any sense, Pete.”

He ran a hand over his head, drew a huge breath, and blurted, “I love you, Cassidy McClannahan.”

That statement, sort of falling out of nowhere, rendered them both mute. Pete scrutinized her, waiting. All Cassidy could do was stare. She tried to reply, but nothing would come out of her throat. He loved her. Tears threatened.

Seeing that, Pete groaned. “Ah, damn it, Cass, please don’t cry.”

No, she wouldn’t. She sniffed, took several necessary breaths, and licked her very dry lips. “So…you love me?”

“I do.”

He sounded almost wrecked about it. Here he was, the most gorgeous, wonderful, impossible man she knew, in
her
bedroom, wearing a most unconventional black tie, declaring himself and looking morose about it. Cassidy covered her mouth but she couldn’t stifle her euphoric giggle.

Pete’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t going to cry now?”

She shook her head. “No.” And she smiled.

Clearing his throat, Pete said, “Good.” He propped his hands on his hips and took an arrogant stance as if he didn’t have a black tie embracing his manhood. “So do you think you could change your mind about wanting a guy in a suit?”

She wanted him. “Maybe. What do you have in mind?”

Pete rubbed the back of his neck. “I did some thinking today. I’m going to get my teaching degree. I only need a few credits—”

Excitement shot through her and Cassidy threw herself into his arms. “Pete! That’s wonderful. I’ve always known you’d make a great teacher.”

Pete held her away. “A gym teacher, Cass. No suits.”

“Yeah, so?”

Exasperated, Pete shook her. “You want a black tie kinda guy. You told me so, remember?”

Feeling very impish, Cassidy pointed out, “You’re wearing a black tie right now.”

His expression was comical. He looked down and said, “Damn. I forgot.” He reached for the tie but Cassidy caught his hands.

“I love you, too, Pete. Just the way you are. I can be myself with you. If you were a guy like my dad, then I’d need to be a woman like my mom, and I’m not.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Oh, see, how could she not love him? Ready to swoon, she said, “I’m glad you think so.”

Pete bent his head and kissed her, long, deep, and the next thing Cassidy knew, they were on the bed. With a little maneuvering, Pete got between her thighs and then she felt the head of his erection pressing in. “I need you, Cass.”

“Yes.”

He pushed her hair away from her face. “I don’t have anything with me.”

“Will you marry me?”

He grinned. “That was my next question to you.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He pressed in, the friction incredible, the pleasure complete. They both groaned. “Do you want a big wedding?”

“My mother will insist.”

Pete quickened his strokes. “All right.” His arms tightened, holding her closer. “I guess I can borrow Gil’s tux again.”

“Whatever.”

“You want kids?”

“Sure.” She barely knew what she was saying, but she knew she loved him and didn’t want him to pull away. Not now. Not ever.

“Me, too.”

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

She wrapped her legs around him and arched her back. On a gasp, she said, “Shut up.”

“Yeah.” Pete slid his hands down her back to her hips and lifted. The position pressed his chest closer to her breasts, abrading her already stiffened nipples. Cassidy cried out at the onset of release.

“I love you,” Pete told her again, and that did it. She came, squeezing him tight, moaning and shivering. And just as the wild contractions ended, Pete went taut over her, grinding out his own orgasm. Cassidy knew she could end up pregnant, but it didn’t worry her. She was twenty-seven, on track with her career, and now ahead of the game with love.

Pete slumped against her, boneless and breathing fast and hard, giving her all his weight. But she didn’t mind. Not at all. In fact…“Pete?”

He grunted.

Hugging him, Cassidy said, “I love you in your jeans. And you’re pretty loveable naked.”

He puckered up enough to press a kiss to her shoulder, then went limp again.

Cassidy caressed the long length of his strong back. “But Pete,” she whispered, still a little in awe and more than willing to tease, “the way you wear a black tie is phenomenal.”

Two seconds passed before Pete stiffened and shoved himself off her. “Oh, hell.” He stared down at his lap where the mangled black tie was crushed. “I think it’s ruined.”

Cassidy started laughing and couldn’t stop. “You
think?
”

He tugged it loose and dropped it over the side of the bed. “I’m going to have to buy Gil a new one.”

“Maybe we’ll buy ten.”

“Ten? Why?”

So happy she was ready to burst with it, Cassidy said, “I’ve decided I like the effect black ties have on you.”

Slowly, Pete grinned. “Fine by me. As long as I don’t have to wear the suit with it.”

If you liked this book,
try Alison Kent’s series featuring
the sexy men of SG-5…

AT RISK
Bad Boys. Good spies. Unforgettable lovers
.

One of the Smithson Group’s elite force, Christian Bane is also the walking wounded, haunted by his past. Something about being betrayed by a woman, then left to die in a Thai prison by the notorious crime syndicate Spectra IT gives a guy demons. But Christian has his orders: Pose as Spectra boss Peter Deacon. Going deep undercover as the slick womanizer will be tough for Christian. Getting cozy with a beautiful suspect, Natasha Gaudet, to get information won’t be. But the closer he gets to Natasha, the harder it gets to deceive her. Now, with Spectra closing in, Christian’s best chance for survival is to confront his demons and trust the only one he can…Natasha.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he swallowed his adrenaline-hyped heart, turned slowly, and watched Natasha descend. Earlier, she’d looked like the epitome of a corporate professional—or that had been his impression, seeing her climb down from her SUV before she’d been hit with Ferrari fever.

But now…Now she was all woman. Soft and flowing and female, the hem of her dress swinging around her knees and giving him a nice long look up her skirt at her bare thighs as she made her way down.

He walked toward her, toward the base of the staircase, settling one hand against the balustrade’s finial as he waited for her, this nine-lived chameleon who was to be his guide. The heavy flow of his blood through his veins told him how clearly he was anticipating time spent in her company.

And he’d be lying to himself if he denied the source of the tingling buzz at the base of his spine.

He wanted to take her to bed.

She smiled down at him, skirt flaring, hair swinging, and the tingle took on an electric heat.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

Just long enough to regain his bearings, he mused as he shook his head. “It’s been worth it.”

“It’s been worth what?” she queried, coming to a stop two steps from the bottom of the staircase.

Two steps that put him eye level with her chest. She was breathing as hard as he was, and she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Watching you.” He waited a moment then gave a small nod. “Nice dress.”

Her cheeks bloomed a soft pink; she tucked her wrap tighter around her arms and shoulders. If she was trying to blame her body’s response on the room’s temperature, he wasn’t buying it. He’d followed her approach and knew exactly when her nipples had tightened.

“Thank you. Wick enjoys a more formal dinner hour. Or two.” She canted her head and considered him. “You look quite dashing yourself.”

He’d changed his shirt, added a tie, still wore the black pin-striped Armani and the boots. He hadn’t bothered to shave. “Dashing. Hmm.”

“You don’t think so?” she asked, her grin getting to him.

“I don’t think a lot about how I look.” Aw, shit.
Character, Bane. Play the part
. Who knew how much her godfather had told her about Deacon’s obsession with fashion and style? He moved up onto the step that separated them, ran a hand along the railing until his fingers touched hers. “Why waste the time when I can enjoy looking at you?”

She left her hand where it was, even as he waited for her to back away. She didn’t, and in the next second she lifted two of her fingers, the first and the second, so that the tips brushed the vee between his forefinger and thumb.

“What’s that they say about flattery?” she asked with a gently teasing lilt to her voice.

“That it’s going to take me where I want to go?” Boldly, he moved his free hand beneath her wrap and settled it on the swell of her hip. She was soft; she was strong. He felt both in the long lean curve of her body. He felt her tremble, as well, and the tingling at his spine bored inward.

She cleared her throat, her eyes glowing brightly. “It might. Eventually. But right now, Wick is expecting us.”

“And what Dr. Bow wants, he gets.” Wasn’t that what she’d said?

“Something like that,” she responded, though she didn’t move.

Christian did, raising his hand at the same time he lowered his gaze. He measured her ribs with his fingers, her ribs that expanded around her lungs and her deep labored breaths. When he reached the plump side of her breast, he stopped, his thumb resting beneath the full lower curve, stroking in a downward motion when what he wanted to do was stroke up.

“We could skip dinner,” he suggested his gaze returning to hers at half-mast as she leaned into the motion of his hand.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she murmured.

“Why? Because you don’t want to disappoint your godfather?”

She gave a noncommittal shake of her head. “That’s part of it.”

Christian’s hand stilled. “Are you afraid of him?”

“Not at all,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “Why would you ask that?”

He wanted to know what hold Bow had over her, the extent of her loyalty. How far she would go. He wanted to know if she was playing a part even now, or if what she was feeling was real, because that raw tingling buzz was now poker hot and flaring toward his groin.

He captured her gaze as he moved his thumb, this time in an upward sweep, over the firm swell of her breast to the center, where her nipple stood beaded and taut. His own breathing uneven, he said, “Does he punish you if you disobey?”

She laughed at that, then pulled in a harsh breath when he moved his thumb in a circle. “Wick doesn’t punish me. He would reprimand me if he felt he had reason. But I don’t give him reason.”

And there was Christian’s answer to the question of Natasha’s loyalty, though the flush to her face, the glassy brightness of her eyes, told the truth of her conflicted desires. “I think you should give him one. Tonight. With me.”

“I would never have taken you for the type to enjoy punishment, Mr. Deacon.”

“Peter,” he said, and tightened his hold on her ribs. The fire in his belly burned like coals from hell. “Call me Peter.”

“Peter, then,” she said, sliding her hand from the banister to rest on the back of his. “We should be going.”

“After dinner, then,” he pressed. He wasn’t through with her yet. Not halfway through. But the break would give his blood time to return to the head where he needed to be thinking. “You
are
at my disposal?”

“Absolutely.”

Her husky affirmation even more than her smile nearly sent him to his knees. What the hell was he doing? What the hell was going on?
Play the part, Bane. Play her and play the part
. This game wasn’t about getting laid. Yet even as he served up the reminder, he slipped his hand around to the small of her back and pulled her flush to his body.

To Peter Deacon’s body.

His mouth was but inches from hers when he said, “After you.”

She took a deep breath and blew it out with a light shudder as she made her way to the foyer floor and stopped. “I’m sure by now Wick and Dr. Jinks are wondering where we are.”

Christian stopped beside her, saw her mouth move, saw the sweep of her long dark lashes, saw the tiny flare of her nostrils—and saw all of it in slow motion.

What had she just said? “Dr. Jinks will be joining us?”

She frowned up at him. “Wick invited him, yes. I assume that won’t be a problem? It is his project you’re here for, isn’t it?”

“You know about Dr. Jinks’s project?” Christian swore his heart was seconds from bursting in his chest.

At his side, Natasha shook her head, confusion creasing her brow. “Not the details, no. I do know that he’s finishing up the beta testing of what he’s been working on. The timing is why I made the connection between the two of you.”

The timing
. Right. Not that she had been aware beforehand. Not that she knew the details. Not that she was up to her eyeballs in this scheme along with her godfather.

And no admission that Dr. Jinks was being held against his will.

Christian tightened his hold on her waist, determined to get to the truth. He turned toward her, one hand slipping around to her back and pulling her close, the other moving up to cup her jaw, her cheek, his fingers sliding into her hair. Her gaze grew sleepy, sexy. Her lashes fluttered down, then back up.

When she smiled, he felt it in the palm of his hand as deeply as in his gut, and swore her pleasure at the physical contact was only part of it.

Her enjoyment of the secrets she kept was the rest.

He touched his thumb to the corner of her mouth. “I hope I’m responsible for this.”

“Oh, you are.” Her smile widened.

“But?” he asked, since he sensed it coming.

“But I’m afraid it’s not what you think.”

He stroked the line of her jaw. “You know what I’m thinking?”

She nodded, briefly catching the lower edge of her lip with her teeth. “You’re thinking that my working for Wick means I know all about his business.”

“And you don’t,” he said, moving his hand to her neck to measure her pulse, which beat hard and fast. Not with the sure, steady pace of a consummate liar.

“Trust me. I’m no more involved with the lab work than Wick is with balancing his accounts.” She took a deep breath and a distancing step away. “I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

“On the contrary,” he said, returning his fists to his pockets. “It will make it much easier for us to separate business from pleasure.”