No Fair Lady Page 5

  She laughs then, dry and self-mocking.

  “Would I really be so obvious?” She throws me another sardonic look. “And would I really be so direct, telling you why I really want to talk to you?”

  She seems so confident, so it’s something to realize why she’s holding back.

  Brin doesn’t trust me.

  She’s feeling me out.

  For what?

  The hair on the back of my neck fucking tingles.

  Did Galentron send her? Is this actually a hit?

  Does Durham already suspect I’m not as loyal as I seem? Is she here to put me down easy and make it look like a tragic accident?

  Or does she suspect I’m not as loyal as I seem, and she’s desperately looking for an ally behind enemy lines?

  I don’t say anything.

  After a moment, she looks away, her expression going dead, an oddly canny twist to her flat-set mouth and snowy-silver eyes.

  “Nice place,” she says, strangely casual. “Penthouse. A little small, maybe. I bet you could afford to buy this whole building on your salary. The company keeps you comfy, don’t they?”

  “Like a prize pet,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “That’s all most kept things are.”

  “Don’t I know it.” She tosses her wine back in a single gulp without ever disrupting that rolling flow of candy, then sets the glass on the table with a pointed tink of glass on glass. “How much did I just drink in a single gulp? Two hundred dollars? Three?”

  “I’d say that glass was valued at about two grand,” I say casually—and she actually chokes.

  I try not to laugh.

  Rocking forward, she swats at her chest, and I realize she’s half-swallowed her candy. The soft, slightly panicked gurgling sound starts a second later. Damn thing must be lodged in her throat.

  Bolting up, I round the table and start thumping her back.

  I never even see her move.

  One minute, I’m standing over her.

  The next, she’s flowing around me like angry water, rising to her feet and spinning to hook my leg, catch my arm, then slamming me toward the balcony. The wind bites me in the face.

  Oh, shit.

  She bends me over it with her hand on the back of my neck, her leg jammed against mine to keep me off-balance, precarious. The railing presses hard enough into my chest to make my sternum hurt.

  So she can throw me over to my death at any second.

  “Disappointing. You made that too easy, Major,” she says, nearly purring in my ear. “I never choke on these things. Too small.”

  “I suppose I did,” I whisper, still trying to figure out exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.

  But I stay lax. Calm. Focused.

  If she’s going to do it, she’s going to do it.

  If she’s not, then I want to hear what she’s really after.

  And why she deliberately baited me into this position.

  I’m not a begging man. Even if my life’s in the hands of a wildcat who might be half-demon.

  “So,” I say. “Either this is the kinkiest foreplay I’ve ever had...or I have something you want, Brin. And either you want me to give it to you, or you’ll just take it from me.”

  “Is that what you think?” She’s managed to pin my arm behind my back, too, and she gives it a little wrenching jerk that fires pain up my shoulder. “So tell me what I want from you, then, Mr. Oliver Major.”

  She stresses my full name like an insult.

  It makes me grin.

  So does the brief look of surprise on her face when I let my legs go loose and drop.

  She’d been braced for me to push back or try to stand or straighten. Not for me to slip down out of her grasp, buckling my legs to pull my weight back over the edge of the balcony and twist free.

  I’m older than her.

  I’m not slow, even if I’m four times bigger.

  And I’m not so far out of training myself. Before my rapid climb up Galentron’s C-level role, the intelligence community served me well. You never forget what you learned kicking six North Korean sailors’ asses and hightailing it to a concealed CIA sub parked next to their ship.

  You can be damn sure I’ve still got some moves.

  There’s a brief wide-eyed flash of grey eyes, lit with a mix of cunning interest, amusement, and sheer disgusted rage.

  Right before I roll out from under her, swinging my momentum around to catch her around the waist, hook her against me, and jackknife her down to the ground.

  I pull back at the last second.

  I don’t want to hurt her.

  Just pin her the hell down so she can’t do that again.

  And it feels almost like laying her down—and then making sure she stays there by flowing my weight across her to straddle her, bracing my hands on both sides of her head.

  “Don’t struggle, pink. Won’t end well,” I growl, catching another glimpse of that candy rolling against her teeth.

  She’s just a slip under me, deceptively small, her body tight with mellow curves under the nondescript clothing. Her hair makes a perfect fan under her, those precisely cut edges radiating out in a gleaming scythe of black with that lonely shimmering white slash.

  And she’s smiling.

  Of course she’s enjoying this.

  Casting her vixen’s smile, her eyes narrowed, her lips parted and that ridiculous candy ball rolling over her tongue so suggestively my dick throbs against her.

  When she arches her back and rolls into me, it jerks.

  “If I wanted,” she purrs, “I could knock you right in the balls and leave you whimpering on the floor.”

  “But you don’t want that. You already had the element of surprise, and you’d have done it,” I say, a hot snarl darkening my voice.

  She bats her eyes at me like a schoolgirl hiding some scandalous note.

  Make no mistake: this girl is deadly. And that shit turns me on far more than it should.

  “Listen, I don’t think the company sent you here to demand my loyalty. So you know what I think it is you want?”

  “Tell me, Rhett.” Her eyes narrow, her lips pursed in amusement. She throws her voice in this absurd Gone With The Wind lilt that almost catches me off guard.

  “Help. Someone on your side. Someone you can trust.” I catch her chin then, grazing my thumb against her lower lip. It’s softer than it looks, like all her sardonic smirks haven’t managed to harden it. “Have you ever had that?”

  Her eyes widen briefly—just a flicker of vulnerability.

  Then she sniffs, jerking her face away. “Maybe I just wanted to vent. Commiserate with someone who isn’t as impressed with Durham’s quest to own the world off our work.”

  There it is.

  That stress on our.

  It sounds like an emphasis, but it’s actually a question.

  One that can’t be used against her because it’s so oblique she can always deny it later.

  She’s asking if I resent Durham for his increasingly diabolical, money-hungry plans, too.

  If I hate him for the things he does for the sake of adding another digit to his annual take-home, without caring who it hurts.

  And if I want to do something about it.

  The scariest question in the world.

  “You’re talking about crossing a line,” I say carefully. It’s getting harder to think when she moves under me again, her hips twisting and lithe, grinding against me with a small muffled sound in her throat.

  “Oh, I’m thinking about crossing a lot of lines, Major,” she breathes. “But the way I see it, he’s already crossed one too many. Do you have any clue what I brought home from Europe?”

  “I read the reports. Full clearance,” I growl, resisting the urge to slam my hips into hers and grind her into literal submission.

  The Russian intelligence. That’s what she means.

  The things Durham wants to do, to render for sale to the highest bidder.

  It’s all kinds of twiste
d: lethal fast-acting viruses, chemical agents for quiet assassinations that look fully natural, human gene editing that’s way over my head.

  She’s not wrong.

  Maybe the only question that matters is, have I had enough?

  “It wouldn’t be easy,” I tell her, tightening my thighs, pushing my full weight against her, trying to ignore the throb in my cock just to hold her still.

  “It could be,” she whispers, showing her candy-stained tongue.

  And that damnable smirk.

  It’s starting to do the worst fucking things to me. All of them.

  “All I have to do is what they made me for.” Her fingers scratch softly against my wrist, obviously playing.

  “I thought they made you to be more subtle than this?” I snap, then suck in a harsh breath as she undulates her hips against me.

  So much for having the upper hand.

  I know now this is how I die.

  Being teased to death by this scary, strange girl.

  She leverages her position, too, pressing herself against my cock. Her nipples are hard against her shirt, her tits high and firm and ever fucking distracting.

  Yeah.

  Ready or not, I think I’m about to let my libido make some bad, bad decisions for me.

  “I don’t do subtle,” she says, and with a slow grin, flicks that bit of pink candy to rest between her pursed lips.

  It’s gleaming.

  Makes me think of some tortured goddamn things I shouldn’t be thinking of, things too wet and round and slick.

  “Brin,” I snarl, sounding more animal than man.

  “No, Major. That name doesn’t hold much weight anymore.” She sucks it back into her mouth with a luscious little sound. “Ask me my new alias. I’ll give you a hint—it’s a color. Very bright. Alive.”

  She’s bright, I realize.

  Underneath that coldness, the silvery eyes, this monochrome woman blending in behind the scenes, she’s a girlish collection of stars blazing through the void. The chasm of this strange life we share with Galentron Incorporated.

  Fuck bright.

  She’s blinding.

  And right here, right now, I want her to sear away my senses.

  “Bad day for games,” I say, but I’m watching her lips the whole time. “Just tell me. Tell me what to call you, Agent Brin.”

  “Fuchsia,” she hisses, slipping her arms around my neck, drawing me down.

  “Just Fuchsia? Fuchsia Brin?”

  Her eyes dart around and her brow furrows.

  “You need a last name too if you’re going full bore,” I say. I take a step back, reaching for the wine bottle behind me, holding it up. “Did you like the wine? I suggest something elegant and inspiring.”

  She smiles, swiping the bottle with one hand, tilting it so she can see the label.

  “Trust me, Oliver Major. One day the world will never forget Fuchsia Delaney—and neither will you.”

  There are no words, then.

  No words as I let her pull me down to my doom, allowing her to steal my mouth.

  In two seconds flat with her strange, gentle tease, I’m hard. My tongue pries her open, slips past those vicious teeth, taking a nice, long drink of Fuchsia’s heat.

  I trade her a growl, and she gives back a moan. Then it’s all hands, teeth, lips, and tongue damn near everywhere.

  She tastes like candy.

  Of course she does.

  A hot pink sugar rush and rawness and passion and all of these wild crazy things that tell me I’ll let her lead me into trouble, lead me to the brink, and tear me to pieces again and again.

  Because there’s an irresistible polarity in her.

  Something infectious and insane and forbidden.

  She ignites my blood, challenges my lust, bites and teases and toys with me until my mouth is bruised and aching and I’m just coming back for more, letting this cat of a woman toy with me like I’m her biggest catch ever.

  I’m boiling apart, and she’s the burning phoenix beneath me, blazing far hotter than any tattoo captured on my skin.

  Then the fire wraps around me, thighs against my hips, hormones like napalm.

  Somehow, we stand up, and I fling her over my shoulder like the dick-minded Neanderthal I am. Her nails rake my back, and her teeth graze my neck.

  I can barely carry her upstairs and down the hall before I’m tearing off her clothes, shearing that top in two in the mad, frantic rush to take over every inch of her.

  It’s all happening so fast, so recklessly, and I don’t care.

  She had me, dammit.

  From the minute we locked eyes back in that conference room.

  And damn her, she knows.

  She knows her black magic spell scored a direct hit on that nub in my brain that makes my good sense flat and my dick harder than a brick. And as she writhes under me and pulls me into her and kisses me like she could tear me to ribbons with those carnivorous teeth, I’m already fucked.

  Yes, even before I mount her.

  I know I’m going to do something stupid and downright suicidal for this woman.

  With our clothing left in shreds on the floor, we grapple with each other across the huge bed.

  To even compare Fuchsia Delaney to any woman I’ve ever brought back here isn’t in the same universe. This is more like bringing a tornado of endless curves and hot, husky breath home to destroy my balls.

  And damn if they won’t die happy.

  Her skin feels like silk pulled over steel.

  She knows just how to move to make her body caress every inch of me with liquid-lithe curves and the sweet graze of her nipples against my chest.

  Her legs splay wide, effortlessly, tangling with mine, her foot stroking down the back of my calf as she opens herself to me, rubbing steaming wet folds against my full length.

  Oh, hell.

  This little wildcat is fucking seducing me stupid, and it’s working.

  Gasping, I dig my hands into the mattress.

  Just to keep from digging them into her too hard, and I roll my hips roughly into hers until we’re one step short of fucking. I’m gonna make her work for this.

  I give back as good as I get, teasing the flare of my length against her wetness, nudging against her clit, drawing out short sharp gasps.

  Her spine arcs in reactive jerks, and her skin flushes pinker than her trusty candy—or her odd new name.

  “Planning to tease me forever?” she breathes huskily, her eyes practically burning into me.

  “Not forever,” I say. “Just enough to make you hate me a little.”

  She smirks, pursing her lips. “What makes you think I don’t already hate you?”

  If I say what I’m really thinking, she’ll throw me off her.

  That she doesn’t hate me.

  She recognizes a kindred spirit or else she wouldn’t be here, giving in to this psycho wildfire sex-thing that ignited the second our eyes locked.

  I can already tell Agent Brin would rather die than admit vulnerability.

  So instead I growl, “So hate me, then.”

  Without another word, I lean down to steal and silence that insolent mouth.

  She doesn’t surrender.

  She fights me with teeth and tongue, kissing me like we’re at war, punishing me for every crime I commit. Can a guy fall in love from feeling a woman’s teeth too many times?

  Yesterday, I would’ve just laughed.

  Today, I’m not sure what the fuck I know anymore.

  I make her gasp with my fingertips, grazing and pulling against her nipple, make her moan and tighten her thighs against me as I replace those long, slow, teasing strokes of my cock with long, slow, teasing fingers, delicately parting her soft pussy lips to coat my fingertips in her slickness.

  Fuck, she spills so much—I goddamn love that.

  A woman who leaves my hands, body, dick, and bed all completely soaked with her presence.

  A woman who cries out as freely as Agent Brin does, a
lmost snarling it like a cat in heat as I plunge my fingers inside her.

  A woman whose heat wraps around me and grips me so tight it hurts.

  I add my tongue, sucking her nub between my teeth just like she plays with that blasted candy. I’m as relentless as her hitched screams, lashing her bud again and again, forcing her to ride my face off.

  Fucking glorious.

  I make her head toss back and forth in borderline protest as my fingers thrust again and again until she’s practically pooling in my palm and raking lines of fire down my back.

  “Asshole!” she hisses, digging her nails in deeper, and my back arches, my hips jerking as the pain just sends lightning jolting to my cock. “Why...why are you making me wait?”

  “Because you’re impatient,” I tease, and slip in another finger just so she makes that moany-whine again in the back of her throat, gritting her teeth.

  But if she’s impatient, she’s in good company.

  So am I.

  And I can’t fucking wait anymore.

  I have just enough presence of mind to remember the condoms in my nightstand drawer. Barely.

  This time I’m rushing, ready to get past this part, slipping it on and then before that vixen can attack me again, tumbling her back and hooking a hand under her knee to lift her up against me with her body open, her back arched, her dilated eyes looking up at me in challenge and acceptance.

  And that little smirk still painted on her lips.

  “Go ahead, Oliver,” she taunts softly, deliberately dropping my last name, and leans up to kiss my mouth with that pink ball of candy. I don’t know why, but it’s so suggestive I almost shoot my wad then and there. “Make me scream.”

  Fuck.

  But the sound she makes as I slide into her...

  It’s less a scream and more the mating cry of a wild animal. Breathless and intense and so rich with relief it’s practically dripping.

  And she makes it again as I thrust slowly, letting myself get used to the heat of her body, how shockingly tight she is, the way she closes so hot around me and lifts her hips to meet me.

  Again.

  Always in perfect sync.

  And again, until I’m moving for that sound, living for that sound, fucking her just to hear it when it’s drugging me, dragging me out of my senses.

  She’s got me spellbound.