Doing It Right Page 10

  “So you’re payin’! I gotta pepperoni extra cheese, I gotta meatlover’s special, I gotta vegetarian, I gotta sausage onion mushroom, I gotta cheese—”

  “But we didn’t order any pizza,” Joey said, still trying to puzzle this out. Kara could practically read the man’s torturous thought process—We should be beating the crap outta the bimbo, instead we’re talking about pizza? Wha?

  “Sixty-nine ninety-five, man, let’s go, I’m double parked.” Suddenly, shockingly, he hurled the pizza boxes at the bad guys, who had loosely clustered around Joey, and yelled, “Run, Kara!”

  Joey’s elbow came up, blocking, but it did no good—the boxes went everywhere, their tops popping open and spilling their load. To her astonishment—and Kara had thought nothing more would surprise her this day—she saw the boxes were filled with dozens and dozens of marbles.

  Pandemonium. Joey was the first to fall, hitting the cement floor so hard his gun was jarred from his grip. Jared snatched it from the floor, cat-quick, then pointed it at Carlotti with wildly trembling aim, squinched his eyes shut, again yelled, “Kara, dammit, run!” and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened, of course; she doubted Jared knew how to pump a cartridge in the chamber. Frankly, she was surprised he’d known which end to point at Carlotti. But it didn’t matter; it was his purehearted effort that counted. He’d risked everything to come here, the moron, and had been ready to violate his healer’s oath to save her life.

  She had no trouble keeping her balance on the treacherous floor; it took stamina and concentration, both of which she had in spades. She was at Jared’s side in an instant, pulling the gun from his grip and throwing it as hard as she could. She knew more about guns than her lover—almost anyone would—but she had always concentrated on the martial arts, never feeling the need to bring a gun along on her hacks. Besides, she had noticed before that those who were good with guns often depended on them to the exclusion of everything else.

  Three of the goons were scrambling on the floor like dazed crabs. Marbles were still rolling everywhere. One of the thugs had racked his knee as he’d fallen and he was not at all interested in getting up and joining the fray. Instead, he rocked back and forth on the floor, his lips skinned back from his teeth, holding his knee with both hands. Kara heard a click and shoved Jared out of the way just as the air exploded with sound.

  “The idiots don’t even have silencers,” she muttered, flinging a pizza box at another bad guy’s head. During his flinch she kicked his legs out from under him and yanked the gun away hard enough to break two of his fingers. The small crackling sounds—and the significantly louder scream of the creep who’d actually shot at Jared—were infinitely satisfying. For a moment, she was sorely tempted to empty the clip into the goon’s head and almost smiled—she hadn’t been nearly so furious at the danger to her own life.

  Joey had gotten to his knees, only to topple over as Jared dealt him a vicious kick to the kidneys.

  Kara broke a chair over another one, kicking his gun across the floor, where it skittered beneath a table. She looked around, grinning and unable to stop. Chaos reigned. In less than thirty seconds, the situation had radically changed. Now it was no longer a question of “Gee, I hope I can kill Carlotti before he kills me”. Now there was no doubt. She would kill him and end this. There was time to do one of two things—save herself, or do what should have been done years ago.

  No contest.

  She started toward Carlotti, who was trying to help two of his men up at the same time, urging them to “get her, shoot her, fuckin’ get her, dammit!” too much a coward to take her on alone. He wasn’t armed—he’d been planning to beat her to death—and she was still grinning, could feel the expression on her face and knew it wasn’t a nice smile, but oh, she wanted his death so badly, wanted Jared safe forever and now, now it was going to be done, it finally—

  Someone tackled her from behind; it was like being taken down by a diesel truck. She got her arm up in front of her face before her nose connected with the cement floor, then felt herself lifted quickly and hustled toward the door at the back of the room. She got a whiff of Jared’s aftershave and in a moment of perfect understanding realized what he had done. And what he had prevented her from doing.

  “Jared, let go! I can’t let the opportunity go by, I can’t run away from this! You idiot, you’re ruining everything!”

  “Wrong, blondie,” he said, and the tricky bastard didn’t even sound out of breath. He had one of her arms twisted into the center of her back and was propelling her so firmly and quickly, it was all she could do to keep her feet.

  They left the chaos of the main room behind them and, to the stunned mobsters, it must have seemed that they disappeared into the shadows.

  Chapter 10

  “You idiot!” she hissed as he yanked her into a small storage room. She got a brief glimpse of a short counter, some mops, and a few pails before he closed the door. She stood perfectly still, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark while he stumbled around, feeling for something to block the door. “You—you might have been killed!” Never had she felt so many conflicting emotions—anger, relief, giddiness, fear. “I left you in bed for a reason, you know. I—”

  He shushed her scolding with a long kiss, then lifted her and placed her on the counter. She wondered how he could see a thing in the dark and was a little annoyed, frankly. She was the fly-by-night cat burglar, for heaven’s sake—it was ridiculous that she had been cursed with lousy night vision.

  She pulled away from the kiss—not without regret—and opened her mouth to continue listing his wrongdoings, and brother, they were legion, when he pinched her on the underside of her right breast, hard.

  “Ow!”

  “Quiet. You don’t get to yell at me. I get to yell at you. Quit putting yourself in danger for my sake!”

  “Keep your voice down.” They had been whispering and it was doubtful Carlotti and Co. had mobilized yet, but old cautionary habits died hard.

  He sighed, a depressing sound in the dark. She wished she could see his expression. “Look, Kara, I guess I’m a—a closet chauvinist.”

  “Closet imbecile, you mean.”

  “I know you can take care of yourself most of the time—”

  “Most of the time?”

  He ignored the interruption. “But I can’t help coming to your rescue. And admit it! This time you needed it. If I hadn’t distracted those guys, you’d …”

  She didn’t want to think of that. Her stupidity. How she had been led to the warehouse like a child of five. “You should have stayed home,” she said stonily.

  “You’re not listening. If you ever leave me alone in the dark to go off and confront a killer—if you ever try to take on five men by yourself again, I’ll break your neck.” He was hissing in her ear, making all the hairs on her left arm stand up. She couldn’t tell if he was scolding her out of relief or if he was really furious. “I’ll take you to the D.A. myself. I’ll never cook lunch for you again. And … and …” Then he kissed her again, hard enough to make her lean backward. It was a bruising, possessive kiss and she could feel her unwitting response to it, feel the wanting flare up in her like newspaper catching fire.

  “We have to get out of here,” she managed, and he took advantage of her open mouth; his tongue thrust past her teeth and she gasped. “Carlotti—”

  “Could you not say another man’s name when I’m having my way with you?” he teased. His anger seemed to have vanished for the moment and she was glad. She didn’t like being reminded about leaving him alone. She had regretted it the moment it was done.

  “We’re still in a lot of trouble,” she couldn’t help reminding him, feeling like a nag but unable to help it. “Carlotti and his men will tear this warehouse apart looking for us. We have to be absolutely quiet—”

  “You’re right.”

  “—and find a way out of here without being seen.”

  “This warehouse takes up the block,
” he pointed out. “They’ll be searching for a while.”

  She assumed he was intimidated at the thought of leaving the temporary safety of the closet and took pity on him. He had been remarkably fearless when he posed as the pizza delivery man, but Jared was a regular guy and not used to the violence that was her day-to-day existence. And he did save her life. Probably. The least she could do was humor him before pushing for them to leave.

  “Remember,” he whispered, so quietly it was more breath than sound, “no noise.” Then he stood very close, so close he forced her knees apart. Not for the first time, she vowed to never again wear a skirt, even a borrowed one, but she’d thought a skirt would fool Carlotti into seeing her as more helpless than she really was.

  Jared’s fingers were sliding up her inner thighs.

  “Wha—”

  “You have to be utterly silent,” he murmured in her ear, so quietly she had to concentrate carefully to catch what he was saying. And concentrating was difficult, given where his fingers were. “If you make a lot of noise, the bad guys will find us, and what kind of a bodyguard would endanger the man she’s supposed to protect?”

  Shocked beyond words, she realized the depth of the trap he had set for her. She couldn’t protest much louder than a whisper—which he could ignore—and couldn’t fight him off, however carefully, without bringing attention to their position. Anything much above a whisper could be heard, and what if Carlotti’s men were in this hallway right now? They most likely were not, but she dared not take the chance. As Jared said, what kind of a bodyguard would she be if she brought the bad guys down on them?

  She was amazed at his ruthlessness, at how he was taking advantage of her protective nature to do as he liked, regardless of her feelings.

  While this went through her mind, his hands were at her sweater, unbuttoning it and then spreading it apart. Annoyed and strangely excited, and more annoyed at being excited, she tried to slap her knees together, but they merely thudded against his hips. She felt him ease her breasts from their bra cups, then felt his breath a moment before his mouth closed over one nipple. She swallowed her gasp as he sucked hard, drawing her nipple against the roof of his mouth and then tracing a circle around it with his tongue. Abruptly her breasts felt warmer, heavier, and she had the absurd thought that she was wearing too many clothes. And so was he.

  He lavished attention on her breasts while she fought the urge to squirm against him. This was beyond madness. This was asking to get caught and killed. This was … this was unprofessional! Her distracted mind seized on the perfect description of their situation, desperate to think about something besides his mouth and hands. If she couldn’t talk him out of it—she couldn’t talk at all—or fend him off with a few well-placed smacks, she certainly wasn’t going to let him know how his touch affected her. He would get tired of the game soon …

  His thumbs were stroking her inner thighs, only centimeters away from the elastic of her panties. And his mouth was still on her breasts, kissing and licking and sucking. Now she did squirm, having no more control of the motion than she did her heartbeat. His touch was so feather light it was almost like a dream. And with every stroke he got nearer her panties, the crotch of which had become embarrassingly damp.

  When his thumbs slipped past the elastic and caressed her plump outer lips, her hands snapped into fists and she managed to restrain herself from seizing his hair and demanding he do something, right now! In seconds, she had gone from annoyance to pure sexual heat. Carlotti could have been standing at Jared’s shoulder and she wouldn’t have cared. She forgot about the foolishness of Jared’s actions and turned her formidable concentration to keeping quiet.

  Abruptly, shockingly, Jared spread her apart, a thumb on each fold, and did nothing more down there, just held her apart while kissing her deeply, sucking her lower lip into his mouth. Her knees slapped into his hips again as she wriggled against him, trying to get closer, to touch more of him, but he stayed where he was, taking her frustrated whimpers into his mouth and nipping her gently as a warning to stay quiet.

  He breathed a command into her ear and she complied at once, hooking her legs around his waist. He lifted her with one arm, and with the other hand stripped her panties past her hips, setting her down and pulling them off as she let go of his waist. He slowly inched her skirt past her thighs until it was bunched around her waist, then passed his hand down her lower stomach, pausing to caress the forest of hair above her aching center. Everything was aching; her breasts wanted his hands back, her nipples were so tight and hard it was almost painful, and as for the sensations below her waist … She bit her lip, hard, so as not to shriek at him to take her now, yes, right now, stop torturing me and take me right now!

  She heard a muffled double thud and realized he had dropped to his knees. He spread her apart again and she felt his mouth at her center. Quick as a thought, she jammed her palm into her mouth and muffled the wild groan she couldn’t lock back. Then she hung onto the counter for dear life as his tongue slipped inside her, then retreated and swept across her clit, which had begun to throb in delighted abandon.

  She felt a finger push slowly, gently inside her as his mouth settled over her clit and he began to suck, occasionally flicking the trembling bud with his tongue as she swallowed a sob of purest frustration. She had assumed quickies were just that—quick—not drawn-out torture, not being touched with skill and love but unable to touch back, not being able to talk, to beg, to plead. She wanted to pull him inside her. She wanted to jump off the counter and get down on her hands and knees, flip her skirt up over her back and beg him to take her from behind. She wanted to take him inside her mouth. She wanted to touch every inch of him, she wanted to own his body as he owned hers, she wanted …

  His fingers were gone, his hands were on her thighs, spreading them as far apart as they would go. Now his tongue was inside her again, darting in controlled jabs. She cupped her own breasts, squeezed. Her head fell back against the wall and she stared blindly at the ceiling. She could feel his hands on her thighs, his tongue inside her, darting, flicking, probing. Then he was kissing her clit and she was biting her lips bloody so as not to scream.

  She could feel her orgasm like a flower felt the sun start to rise and welcomed it. But mere seconds from the point of no return, Jared abruptly pulled back, leaving her teetering, and only years of hiding her feelings kept her from bursting into frustrated tears. He sat back on his heels and blew, just puffed soft breaths at her swollen, hot, tender flesh, and when he seemed sure she wasn’t going to spin away from him into release, he started all over again—his sweet, talented mouth busy between her thighs, bringing her to the edge and leaving her there too many times to count. She couldn’t think of protesting, of fighting it, could only hang onto the counter with her eyes closed and her mouth open while he played her body like a virtuoso handled a violin, with skill, with love, with absolute control.

  A thousand years later, he stood up and she heard the most welcome sound in the world—he was unbuckling his belt, pulling his zipper down, and who would have thought the simple rasp of metal teeth would bring another surge of heat between her legs? Her eyes had adjusted as much as they would to the dark and he was nothing but a large shadow in front of her, now leaning forward and giving her his mouth. She sucked greedily at his lips, his tongue, tasting him, tasting herself. He broke the kiss and she heard how his breathing had roughened in the dark until he was nearly panting, and wondered if his silence wasn’t so much out of safety, but because he could no longer speak.

  She felt the tip of him nudge between her swollen nether lips without entering, and even though she didn’t have nearly as much of him as she liked, she could still feel him throbbing furiously. She tried to scoot forward, to impale herself on him, but he instantly moved back. She got the message at once and quit trying, grinding her teeth because even now, even now he would not relinquish his dominance, and ohhhh, when she was herself again she was going to make him pay for this.
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  He stroked his thick tip up and down her slick flesh, never quite dipping inside, soaking himself with her wetness. His other hand was squeezing her breast, hard, pulling at her swollen nipple, running the straining peak through his fingers. She gloried in his rough touch, it was exactly what she needed, craved, to offset the delirious madness he’d brought to life within her. Then she felt him slip into her. She had time to think, oh thank Christ, I’m going to come at last—before she realized he’d only slid in an inch and stopped.

  Her legs started to come up around his waist, she was done with waiting, done with the endless torture, when his hands slapped against the in-sides of her knees and he held her legs apart. He began to rock, shallow strokes that only brought a fraction of his length within her and then out again, and she sobbed, she couldn’t hold it back, but wept as quietly as she could. He sighed. She knew her control troubled him, knew he longed for her to let go with him—was that why he had done this? To make her lose herself? Did he need proof that under her cool exterior she was a hot-blooded woman with very basic needs, needs he was so excellently equipped to meet?

  In response to her sigh, her soft sobs, his strokes had lengthened; they were long and deep, and he let go of her legs so she could cling to his waist. His hands slid beneath her buttocks and he pulled her tightly against him, so her exposed breasts were pressed against his sweat-damp shirt, and he pumped, pumped, pumped, done with his teasing touch, now just taking her as she had longed to be taken, in long slick strokes.

  “It’s all right,” he managed softly, his voice so low and thick she could barely understand him. “I’m going to let you come now. And you want to, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to. Everything clenched within her and suddenly her orgasm was bursting through her, so hard and fast she buried her face against his shoulder and bit back the shriek of relief and ecstasy. She could actually feel her uterus contracting, feel the throbbing as blood rushed to the very center of her. No sooner had her long-awaited orgasm ended than another began, swooping through her. She was on a roller coaster of pleasure, cresting one hill only to plunge down another, and she could feel him trembling, heard his breathing stop for a moment, and then he was pulsing within her, his grip on her like iron, his face buried in her hair.