Cold Light of Day (27 page)

He lifted her off her feet and laid her on the bed, taking his time even though his heart felt like it might explode from the way it hammered his ribs. This wasn’t about him getting off. This was about him not fucking up. He followed her down, them both lying on their sides, facing one another. He traced a finger over the delicate line of her collarbone and swept it slowly down her arm, down her hip. He was trying so hard not to rush this.

Her body was perfect. Small pert breasts, a gently curved stomach, narrow, finely arched feet. The sight of the dark curls between her legs made him so hard it hurt, so he moved his gaze upward.

If anything she was too skinny, which seemed to go with her hyperactive mind and the highly stressed events of the last days. He wanted to savor the discovery of each part of her, but he was almost scared to touch her and risk screwing it up.

Her hands ran over his chest, across his shoulders, and down his arms until her fingers entangled with his. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Are you sure about this?”

“Have you changed your mind?” There was a sadness in her eyes, almost a resignation. Some asshole had pulled a real number on her.

“I want you so much I’m scared I’m going to embarrass myself as soon as I get inside you.”

Her gaze heated. She pushed against his shoulder, so he was flat on his back. Now she was the one doing the exploring. Hot hands ran over every inch of his body. She kissed his chest, then moved lower, down to his navel, and his erection throbbed painfully. She touched him, and he jerked in her hand.

Unable to stand it, he dragged her up the bed and captured her lips with his. He touched her again, but there was no playing anymore. His hands got greedy, desperate. Sank between those dark curls to make sure she was ready for him. Blood heated until it seared his veins. He grabbed the condom and rolled it over himself. She opened her legs for him, and he swore his head exploded. He eased between her thighs, cradled against her heat, unable to shake the feeling that nothing had ever felt this good before. He eased slowly inside her. Her fingers tightened on his back, nails biting into his skin. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he paused for a moment.

She swept her hands into his hair and whispered. “I’m okay.”

He held her gaze as he sank deeper. She groaned, not looking away. The sound traveled through his bones in an erotic caress. He moved deeper, pushing her thighs wider apart until he was all the way inside. It felt so good that he couldn’t speak any more. Couldn’t think.

He moved instead. Small, controlled thrusts. Wanting to make this better than good for her but trying not to freak her out by doing everything he wanted to do to her in one night.

We might only have one night…we might only have an
hour.

The thought made him push a little bit deeper, a little bit harder. She tilted her pelvis and wrapped her legs around his hips and, dear God, he couldn’t go easy, and he couldn’t go gentle. He thrust into her, only grateful she seemed to be enjoying his lack of technique and finesse.

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, crying out with pleasure. Her inner muscles squeezed him and the climax that tore through his body turned his brain into a white-hot flash of pleasure. Breathing hard, he rested his weight on his elbows and waited until his mind came back down to earth.

When he opened his eyes, he found her looking up at him with a very female smile on her lips.

“Thank you.”

He almost snorted. “For what?”

“My first decent sexual encounter.”

He pushed her hair back from her face. “You know that’s what it’s supposed to be like, right?”

“That’s why I’m thanking you.” One side of her lips quirked up.

“Hey, it was a joint effort. And it’s only gonna get better next time ’round.”

Her pupils dilated at the implication they’d be doing this again. If he had his way they’d be doing it. A. Lot.

He kissed her one last time, rolled over onto his back. He didn’t want to leave her, but he knew he had to. “Get some sleep. I’ll work on that list and wake you in a couple of hours.”

He climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Got rid of the condom. He grabbed his clothing in the darkness and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. From her steady soft breathing, Scarlett was already fast asleep.

In a moment of post-coital clarity, Matt realized he’d messed up. Things had just gotten complicated, not because they’d had sex, although his FBI colleagues would not approve. But because he hadn’t told her the truth about Angel. Judging from how deep her loyalties ran, Matt had the feeling it wasn’t the sort of deception Scarlett would forgive easily. He’d screwed up. Big time.

He could fix it. As long as they all survived this SNAFU, he could fix it. But it was a big
if
considering the LeMay girl had been missing for a full twenty-four hours with no word from the kidnappers. And they had to find a spy who’d managed to remain hidden for more than fifteen years.
That
was an entire FBI career. Matt didn’t want to think how many lives and operations had been jeopardized because of this person. He didn’t want to think about being ordered around by someone who might have a knife ready for his back. What he wanted was to nail the guy’s ass to the wall and then throw darts at him. What he wanted was for Scarlett to be safe so they could all go back to their lives—lives that might someday become intertwined. Suddenly he felt like that little boy on Christmas Eve, praying his father would come home. It seemed, even after all these years, all the disappointments life hurled at him, he still believed in miracles. God help him.

A knock on the door had him reaching for the weapon in his belt.

Parker called out, “Only me.” He came into the room, eyes taking in every detail. “Scarlett asleep?”

Matt nodded and wondered if the guy could tell he’d had mind-blowing sex just from looking at his face. Probably.

“Bad news. Richard Stone was attacked in prison this morning during his latest round of chemo.”

Shit.

“Maidstone died on the table. Cops IDed the print on the phone. Locals issued a BOLO. You’re now a person of interest in a murder investigation.”

*     *     *

Andrei Dorokhov strode
along the top floor of his residence and entered the last room on the right. His wife was wrapping Christmas gifts with her assistant and wouldn’t miss him for an hour or so. The anger that had been growing over the last twenty-four hours was poised to burst out of his skin.

Raminski stood beside the bed. An unconscious female was passed out on top of the covers.

“I wanted her awake,” Dorokhov snapped.

“She struggled.” Raminski shrugged. “I didn’t want her kicking out the taillights while sitting in traffic. I may have misjudged the dose. Apologies, Your Excellency.”

Although his expression was contrite, there was something in the man’s tone that suggested he disapproved.

Dorokhov narrowed his eyes. There was more than enough anger to go around. “Strip her.” His smile was evil. Between the LeMays and the Stones they’d managed to stir up more shit than a Moscow sewer. A little payback was a good reminder of why they shouldn’t cross him. He was particularly skilled at revenge.

He undid his tie and poured him and his assistant a large whiskey. When Raminski finished removing the woman’s clothes he stood back for a moment, lips pinched tight. Ugly bruises mottled her skin like spray paint. Mishka had always been enthusiastic in his work.

Raminski had left the girl’s panties in place. Andrei hooked a finger through the silk and dragged them down her legs. He looked at his protégé and smiled knowingly. “There. All done.”

He handed the man his drink. He wasn’t feeling the slightest interest in what he needed to do. “Would you like to go first? I saw the way you looked at her at the Christmas reception, my friend.”

“She’s a beautiful woman, Your Eminence, and I bow to your wishes in all things. But…” The man’s jaw clenched and his eyes glittered. “I prefer my women willing.”

“This isn’t about sex, Sergio. Surely you understand that?” Dorokhov laughed, but not with amusement. “It’s about power and control and punishment.”

Raminski’s lips tightened.

Dorokhov raised his brows. “You don’t agree?”

“If you have to rape a defenseless woman to prove your ‘power’ then…” Raminski stood with his head bowed. “I’m sorry. Not everything has to be about fear.”

Did the young man really believe that? He’d had high hopes for Raminski, but apparently he was soft.

Dorokhov poured himself another drink. Tossed it back. The angry fire seeped out of him and he felt tired. Very tired. “Get out.”

Raminski hesitated long enough to look at the woman on the bed.

“Out!” Dorokhov locked the door behind the man and poured himself another drink. Truth was he didn’t have the inclination to fuck this woman. Not when he had a wife who was willing and able to make love to him like she actually meant it. That was a miracle. Not one he intended to squander.

But he couldn’t afford to make it look as if he’d gone soft either. He didn’t lie to himself. He’d wanted Raminski to rape her so he didn’t have to. Watching the deed would have been revenge enough on those who’d messed with him, and would have forged a bond between the two men that would have lasted for years.

Dorokhov sat on the bed, wishing he was more limber, less old and fat and lazy. Even the sight of the woman’s naked body did nothing for him. She was too young. Too
unconscious
. There was no fight in her. No fun. The bed squeaked as he moved. It gave him an idea. The only person who knew what happened in this room was going to be him. He started bouncing gently in case Raminski was listening. Gave a few grunts and moans in between shots of whiskey.

The girl’s head flopped listlessly to the side, her tits wobbled, the delicate nipples like elegant raspberries perched on top.

She was beautifully made, but it would be like screwing a doll. He bounced harder, wishing he wanted her. Had Raminski knocked her out because he’d known it would take away his fun? Had he done it to protect the girl and make it so she didn’t remember anything?

There was little solace in having gaping holes in your memory. The reminder had him taking out his cell phone and photographing her from all angles.

He crawled back on the bed and straddled her body, crushing her hips with his weight. Still she lay there as if dead. He snagged the bottle off the side table and tipped his head back and swallowed thirstily. Then he poured the rest of the liquid over the girl’s body and slung the empty bottle at the wall with a fierce cry.

The glass shattered and the silence that followed was heavy and cloying. He climbed off the bed, springs groaning with his weight. He pushed her knees wider apart and rubbed some of the liquor between her legs so she glistened all over. It looked and smelled as if he’d fucked her with a bottle in hand.

He swiped his hands on the sheets, then took more photographs. He gathered his tie in one hand, unlocked the door and found a glowering Raminski standing there talking rapidly on his cell.

“You’re sure?” Raminski said as his eyes went over Andrei’s shoulders to see Angel LeMay displayed to the world. The spark of anger was quickly masked. He closed the phone with a snap. “The FBI agent and the girl. They’re both alive. Do you want me to go after them?”

Anger fused his teeth together. He managed to grind out. “I’ll call in a professional this time.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Take her back to the warehouse. I’m not finished with the little bitch yet. And Raminski…” He let his voice get low and threatening, “Refuse an order again, and I’ll send you home in a body bag,
vy ponimayete meniya
?”

“S
carlett, wake up.”

The bed tipped to the side, and she woke with a start. Matt sat looking at her, concern darkening his eyes. Was he regretting what they’d done, or had something else happened?

“What is it?” Her voice came out all scratchy. She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even midnight. “Didn’t I just go to sleep?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

She’d drifted off feeling sated and satisfied. Now the weight of their situation settled on her chest, crushing her lungs, and any peace she’d felt earlier fled. The reminder there were bad people out there actively trying to kill anyone who got in their way had her suddenly wide awake. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself fall into the fantasyland that they were safe. “What is it?”

“You need to get dressed.” From the expression on Matt’s face, something awful had happened.

She threw off the covers, not caring she was naked. She pulled on the yoga pants Mallory Rooney had lent her and wished she could pick up some of her things. She hadn’t realized how comforting it was to slip into her own well-worn jeans until now. She pulled on her bra, t-shirt, and sweater. Matt went into the other room. It probably would be best if she didn’t act like a love-sick ninny in front of his colleagues. Not that she was—love sick, that was. She couldn’t allow herself to fall for him, not until this whole mess was sorted out and her dad was exonerated. Sex was allowable—good exercise, a great stress reliever—but letting it turn into anything else right now would be a huge mistake.