Flash of Death (3 page)

Was she seriously going to do this? Trent Hollings? The bachelor every female at the wedding had been throwing herself at? Of course, he’d been the one to throw himself at her. Literally.

“Tell me again not to overthink this,” she muttered.

He turned her around then, his hands unerringly finding every hairpin and tossing them aside. He plunged both hands into her thick, blond hair and pulled the French twist down around her shoulders in lush waves. Her hair was her secret pride, and she was glad he could see it like this. She never wore it down in her daily life. In her career field, she needed people to take her seriously and not treat her like some kind of sex kitten. But tonight, she was okay with that. If Trent Hollings thought she was hot, she was darned well not about to talk him out of it.

“Mmm. Better,” he murmured. “I’ve been itching to do that all day.”

“Really?”

He took her face in his big hands and tilted it up to his. “Really.”

She tensed as his head lowered toward hers. He paused, his mouth inches from hers, and breathed, “Don’t overthink this.”

Right. Live in the moment. Go for it.
Carpe diem.
His lips touched hers and the platitudes fled in the face of this stunningly sexy man kissing her. His mouth was warm and smooth and confident, and in about ten seconds, he’d blasted past all her experience in kissing. His lips parted hers and his tongue tested her teeth. She gasped at the invasion and he took immediate advantage of it to taste her more deeply.

His arms tightened around her, lifting her against his big, warm body. A hand slid up her back to her head, cradling it in a large palm and drawing her even further into the kiss. And then he was kissing her with his whole body. Whether that was him moving against her or her moving against him she couldn’t tell and didn’t care. Her dress gaped open in the back and his hand burned her bare flesh as it dipped inside the gown. She was shocked when his hand slid down to cup her derriere and... Oh, God, she’d forgotten she was wearing that silly thong Sunny’d talked her into. Something about panty lines ruining the lie of the gown.

He made a sound of surprised approval.

“What?” she blurted.

“I didn’t peg you for a naughty-lingerie kind of girl.”

Painfully aware of the drawer full of cotton granny panties across the room, she didn’t disabuse him of the notion. For the first time all day, she was grateful for the tiny scrap of spandex and lace nestled a little too intimately in her nether regions. Trent’s finger traced the thin line of the thong downward and she groaned in pleasure and embarrassment.

“You’re overthinking,” he warned laughingly. “Let go and enjoy yourself.”

Her knees did buckle then. He caught her up against him with ease and kissed her with gusto until her knees would bear her weight again. “Ahh, you’re going to be a joy to seduce. So artless. So natural. Such a nice young lady.”

“Is that bad?” she asked, frowning up at two of him swimming in her gaze. She did believe she was officially buzzed.

“Not at all.” His fingers slipped under the shoulders of the lined gown with its built-in shelf bra. Which meant she wasn’t wearing a blessed thing under the gown. Except that sexy little black thong, of course. He hooked the red silk and slipped it off her shoulders, kissing her skin as it was revealed. The gown whispered down her body to the floor in a bloodred puddle and she shivered. Whether it was the cool air on her skin or Trent’s hot mouth on her skin that caused it, she couldn’t say.

“You’re magnificent, Chloe. How is it some man hasn’t snatched you up and made you his?”

She blinked up at Trent as he straightened and shrugged off his tuxedo jacket. Nope, no padding in them there shoulders. His starched, white shirt clung to a physique that could make a girl weep with appreciation. Realizing belatedly that she was all but drooling at him, she answered, enunciating carefully so she wouldn’t slur her words, “I’m too boring. And neat. Men hate neat.”

Trent laughed as he stripped off his cummerbund and tossed it aside. “That’s not how I hear it. Most men love a woman who’ll pick up after them. When I settle down, I’ll hire a butler to do the job. It’ll save on resentment from the ladies in my life.”

Ladies. Plural. Of course a man like him had scads of women chasing after him. “I’m just one more in a long string of conquests, aren’t I?” she accused. Who knew whiskey brought out such a brutally honest streak in her?

He laughed lightly. “Never. You’re one of a kind, Chloe Jordan.”

At least he knew her full name. The way she heard it, that was an exception for most pick-up artists. For surely, this man was a master of the art. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to care as his hands slid over her ribs and cupped her breasts, lifting them and testing their weight. She wasn’t all that stacked, although she’d always privately thought her breasts were rather nicely shaped. Trent seemed to think so, too, as his mouth captured one pert, rosy peak and sucked gently. Lightning bolts started at his mouth and spread outward through her body.

“Oh, my,” she sighed. “That’s lovely.”

A strong arm swept behind her knees and she was tipped on her side all of a sudden as he picked her up and laid her on the bed. The down comforter gave beneath her weight, and the room spun lightly around her. And then Trent was there, stretched out beside her, propped up on one elbow, yanking the knot out of his bow tie with his free hand. Shirt studs went flying as he jerked his shirt free of his trousers and all but tore it off.

She reached up to help push the shirt off his shoulders and gaped as acres of tanned chest appeared before her eyes. “Yowza,” she breathed.

He laughed heartily and she glared up at him. “Are you laughing at me?” she demanded.

“Yes, I am. It has been a while since I’ve gotten that sort of reaction out of a woman from taking off my shirt.”

“Do you only date blind women?” she retorted.

He leaned close to kiss her lightly before answering, “No. Jaded ones. Like I said, you’re one of a kind.”

“Hey. I didn’t fall off the pumpkin truck yesterday, you know. I live in San Francisco and work at a very upscale address. Of course, I’m going to take that company down, but—”

He stopped her rambling with his mouth against hers. She wasn’t sure how he got his trousers off or how the covers got thrown back, but in a moment, she was lying on her back on Egyptian cotton sheets with a thread count so high they felt like velvet against her skin, and Trent was stretched out in all his naked, unconcerned glory beside her.

“Please tell me you’re a little bit drunk, too,” she muttered.

He grinned, flashing that million-dollar smile at her again. “I’m drunk on you, baby.”

She rolled her eyes and he laughed back at her. He really was incorrigible. But then the smile faded from his eyes, leaving them a dark, smoky gray that pierced through her whiskey-induced fog like high-beam headlights. All of a sudden, heat radiated from him. A promise of sex so steamy it would burn away all the fog and bring the night down around them.

Her breath caught on a gasp as, without breaking his gaze into her eyes, his hand traveled down the valley between her breasts, across the flat plane of her belly, and hooked inside the thong that was her only remaining defense. His fingers slid across soft flesh that was so sensitive she thought she was going to come apart this very second.

And then his fingers dipped lower, sliding across strangely swollen flesh that raged with lust in response to his touch. “Whoa!” she exclaimed.

He froze against her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!”

“Then why did you yell for me to stop?” he asked cautiously.

It took her whiskey-fuzzed brain a moment to sort that one out. Then she blurted, “Oh. I get it. No. I was reacting to how great that felt. You know. As in, whoa, that’s awesome, dude.”

He burst out laughing. “So you don’t want me to stop?”

“No!”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that,” he murmured. For a second time, the humor fled from his gaze, leaving behind a raw, sexual hunger in his eyes that completely undid her. Men never looked at her like that. And certainly not men like him.

He whisked the thong off her and it joined her other clothes somewhere across the room. And then he did that surrounding her thing again, all muscle and heat and impatient man. The room spun more wildly now. Where the whiskey stopped and the intoxication of this man making love to her took over, she couldn’t rightly say. It was a heady cocktail, though.

His muscular thigh nudged hers apart and she tensed. He stared down at her as if waiting for her to say something.

“I’m overthinking again, aren’t I?” she mumbled.

“Relax. Enjoy. Let go.”

His voice was so darned seductive. It was so easy to sink into the pleasure of the moment, to lose herself in the whirling lights and giddy lust dancing around her and in her.

His other thigh joined the first one, and he levered her legs wide apart. This time she arched toward him with a soft cry of need. If she was going to do this, then by golly, she was really going to go for it. She flung caution to the wind and launched herself toward him. He caught her up against his shockingly hard body and kissed her deeply. And then he took her. There wasn’t another word for it. He invaded boldly, filling her to the point of delicious discomfort, and then he made her his. Fast then slow, gently and then with driving force, he made love to her.

When she would have closed her eyes, embarrassed over how wantonly she was throwing herself at him, he wouldn’t stand for it and made her open her eyes to look at him. When she would have shrunk away from the hoarse cries of pleasure torn from her own throat, he kissed her until she gave those cries to him. And when he drove her to release a second and even a third time, he ripped away any last vestiges of inhibition she might have clung to, with the sheer excess of pleasure he gave her.

Her entire being was raw and exposed to him. He played her body and soul like the master artist he was before he finally joined her in one last, shattering climax. It tore his name from her throat on a primal note she’d never sung before. It was, in a word, magnificent. And better yet, she wasn’t alone.

He collapsed beside her on the now-damp sheets, breathing heavily. She rolled over and pushed up on his chest to stare down at him, and that was when the full broadside of the whiskey hit her. Dizzy and reckless, she retained just enough reason to know this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a girl like her. One not to be missed.

“If I let you rest a little, do you think we could do that again?” she asked.

A broad grin spread across his face.

She added hastily, “Well, not that exactly. There’s something else I’ve always wanted to try...”

“Do tell. What does a nice girl like you think about alone in the deep of night?”

And in her whiskey-induced honesty, she told him. Every lurid, naughty detail of every lurid, naughty fantasy she’d ever had. By the time she was finished, his eyes blazed with desire and his body was obviously more than eager to play along.

“I don’t think we can get to all of that tonight, Chloe, but we can definitely make a dent in your list.” He rolled out of bed and fetched her discarded panty hose. With quick efficiency, he tied her wrists together and then to the headboard and knelt between her knees, his eyes burning with dark fire.

“Let’s see just how far you’re willing to go, my nice, normal little accountant.”

Chapter 2

T
rent slipped out of the hotel’s delivery entrance in the last dark before dawn. He couldn’t sleep anyway, and there was no sense humiliating Chloe by strolling out through the hotel lobby in his rumpled tuxedo for all the staff to see.

Normally, he would’ve spent the night in her bed and enjoyed a morning-after brunch with her, but he had a hunch that, after last night, she’d just as soon wake up alone. For one thing, she was going to have a hell of a hangover. And, if she was telling the truth and had never done any of the things they’d done together last night, he’d lay odds she was going to suffer a rather large dose of morning-after embarrassment. He hadn’t been kidding when he called her a nice girl.

Who’d have guessed such a prim-and-proper lady would be such a wildcat after a few shots of whiskey? She’d pushed even a few of his sexual boundaries last night, and that was saying something. He’d spent most of his post-pubescent life enjoying the favors of beautiful women. But he’d never met one quite like Chloe Jordan, all sweet and virginal in public, and jaw-droppingly
not
virginal in private.

He crossed the street, stopping at the spot where the SUV had nearly run her down last night. As he’d thought. Not a skid mark in sight. That vehicle had
accelerated
toward her. Now why would anyone be out to hurt an uptight accountant who lived and worked half a continent away?

And more importantly, who would want to kill her?

Frowning, he returned to his own suite in the men’s club where the wedding had been held. His family owned the apartment, and he used it when he was in town. As its dark wood, leather and Ralph Lauren décor surrounded him, he breathed in the easy, old-world elegance with guilty pleasure. Most of the time he shunned the trappings of his family’s wealth. He was much more likely to be found in a shack on a beach, waxing a surfboard than lounging in high-end men’s clubs. And frankly, he was more at ease in the shack. People were more real there. Had a better sense of what really mattered in life.

Being diagnosed with his illness in his second year of college had put everything in perspective for him. Life was too short to waste doing things or being around people who made him crazy.

But he had to admit, this condo’s luxury was nice once in a while.

He took a six-jet steam shower to work out the worst of the kinks from last night’s athletics with Chloe, and shaved and dressed quickly. Then he sat down at the walnut desk in the corner and made a phone call to Winston Ops.

It was the headquarters of a private, corporate intelligence network for all of the many Winston Enterprises companies around the world. The duty controller, a computer genius named Novak from somewhere in eastern Europe, took his call.