Hot and Haunted (12 page)

“Your name is Agent Brewster until you make me call upon the Almighty in tongues.” His eyes narrowed, and his gaze grew even more intense with every challenge she issued. She wondered how soon it would be until his eyes burned her. Or what it would take to make him break that rigid control he had. The dam had been broken, and now she couldn’t stop pushing. “Or maybe you’ll still be Agent Brewster even then.” She licked her lips. “Yes, thank you, Agent Brewster. May I have another?” she mocked in a faux-sultry voice. “I like that a lot.”

“Do you? We’ll see just how much after we catch the animal and put him back in his cage.”

“Will we? That assumes an awful lot. Just because I like it now doesn’t mean I’ll like it later.” She unbuckled and got up to go to the lavatory. She needed to splash some water on her face and put some kind of space and distance between them. Even if it was only for a few minutes.

The plane suddenly bounced as they hit a patch of turbulence from the incoming storms, and it threw Miranda off-balance, sending her careening into Brewster’s lap. His arms closed around her and anchored her to him.

“You okay?”

She nodded, her mouth dry, and she was unable to speak. Miranda’s whole body was consumed in the flames of desire ignited by his proximity and the very bold evidence of his arousal against the back of her thigh. Miranda wanted to squirm until that hard ridge was pressed against her mound and brace her hands on his shoulders, dig her nails in the broad expanse of his back while he thrust up into her. She wanted to look into those strange amber eyes while she came.

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride from here on out,” the captain’s voice came over the intercom.

But Miranda only barely registered he was speaking, let alone what he was saying. Brewster’s hand tangled in her hair and angled her mouth up to his, but he stopped short, his breath ghosting warm and sweet over her lips—his eyes searching hers.

The scent of him was stronger: he smelled like winter. Like the crisp night air, evergreen, and something else distinctly masculine. She wondered how he’d taste. Hot, dark, and sweet like the coffee he’d been drinking or that strange mix of the way he smelled. Cold. Wild. Free.

She closed the distance between their mouths to brush her lips over his, but he wouldn’t let her escape so easily. Not that she would have wanted him to. He crushed her mouth to his, and it was more of a primitive claiming than a kiss. His tongue swept past the seam of her lips, tasting and dominating before inviting the return caress.

He was all of the things she’d imagined. Hot and sweet, but dark and wild. There was something primal about him, the shift of his powerful muscles beneath his clothes as he held her, the barely leashed animal intensity.

Another boundary to push. Miranda needed to break his iron control, had to see past his pretty veneer. Everything she was feeling had hit her hard and fast, this connection to him. Miranda needed to exert some influence over him, even if it was just sexual; otherwise, she’d just fallen down a rabbit hole she’d never claw her way out of, and that was something she couldn’t allow to happen.

It seemed as if time had stopped while he kissed her, his mouth moving over hers, his tongue teasing her, and his hands moving in a knowing dance over her body. She clung to him, ready for anything and everything he could do to her. Miranda was lost in him. So lost that it was almost forty minutes later when she was startled out of her haze of lust as the captain came across the intercom again to inform them they’d be making their descent into Minneapolis-St. Paul.

“Told you there wasn’t time.” He winked at her as he eased her back into her seat and away from him.

“It was just one kiss,” she said, her lips tingling and swollen.

“One kiss like that could last all night. Keep that in mind for the next one.”

She turned to look out the window and saw fat flakes of snow careening down toward the ground at an impossible rate. Miranda licked the taste of him off her lips, savoring the last remnants of his kiss. She was definitely looking forward to the next one and hoping it would last all night.

“It’s really coming down fast,” he said. “We’re going to have to move if we want to make the resort. Alexandria is two hours from the airport.”

“The resort?”

“Yeah, there’s a small fishing resort on the lake. I rented a cabin there. Make sure to tuck your hair under a hat. He’s probably got people watching for you. We’re registered as Blake and Mira Chavez.”

They deplaned and headed to the rental-car counter, where Brewster signed for a black Expedition. “Why mess with perfection?” He shrugged. “And judging by the way the snow’s falling, we’re going to need this.”

The storm, rather than abating, only grew stronger as they drove north to Alexandria. Miranda had no sense of direction as the flurries around them seemed to grow into billowing white sheets. Everywhere she looked was stark, glaring white.

“How can you see?” she whispered.

“The next place with an open sign, we’re stopping.”

But there wasn’t anywhere with an open sign. There were no businesses or evidence of habitation she’d seen but the occasional country farmhouse.

“Shit, there’s the turn.” He maneuvered the Expedition around a curve, only to take his foot off the gas and let the beast roll to a stop, snow crunching under the tires, until a drift stopped their progress.

“Please tell me you have a plan, Mr. Contingency.”

“Of course. There should be a group of summer cottages just over there through the trees. If we’re where I think we are.”

“And if we’re not?”

“Keep your credentials on you and ready to flash. We’ll knock on the next door we see.”

“We? Do you have a mouse in your pocket? It’s a blizzard out there.”

“Yeah, Miranda. A whiteout. We can’t stay in the car. It’s too dangerous. If you have to get snowed in somewhere, wouldn’t you rather hedge your bets in a house with heat and running water?”

“It’s shelter. What if there are no houses for miles and miles? Or what if we lost our way?” The idea of dying from hypothermia did not appeal.

“I won’t lose us our way. Trust me.”

“I never trust anyone who says trust me. Didn’t your mother teach you that?”

“My mother taught me a lot of things. She also taught me that we need heat, and the Expedition will run out of gas before the storm passes. Or the battery will freeze.”

All things considered, Miranda would put her money, or in this case her life, on Aden Brewster.

“Okay. Let’s see what you’ve got.” She bundled up in her coat, gloves, and hat before grabbing her bag from the back.

The wind was brutal and harsh, blowing through even the insulated fabric of her coat. With each step, she sank into the heavy, wet snow up to her knees. Brewster had ahold of her hand, leading her forward into the blinding, swirling blanket of white. Miranda had no sense of time or direction. They could have been walking for seconds or hours. Her cheeks, her legs below the knee, and her hands were all numb.

“We’re almost there, Miranda.” She couldn’t feel her hand in his anymore either, but she kept putting one foot after another, following the sound of his voice.

And, like a mirage, the rough outline of a small cottage appeared against the bleak landscape.

“How did you know this was here?” It was almost as if he’d been here before.

“You’re not the only one who can use Google, Miranda. I used Google Earth to check the lay of the land before we left Hannibal.” He dragged her up the stairs. “Contingency, remember? Besides, there are scores of furnished rental cabins up here that would be empty during the fall and winter. I wouldn’t put it past Webster to break into one just like we’re about to do.”

There were bars on the door and windows, something strange for so remote and rural a place. The lone howl of a wolf pierced the rage of the storm, to be joined by the chorus of his brothers. Miranda had the distinct impression they were being watched by something big and hungry. More fierce than a whole pack of wolves. Brewster pulled something out of his pocket and jimmied the door with it until it opened.

It was almost as cold in the cottage as it was outside, but there was a massive fireplace in the center of the room, and Brewster immediately set out to build a fire. Within minutes, a yellow-orange dancer sparked and leapt in the grate, crawling higher and higher against the stone behind it.

This had been part of her fantasy, to be snowed in with Agent Brewster. Now, here they were. Although the realities weren’t as spectacular as the fantasy. She pulled off her gloves and, with numb fingers, tried to unlace her boots.

Miranda kept thinking about those howls, the sensation of hungry, predator eyes on her skin, and the reason for the bars on windows and door. Her eyes flickered back to the door and saw a strange locking mechanism on the inside that fit over the whole door. Almost like a steel barricade.

Maybe to guard against bears, she rationalized.

The howling sounded again, this time much closer, and the shivers that slithered down Miranda’s back had nothing to do with the cold.

Chapter Four

“
W
OLVES ARE NOTHING
to be afraid of,” Brewster assured her as he came out of a bedroom with his arms piled high with blankets. “Besides, we’re safe here, and the cabin is furnished and stocked.”

“It’s not the wolves. They’re beautiful, noble creatures, and it pisses me off that Webster pretends to be one.” She pushed her hands through her hair in frustration.

He dropped the blankets and sat down next to Miranda. “Don’t doubt yourself now. We’re going to catch him. I’m sure he was entrenched somewhere before the storm hit. Like that moon cult across the lake.”

“Or he’s in the next house over, subjecting a family of four to his delusions.”

“Stop it, Miranda. This isn’t going to help anything. You know it won’t.”

“I can’t get it out of my head. Those images from his crime scenes keep playing over and over on a looped reel. That monster is out in the world.”

“So are we. And we don’t lose, remember?”

She nodded.

“Don’t go soft and vulnerable on me now, Garrick.”

“No, I’m a hard-ass. I just can’t stomach this fucker’s existence.” She shivered.

“Neither can I,” Brewster said, and she shivered again. “You better hurry up and change into something warm and dry.”

“Yeah. I was waiting for my fingers to defrost. They’re still tingling.”

“Let me give you a hand.” He bent at her feet and reached for her boots.

“Not exactly how I imagined you taking off my clothes.”

He smirked as he finished pulling her boots off. “Oh yeah? So you admit you’ve imagined me taking off your clothes?” His hair fell across his forehead, making him look just a bit devilish.

Brewster was so close, so warm, and showing her a side of himself that was new—the playful would-be lover. She liked it. Did she dare tell him? Surely he’d want to know how she’d thought of him, if she’d admitted again to imagining it. Could she admit that to him? They barely knew one another, after all. Yet, it didn’t matter that they’d just met, all of those nagging little chirps of reason were silenced by the scorching, almost instinctive need they seemed to have for one another.

“I’ve imagined lots of things. So vividly I had to pull over on the way back to the hotel and bring myself off.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper.

He looked up, meeting her appraisal, and she was hyperaware of his position between her legs. “How
did
you imagine me taking your clothes off, Miranda?” His hand slid up her leg to her thigh.

“Maybe it was a little like this after all.” She bit her lip and shrugged out of her coat.

“Did I say something predictable like how you needed to get out of those wet clothes?” He arched a dark brow in question.

“You did earlier when you told me I needed to have on something warm and dry,” she tossed back.

“Yeah, but I didn’t offer to share my body heat to warm you up like I am now.”

“Oh, is that what you’re offering? To share your
heat
?” She relaxed her knees apart and leaned back to invite him to continue farther.

“Skin to skin is the best way to keep warm. Didn’t you pay attention in your survival classes?” He crept up her body until his knee was wedged at the apex of her thighs, and he held his body above hers.

“So give me some skin, secret agent man.” She ran her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, sliding up and over his back, loving the play of muscle beneath her fingertips. He shrugged out of the shirt, tossing it to the side. Brewster searched her face for what seemed like forever, or maybe it was just a single moment taken out of time like a lone granule from the hourglass before moving back down her torso to kiss her navel.

“Glad we’re in agreement on this one, Miranda. I’ve wanted to taste you from the moment we met.”

He undid the button on her slacks with his teeth and pushed the zipper down with his tongue.
Dear God, with his tongue.
If he could apply that much force to a zipper with only the tip of his tongue—and it had to be only the tip or he’d cut himself on the teeth—what could he do to her clit?

Marvelous and wondrous things,
a voice in the back of her head whispered.

His fingers hooked through her belt loop and tugged her slacks down and off. He licked her through her panties first, the damp lavender silk stroking her swollen clit.

“You came in these panties thinking about me, Miranda?” he asked, his voice more like a growl.

“Yes,” she responded, breathless.

“Your need tastes the same as your scent.” He lapped at the silk a few more times. “Very sweet.” Then he pulled back. “Show me.”

She was dizzy with desire, her whole body pulsing, the alpha and omega of that sensation deep inside the pit of her belly.

“I want to see you touch yourself as you did when you fantasized about me.”

“I used my phone,” she whispered.

“Did you? And to think I was holding it in my hand right after it had been working your sweet pussy.” He dragged her panties down her hips. “Just as well. I don’t want to wait.” Brewster swept his tongue along her cleft, and she cried out, arching up into the erotic assault.

His mouth and tongue were made of sin and fire, thrusting into her only to lave at her clit again. She twisted in his grasp, seeking more, but his fingers dug crescents into her hips as he held her immobile.

Her fingers tunneled through his hair, and she drew him nearer to his task.

Aden suckled her clit, tugging the sensitive bud into his mouth. He knew exactly what he was doing, paying more attention to the flesh at the edges than the center—lashing his tongue back and forth across the needy nub.

She was wrong. Reality was definitely better than fantasy. He knew just what she wanted, what she needed.

He pushed two blunt fingers inside her pussy while his tongue teased her clit. Miranda tightened around them, pulling them deeper.

“I’m going to come.” But it was more of a pleading than a statement. She wasn’t ready to come yet, it was too soon.

“Come for me, Miranda.” He pulled away from her pussy, his thumb taking over the strokes of his tongue. “Come for me now so you’re slick and ready for my cock. Trust me to make you come again.”

She shuddered at his promise, still not ready to let go, but he was the one in control. He increased the speed and tempo of his caress, his fingers moving in and out of her wet folds until her back arched like a wooden bow, her muscles taut and flexed as he pushed her over the edge of pleasure into the nirvana of a whole-body orgasm.

Miranda lay there, quaking, as aftershocks rocketed through her, but Aden wasn’t finished with her yet. She watched through half-lidded eyes as he continued disrobing. The elegant stretch of his fingers as he slid the material of his trousers down his tanned legs entranced her. The perfection of his hard, chiseled abs that dipped down in that beautiful line of hip that drew her gaze right to his cock. He pushed down his black jockeys, baring his jutting cock to her hungry gaze.

He pulled a foil wrapper out of his wallet and draped his trousers on the coffee table. Miranda took the wrapper from him, a Trojan Magnum. He definitely needed the larger size. She tore open the wrapper and reached out to close her hand around his cock, sliding the cage of her fist down his length and enjoying the weight of him in her hand. He fucked into her fist with a few slow, measured motions. Aden was still in complete control.

She positioned the condom on the crown of his cock and smoothed the latex shield down his shaft. Before this night was over, she was determined to be the one so cool and collected, making him shake with his need, pleading with her to grant him release as she played his body as expertly as he’d played hers. She needed that balance of power. Only, not right now. Right now, she was ready to be fucked hard and long. She needed his cock inside her, drilling her, pushing her past her limits just as she’d imagined.

He loomed over her, and the fire in the grate cast strange shadows over his face. Miranda pulled him down for another kiss. Aden’s fingers made quick work of her blouse and bra, casting them aside with the rest of their clothing. Then he filled his hands with the globes of her breasts, his fingers strumming and plucking at her stiff nipples.

Each motion sent an electric jolt through her, especially tasting herself on his hard mouth. She nipped at his bottom lip, and a growl echoed low in his throat. His caresses became a little rougher, and Miranda liked it, so she nipped at him again.

He nipped back, then sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, as if to make amends, to soothe the flesh with a kiss. Miranda moaned into his mouth as Aden positioned his arm beneath her lower back to tilt her hips toward him. The head of his cock pushed against her sopping pussy, but he didn’t penetrate her yet.

Aden released her mouth, dragging his cheek against hers as he pulled away, the scruff of new beard growth rough on her skin. “So tell me, Miranda. Who am I now?”

She pulled on him to bring his mouth back to hers, but he was immobile. “Are we having a ‘what’s my name’ moment?” Miranda tightened her legs around his waist and rolled her hips.

“Yeah, I guess we are. I want to hear my name on your lips.”

“Will you punish me if I don’t?”

“I think you’d like that.” He gave a light tug on her long, auburn braid, and she gasped. “Yeah, you’d like it. No, instead, I’m going to stop.”

“I said when you make call upon the Almighty.”

“And I did. That screaming earlier while my fingers fucked you and played your clit wasn’t my name.”

She ground her mons against him. “Fine,” she capitulated, but promised herself she’d make him pay for it later. “Fuck me,
Aden.
”

He drove home at her command, and she cried out at the invasion. Even though she’d expected it, it was too much. His being inside of her pushed all the boundaries of everything she knew about her body—what she wanted, what she liked, what she needed. Miranda splintered apart, and the pleasure he gave her stitched her back together again.

And he hadn’t even started moving yet.

She clung to him, her nails scored into his back, simultaneously trying to drag him closer and hold him still.

He was whispering things to her, his voice a guttural growl more than a whisper. He praised how tight she was, how well she was doing taking all of him, how good she felt hot and slick, pulling him even deeper.

Aden hit the core of her, sending shock waves radiating out through her limbs.

“Do that again,” she demanded.

He complied, and Miranda wondered for the first time if a person could die from pleasure. There was an edgy shadow of discomfort in every thrust, but that was bliss, too. Aden rocked into her, seeming to go deeper with every thrust. Miranda wanted it to stop, but wanted it to last forever, too. Just like everything else she’d felt with Aden Brewster.

Aden shifted their position, easing back so he was sitting and she was on top of him, hands braced on his shoulders. Just like she’d imagined on the plane. Aden thrust up into her, and she cried out, burying her face in his shoulder, trying somehow to hide from the intensity of the sensation.

But he wouldn’t allow it.

“No, look at me. I want to watch your face when you come.”

Miranda felt drugged and lost in her own skin, but she dragged herself up, hips still bucking and rocking to meet everything he could give her. He cradled the back of her neck and pulled her down so her forehead rested on his, and he held her there, looking in her eyes.

This was exactly what she wanted too, to stare into those amber depths while bliss shuddered through her body. She was aware of no sensation, no surroundings, not even the temple of her own body, on the ecstasy and the endless fall into the pools of his eyes.

Miranda tumbled down into the ether—into visions of madness under a round yellow moon and twinkling stars, the black velvet blanket of night and wild abandon. A loud keening sounded in her ears, but it wasn’t one voice, but two—a chorus joined by the howling of wolves outside. That didn’t matter, nothing did. Only riding the waves of pleasure as they swelled and flowed in a carnal tide. The undertow had already pulled her down into the dark, and she surrendered.

Miranda was surprised sometime later when she found herself blinking as the world around her came back into focus. She still straddled Aden, and her face was buried in his neck again, the steady pulse in his throat a comfort to her. His hands trailed slowly up and down her spine, and he seemed content to have her there, her hair draped in a curtain over his shoulder, her braid having somehow come undone.

To her surprise, she was content to be held. That was definitely dangerous. Miranda was a thanks-but-don’t-call-me-I’ll-call-you kind of woman. This being-held business wasn’t something she’d signed up for. Yet she couldn’t pull herself away.

“Sleep, Miranda. I’ve got you.”