Roman's Gold (Underground Heat, Book 1) (2 page)

She turned toward him. His shirt and sports coat lay on a chair and he’d stepped out of leather loafers. His fingers were busy with the fastenings of his slacks.

“Pretty good progress,” she said, flashing him a warm smile. “First time you came here, it took me most of the session to get your shirt off.”

He shrugged. His pants pooled around his ankles. He stepped out of them and shoved his boxers down his hips. Kate felt her eyes widen. He was more than ready. Not just hard, but a drop of semen glistened in the center of his glans. “Do you want to undress me?” she asked.

He closed the distance between them, put his arms around her and kissed her. She kissed him back, aware of her own arousal. Hector didn’t have much to do with that. But he’d give her something to think about other than the wonderfully seductive stranger she’d seen through her window. She pressed her breasts against him and thrust her hips against his hard-on.

Hector broke their kiss. He slid his fingers under her top and tugged it gently over her head. His gaze locked on her breasts before he took them in his hands. He twirled her nipples just the way she’d shown him. He’d been surprised when she told him women could come just from that.

She curved a hand around his erection. It bucked in her hand. He hadn’t had problems with premature ejaculation the last few visits, but he seemed more excited today. “Do you need to be inside me?”

His breath came fast. “Could I? All I’ve thought about is—” His cock jumped in her hand again. Fluid leaked from it. She rubbed it around the velvety top with a gentle fingertip.

Kate backed toward the bed. “How do you want me?”

His gaze sought hers. “Could you be on top? I’ve done like you said, you know, playing with myself and fantasizing.”

“Sure.” She waited for him to lie down. Kate got a condom out of the night table drawer, opened the wrapper, and rolled it onto him. She straddled him and lowered herself onto his shaft. He groaned. She took care to keep her hips still. “Tell me when it’s okay to move. Open your eyes. Look at me. Think about breathing. You can control this.”

The line of his jaw clenched, and then softened. He cupped her pussy in an outstretched hand. Tentative at first, he rubbed her clit when she pushed into his hand. Her muscles closed around his cock. He rubbed harder. She laid a hand over his to show him the rhythm she needed.

“Is it okay if I make you come this way?”

“More than okay.” With her fingers atop his to guide him, he rubbed harder and faster over her sensitive tissue. She knew she was moving around his erection, but hoped he had enough to think about besides coming that he’d be able to control himself. “I’m going to take my hand away. Now you do the same thing.”

“Like this.”

“Um-hum.” She felt a familiar tightness, tried to hold back so she could savor things, but it was too late. She came, shoving her pussy against his hand. A vision of the gorgeous man she’d seen in the street danced behind her closed lids. Deep in her mind, the cat purred,
“Yesssss. Find that one for us.”
Kate shushed it.

Hector had learned well. He kept moving his fingers until her hips quieted. “Wow. That was amazing,” he crowed. “I got to watch you come. Your nipples got hard and you’re all rosy.”

“And you didn’t come yourself. Even better.” She laughed. “Is it okay if I move now?”

“Will I be able to make you come again?” She heard a hint of masculine pride in the question.

“No question.”

He held out his arms. “I want to feel your breasts against me.”

She lowered her torso until it touched his. “Very good. Asking for what you want is important. Women aren’t mind readers. Put your hands on my hips. Move me the way you want to be fucked.”

“What about you?”

“I had a turn. Besides, you can always touch me or lick me.”

“You haven’t taught me about licking.” His voice had a catch in it.

“Well, if we don’t get there today, there’s always next time.”

His hands gripped her hips. She let him control the movement, pleased it took him several minutes to come. Once his cock was through spasming inside her, she moved off his body and went to get a warm, wet cloth from the bathroom. By the time she returned, he had the condom off. She held out her hand. “I’ll take it. Here.” She handed him the cloth, dropped the condom into a waste can, and slid into a robe.

A disappointed look washed across his face. “Is our time up?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How many more visits do I have?”

“Not sure. Just a minute, I’ll look.” Kate padded into the outer office and clicked a few keys on the desktop computer. She was also buying a little time. Clients frequently got too attached, which was why she never told them up front how many visits had been authorized. Sometimes, even if they had several more sessions, she’d hedge, call their MD, and cut them off.

The truth was, Hector didn’t really need her anymore. Seven visits had cured both his impotence and his problems with premature ejaculation.

“Good thing you asked.” She breezed back into the bedroom, smiling brightly. “We’ve run through your sessions.” He looked so crestfallen, she went to the bed, sat on the edge, and took his hands in hers. “Hector. You got what you needed here. You can make love with anyone now. You don’t need me anymore.”

“But I thought—I mean, I hoped…” Color crept up his chest to his neck and face.

“Aw, honey. Everyone falls in love with me. It’s natural. I’m the first woman you had sex with.” She patted his hand. “I guarantee you I won’t be the last. Try asking that cute brunette you told me about out for coffee.”

“Can I come back if I get into problems?”

“Sure. I’ll square it with your doctor.”

“Really?” He smiled. Hector was decidedly handsome when he did that.

“Really.” She touched a finger to his chin. “You’re quite the hunk when you smile. Try to remember to do it more often.”

He dressed quickly and she ushered him out the door. “Thanks for the flowers. And best of luck, not that you’ll need any. You’ll make some woman very happy.”

She closed the door, locked it, and looked at the time. She needed to call the underground about groceries, change the bed, and take a shower. It would be tight, but she was pretty sure she could work everything in before Todd showed up in half an hour.

Kate glanced at the calendar in her wrist computer. Good. Only the two clients today. Worries about her three houseguests ate at her. It was better when she was home. The shifters in her basement were vulnerable by themselves.

Chapter 2

Devon Heartshorn strode past the pale blue Victorian. He’d watched Kate Roman run up the steps and let herself inside. He was nearly certain she knew she was being followed, but she’d played it very cool. Even though he hadn’t been able to see her once the door was shut, his genetically-enhanced senses told him she’d been just inside watching him.

He surreptitiously rearranged himself. Just following Kate had been immensely arousing. He’d known she worked as a sex surrogate, but he hadn’t counted on her sheer animal magnetism or the hot swing of her hips. She was maybe five-foot eight with curves to spare. Full breasts pushed against the front of her denim jacket. He’d gotten a good look when she’d been at right angles to him running up her office steps. Tight jeans displayed a generous butt. It wasn’t just her lush figure and the bright hair peeking out from under her scarf which heated his blood. The way she walked practically screamed she owned the street. She had presence, an almost regal bearing. Though she hadn’t turned around, he knew from pictures her eyes were amber, shading to golden. Cat eyes. Just like the cat she was.

She was magnificent. He didn’t think he’d be able to capture her. It would be a crime to put something that perfect behind bars. He shook his head. Dark hair fell into his face. He pushed it aside and ducked into a coffee shop. Everything was self-serve. He held his wrist computer up to the auto teller, ordered ten credits worth of food, and scanned his personal ID. The auto teller obligingly gave him a code, which popped up on his screen. Devon marched down the aisle. When he saw something he wanted, he scanned the barcode on his display, a glass door opened, and he took his item.

Coffee and pastry in hand, he sat at a table and raked his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t pleased about his current assignment, but he didn’t see any way out of it. He’d moved from the Mojave Desert three months ago to take a job as a lieutenant with the City of Berkeley Police Department. He’d even gone through the series of infusions to alter his already-enhanced genetics so he’d be more sensitive to shifters. The last one had been three days ago, and his arm still ached. Something in the IV fluid was a hell of an irritant. He was glad to be done with that part of things.

His jaw tightened. Law enforcement had changed dramatically since he’d finished his criminal justice degree at UCLA. Devon had planned to go to law school, but first he’d needed to figure out a way to pay for it. Half Paiute from his father’s side, he’d applied to the Tribal Consortium for an educational loan. Because he wasn’t a full blood, they’d turned him down. He’d ended up signing on as an officer with the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s office. A failed marriage and an underwater mortgage had deep-sixed his law school plans. Fifteen years later, he was still working as a police officer.
It wasn’t such a bad life,
he thought,
until the governmental directive to round up shifters was signed into law two years ago.

A familiar pain knifed through him. His mother had been half-shifter; mixed genetics had cost her life. He’d petitioned the parole board to free her, had promised to keep a close eye on her. His request was denied.

“If we do it for her,” the head of the board had told him, “well, son, we’d have to do it for everybody’s mother. I’m sure you understand.”

Devon hadn’t understood. The push to rid the United States of shifters made no sense to him. There may have been a few who’d used their animal forms to harm humans, but human criminals harmed humans, too. His mother wasn’t a threat to anyone. Not then, not ever. Her health had never been good; she’d died in prison from a lung ailment, probably pneumonia.

Devon had visited her regularly. Even prisoners had rights and couldn’t be denied visitors unless they’d acted out badly. His mother was far too ill to do anything but lay on her thin prison mattress, coughing. She’d told him not to grieve for her, but he couldn’t help it. She’d only been fifty-seven. At the funeral, his two sisters and father hadn’t said two words to him. He was a living, breathing representation of the ruling class, the reason his mother wasn’t with them anymore.

He looked at his half empty cup of coffee and barely touched pastry. His stomach knotted; he didn’t feel hungry anymore. He’d wanted to talk with his family after his mother’s death. After all, it wasn’t like he’d been the one to round her up and stick her in that women’s prison in Chino.
But I didn’t do anything to help her, either,
an inner voice reminded him. Guilt shriveled his soul. He’d given up after the parole board turned him down.

Devon winced. He’d done his share of trapping shifters and seeing them imprisoned. Once the governmental directive had come down removing their human rights, he’d taken his responsibilities as a sworn law enforcement officer seriously. It didn’t matter how he felt. He was bound by oath to uphold the law.

What about protect?
the same inner voice nagged.
Aren’t I supposed to protect the innocent?
His mother had been one of the sweetest, kindest women he’d ever known. And now she was dead. Because of her blood. His hands fisted by his sides. He shot to his feet, almost tipping the flimsy table over, and stormed out of the restaurant. He ran into a couple coming in. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Once outside the café, he walked briskly, but it wasn’t enough to assuage his guilt. Devon broke into a run to ease the pain in his guts. He ran until the city limit sign flashed past and kept on going. He was off duty. No one expected him anywhere. If he went back to the station, they’d just grill him about Kate and he’d have to fill out a report. Maybe he’d tell them he hadn’t been able to find her. That might buy her a few more days of freedom. He drew up hard and bent over, hands on his knees, sucking air. He’d never reneged on his duty before. He couldn’t believe he’d even considered such a thing. If his superiors found out, he’d never work in law enforcement again. He might even get tossed in jail.
Yeah, just like Mom. Maybe it’s what I deserve…

Devon worked his long hair into a single braid to get it out of his face, and then took off at a fast jog. Maybe if he ran long enough, the remorse sluicing through him would ease. He’d read the official paperwork condemning shifters—all of it. It hadn’t made a whole lot of sense. After all, he had shifter blood, just not enough to change into anything. The rules were quite clear, though. Fifty percent was the dividing line. No one bothered to hide their shifter background. It was right on their birth certificates, so hunting them had been easy. Too easy. He’d asked to be reassigned after his mother’s death, but his desk captain laughed and told him to grow a thicker hide.

Shunned by his fellow officers for being soft-hearted, shunned by his family for his mother’s demise, Devon finally couldn’t stand it anymore. He had to leave the Mojave Desert and its painful memories. It had taken a while to find another job, but the City of Berkeley had finally offered him one. They had a new hush-hush task force. He’d only found out he’d be tracking shifters after he’d accepted the job, moved, and been sworn in.

The slap of his shoes against asphalt was loud in his ears. Sweat ran down his sides. Hovercraft whirred overhead. The sky was thick with them outside the city limits. His throat stung. It didn’t take much to erode the already-marginal air quality. A craft flew too low. Devon was certain it was in violation of the hundred-foot minimum, but didn’t radio in the infraction.

“Hey, handsome. What you running away from? Got an angry woman on your tail?”

His head whipped around. A young Asian, probably Vietnamese from the look of her fair skin and high cheekbones, smiled. He came to a stop, momentarily confused, and then smacked the palm of his hand against his head. Of course. Hookers weren’t allowed inside the city limits, but many women set up shop close enough to Berkeley’s edge to lure clients. Maybe a diversion was just the thing he needed. “Nope. Just running.” He smiled back.