Slave to Love (8 page)

Her breath hitched. The idea of the Iceman liking kinky sex should have made her laugh. But the laughter died in her throat. Deep down, she suddenly knew it was true. This afternoon when he'd been dressed in that leather harness, she'd seen it in his eyes—the dark, primitive passion swirling in their depths like a vampire's cape.

It had scared the hell out of her. But as much as it terrified her, it also fascinated her. And drew her to him as to no other man she'd ever known.

Dangerous.

With a shaky laugh, she grabbed her barely touched glass and got up to refill it at the wet bar. She flicked on the lights again. “If that were really true you wouldn't be telling me about it.”

“I trust you with my secret.”

She turned in surprise. “Why?”

He took another sip from his beer. “Because you're already over the edge.”

This time her laughter was genuine. “Right.” If only he knew.

“So,” he ventured. “What's your excuse?”

“For what?” she asked, nearly sloshing her wine.

“For not getting involved.”

She made another face. “Don't be ridiculous. I have tons of friends in the department.”

“Ever invite them home?”

“Sometimes.”

“And lovers? Why no lovers?”

“You don't. Why should I?” she fired back, ignoring the heat that suddenly rocketed through her veins.

“I have plenty of lovers. Just not on the job.”

An unexpected jolt of raw jealously pierced her gut. She clamped down hard on it. “Well, if you must know, Julio—”

“Is gay.”

She looked up from her wine in shock. “How did you—”

“I'm a detective, Caroline. And you're avoiding the question.”

She made a physical effort to calm her unruly reactions. “That's because it's absurd. Everyone knows my reputation.”

“Uh-huh. A reputation based on your assignment in vice.” He nodded, a calculated expression crossing his face, as if a puzzle piece had just fallen into place. “Short skirts, flirty smile, always a sexy come-back. Yeah, I know the drill. But you're pretending to be hot and heavy with a gay man, and the only other guy you’ve ever actually come on to—namely me—was a whole year ago and you knew damn well I would turn you down. Now, when you finally get me alone, you won't let me come within ten feet of you.”

She stared, helpless to deny his annoyingly accurate observations.

“You don't want to get involved any more than I do,” he said. “You just have a different way of avoiding it.”

“Who died and made you so damn smart?” she muttered.

Before her eyes, his features subtly changed, became edgier. More forceful.
More dangerous
.

His smile was slow and lazy, like a wolf's. “Like I said, I'm a detective.”

In a supple movement he rose and prowled around the furniture toward her. At the floor lamp he stopped and carefully turned it off. Goosebumps skittered down her arms.
Oh, God
.

“You know, I've been wondering about something.”

“What's that?” she said, battling the herd of butterflies that all at once invaded her stomach.

He moved a few steps closer.

She was holding her glass so tightly she was afraid it might crack, but for the life of her she couldn't loosen up.

“I've been wondering what you have on under that T-shirt.”

She froze. This time his words didn’t leave much open to interpretation.

“Well, what do you think?” she hedged, whirling to refill her glass again, her mind suddenly unable to function. What was he
doing
?

Before she realized he'd moved again, he was right behind her.

His warm breath fanned through her hair, tickling the nape of her neck. “I think you're naked under it.”

A strangled noise squeaked past the lump in her throat. Her eyes locked with his in the mirror over the wet bar. She wanted to tear them away—oh! how she wanted to!—but she couldn't. The power of his gaze, too potent to fight, held her helplessly captive. He reached out and flicked off the bar lights, leaving the room in a pale blue glow. Then he opened his hand, and several small, red packets spilled onto the bar.

Her pulse scrambled.
God no. Not this
. She didn’t want to make this choice. He was too tempting.

“You don't even like me,” she choked out.

“You'll get over it.”

Her temper made a last-ditch effort to save her from herself. “You are a fucking arrogant bastard.”

“Three out of three.”

“You can't be serious!”

He stepped closer still, and all she could think of was how very much she wanted him to be serious. She must have a giant screw loose.

The large frame of his body whispered against the back of hers, from his jaw all the way down to the boots grazing her bare feet. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sensation, only to feel his incredible heat penetrate the thin layers of cotton that separated them. Just as surely as he'd already penetrated her inadequate defenses.

The scent of him, dark and musky, wove around her, snaring her in its seductive web. Deep, rough masculine breaths licked across her ear. He moved infinitesimally. His steel hard arousal settled intimately into the cleft of her bottom.

Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod.

“And I think no matter how much you want to deny it,” he murmured, “you want me as much as I want you.”

She swallowed, weakening. “You want me?”

“Oh, yeah. From the first time I saw you in that lunchroom, I've wanted to bend you over a chair, lift those disgracefully short hooker skirts and put an end to this infernal craving I have for you.”

She opened her eyes and lost herself in the feral promise offered in his shadowy reflection. “Why didn't you?”

A harsh sound vibrated from deep in his chest. His fingers dipped under the hem of her T-shirt, skimmed up her thighs and over her hips to her waist, dragging the shirt up as they went. Gripping her firmly, he pulled her back into him, so her bare bottom pressed against his jeans, her hips framed by his muscular thighs. “I don't fraternize at work.”

Excitement shuddered through her body. God, he felt so good, smelled so arousingly male. He bent and kissed up her neck, catching her earlobe between his teeth. His hands left her waist and traveled slowly up. He touched her naked breasts and she cried out softly, a shock of desire streaking right to her center.

“I don't want a relationship,” she managed to stammer past the haze. Just to keep things straight. He was too much to resist, but she had her priorities.

“I think you and I both want the same thing.”

His hands enveloped her and squeezed, just enough to make her ache for more. She very nearly dropped her wine glass.

“Wouldn't that be classified as fraternizing?”

He turned her in his arms and gripped her hips with strong fingers, her sleep-shirt riding on his wrists. “We left our badges at the door, remember?”

“I don't understand,” she said, fighting to latch onto a last, coherent thought. Struggling not to think about how much she wanted him. Or how she was completely bare from the waist down. “Why now?”

He stared down at her, a searing heat filling his eyes. “This afternoon, when I saw you on your knees in front of me, a zipper away from—” He paused, letting the silence fill in the blanks. “I knew there was no way in hell I could ever be alone with you for more than five minutes and not get you naked.”

His mouth slanted over hers, pausing there like a succulent fruit, just out of reach. “I really had only two choices,” he murmured.

She could taste his breath in her mouth and her throat ached in anticipation of the taste of his tongue on hers. She pried her fingers off the edge of the counter and placed them on his chest. If she had any kind of sense she'd push him away. She didn’t.

“First, I could throw you off the task force.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I came here tonight to fire you, you know.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Who says I have?”

“You could always fire yourself,” she suggested tartly, giving his chest a shove. He clamped down tighter on her hips.

“Yeah, I could remove myself, and give you to Bobby to work the case with. Would you like that?” He pulled her closer. “He wants you, too, you know.”

Her fingers moved over the hard muscles lining his broad chest. “I don't want to work with Bobby. And you can take—”

“Women think Bobby's a good-looking guy,” he interrupted. “Sexy. Don't you think Bobby's a good-looking guy?”

“Yes, but I don't want to—” She skidded to a halt.

Mick raised a brow. “Be his pleasure slave?”

“That's right.”

He spun them both a quarter turn and she landed with her back against the narrow section of wall next to the wet bar. The plaster was chilly against her skin, but his body pressed into hers, sending ribbons of heat zinging through her.

“Whose pleasure slave would you like to be, Caroline?”

She clutched at his shirt, clinging to it like a life preserver, pretending she wasn't shaking like a lamb in a lion's den. And grasped at one last straw. “You said there were two choices. What's the other one?”

“I could pin you up against this wall, spread your legs and fuck you till you scream.”

He bent his knees and moved against her, center to center, in a slow, provocative imitation of what he wanted.
Of what she wanted.

“You like to scream when you come, Caro?”

Her world tilted and she felt herself sliding, down, down, down. “I— I've never—”

“I can make you scream. Want to come over the edge with me?” he murmured, trailing his hands further up her body, dragging her sleep-shirt along.

The smooth cotton of his T-shirt slid over her bare breasts, and the rough denim of his jeans rubbed against her trembling thighs. His zipper bulged enormously, pushing into her.

“Yes,” she heard herself whisper. “Take me over the edge, Mick.”

A sound of triumph rumbled from his chest. Before she knew what was happening, he'd whipped off her shirt and was pressing one of the red packets into her hand.

“Open this,” he ordered softly, and took a step back.

In a daze she stared down at the condom and fumbled with the edges of the wrapping. She could hear his rapid, efficient movements as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.

There was a pause, then he took the unopened packet from her hand. “Change your mind?”

She looked up and saw hunger and need in his eyes, struggling to burst past the iron control she also saw there.

“No,” she murmured, wanting him badly, despite her panic.

“Good.” She heard a quick rustle, then he stepped forward, crushing into her once again. “Scared?”

“Terrified.”

Grasping her hands, he linked his fingers with hers and raised them over her head. “I don't ever want you to be scared with me, Caro.” The toes of his boots nudged first one, then the other of her feet wide, wide apart.

“I'll try.”

She hung suspended, her only support his strong hands holding hers, his thighs pushing her up against the wall. She was nude, her legs spread, and she had never felt so vulnerable in her entire life. She trembled all over, feeling completely out of control.

She was about to cave in to her fear when he said, “If you're ever afraid, really afraid, and you want me to stop...whatever I'm doing...just call me Detective.”

She met his solid gaze with her unsteady one. She knew what this was about. He was giving her a safe word. It's what people did when they were into bondage and stuff like that. So things wouldn't go too far. So everyone felt comfortable at all times, secure in the knowledge that they could stop whatever was happening with a single, pre-arranged word.