Lure of the Wicked Part 18

Her eyes were serious, her tone lowered enough that he frowned. "There's a lot I don't know," he admitted. "But I can tell you this: She's funny, and smart. She's gorgeous-"

"Clearly," Andy interjected wryly.

"I mean on the inside, too." Phin looked up, saw her step out of the way of a man in a dark overcoat walking by. He said something to her, something flattering, because she smoothed a hand over her gown and smiled.

Naomi's gaze flicked to Phin, but he couldn't read it in the dark.

Andy's fingers tightened on his arm, brought his attention back to her. Worried. "Do me a favor," she said quietly. "Just do this and we'll call it even, okay?"

Covering his fingers with hers, Phin promised, "Anything."

"Ask her about her tattoo." When his eyebrows rose, Andy smiled, a resigned curve without humor, and patted his hand over hers. "Enjoy your evening, honey. She can keep the dress."

Before he could ask anything else, she pushed him toward the waiting car. Toward Naomi's silhouetted profile, waiting now inside the warm interior.

"Same condition," Andy reminded his back, and Phin sighed. Her laughter followed him all the way to the street.

Naomi watched him carefully when he slid inside the opened door, banking a sudden, vivid smile as he tucked himself on the opposite seat. He slid as far into the other corner as he possibly could.

The gown revealed too d.a.m.n much of her long, smooth legs, crossed at the knee. And no visible tattoo.

"It's going to be a long drive, isn't it?" Laughter deepened her voice, that smoky edge that wrapped like a hand around an erection that didn't need any more help. He jerked. "Would it help if I-"

"Don't," Phin said tightly, locking his hands around the seat, "breathe. Or we're going to end up exactly where we were when we arrived."

"Oh." Naomi uncrossed her legs, crossed them again in slow, wicked challenge. "Well, okay, then."

Phin reached for the champagne.

Miles would have to tail them to Swann's.

She glanced out the window, eyes tracking the muted shades of light and motion filtered out by the dark gla.s.s. He was out there somewhere, she knew he'd have to be.

If not, she was going to hunt him down in this purple dress and kick his a.s.s. She wanted her gun.

Her skin tingled, as physical as a caress, and she knew Phin was watching her. Again. Still. A part of her reveled in it, knowing he found her irresistible in this wretched, cloud-spun dress, and a part of her knew he only saw the dress. The rich girl.

The heiress.

Still, it was one night. Dinner, a dress, Phin's hands and mouth on her, what would it cost her? Tomorrow she'd start pus.h.i.+ng Carson. Harrying him. She'd find out where he hid, how, and take away his ground. She didn't have time to wait for blueprints anymore.

Tomorrow she'd have bullets to give him.

Just for tonight, she could be Naomi Is.h.i.+kawa.

Her gaze slid back to him, to the set of his jaw, his glittering eyes, across the dark interior. "So. Swann's."

His mouth quirked. "Andy has a big mouth."

"Lover?" Naomi kept her voice casual, but she saw his smile deepen, saw him nod in the shadows.

"For a little while."

"What happened?"

Phin placed his empty gla.s.s back into the sideboard. "She wanted a career more than she wanted a partner." He glanced at her.

Or, she realized with a sudden wash of humor, her cleavage. s.h.i.+fting, she hooked a finger into the tight edge of the corset. Pulling on it didn't give her any more room to breathe. The d.a.m.n thing was boned with steel. "You don't seem very broken up about it."

When his glance flicked back to her face, amus.e.m.e.nt settled over his features like a shroud. "It was almost eight years ago, Naomi. We were both young. I was focused on Timeless, and she wanted her design studio." A beat. "I turned thirty-two earlier this month. I lost my virginity when I was seventeen, and no, it wasn't with Andy. My first kiss was at a birthday party for a schoolmate. I was ten, she was eleven. Would you like to know how many people I've slept with?"

Her chin lifted. "Only if you'd like your rosy view of me tarnished beyond repair." Saccharine sweetness dripped from every word.

His eyes narrowed. Through a veil of relaxed, pleasant good humor, his gaze glittered dangerously. "Really."

The car slowed. Naomi meant to hold that gaze, to show him that she could sit in a luxury car, wear a designer dress, and lose nothing of the woman he didn't know she was, but light shattered over the tinted windows. It exploded like fireworks, drawing a sudden frown, swift tension as her gaze jerked to the window.

"Welcome to Swann's," Phin said dryly.

"Reporters?" Naomi didn't like the look of it. Too many people. Photos. Her face in the news. Worse, on Phin's arm. "I don't like reporters."

"They barely qualify as that." Phin s.h.i.+fted, reached behind him to tap on the gla.s.s between the seats. It eased down, Martin's capped head tilting as he guided the car through a line of similar luxury vehicles.

Naomi scowled. Busy night for the rich and infamous, wasn't it?

"I have phoned ahead, sir," Martin was saying in neat, precise tones. "They are prepared around the back."

"Thank you." The window eased up as Phin turned back with a smile. He straightened his jacket. "That should take care of that."

"Phin, I don't-"

He shook his head, one hand raised. "Relax. It's a date, Naomi, I'm not asking you to marry me. I might ask you to show me that sc.r.a.p of red lace again," he added with a boyish smile that pulled at something sharp and bittersweet, "but it's not really the same thing."

No, it wasn't. And she could handle showing him the ice blue lingerie Andy had sneaked into the room when he wasn't looking. Only about a thousand times s.e.xier than red lace. Naomi's own smile didn't do anything to ease the ache forming in her chest.

Nerves. That was all. She smoothed the skirt of her gown as the lights faded away and the car eased to a gentle stop.

The front door slammed. Then Martin's shadow by her window.

Phin got out first, leaving her to gather the sweeping hem of Andromeda's gown. When he reached back, his hand splayed and steady, Naomi let him help her out of the car.

Let him pull her just slightly too close. For too long.

The cold autumn air ghosted over her skin like icy nails, but his arm was warm around her back. His eyes hot and approving as they met hers.

His smile undid every good manner she didn't have.

Ignoring Martin, ignoring the muted frenzy of lights and voices just up the block and around the corner, Naomi tilted her head, closed the distance between them with a low, impatient sound. Hungry.

His arm tightened, his body tensed, but his mouth- Oh, his mouth. It took her kiss, her brand, and turned it back on her. Made her forget the cold night air as his lips moved over hers, soft and damp. Sticky sweet with her own lip gloss.

Fresh and male and so very much Phin.

Her breath caught. Her nipples beaded in the slow, molten reaction of her blood and his flavor. Unable to stop, to separate, she slid her fingers into his hair, cupped the back of his head and pulled him closer.

His mouth to hers. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed hard and hungry to his chest. His thigh inserted between hers, so close to the sensitized flesh framed in decadent lace and silk.

His erection, thick and insistent against her abdomen.

She broke off with a muted laugh, a chuckle caught on the edge of something wilder, one hand braced against his chest. "Okay, slick." She managed casual, but it came out breathy. More needy than she wanted.

His eyes were shadowed in the darker privacy of the secondary street, but his smile widened in pure male satisfaction. Sliding one hand under her elbow, he eased her away from the car, put his lips to her ear, and murmured, "You taste like candy."

It was such a simple comment, a matter-of-fact observation. She did taste like candy, like something sugary and sweet. It was the lip gloss Andy had put in her bag. She knew that.

But his breath ghosted over her ear like a warm caress. His lips brushed her sensitive skin, his fingers tight at her elbow, and that simple observation slid like a pure aphrodisiac to the damp, pulsing heat between her legs.

Dessert? She wasn't sure she'd make it through dinner.

Her knees rubbery, Naomi straightened her shoulders and stepped out of reach. To save herself.

The man was potent.

He nodded at the impa.s.sive driver busily watching nothing in the opposite direction. "Martin, I'll call when we're ready for pickup."

Around the corner, lights exploded in a frenzy of flash bulbs. It peppered the side street wall, sent shadows dancing across the rain-slick brick. Naomi glanced at the street entrance, saw a figure turn the corner.

She recognized the tweed fedora tilted at a jaunty angle.

Finally.

"Of course," Martin said, and tipped his hat with a ghost of a smile shaping his thin lips. "Enjoy your dinner, sir. Ma'am."

Now she just had to figure out how to get Miles inside, or get the gun from him on the outside.

"Naomi?" Phin offered his arm, even as the polished gla.s.s door slid open beside them. A man in a crisp white s.h.i.+rt, black jacket and slacks waited with a wide, welcoming smile.

She glanced back over her shoulder once. The car pulled away, briefly highlighting Miles's hunched shoulders and sodden raincoat in its headlights.

He wasn't close enough. She couldn't tip him off now.

"Sure," she said, too brightly, and looped her arm through Phin's. More lights, more voices raised in a cacophony of shouts and names she didn't recognize.

Brick chipped into uneven edges over her head. Shards scattered, rained to the ground, to the opposite wall. A fleck skimmed over her forearm, and adrenaline slammed into her system as a thin red line blossomed in its wake.

Miles's voice echoed from wall to wall. "Get down!"

Without looking, without even thinking, she tightened her grip on Phin's arm. She wrenched him around, kicked the hem of her gown away from her delicately heeled foot, and swept Phin's legs out from under him with the same fluid movement. He hit the pavement before surprise had time to form in his eyes, on his face.

Naomi was a breath behind, pinning him.

Sparks flew from the wall over their heads, shards of brick scattered like shrapnel. All concern, ignorant of the danger, the maitre d' hurried out of the warm safety of the restaurant.

He flinched when a tiny chip of brick sliced open his cheek.

"Get back inside!" Naomi shouted, but the idiot raised his fingers to his face.

She didn't hear the rapport of gunfire. Couldn't separate it from the roar of a crowd half a block away, but the man went down like a broken doll as crimson bloomed like a gory flower over his chest. The gla.s.s around him puckered. Shattered.

Too late.

Naomi was already moving. Rolling away from Phin, she s.n.a.t.c.hed the hem of the gown in her hands and leaped to her feet. "Miles!"

The missionary plastered himself against the opposite wall. "Sniper!" he shouted, and threw the small black case he carried with effortless strength. It slammed into her chest, knocked the wind out of her, but she caught it safely.

Finally. For f.u.c.k's sake, a gun!

He caught the rainbow purse she hurled back at him. "Clarke is priority one," he ordered. "Get him to safety." Miles took off, back toward the lights. He'd circle the building, she knew, leaving her to get Phin out of the area. Knowing she stood in the bright pool of light from the restaurant, as obvious a target as if she'd doused herself in neon and painted a target on her back, Naomi ripped the case open.

"Naomi!" Phin knelt over the unconscious man he couldn't help if a bullet found his skull first. His jacket was torn at the elbow, smeared with mud and moss.

Andromeda's beautiful dress would never look the same, even if she could have gotten the grime out.

"Leave him," she ordered, steeling herself from caring. From worrying about the fragile silk and l.u.s.trous color. Her skin, his life, was more important, d.a.m.n it. "Phin, get out of the light!"

Her fingers closed over the grip. A Beretta-not her favorite gun on the go, but oh, the relief. For a single fraction of a second, Naomi let herself heft the gun in hand. She felt its solid, cold weight in her palm. The trigger at her index finger.

An extension of her arm.

Another rapid hail of bullets scattered the gla.s.s at her feet. She danced back, jumped away from the interior lights. This time, there were no screams of excitement, of attention, to hide the sound. Gunfire crackled like a m.u.f.fled clap of thunder, like sound sucked into a padded room. m.u.f.fled, but not silent.

"d.a.m.n it, Phin, get over here."

"But-"

She sprinted across the pool of light, fisted a hand in his collar, and jerked him to his feet. He staggered, rolled into her. One fragile heel snapped loose from her delicate shoe as Naomi braced his weight, as she tried to keep Phin from falling back into a perfect target.

His expression was shocked, grim, his eyes somewhat glazed as he caught at her arms with b.l.o.o.d.y, angry fingers. "What is going on?"

She pushed him, gun in one hand, hard enough to break his hold. "It's- f.u.c.k!" She spun with the weight of it, with the velocity of a bullet tearing a furrow over her shoulder. Too close to the artery. Too d.a.m.n close to her f.u.c.king throat.

Exactly where Phin at been a half second before she'd pushed him out of her face.

She caught herself on the wall, rebounded as pain tore strips of gold and red out of her vision. "Run!" she gritted out through clenched teeth. Move. She just had to go, and keep going until they were safe.

No time to bleed.

Gritting her teeth, she jerked Phin off the sidewalk. Shoved him toward the flas.h.i.+ng lights and chaos of the reporters and arrivals. She didn't give him any time to speak, to ask questions.