Lure of the Wicked Part 21

Cords gathered in his neck as he held on to her waist with every ounce of strength he possessed, guided her hips to rock back against him. Over him. He thrust in long, liquid strokes, silently demanded she follow his lead as her back arched.

He watched her skin gleam with sweat in the light. Watched the play of her muscles as her back moved, sinuous, graceful. And still she milked him, rode him like nothing he'd ever had, ever dreamed of having.

Her moans tightened, her body clenched in rhythmic echo of his own heartbeat. Twining one hand in her hair, Phin held on for dear life, rode the wild, tautly coiled spring of release as it tightened in his chest. His gut.

His heart.

"Naomi," he breathed.

She threw back her head, reached behind her and seized his wrist in a grip that told him she was close. So close. Her hips slid back over his lap, her body enfolded his. Sweat made their skin slick, so smooth, and as she rose high on her knees, as he felt every sweet inch of her let him go, she used his wrist as leverage and arched her back hard. She slid back into the cradle of his hips, and the spring of his release unwound.

Detonated.

It shattered every part of him in an o.r.g.a.s.m that had him thrusting up, thrusting hard, raking himself over that spot inside her and sending her wildly crying out her own release. Her body tw.a.n.ged, taut as a bowstring, shuddered as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close until the spots vanished from his eyes. Until he could feel more than raw, shuddering adrenaline and endorphins and . . .

And trouble.

Because he wasn't done. Easing his fingers into her hair, Phin blew lightly across her sweat-dampened back. Smiled slowly when she gasped and s.h.i.+vered.

He wasn't going to be done for a long time.

Chapter Fourteen.

Sometime in the earliest hours of the morning, when the sky was still dark and the bedclothes were tangled beyond repair, they fell to exhaustion.

The suite was cozy, the mattress soft and welcoming, and Naomi woke to find her body draped over Phin's like silk, her legs tangled with his. Her cheek was warm, pillowed on the smooth planes of his muscled back.

For a long, still moment, she forgot to breathe.

Morning. And with it, a shattered illusion. She knew this game.

Slowly, carefully, she eased away from the vivid temptation of all that naked skin. As the mattress dipped beneath her weight, he s.h.i.+fted, turned his face into the gap between both pillows, and didn't so much as let out a sound. Naomi breathed out a silent sigh of relief.

Last night had been a lot of things. Fun. An exercise in endurance. Her body ached in places Naomi loved to feel on a morning after.

But it was daytime now, and she had work to do.

Work that included betraying Phin.

Well, not so much betraying. She'd made no promises. No guarantees. The night had been one h.e.l.l of an amazing dream. Like some kind of princess, she'd been dressed and bathed and painted, and he'd stripped it all away.

Now dawn kissed the windows, and the dream was over. Bullets and blood.

She didn't have the luxury of wis.h.i.+ng.

She surveyed the suspiciously clean floor where her clothes had been. Her bags had been emptied and folded-folded, for f.u.c.k's sake-and stacked neatly away. The polished door of the armoire stared at her.

Jesus b.a.s.t.a.r.d Christ. Had Phin shoved her clothes over a corpse in the dead of night? And didn't notice?

He couldn't have.

Only she could be insane enough to screw a man while a body rotted in the same d.a.m.n room.

The thought didn't feel as humorous as it should have.

Although every muscle in her body screamed at her to get moving-and get the h.e.l.l moving right this f.u.c.king instant-Naomi forced herself to ease from the mattress inch by nerve-bending inch. Biting her lip, she tiptoed to the closet and eased open the door. She didn't realize that she held her breath until it whooshed out of her on a soundless curse. Phin's s.h.i.+rt hung in the murky light, a masculine companion to the array of frothy, silky, expensive tops the Mission had stuck her with. A pair of his expensive shoes sat neatly beside her own. Her pants hung on specially designed hangers, as neat as if he'd pressed them himself.

There was no body.

Her mind whirling, she withdrew a pair of designer denim jeans and a red sweater, and grabbed the only heeled boots that wouldn't dump her flat on her a.s.s.

Despite the mind-boggling absurdity of an ambulatory corpse, she was unable to help the faint tug of a crooked smile as she spun slowly. Or the way her eyes latched on to his sprawled, sleeping form.

He slept like he forgot he shared a bed. His face buried between the pillows, his curls wild and one foot hanging off the side of the mattress, he clung to one pillow and slept like the dead. Like a man up too long in the early hours.

She could have liked waking up to him more than a few times. Maybe if they'd been in different circ.u.mstances. Maybe if he'd just been some guy in the middle levels, or some kind of working-cla.s.s stiff- What the h.e.l.l?

Wake up, Naomi, she thought grimly, and resolutely turned away. Quietly, holding her breath, she found his trousers discarded on the floor and couldn't stop the insistent rush of pride, of heat, pooling low in her belly.

She'd made him so d.a.m.n eager for her. Wild for her.

He'd torn her inside out and left her wanting so much more.

Her smile faded. Hurriedly she rifled through his pants pockets until she found his key card. Draping the charcoal gray fabric over the back of a chair, she couldn't stop herself from fingering the hem.

He'd looked good last night.

He looked utterly delicious now. The morning sun eased over one leg, trailing bars of light across his firm a.s.s. The sheets, long since tangled in the night, gathered at his waist and did nothing to hide his gorgeously toned body from her study.

She wanted him again. The ache between her legs wasn't just the legacy of one h.e.l.l of a night.

Shaking her head, she slipped out of the bedroom, eased the panel back into place, and deliberately blocked the view of his temptingly muscled b.u.t.t. Backing away, she tucked the key card into the back pocket of the jeans she'd taken.

Yeah, so she was running. So what? They'd made great memories. That was it. It was all over now.

Her heart thudded in her ribs. Anxiety, she told herself. Now started the fun, the part where she got to be the hound to Joe Carson's clever fox. With the witch dead-G.o.d only knew where the h.e.l.l his body was, but he was dead at least-Carson was the only d.a.m.n thing that mattered now.

She wanted out.

But she pressed her palm to her chest as she searched for the pretty clutch Andy had given her. She needed her comm. She needed her gun, wherever Phin had put it.

And she needed enough time to visit Phin's office for the guest files the Mission didn't have. Possibly even a map of the place.

She found the gold purse shoved half into the cus.h.i.+on. In it, she found her comm, her lip gloss, and . . . no. No gun in sight.

No f.u.c.king gun.

Naomi straightened, mouthing the invectives she didn't dare say aloud. She raked the living room with a sharp, speculative gaze. The last she remembered, she'd had it in hand. Then she'd gotten shot. They'd run and. . .

Carefully she touched the shoulder that should have hurt like the very devil danced on it. All she felt was askew bandages and a dull, easily ignorable ache.

Phin had taken the weapon from her. But done what with it?

d.a.m.n it. She didn't have time for this.

She dressed hurriedly, laced up her boots and knew she was only delaying the inevitable as she twisted her hair up into a spiky knot.

She didn't want to go back into that room.

Where Phin Clarke slept naked. Used, muscled, gloriously naked.

Oh, G.o.d.

Silent as a ghost, she eased back into the bedroom and surveyed the too-tidy s.p.a.ce. Resolutely avoiding the bed, she searched for his coat. It wasn't hanging on the coat rack. Not on a chair, f.u.c.k, not even on the floor.

And along with the missing corpse, she hadn't seen his coat, either.

Though it galled the h.e.l.l out of her, Naomi gave up the search. There was no way she'd let Phin wander off with her gun, but she didn't have time to look now. She'd get it back.

Just as soon as she ransacked Phin's office.

She turned.

The sheets rustled. "Mmph."

Naomi froze, her heart a rapid staccato in her ears. Throat suddenly dry, she weighed her options. Run like h.e.l.l?

Too awkward. And she'd be d.a.m.ned if she tucked her tail between her legs and made him think he had any sort of upper hand.

Instead she smiled, turning back. "Morning, suns.h.i.+ne."

Phin's back rippled as he pushed up on his elbows, rubbing both hands across his face. The motion sent muscles leaping from shoulder to a.s.s-good G.o.d, his a.s.s-to his strong, naked thighs, and it took everything Naomi had not to crawl back into that nice, warm bed and straddle him until they both forgot what time it was.

She gritted her teeth through her smile.

His eyes were hazy as he rolled over, one hand idly pulling the sheets across his lap. "Morning," he replied. The slow, lazy way his smile reached from his mouth to his eyes tugged on bits of her she'd thought long since too exhausted to melt now.

She was wrong.

And he was a h.e.l.l of a lot sharper in the morning that she'd thought possible. Phin's smile faded as he took in her body. Her very clothed body. "Headed somewhere?"

"Breakfast," Naomi lied easily. She slid two fingers into her back pocket, securing Phin's key card as she added, "I was hoping you'd sleep long enough for me to get back." She raised a fine, dangerously eloquent eyebrow. "You know . . . bring you something sticky and sweet."

His eyes gleamed. "And then we'd eat breakfast?"

G.o.d d.a.m.n it, she really liked this man. Naomi laughed, even as she fought not to run the h.e.l.l away.

Jump his bones.

Something. Anything but stand here and lie.

His smile faded, warm eyes easing to something soft and melty and kind. Velvet. "Naomi-"

"Did you put away all my clothes?" she asked. Too quickly, but it was better to tear off the Band-Aid than sit and wait for him to ask.

He sat up, one hand braced over the impressive morning erection the sheet wasn't hiding very well.

G.o.d, his chest was worth staring at. Forever.

"Your what?" m.u.f.fling a yawn, he covered his mouth with his free hand and took a moment to glue her question together. He shook his head as if to clear it, but admitted, "They were all over, so I just put them away while you were . . ." He hesitated. "Getting bandaged," he finished lamely.

"And there was . . ." Jesus, was there any safe way to ask this? "There was enough room in the wardrobe?"

His lips twitched. "Plenty. You're probably the only guest in the history of Timeless to pack as light as you do."

Relief punched a hole somewhere beside growing panic.

Where. The f.u.c.k. Was the body?

But his gaze turned serious as he swung his bare feet over the side of the mattress. "Naomi, we need to talk."

Oh. s.h.i.+t.

Before she could say anything, do anything, he smiled again, and it was as if the fight just pooled out of her. How the h.e.l.l did he do that?

"It's not what you think." He chuckled. "You don't have to look so . . . braced."

She settled for a noncommittal sound, settling her hands on her hips. This, she figured, was where he pulled the white knight bulls.h.i.+t. Wrong time, too busy for a steady relations.h.i.+p, whatever.

Naomi resisted the urge to check her watch.

Even as something black and aching opened up in her chest.

Phin didn't stand. Instead, bracing his elbows on his very bare knees, he pressed his palms together and studied her over his fingers. "You're a missionary." It wasn't a question.

The floor dipped out from under her feet.

Somehow, as Naomi stared at Phin's now-serious appraisal, she locked her knees. Managed not to buckle, managed to remain upright and even casual as she tilted her head, that eyebrow raised again. "Am I?"

"I saw your tattoo."

Oh, Jesus. Of course he had. The room practically reeked of s.e.x-as if her body needed any more reminders of the mind-blowing feel of his c.o.c.k deep and hard inside her-and she was stupid enough to hope he'd missed the d.a.m.n tattoo in the dark.