Souls Of Fire: Fireborn Part 11

Make of that what you will, Sam, I thought with a smile. I tucked the phone back into its pocket inside the purse, then went back into my bedroom, selecting a simple A-line dress for now and a more figure-hugging silk for later in the evening.

Once my shoes had gone into the backpack, I slung it over my shoulder and headed out. But I went up the fire escape to the roof, not down in the elevator to the lobby.

The evening air had grown cool, and the setting sun was beginning to render the sky with vivid splashes of color. I walked across to the cooling towers and waited for the splashes to grow, the breeze in my hair and excitement in my veins. I might not take firebird form very often, but it always made my blood sing when I did.

As the sunset began to reach its zenith, I unzipped the back of my dress so that the pack touched skin. It wouldn't be enveloped in the magic that allowed me to s.h.i.+ft from one form to another if it wasn't. Then I closed my eyes and called forth the firebird.

She came in a rush that was fierce and frightening, a storm of energy that swept me from flesh to fire and then bird in quick succession, leaving me breathless and more than a little dizzy.

d.a.m.n, I obviously need to do this more often.

It was a thought that quickly disappeared as I raised glowing red-gold wings and leapt for the sunset-painted skies. It was a glorious sensation, and the urge to simply fly and enjoy not only the freedom but the power of the evening was a hard one to resist.

But Sam was down there somewhere and, as Rory had noted, he wasn't stupid. He knew I was a phoenix, and it wouldn't take him long to connect the appearance of a firebird to me.

So I swung around and headed into the city. Jackson and I were supposed to meet at the Crown Towers, but given I didn't have easy access to their rooftop, I flew around until I found a building within walking distance that had an external fire escape. I s.h.i.+fted form as I flew down, landing half-crouched but on two feet. After doing up my dress, I made my way down the metal stairs and walked to the Crown.

The woman at the rather opulent reception desk gave me a warm smile. "How may I help you?"

"I have a booking under the name of Tip."

"Just a moment." She tapped some keys, then gave me a key card. "Mr. Tip has already checked in. Room number is 15-8. Elevators are just along the corridor to your right."

"Thanks," I said, and headed up to our floor. I walked along the bright corridor until I found room 15-8, then swiped the card through the slot. The door swished open, revealing a large living area bathed in the remnants of the fading sunset. Jackson was standing near the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. His auburn hair was damp, curling lightly around his ears and at the nape of his neck, and he wasn't wearing anything more than a towel wrapped around his waist.

He turned around as I entered, revealing a body every bit as lean and hard as it had felt under his s.h.i.+rt. But it wasn't so much his magnificent physique that had my heart slamming against the walls of my chest, but rather the raw hunger in his eyes. It radiated out from him in an all-consuming wave, and it momentarily s.n.a.t.c.hed my breath and threatened to buckle my knees.

The fire Fae had finished waiting.

The door swished shut behind me. I slung my backpack onto the nearest sofa and walked across to the windows.

"Amazing view." My gaze was on the city vista laid out before us, but every other sense was attuned to the man standing so close.

"Isn't it?" His voice was little more than a deep rumble of sound. But I knew his gaze was on me rather than the view, and the heat of it had pinp.r.i.c.ks of sweat skittering across my skin.

I swallowed heavily. G.o.d, I was a bundle of raw nerves and heady excitement-anyone would think I was a virgin on her first date.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

I nodded. "A gla.s.s of red wine would be lovely."

I watched his reflection walk across to the minibar and tried to think of something-anything-other than the desire to rip the towel away from his waist and caress the body underneath.

"What time does Radcliffe usually get here?" I asked eventually.

"I'm told most nights it's somewhere between ten and midnight," he said, walking back.

He stopped and handed me a gla.s.s. The wine inside was dark red, its aroma rich and berry filled, with hints of chocolate and wood spices. I took a sip, but barely even tasted it. My senses were too attuned to the man now standing behind me.

"What about his guards? If he's so security conscious, I doubt he'd walk into the room of a stranger-however much he might want to f.u.c.k her-without first letting his guards do a sweep."

"I have prepared a hiding spot," he murmured. "But let's not talk about that right now."

The sound of my dress's zipper sliding down seemed abnormally loud in the brief silence. Expectation tumbled through me and my breathing quickened. I took a sip of wine and ignored the urge to just turn around and take what we both so obviously wanted. Sometimes, a slow seduction was infinitely better than the act itself-although I very much suspected that would not be the case here.

His breath brushed the back of my neck, and my nipples went tight. I gulped down some more wine, but it didn't do a lot for the sudden dryness in my throat or the tension thrumming through my body. For several minutes, nothing else happened. There was just his breath on my neck, the heat of him rolling across my spine, and the growing tremble of expectation.

"What happened to your back?" he asked eventually.

"I had a slight disagreement with a car fire," I said, half shrugging. "It won."

"Slight disagreement is something of an understatement." His fingers moved lightly over the ruined flesh. I could barely feel it, but even so, delight s.h.i.+vered through me. "But I would have thought a fire spirit would be able to control fire."

"I can, but there were too many witnesses to even attempt it."

"d.a.m.n shame." He slid his arms around my waist, his lips branding my neck as one hand slid downward and skimmed the front of my panties. A moan escaped. He chuckled softly but explored no further, his caress sliding back up, not down. He hooked his thumbs under my bra and pushed it up over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s; then he cupped them, pressing them together as his clever fingers began to tease and pinch my nipples.

I leaned back against him and slid my free hand behind me, tugging the towel from his waist. I tossed it to one side, then caressed his shaft. He was big, gloriously so.

"I don't think I should be the only one naked here," he murmured, then plucked my winegla.s.s from my hand and placed it on the nearby table. He slid my dress from my shoulders, and my bra and panties quickly followed. I was naked and standing in front of a window for all the world to see, and I couldn't have given a d.a.m.n.

He pressed close again, his c.o.c.k sliding between my legs, thrusting gently, teasing but not fully entering. My nostrils flared, and I drew in the heat of him. It slid through me as sweetly as his caresses, fueling the hunger, feeding the fires. His hands slid down my body, his touch so hot it felt like he was branding me. This time, though, he didn't retreat. His fingertips found my c.l.i.t, his touch firm as he kissed my shoulders, my neck, my ear. My breathing sharpened, became moans of pleasure I couldn't control as the pressure built and built from within. But just as I was reaching boiling point, he pulled away, gliding his hands back up to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, pinching and teasing and caressing until the tremors eased.

Then he started all over again. And then again, until I was so tightly wound it hurt.

Time, I thought raggedly, for a little revenge.

I spun around, dropped to my knees in front of him, and took him into my mouth. He shuddered, his fingers tangling in my hair as his body tensed and a groan escaped. Slowly, I moved my lips down his shaft, gradually taking in more of him, teasing him with my tongue, playing with him as he'd played with me, bringing him to the brink and then pulling away, time and again, until the heat of his desire was so fierce my inner fires were becoming drunk on the taste of it.

And suddenly tasting him wasn't enough. I wanted to claim all of him.

I rose and pressed a hand against his chest, pus.h.i.+ng him back onto the sofa. His hands came to my waist as he sat down, guiding me down onto him but not allowing me to fully capture him.

"Kiss me," he growled.

So I did. With all the desire, all the need and hunger that burned within me.

After several long minutes, he finally released his grip on my waist. His thick c.o.c.k speared me, going so deep it felt like he was reaching for my very core. Sheer, intense pleasure tore a gasp from my throat, a sound that was quickly swallowed as his lips crushed mine a second time.

I rode him slowly, trying to prolong the glorious moment. My c.l.i.t rubbed against him with every movement, heightening sensation, intensifying pleasure, until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only enjoy.

"Look at me, Emberly."

It was a demand, not a request, but my gaze fell into his green eyes nevertheless, and I drowned in the rising urgency there. His heat swirled around me, through me, fueling the inner fires to breaking point, making them rage and want. I gave in to need and sipped from the furnace of his soul, and G.o.d, it was glorious.

Our movements became more urgent, more frantic, until it felt like I would shatter into a thousand different pieces. Then I did, the intensity of my o.r.g.a.s.m making me moan in pleasure as my body shook and shuddered. He came a heartbeat later, his body stiffening underneath me, his release a hot stream so very deep inside.

I slumped forward, the side of my face pressed against his chest as I battled for breath and listened to the frantic pounding of his heart-a rhythm that matched my own.

"Good lord," he murmured, after several long minutes. "I knew that as fire beings we would be good together, but that-"

"Was totally, f.u.c.king amazing," I finished for him.

His laugh was a rumble that vibrated through the very core of me. His fingers lifted my chin; then he claimed my lips, his kiss tender and yet filled with a fire that was banked but not yet quenched.

"We should go to bed," he said softly. "And mess up the sheets a little."

"A little?" I teased. "If we only mess them a little, I shall be sorely disappointed."

He laughed again, then swung his feet off the sofa and lifted me as he rose. "Then I shall make it my aim to ensure that over the next couple of hours you are not left disappointed."

Needless to say, I wasn't.

I smoothed down the sides of my silk dress with nervous fingers, then took a deep breath and leisurely entered the exclusive mahogany room. Normally, I wouldn't have been allowed anywhere near the place, but the same contact that had given Jackson all his information had also provided me with a VIP card.

I plucked a gla.s.s of bubbly from the tray of a pa.s.sing waiter and kept walking, trying not to gawk at the plush surroundings and the heavy chandeliers that dominated the roofline. The tables were only half-full, and the bar and lounge area almost empty. Marcus Radcliffe III was easy enough to find-he was one of three men sitting at the second of the blackjack tables and the only one who had two rather stern-looking men standing at his back.

He was bigger than I'd thought he'd be, a thickset, muscular man who oozed confidence and power. There was a whole lot more arrogance in his thin, pockmarked features than had been evident in the photo, but his eyes were no less beady and he still reminded me somewhat of a rat.

I sashayed across to the lounge and selected a chair that was just within his line of sight. I sat, crossing my legs, allowing the side slit of my dress to fall open and reveal a long length of thigh.

It didn't take long for Radcliffe to notice.

He leaned back and whispered something to beefy guard number one. The guard nodded, walked across to the bar, talked to the bartender, then went back to his post.

Two minutes later, a waiter approached me.

"Compliments of the gentleman at table number two," he said, offering me another gla.s.s of bubbly.

"Thanks," I said, accepting it. I glanced past the waiter, found Radcliffe watching me, and raised the gla.s.s in salute.

He smiled. It was a hunter's smile.

A shudder went through me. I'd met men like him in the past, and they were always mean in bed. Mean and dominant. Thankfully, it was never going to get that far.

I remained where I was, sometimes watching him, sometimes not. His expression became more enamored, his eyes heavy-lidded with l.u.s.t.

Eventually, I took a pen and piece of paper out of my bag, wrote my room number on it, then called the waiter over.

"Could you give this to the gentleman at table two, please?"

He looked across. "Mr. Radcliffe?"

Mr. Radcliffe was staring at the two of us, his body practically trembling in expectation.

"Yes." I placed the note and a tip on the waiter's tray.

As he left, I rose and sauntered toward the door. My gaze clashed with Radcliffe's a final time and, as the waiter approached him with the note, I blew Radcliffe a kiss and then left.

Once out of the mahogany room, I moved as fast as was possible in ultrahigh heels, needing to get to the elevator before he did.

I closed my eyes and released a breath as the doors closed and the elevator zoomed me upward. One part down. All we had to do now was hope that Radcliffe took the bait.

I walked down the hall to our room and opened the door.

"Okay," I said as I walked in. "All systems are go-"

The rest of the sentence froze in the back of my throat. It wasn't Jackson standing there waiting for me.

It was Sam.

CHAPTER 7.

"What the f.u.c.k are you doing here?" The words were out before I could stop them.

"A question I was about to ask you," he snapped back. "I thought you'd agreed not to skip away from your tail and to keep your nose out of this investigation?"

"No. I agreed to be sensible. And I am. Where's Jackson?"

He wasn't in the living area-that was for sure-and I couldn't see any sign of a scuffle. I couldn't imagine he'd let himself be arrested easily, but then, I didn't know him well enough to be sure of that.

"Jackson has been immobilized and is in the next room. We appropriated it when we realized what you two were up to."

I eyed him for a moment. The darkness in him was very present, a dangerous energy that skimmed my skin and made it burn, but his anger-despite his tone-wasn't as fierce as I'd thought it would be. "And just how did you find us?"

"Did you really think we wouldn't have an eye on Radcliffe ourselves?"

"We knew it was a possibility, but we did have our fingers crossed that you didn't know about the tenuous connection between Sherman Jones and Marcus Radcliffe."

His smile held little humor. "If a private investigator can find out about it, why would you believe we wouldn't? We have resources Miller could only dream about."

There was nothing I could say to that, so I simply asked, "How long have you been watching him?"

"Since the murder. He's not a hard man to find, even if he is an extremely difficult man to pin down otherwise."

"So, basically, you saw both me and Jackson arrive."

"Yes." He shrugged. "We could have pulled you out then, but I was curious enough to see what you had planned."