Читать книгу Absolute Pleasure - Jamie Denton - Страница 10

SUNNY APPROACHED THE young, pretty brunette seated at the reception desk of Chamberlain Recovery and Investigations and flashed her ID. “Special Agent MacGregor,” she said, her tone brusque. “FBI. Is Mr. Chamberlain in?”

The receptionist’s wide-set brown eyes filled with caution. “I’ll see if he’s available.”

Sunny tucked her ID back inside the pocket of her linen blazer. “You do that,” she said. “And tell Mr. Chamberlain he’d be smart to make himself available.”

The girl deserted her post and took off around the corner, leaving Sunny alone. She walked toward a pair of navy padded chairs, but she was too restless to sit. What she really wanted to do was kick something. Hard. She considered the brass planter with a thick potted palm in the corner as a possible target, then decided she’d rather unleash her anger on a certain someone, with seductive eyes and a kiss-me smile who’d made her look like an incompetent moron in front Caruso and Weidman.

The minute she’d hung up the phone with Jack, she’d accessed the Bureau’s personnel directory. The slow simmer of anger had silenced her disbelief the moment Duncan’s image had loaded on the screen of her monitor. Her temper still hadn’t cooled, even on the drive across town to his office.

The personnel file hadn’t provided her with a scrap of useful data other than to confirm Weidman’s findings and Duncan’s dates of service with the Bureau. No reference whatsoever to the reason behind his termination. A resignation? Perhaps, but to her “relieved of duty” sounded as if he’d been canned. Without the appropriate clearance level, though, she had no hope of verifying her suspicions, leaving her with no choice but to go directly to the source and demand answers.

Any number of reasons could result in a security classification of an agent’s service record. The need for clearance didn’t necessarily mean Duncan’s personnel file contained information on sensitive national security issues or even the whereabouts of a material witness to a crime. The medical findings of his last physical could’ve easily garnered the tag.

She blew out a stream of breath. Irritation made a fine companion to anger. She wanted answers, and was determined to have them, one way or another, along with whatever other information he may be keeping from her. He’d ignored her warning not to try to play her once. If he refused to take her seriously, then she’d simply confiscate his files related to SEDSCAM and ban him from the Wilder estate until the conclusion of her investigation.

The receptionist returned with a pleasant smile and an armload of files, which she placed on the center of her desk. “Mr. Chamberlain can see you now,” she said amiably.

Guilt nipped Sunny’s conscience for coming off as a hard-ass with the girl. Before she could formulate an appropriate apology, they’d reached the end of the short corridor and the receptionist ushered Sunny into Duncan’s office, closing the door quietly as she left.

He stood behind his desk, a cordless phone edged between his shoulder and ear as he flipped through a binder lying open on the desk. His tie was gone, and the khakis were not pressed so neatly now as they’d been that morning. All that thick, black hair was tousled, as if he’d been ramming his fingers through the wavy mass. Rumpled and sexy, she thought again. And still a damn fine specimen of massive sex appeal, no matter how much he’d ticked her off.

He glanced up and their eyes met. As if he were happy to see her, those incredible lips tipped upward in a smile, making her heart beat in an erratic rhythm. Did his office qualify as his place?

Only on a technicality, she decided. Not that it made a difference. She’d come for answers, not a little afternoon delight.

He motioned for her to sit while he finished his phone call, indicating the navy armchair across from his desk. The chaotic atmosphere was so arbitrary to her impression of Duncan. But what did she know? She hadn’t exactly been a shining example of sound judgment on that subject considering the enlightening phone call from Caruso. She never should’ve allowed him onto the estate without having him checked out first. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking, but a plea of lust-on-the brain made for a pathetically thin defense.

Ignoring the offer to sit, she clasped her hands behind her back and took in his surroundings. The cool blues, deep wines and creamy whites of the color scheme would have been more soothing if nearly every available surface of the heavy furnishings weren’t a cautionary tale in the hazards of disorganization. Several stacks of files threatened to topple from the edge of the monstrous oak desk. The matching credenza parked beneath the window was no improvement, nor were the trio of lateral oak file cabinets along the wall. She caught sight of a pair of silver picture frames on the center file cabinet, but the photographs were obscured by a landscape of documents bound together with thick rubber bands.

She strolled over to an imposing armoire pulling double duty as a bookcase. In reality, the piece acted as a catch-all for more files and banded documents. A row of bulky binders were crammed to overflowing with papers, while the shelf directly above held a line of books, oddly arranged by height in a neat, organized row, ranging in topic from the federal penal code to rules of evidence along with several investigation trade manuals and journals. Taped to the interior of the open doors of the armoire, in no observable cohesive order she could determine, were brightly colored squares of paper with varying handwriting.

“I’ll get back to you once I review the police reports,” Duncan said to his caller. “Monday at the latest.” He paused. “I’ll talk to you then.”

She turned to face him as he set the phone on the desk. He wrote something down on another square of paper, then taped it to the armoire with the others. His to-do list? she wondered.

He set the tape dispenser on a tower of files. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. The files threatened to spill, but he caught them before they toppled to the floor, shoving them back in place. The chaotic disorder didn’t seem to faze him. She, on the other hand, was overcome with an urge to organize.

She reminded herself not to fall for his charm again. Or that impossible-to-resist tilt of his mouth. The pure male interest simmering in his eyes as he swept his gaze down her length didn’t affect her in the least. She just wished her nipples hadn’t tightened. Or her tummy hadn’t flipped.

Straightening her shoulders, she attempted a hard glare. Somewhere between the reception area and his office, her anger had cooled, so she settled for one filled with minor annoyance instead.

“I’m not here for pleasure.”

His expression turned downright wicked. “Too bad.”

Maybe his charm wasn’t her problem, but those recurring fantasies that kept playing hell with her resolve not to let him get to her. “You lied to me,” she accused, pretending to ignore the pImages** of tangled sheets and entwined limbs taunting her.

A single dark eyebrow winged upward. “I did?”

She moved to the chair and braced her hands over the back. “I warned you not to play me. You should have told me you were with the Bureau.”

“I’m not with the Bureau,” he said with calm emphasis. “Past tense.”

She narrowed her eyes at that innocent-of-all-charges expression on his too-handsome face. The guy was cool, she’d give him that much. Her reprimand elicited no remorse from him. “I don’t appreciate being lied to. Even by omission.”

He tucked his hands in the front pockets of trousers. “I never lied to you, Sunny.”

She let out a sigh. “Then why not tell me about it?” she asked, wanting to believe him.

“It’s no big deal. Besides, the subject of my past employment never came up.”

“It is a big deal,” she argued. “You’re a former agent, connected to a case under the Bureau’s jurisdiction. You of all people should know procedure. How am I supposed to know you’re not hoping for an opportunity to sabotage the investigation?”

His expression became tolerant. “Oh, come on,” he said with a wry chuckle. “That’s a stretch.”

Maybe she was overstating, but he should’ve told her. Because it could have an effect on her investigation? Or because if he was terminated for cause, she could kiss any hope of turning that tangled-sheet fantasy into reality goodbye?

He shook his head and moved to the desk. “I’ve done nothing to interfere with your investigation. I even offered to give you copies of my files. That should tell you there are no ulterior motives at work here.”

She wasn’t quite ready to agree with him, even if she did believe he was telling her the truth. “Were you fired?” she asked.

His gaze remained steady. “I was no longer employable.”

Which was not an answer and only heightened her curiosity. “Will you tell me why?” she asked. Agents were relieved of duty for any number of reasons, from failure to pass a psych exam to illegal activities. He didn’t look like a crazy or a crook. But then, neither had Ted Bundy.

Duncan looked away and pushed the stack of case files from the edge of the desk, considering how much, or how little, to reveal to Sunny. He’d had no illusions that he’d be able to keep his former association with the Bureau a complete secret from her, he just wished he’d been able to milk information from her before the door to opportunity was slammed in his face. Three cases with hefty recovery fees that would go a long way to keeping his business solvent were on the line.

Perched on the edge of the desk, he shifted his attention back to Sunny and her caution-lined gaze. “I bombed my annual firearms recertification,” he stated honestly. Since she’d come asking questions, he was banking that she’d been unable to access his full service record. “But why ask me? You must’ve looked me up on the system before coming here.”

She glanced away. “So why couldn’t you pass?”

Bingo. She didn’t know squat, which was fine by him.

“An undercover assignment went bad,” he told her, again truthfully. “I caught a bullet in the shoulder and ended up with a torn rotator cuff and a lot of nerve damage.” He leaned forward and brought his left hand down hard on the edge of the desk a couple of times.

She winced. “You have no feeling at all?”

“Almost none. What isn’t numb, hurts like the devil when the mercury dips too low.” And served as a daily reminder of choices he’d made, resulting in the end of his career.

He squelched the resentment before it had a chance to surface. “The nerve damage was too extensive,” he added. “Managing a firearm was enough of a challenge, let alone taking aim on a moving target.”

She circled the chair and perched on the padded arm. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

The sincerity in her voice made him uncomfortable. Arrogance deserved no sympathy. Wasn’t that what he’d been told?

“Old news,” he said, anxious to change the subject. “Any other questions?”

She held up her index finger. “One more.”

The smallest trace of a smile touched her lips, and he started to relax. For now, at least, his secrets remained safe.

“Were you really an undercover op, and where?”

“You sound surprised,” he said, tactically avoiding the second half of her question. The Bureau’s computer system might keep his past hidden, but he couldn’t say the same for the men he’d put in danger.

“A little.” Her smile widened a degree. “No, I take that back. You have the same…intensity as a guy I know who used to work undercover out of D.C. As if you’ve seen more, done more than the rest of us mere mortals.”

A few pImages** from his time as an undercover operative haunted him some nights, making sleep all but impossible. He’d crossed the line, a fact he wasn’t particularly proud of, but her assessment still made him smile at the reminder of better memories.

“A false sense of superiority comes with the territory,” he admitted. “Eventually someone reminds us superhuman capabilities only exist in sci-fi flicks.”

Her green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Even Achilles had a weakness.”

That smile of hers was easily becoming his Achilles’ heel. She’d looked damned cute, too, when she’d first shown up with her superagent feathers all ruffled. “So this guy,” he said, watching her closely. “Exactly how involved are you?”

“Not that involved,” she said, her voice laced with more humor. “He’s very happily married with a baby on the way.”

“Good.” He couldn’t help himself. His grin widened. “Then it’s safe to ask you to dinner without trespassing?”

Her frown would’ve been effective if it hadn’t been for the brief flash of pleasure in her eyes. “Why would I want to have dinner with you?”

Slowly, he came off the desk and walked toward her. “Because you think I’m irresistible.” Arrogance did have a certain usefulness.

“What I think is that you’re awfully sure of yourself.” Nervousness coated her gentle laughter, taking the sting out of the insult.

Nervous was good, when it translated to interest. “So, how ’bout that dinner?” he pressed, narrowing the remaining distance between them.

She caught the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth. Weighing her options? He hoped the scale tipped in his favor. Just thinking about kissing her was making him hard. A romantic entanglement with a federal agent probably wouldn’t be his wisest move, but he had nothing against playing out a fantasy or two. Besides, he was only offering dinner, he reasoned. For now.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. Uncertainty mingled with longing in her eyes. “We probably shouldn’t.” Her voice lacked the conviction necessary to dissuade him, courtesy of her soft, husky tone.

“Why not?” He took one last step, his thigh brushing against her knee. Heat shot to his groin. “Let’s take all this chemistry out for a ride and see where it leads.” He knew exactly where he wanted it to lead…right to the nearest bed.

“I…”

“You what?” He bent toward her. Her breath fanned his lips. “Want me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Not about to give her an opportunity to change her mind, he cupped the back of her head with his good hand and brought his mouth down softly over hers. Apparently gentle wasn’t her thing, nor was she shy about upping the ante. Her slender arms wound around his neck, bringing their bodies together, but not close enough to suit him.

The silken glide of her tongue taunted him, teased him, dared him to deepen the kiss. He willingly obliged, slanting his mouth over hers and stealing inside to take all she offered. She tasted sweeter than he’d imagined. And minty, he thought. Like fresh peppermint taffy.

Moving his hands to the swell of her hips, he urged her off the chair and into his arms. She pressed against him, her beaded nipples brushing temptingly against his chest through the thin material of her blouse. He skimmed his hand up her side and along her rib cage to cup the side of her breast with his palm. She issued a soft moan and pulled her arms from around his neck. For a brief instant he thought he’d taken things too far—until the coolness of her fingers interlaced with his and she guided his hand over her breast.

His dick swelled to the point of pain and throbbed. Need ripped through him. He didn’t give a damn if she was appointed the next director of the Bureau, he wanted her, preferably naked and beneath him with her legs wrapped tight around his waist.

He dragged his thumb over her nipple, and slid his other hand over her bottom. She moaned into his mouth and her fingers flexed over his. Maybe she liked it on top where she called the shots and set the pace. He imagined her above him, the enticing sway of her breasts as she rode him. Slow. Easy, taking him deep inside her tight, hot sheath until the pressure built and her body demanded more. Harder. Faster, driving toward fulfillment with each thrust of their bodies until they came together in an explosion of heat.

She guided his hand from her breast, over her flat stomach and lower, sighing into his mouth when he cupped her sex. She tested his control when she rocked against his hand.

A loud rap on the door sent them scurrying in opposite directions. Duncan dragged his hand through his hair and watched Sunny walk unsteadily to the far side of his office. Her shoulders rose and fell as she drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly. When she slipped a bouncy curl behind her ears her hand trembled.

He took comfort in the fact she was obviously as rattled as he by the unexpected passion of that kiss. The past few months he’d been too swamped with work to pay much attention to anything not related to business. The explosion of heat between them reminded him that he hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, nothing more.

Another loud knock saved him from having to think too much on the subject. He went to the door and opened it to find Lucy Barstow, the agency’s office manager, giving him one of her cast-iron glares over the rim of her bifocals.

He blocked the door, but that didn’t stop her from craning her neck to get a better look. “Yeah?” Somehow he managed to maintain a civil tone. “What is it?”

“We have a situation.” Lucy handed him a neon-yellow sticky note. “Abe from Able Pawn just called. He acquired a sizeable diamond engagement ring last week that showed up on the regional hot sheet that went out today. He’s giving you twenty minutes to see if it’s one of ours before he has to call it in to the Baltimore P.D.”

Despite the interruption, a slow smile spread across his face. Hot merchandise often showed up in pawn shops. By law, the owners were supposed to notify the cops when they inadvertently received stolen goods, which the cops would then confiscate. Since the brokers would be out the cash they’d paid for the pawn, as a result, they were only too happy to line their pockets with the finder’s fee Duncan paid them if the property turned out to be an item he’d been hired to recover.

In Duncan’s opinion, it was a win-win situation. The client paid a recovery fee, not a full-loss claim and the claimant’s property was returned. The brokers were happy because they recouped a fraction of an otherwise total loss. The system wasn’t perfect and pushed the spirit of the law, but when all concerned were pleased with the final outcome, he didn’t see a problem.

Duncan checked his watch. “Call Abe back and tell him I’ll be there within the hour. And have Marisa track down the Burbank and Ricci files.”

“What about Locke?” she asked, jotting down his instructions. “It’s a three-carat rock, and Abe did say he had a big one.”

“Pull the file,” he said. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Lucy rose up on her toes, trying to get a peek inside his office. “Anything else you need? Bail money? A lawyer?” She lowered her bifocals. “A cold shower?”

Lucy had been in his employ from day one and knew as much, if not more, than he did about the agency, the cases they handled, the people he employed and even himself. He couldn’t begin to imagine how the agency would ever get along without her. At the moment, however, the concept suddenly had merit.

“Just get me those files,” he told her. “I can handle the rest.”

She made a “harumph” sound, clearly indicating her opinion on the subject. With one last glance, she strode down the hall calling for Marisa, his administrative assistant.

Duncan closed the door and turned back to Sunny. “Sorry about that,” he said.

Uncertainty clouded her eyes when she faced him. “I better go.” She made no move to leave.

He snagged the tie he’d removed earlier from the hook on the back of the door. “How’s seven sound for dinner?”

She glanced nervously around the office. “Good,” she said, not looking at him. She cleared her throat. “Uh, where should I meet you?”

He would’ve preferred to pick her up himself, but he understood and respected her caution. Despite the hot kiss that still had his blood simmering, she knew very little about him. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t follow him back to his place after dinner, he thought hopefully.

Finished with his tie, he jotted the name of a casual restaurant close to his apartment on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “See you at seven.” He considered the wisdom of one last kiss. One final taste of sweet peppermint and hot passion.

She folded the note and slipped it inside her pocket. “I’ll see you then.”

He circled the desk. The door swung open and Lucy stormed in with one of the files he’d requested. “Here,” she said, thrusting the file in his direction. “The rest is somewhere in this mess.”

“I’ll find my way out,” Sunny said, then disappeared down the hall.

He turned to glare at Lucy. “Whatever happened to knocking?” Duncan complained. Her interruption—again—annoyed the hell out of him. So much for testing the wisdom of one last kiss.