Читать книгу Sweet Spot - Kimberly Kaye Terry - Страница 7

“She’s on her way up to my loft.”

There was a pause before the other man spoke. “You don’t waste any time. Do I want to know how you accomplished that so quickly?”

Demetri held his cell phone in one hand and used the other to pull off his jacket and shirt, carefully laying them over the small leather chair in the corner of the room. He then unbuttoned his slacks and shoved them, along with his boxers, down the length of his legs.

“Probably not.”

“Shit.”

He sat down on the chair with the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear and pulled off his shoes and socks before taking off his slacks.

“Yeah, well, you wanted the job done. Do you give a shit how I accomplish it?” he asked.

“No, I guess not. As long as the job gets done.” Another pause before the other man continued, “You’ve decided to take the case, then?”

“Did I have a choice?” Demetri grunted, walking through the open loft.

“There’s always choices, Agent My—”

“Don’t call me that,” Demetri broke in, cutting the man off, mid-sentence.

“Once an agent, always an agent. You can’t escape your past. Can’t hide from it, either.”

“I was a pencil pusher. Before I left, I’d quit fieldwork. If you’re gonna pull the patriotic card, get it right,” Demetri walked, naked, across the room toward the bathroom. “I don’t have a lot of time for small talk, no disrespect, sir. Can we cut this short?”

“Do you have a plan?” The man asked after a pregnant pause.

Demetri loosened his watch and placed it on the bathroom counter, then removed a ring suspended on a gold chain from around his neck.

It was the only other piece of jewelry he wore, one that reminded him of the reasons he no longer felt any desire to reenter a world of deception and manipulation.

Did he have a plan?

Good question, Demetri thought with a grimace.

Just when he was getting his life back together, Nick Panin, his former commander, called and convinced him to fly out to D.C., dangling a carrot he knew Demetri wouldn’t be able to resist in front of his nose.

Completely disrupting the tranquility he’d worked so tenaciously to achieve over the last two years with an offer the son of a bitch knew he couldn’t refuse.

If Demetri agreed to help him on a case involving two con artists—Gabrielle Marlowe and Adam Quick—who were involved in a Medicaid and pharmaceutical fraud, his former commander would use all of his considerable power to find Demetri’s former partner.

He thought back to Siobhan and his time in the Bureau.

They’d been paired up as new recruits fresh out of the academy, assigned their first mission together. Over the course of five years as partners, they’d successfully helped bring down hundreds of con artists whose game had been so tight they’d escaped the long arm of justice for years.

Their cases usually involved criminals who preyed on the helpless, often scamming them out of their life savings. With each success, they’d gotten more and more accolades. It wasn’t long before they were recruited by a special division within the FBI, headed by Nicolai Panin, dealing with criminals higher up, or down, depending on one’s view, the food chain.

Their first case in the newly formed special ops team had been their last.

They’d taken months to set up a sting to infiltrate an underground BDSM cult to investigate the murder of one of their members, one they’d linked to other similar murders.

They’d first gone into “training” to learn the lifestyle. Unfortunately for Siobhan, Demetri hadn’t seen the psychological effects the training and months spent living that lifestyle had on her. When the time for the bust came, unknown to Demetri, Siobhan was no longer the same woman.

She’d turned on the agency. On Demetri.

She’d informed the cult’s leader, the man they believed to be the one responsible for the murders, and he’d gotten away, taking Von with him. And from all accounts, it appeared she’d gone willingly.

Demetri’s gaze settled on the ring on the bathroom counter.

Siobhan had left it in the “dungeon” area of the secret club they’d infiltrated, in a small five-by-five-foot steel-barred cage.

Along with the black leather, ruby-encrusted studded collar—the one he’d given her—and a note telling him not to look for her.

He fingered the ring.

It was the ring all the cadets received after graduating from the FBI Academy.

That was the last communication he’d had from her.

“Well?” Panin prompted him, jarring him out of his musings.

“I’m working on it. I’ll let you know when I have more to report,” was his gruff reply.

“Demetri…listen—”

“I’ll be in contact.”

Demetri pressed the end button on his cell and flung it, as well as the ring, on the counter. The ring spun and rolled, landing with a ting on the marble bathroom counter.

He’d been told Gabrielle and Adam frequented the Sweet Spot, which was one of the reasons his commander had come to him for help. Demetri thought there were more reasons he’d been brought into the investigation, but if there were, his former commander wasn’t telling. The most he would say was that if Demetri could bring them in, find out who else was involved, who was at the top, he’d put a special team out to find Siobhan.

For Demetri, that been reason enough for him to agree.

Upon his return home, he hadn’t had to wait long before he identified Adam Quick and Gabrielle Marlowe. Quick looked exactly as he did in the many photos Demetri’s former commander had given him. He was tall, with the type of muscular build that came from working out in a gym regularly.

He had what Demetri thought of as a “pretty boy” look. Women fell for that type hard.

Adam wore his dark blond, artificially highlighted hair swept back from a wide forehead, and in the photo he was smiling a lopsided, practiced grin.

With his light blue eyes, classic features, and no scars, nothing to mar his pretty-boy perfection, teamed with what most cons had in abundance, manipulativeness, women fell like a ton of bricks.

He’d dismissed the man in the photo and looked at the woman, his partner, Gabrielle Marlowe, wondering if she had been a victim of Quick’s charms or if she were the deadlier of the two.

In each photo they had of her, she’d been wearing variations on the same conservative boxy suit that did nothing for her body.

She was petite; her bio said she was only a few inches over five feet, no weight given, but from the picture and her clothing she appeared slightly thick, no curves, just straight lines in the bland suits she seemed to favor.

Her somber face stared back at him, unsmiling in the picture. Her large, widely set brown eyes were obscured behind a pair of old-fashioned round glasses that seem to dominate her small face. Although her deep golden brown complexion was flawless, that looked to be about the only thing attractive about her.

Then his eyes had gone to her mouth.

Despite the look of untouched innocence that seemed to cling to her, her mouth was pure decadence, ripe and full.

Even without smiling, her lips had a natural curve in the corners that made her otherwise bland appearance reach out and grab him by the balls.

Despite her average looks, he’d found himself drawn to the photograph over and over.

Then, he’d seen her in person.

Damn.

The photograph hadn’t come anywhere near to capturing her unique beauty. Although her skin in the photo appeared to be smooth, her features even, there was nothing unique about her, save that decadent mouth of hers.

But in person…

In person her skin glowed, shone like rich dark honey. Her eyes, which had been obscured by the old-fashioned glasses in the picture, were large, slightly slanted in the corners, and a deep chocolate brown. Bedroom eyes.

And then his gaze had rested on her lips…God. Her lips were so lush and full his imagination had taken flight, with images of suckling her full lower lip into his mouth playing hell with his libido.

Not to mention the woman was nothing but luscious curves.

The first time he’d seen her, she’d been with Adam Quick. It had been easy to spot the pair.

Nightly, at the same time that Nick told him surveillance had shown them coming to the club, he’d stationed himself in a prime position to observe them without being noticed, patiently waiting to get a visual on them since his return from D.C. and his meeting with Nick.

Like most crooks, they followed habitual routines, choosing the same booth when they came to the club, tucked away in a corner of the room.

With animation, the man did most of the talking, and although his tone was too low to hear, Demetri guessed he was talking mostly about his own interests.

Although she feigned attention, Demetri caught the woman’s eyes drifting away, usually toward the dance floor, with an almost wistful look on her gamine face.

With an irritated look, Quick would rudely snap his fingers in front of her face to get her attention, and the woman would smilingly murmur something and pretend interest in what he was saying.

He’d been able to continue to observe her without her knowledge. Although Quick hadn’t been able to hold her attention, her face, even in repose, was animated, her eyes seeming to sparkle without the glasses obscuring their beauty.

When she’d come into the club tonight, without Quick, Demetri had seized the opportunity.

She’d worn her emotions on her sleeve. She was angry, hurt…and, if he his instincts were right, she wanted to prove something.

Yeah, definitely wanted to prove something, as the memory of her opening her legs and giving him a hint of what lay beneath the conservative straight-lined skirt was any indication.

Demetri shook his head. He didn’t know what had happened, but he didn’t give a shit, not really.

No matter how sweet she looked, how intriguing, how…different than what he’d expected, she was nothing but a crook. He’d use everything in his psychological and sexual arsenal to bring her down.

Demetri yanked open the shower door with more force than was necessary and turned on the water. Not bothering to wait until it warmed, he stepped into the stall.

He raised his face toward the multifaceted showerhead, pulling his hands through his hair, allowing the cool water to rain down on his upturned face.

A plan began to form in his head.

“God, what am I doing?” Gaby murmured aloud, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, clenching and unclenching her clasped hands as she stood in front of the elevator door in the deserted hallway at the back of the club.

She’d been standing there for at least thirty minutes, her mind a chaotic whirl of conflicting emotions.

She unclasped her hands and brushed her fingertips back and forth over the cool metal bars of the antiquated elevator, contemplating what she was about to do with a man she didn’t even know.

Ready for whatever, however…any delicious thing he had in mind, she was game.

In her current state of mind she was down for just about anything.

And she knew that was a dangerous condition for a woman to be in. There was no telling what could happen.

That thought alone sent her heart into overdrive.

She glanced down at herself, wishing she’d worn something more seductive than the navy blue skirt, matching blazer, and sensible shoes.

After she’d come home she’d been tired; the only thing on her mind had been to pull off the itchy hose and crawl into bed, fully clothed.

However, at the time she had no idea her plans would so drastically change.

Instead of crawling into bed with a good book and a glass of wine, she’d walked in and caught her boyfriend in bed with another woman.

And now, here she was about to do something daring, unlike anything she’d ever done before. Intent on allowing a man she didn’t know to sex her up like there was no tomorrow. If only for one night. All she wanted was one night of selfish pleasure to help her momentarily forget the mess her life was in.

And the man she’d selected for the job was waiting for her upstairs. Sweet. Gaby fervently prayed he could deliver on what his name, his heated eyes, his sensual mouth, promised. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out a calming breath before reopening them.

Her face settling into lines of determination, she inserted the brass key into the lock and pulled back the door. The groaning, creaking noise it made as she pushed the iron cage open seemed unnaturally loud to her, despite the booming music filtering into the hall from the club.

She glanced around to see if anyone was watching and shook her head at herself, chastising herself for being so ridiculous.

No one was watching her, and if they were, well…who cared? She was a grown woman of thirty years. If she wanted to have anonymous sex with the hottest man she’d seen in a month of Sundays, it was nobody’s business but her own. She checked her purse for the condoms she had thrown inside and walked into the elevator.

Once inside the elevator, she pulled the outer doors together and pressed the arrow up button. Her nerves were stretched taut as the elevator lumbered and groaned as it rose.

When the elevator came to a halt and the inner doors opened, she pulled back the wrought-iron door and stepped out. Surprised, she looked around.

She knew he lived above the club, but didn’t know it was a loft and that the elevator would take her directly into his home. She walked past the entryway and into the large, open room.

“Hello!” she called out, when she saw no sign of Sweet. “Anybody here?”

Gaby looked around, nervous, but curious about where he lived.

The loft was large, easily spanning the width of the club. She cautiously moved into the room, her gaze wandering over his home.

The design was a continuous flow, one room blending into the next, separated by floor-to-ceiling pillars. From where she stood, she could see a few closed doors that she imagined led to bedrooms, but when her eyes fell on the large four-poster bed in the far corner of the room, raised on a dais, she revised her thoughts.

“Hello, are you here?” Gaby called out, again.

She began to walk farther inside, furtively looking around.

She stepped down a small set of stairs that led her into what must serve as the main living area. The living space dominated the room, simply yet tastefully decorated in muted browns, reds, and cream.

A chocolate-brown suede sofa and matching oversized chair were set in the center of the room, and two crimson occasional chairs flanked a white brick stonewashed fireplace. Gaby’s eyes were drawn to a small statue set on the mantel. She walked into the living room, over to the statue, and carefully picked it up.

It was made of what looked to be pure jade. She turned the smooth, cool figurine over in her hand. At first she’d thought it was a statue of a woman, but upon closer inspection, she realized it was a tightly woven male and female, limbs intertwined. It was highly erotic.

“You came,” a deep, now-familiar voice murmured.

She had been so caught up in the beauty of the jade statue, she hadn’t heard him enter the room.

Spinning around, startled, Gaby almost dropped the statue on the floor. She quickly caught it and replaced on the mantel.

She turned back to face him. He stood several feet away, gazing at her.

Her eyes trailed over his handsome face, to his wet hair that appeared even darker as it lay in thick, wet waves, away from his forehead.

Her gaze ran down the planes of his muscular, bare chest, the light sprinkling of dark hair glistening with moisture, past the low-slung jeans he wore unbuttoned. A thatch of curls was barely visible. Her gaze followed the dusky-haired trail, down to the deep V, lower, until the trail disappeared into his open jeans.

Her tongue snaked out and licked her dry bottom lip, her stomach churning in nervousness. She raised her eyes and met his intent, unblinking stare.

“I-I called your name,” the words emerged in a dry whisper. She cleared her throat before continuing. “No one answered.”

“I was in the shower,” he continued to stare at her, not moving, and Gaby’s gut clenched even more.

She began to fiddle with the buttons on her blouse, nervous, not knowing what to do with her hands.

“Take off your clothes.”

When he spoke, she jumped. She’d begun to think he would continue to stand there staring at her. She didn’t know which she preferred—his intent stare or the demand for her to undress.

“What?”

“You heard me, take them off.” His voice was stern, unyielding…yet coaxing.

Gaby hesitated.

His gaze raked over her, making her feel exposed even though she was fully clothed; the look in his eyes showed lust, yet she detected a certain cool detachment.

The way he was staring at her was almost calculating.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, more out of self-protection than because she was cold.

When Gaby was a child, whenever her mother was sober and feeling “motherly,” she’d take her to the zoo.

Although those times were few and far between, Gaby had looked forward to them. Her favorite animals in the zoo had been the cougars. Even caged as they were, they were bold, sinister, fierce…and calculating. As though they were simply waiting for someone to be stupid enough to climb over and enter their lair.

In Sweet’s eyes was the same type of look.

The look of an untamed, caged animal with fresh hot meat placed at his feet. Hot sex on the platter…Gaby repressed a shiver at her own silly analogy.

“You’re still dressed.” His silky voice deepened.

A moan escaped from her lips.

Although the trips to the zoo had been rare, she still remembered how she’d wanted to be that person bold enough to enter the cougar’s lair.

Averting her eyes, she glanced down. Her hands began to fumble with the top of her skirt.

“Look at me,” he murmured and her eyes flew to meet his. He casually walked over and sat in the chair next to where she stood.

Oh, God, he wanted her to strip for him while he watched.

More than that, she wanted to strip for him. Wanted to see the look in his eyes when she shed her clothes.

She wanted to bare her body to him, offer it up for his inspection and for him to do whatever he wanted with her.

Her eyes began to flutter closed until she remembered his demand that she look at him.

She kicked off her heels and reached behind her waist, feeling for the closure before she eased the skirt down her legs.

“Don’t step out of your skirt,” he instructed, as she was raising her leg.

“What? How will we—” her eyes grew round.

“No questions,” he interrupted, one side of his sensual mouth curved, his shuttered eyes lazily surveying her body. “Keep removing your clothes.” She looked away and began to unbutton her blouse.

“Don’t look away from me,” he gently reminded her.

She inhaled a deep breath, and allowed her eyes to drift to his as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse. After she’d unbuttoned the last button, Gaby waited for him to tell her what to do next, surprised at her excitement that she needed to ask his permission before she continued.

His cool eyes assessed her, his smile one of approval.

“First take off your blouse, then your bra. Nice and slow,” he instructed.

She slid the blouse from her shoulders, watching him as she did so. The way he watched her so intently made her nipples pearl; the feel of the silk blouse sliding off her skin was unbearably exciting.

She unsnapped the front closure to her bra and allowed it to fall to the floor, joining her blouse. Trembling, she stood before him naked, her skirt pooled at her feet, wondering what he planned to do to her.

“What?” She stopped. Took a deep breath and exhaled, her heart beating a wild rhythm against her chest. “What now?”

Apprehensive but excited, she waited for his next command.