Intimate Knowledge Part 1
Read Intimate Knowledge Part 1 Online
Authors: Helen Karol
Intimate Knowledge Book 1 Part 1
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y
Helen Karol
Copyright 2013 Helen Karol
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents
are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Intimate Knowledge - End of Part 1
Can’t
wait for the next installment?
Detectives & Desires Series
–Erotic Romance
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I would like to thank my beta readers for their amazing help. Jennifer and Joanna have been uncanny about dropping in with an email pep talk just when I am struggling to write. Always enthusiastic about my writing their comments have really helped shape the events of the book. Anita you are relentless and do not pull your punches ever, but I know you demand better writing of me. Jess made me look at Raisa again and develop her in a more sympathetic light. Mary you always love the juicy parts. Santy and Leta your support is unfailing. Thanks guys!
I
Saturday 29th June
Craig Gold Legacy Ball
“Oh, girlfriend, that beautiful man wants you, bad.”
As usual, Terri has no brain to mouth filter. I throw her a warning glare and continue polishing the glass in my hand as we stand behind the bar. I feel weird because we are wearing cocktail dresses, just like all the other women, but we are caught between the guests and the help. We are volunteering at the charity event in order to flesh out our law school applications.
“A 4.00 GPA and making the dean’s list isn’t enough, these days,” our advisers tell us. “The recruiters want to know you care.” So here we are.
Caring.
And
me being wanted.
I want to tell Terri that she is wrong.
That the dangerous, urbane, gorgeous, sexy man one hundred feet across the enormous ballroom does not want me. That he is actually oozing magnetism and pheromones at some other poor prey. But I know I can’t because, being my best friend, she is privy to the fact that he has told me that he does.
He was very matter of fact about it. He just stood across from me, an acceptable distance between us, and told me in
a confident, hungry demand. Like he was asking for the specialty dish of the house. I imagine that is a fair comparison. I appeal to his appetite and he needs to satisfy the craving. I am still desperately trying to convince myself that I am immune and will not be the latest item on Leo Gold’s menu.
“Only because he can’t have me.”
“Oh, sweetie, he can have you. He knows it, you know it, I know it – hell, this whole fucking room knows it.”
“Shut.
Up. You are an utterly useless friend. You are supposed to be supporting my resistance.”
“Well you know
me, I’m never one for lost causes.”
I become silent. I radiate disapproval and hurt feelings, hoping to make her feel guilty. I realize it is working when she starts polishing glasses along with me and speaks in a sulky voice.
“Ok. So why is it we are resisting him? Oh yeah, he’s gorgeous, rich, intelligent and hot with bad boy charm. What’s to resist?”
“He’s young enough to be my s...” I offer a plausible excuse.
“Oh no, don’t you dare finish that. We both know you were a late bloomer and no way were you capable of breeding at eleven. You know age doesn’t matter these days and he doesn’t know you’re older than he is. But even if he did, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t care.”
“I hate the whole cougar thing.” I grumble
, part of me resenting the lack of secrecy having a best friend you share almost everything with creates. Almost everything, because I can’t tell her the real reason I must hold this beautiful man at arm’s length. That is classified. She thinks I am undercover investigating the recent rash of sorority hazing. She has no idea that he is my real target.
“It’s only a cougar thing if you are doing the stalking and you are definitely not. Besides, you look younger than he does. That’s why so many young guys hit on you.”
I hate it that she’s right. Everybody thinks it must be a good thing to look so much younger. In theory, it is flattering, but in practice, it is just annoying. You are always being asked for ID. People way younger than you treat you as if you are younger than they are and people your own age never take you seriously. Sounds good to women who want to look younger, but it is a pain in the ass in daily life. The only real benefit I have reaped over the years is that it can be great for undercover work. Like now.
My ability to consistently pull
men over ten years younger, is proving useful with my current assignment. At thirty, Leo Gold has entered a later decade than any of the men I‘ve hooked up with over the past five years. He also has this uncanny ability to make me feel as if I am the much younger one. Not to mention that his seductive combination of dominant sexuality and sensual tenderness is making it harder and harder for me to resist him.
I swallow, watching while he excuses himself from the group he is with and moves across the room towards us. I look down, but it’s no use, I am achingly aware of him throughout the whole interminable time it takes him to slowly make his way over to stand in front of the bar. I ignore him for several minutes and he says nothing. Finally, I look up into his classically sculpted features, unable not to. God, I hate that I am unable not to.
He smiles, slowly, wickedly satisfied that his patience works and he is able to make me raise my head without a word. I try not to notice how luscious he looks. He is so close that his 6’ 2” height and proportionate breadth block out my view of the room and the deep charcoal suit against the silk grey of his dress shirt echoes the dark, smoky hue of his eyes. The silk gold of his loosened, slightly askew tie highlights his thick, dark gold hair and enhances the effect of the myriad gold flecks in his dark pupils. Those spooky, highly unusual eyes fascinate me and in some of my dreams he is a were lion and he simply carries me off to his lair.
I shake myself. Resist. Resist. I chide.
He moves to the side of the bar and holds out his hand in invitation. I look away and shake my head not trusting myself to speak, not sure my mouth is in tune with my brain. I might just stupidly say something like. “Unhand me, sir,” in a breathy whisper, of course. In my head, I acknowledge that I read far too many historical romances. I almost giggle at this, thinking maybe I could claim my dance card is full.
When I fail to take his hand, I sense his exasperation. He growls my name under his breath; a sound that has the humiliating eff
ect of making me instantly wet.
The growl deepens, “Dance with me, Raisa.”
When I defy him, he takes my hand and places his other hand on my hip to firmly command my obedience. I don’t resist. I can’t risk a scene and he knows it.
He leads me ahead of him to the dance floor. The heat of his hand in mine and on my hip makes me tremble. I am glad that his strong body is firm behind me, supporting me, stopping me from stumbling. I panic because in seconds, he will hold me close in his arms
. With every new encounter, each new time he holds me, the temperature between us increases and I am terrified that this time I just might combust.
He senses my panic and gathers me softly against him. It is a slow, jazzy piece, the kind where you just sway in each other’s arms. His hand is at my nape firm against me, a pulsing heat filtering through from his touch to my moist skin, despite the thickness of my hair. Even in five-inch heels, I only reach the
top of his chest and he cradles me against him, soothing me with his fingertips moving in slow, sensual circles over my back. It is okay I tell myself, I can handle this, until he places a soft kiss on the top of my head.
It is then I remember, then I want to call triumphantly across to Terri. “See. See.
This is why. This is why we’re resisting him.” Not because the age gap unnerves me, not because he is my undercover target in an investigation by a federal special task force, not even because he makes me sopping wet with simply the sound of his voice.
No. None of those
are the reason. There is only one reason and it is quite simply that I am petrified that if I allow myself to get any closer to this man, I may melt deep, deep into him and very probably disappear.
Prologue
II
Friday June
21. Eight days earlier. Leo Gold’s Penthouse.
“So this is it
? It’s all here? This is accurate. Not her cover?”
My security chief, and long-time friend
, since we were in middle school, Nick Rafferty, answers from the leather two-seater on my balcony study. He is sprawled out there after handing me a memory stick I anxiously insert in my laptop. His frown and hesitation indicate he is not wholly happy with the results of the investigation.
“What we could get, yeah. There are a few purges and that period between eight and twelve years ago is obviously a plant. It
looks
like she has a clear path back to birth, but once we dig deeper it is a convoluted trail. We can’t sniff around her much more without alerting unwanted attention. But, your instincts were right, Leo.”
I kno
w about plants. I have a few myself. “Why the plant? Why so convoluted?”
“Can’t say for sure, b
ut my guess is she was in deep cover more than once.”
She’s
a vice cop and one sexy woman. I don’t want to think about what that deep cover might entail. Oh hell, who am I trying to kid. Sure I do. Gripped by the idea of the various sexy scenarios of her undercover, I try to dampen the rampant libido those filthy fantasies awaken. I would like to claim they are tasteful, but they are like every bad porno movie you could imagine. Nick’s rational voice cuts across my x-rated thoughts.
“She’s good. One
kill. Wounded once. Decorated twice. Four reprimands. She’s a feisty one. Sure you wanna take her on?” There is grudging admiration in Nick’s voice. She must be good. After years of active service as a SEAL and now running his own security firm, he isn’t easily impressed.
I answer my own
triumphant instincts rather than his question. “I
knew
it. I knew she didn’t add up.”
Nick agrees.
“Yeah, Leo. No wonder she isn’t eagerly stepping out of her panties for you. She’s a decorated, vice detective – a veteran with fourteen years service under her belt.”
“And
eleven years older than I am.” I add.
I turn back to my laptop and scroll to Nick’s initial report. It is a customary background vetting of her, similar to the ones carried out on anyone who will have personal access
to me or those close to me. Most people in my position have similar checks done these days. Some of the photographs are perhaps more intrusive than they should be. Otherwise, it is a standard check. Looking at it now I can correct the fabrications.
Raisa Gordon,
twenty-eight, (actually forty-one) law student. Employed for the past six years in an admin position at the 15th Police Precinct (actually a detective in vice). Various catering positions before that (a fourteen year old veteran). Lives in a small studio apartment nearby. Only child of older parents from a small town in the Mid-West. Came to the city with a boyfriend about eight years ago (actually nineteen years ago). Dumped the boyfriend, but Boston stuck. A few short-term relationships since (there must be more here, but Nick is drawing a blank. I chafe jealously wondering who and what history I am missing). Nothing for the past couple of years except for a few hook-ups (that at least is accurate). Friends with Terri Blakestone for two years, a fellow student.
Runs regularly, attends a local gym and likes to dance. She and Terri took salsa classes last year and they
are known to go to salsa bars from time to time. A huge baseball and Red Sox fan. She also enjoys the arts, galleries, concerts, ballet. According to a disgruntled neighbor, she plays opera far too loud, far too often. It is a convincing cover. It convinced me. Until we met. After less than a day in her company, my instincts began to itch.
Nick grunts.
“She’s not like the women you usually go for, Leo. She is no innocent. I’ll bet you struck out with your usual direct approach. In her line of work, she’ll have heard plenty of filthy lines. She probably knows just how to blow a guy off without turning the screw.”
I sit back and run my hand through my hair, frowning. “Right,” I acknowledge grudgingly. I wince when I think of my arrogant declaration
to her the day we met. The hot passion she frustratingly exposed then, and on a few occasions since, proves she is not immune to me, but she is highly skilled in retreating into her sophisticated defenses. Too often, she just gazes at me with that enigmatic, faraway look of hers, but Nick’s right, I must be pissing her off. Shit.
She carries a gun.
I’m surprised she doesn’t just shoot me.
“Any idea why she is under cover? Is she a threat to us?”
“There have been some drug dealings and suspected sexual assaults of freshman students in the sorority and fraternity houses and hazing has got some really bad press lately. We are pretty sure she is looking for evidence in those incidents and maybe to establish some ongoing CI’s.”
I nod. “Makes sense. So no worries on our side?”
“No, just student body, campus stuff.
Not fair, considering her track record, but as a woman she won’t be assigned much more than that.”
Nick clears his throat.
“Listen, Leo. She’s a vice-cop. Granted, she will soon be leaving the force to go to law school full-time, but she will still always have connections in law enforcement. You really think it is a good idea to pursue her? Given our operation? Maybe you should just step back.”
I look out the glass doors of my balcony at the Boston
waterfront. Nick is right. So why does the idea of stepping back, of not having her, tear at my gut. I shake my head and turn back to the concerned stare of my best friend.
“I know I should step back, Nick.
But I can’t. She fascinated me when I saw her at the art gallery, but now, I feel like she is mine, already. There is just something about her that calls to me.”
Her image has been disturbing my psyche and other more primal parts of my anatomy since a gallery opening, two weeks ago. Talking with friends, I notice the tiny, fragile woman who is
totally absorbed in the lecture about the exhibit. Captivated, I watch her full breasts rise and fall with emotion as she listens to the stories of survival; anything from child soldiers to violent home lives. I swallow, my mouth dry, as she leans forward and her curtain of dark hair falls to partially obscure her pale features.
I long to push aside that silken sheet and caress her cheeks.
To take her mouth, to still the fingers and capture the tip of tongue that she runs across her reddened, bitten lips. She shifts stunning legs and crosses sexy ankles. I grow uncomfortably hard as the movement causes her short skirt to creep up to reveal an inviting glimpse of the lacy tops of her black stockings. Growing even harder, I picture travelling into that darkness, tasting her salty skin, the tip of my tongue trailing up her inner thighs towards her damp heat. Closing my eyes, the strength of my arousal stimulates me so much that, even from a distance, I feel as if I can inhale and taste her.
Later, I watch her wander around the exhibit. Fascinated by the varying emotions that flit across her face, I can see her tears glistening. Her body language is mesmerizing. She is alone and
makes no attempt to mingle. She is here for the art. I want to approach her, but I would no more disturb her solitude than I would a woman in prayer. She is profoundly aroused by the images. I am profoundly aroused by her. Suddenly, I no longer regret my blunt statement to her. No matter how blunt, it is the truth - I do want her. I’ve never wanted a woman more.
Nick echoes this sentiment. “I’ve never seen you like this over a woman, Leo. It worries me. She has issues, dark places. There is even a cold case that
has been sealed to shield her. Why are you so obsessed with her?”
What is it about her that is so potent?
I’m no stranger to women. I’ve taken a lover consistently since I was sixteen. I like women. Although I fall for a woman hard on the surface, in the long run, I don’t engage deeply, so very little angst is attached. Once a woman takes my interest, I set out to get her and I keep her around as long as I can. Loyalty comes naturally to me and once my feelings are engaged, I never feel the pull to look elsewhere. So I have easy love affairs that end well with romantic and fond memories. No woman has ever aroused these intense, inexorable emotions. I have never experienced this raw, obsessive passion. Never felt this inescapable, driven need to possess.
“I think that’s part of the fascination, Nick. Those dark places, those issues. I could see them lurking when she was at that exhibit. That painting she keeps going back to, it triggers emotions in her that I want to take care of, to help heal. I want to possess her so I can protect her, keep her safe.” I laugh self-depreciatingly. “Sounds pretty lame seeing as how she has proven more than capable of protecting
, not just herself, but others too. Hell, look at her record.”
I return to the report. Despite some of its startling revelations, it makes more sense, fits more with the woman I first noticed than the arms length mixture of independent defiance and smartass she’s tried to fob off on me these past few days.
One kill.
A child molester. He was hiding a terrified, four year old girl in his trunk, along with a shotgun. It was ruled a good kill; her first decoration. Her quick action saved the little girl and her own life. Reading the details and the honorable citation, I realize with a sinking feeling that her heroics intimidate me. I scroll down some more - four reprimands - all four for insubordination. I smile; maybe the smartass isn’t so out of character, after all.
Nick shifts and sits up and says in a gruff voice. “Just because you’re good at protecting others doesn’t mean you don’t want someone to look out for you. Nobody wants to be tough all the time. Maybe you are responding to that need in her.”
He shifts awkwardly and I give him a moment while I indulge myself scrolling through the photos of her. When he speaks, it is with friendly derision. “Hate to interrupt your lovesick leering, Leo, but there is something else.”
I drag my eyes away from the computer screen and look across at the only person who would dare to ridicule me to my face. The reason our friendship is one of my touchstones.
“Yeah?”
“My new guy is a bit overzealous. He wants to impress. He found a real old laptop and well he found something
…well something real personal on it.”
Anger grips me.
“For Chrissake, Nick. I wanna know about her, not violate her! Did he read it?”
He holds up his hands. “Relax. It
was encrypted. I decoded it and skimmed it.”
I give him my full attention now, wary.
“Does it impact on our operation?”
He shakes his head. “No. I told you. I don’t think we have to worry about that.”
I turn my attention back to the screen. I don’t hesitate to give the order. “Delete it.” When he doesn’t respond, I repeat my instructions. “Did you hear me, Nick? Delete it.”
“Look, Leo
, you might wanna think about it. If you’re not going to step back, then maybe you could use an edge.” He clears his throat, again. “A little insider knowledge. This could give you that.”
I look at him suspiciously.
“What is it? A diary?”
He gives the typical Rafferty grin renowned for removing women’s panties from ten feet away. “Kinda. I
didn’t read much. Like I said; just skimmed, but it seems like letters…”
I glower at Nick darkly when the truth dawns on me. “…to a lover.
It’s a sex diary. Nick. What the fuck? I can’t read that and I oughta kick your ass for ‘skimming’ it.”
His eyebrow lifts at the idea that I could kick his ass, but he voices another consideration. “Leo, buddy, this is your second investigation of her. You have done every search possible on her and you have paid
for my operatives to invade her privacy right down to rifling in her panties drawer. You really think you should bother to get all virtuous now?”
I
don’t look at him; I value his honesty, but there are times when I wish he wasn’t so blunt.
“Sex is different, Nick.”
“This isn’t just about sex. What you said earlier, these letters, they reveal that need. But not in the way you would think. She wants something specific, a certain type of guy who treats her a certain way. The letters, they’re not just a sex diary; they are…well… confessional. They are about her issues, her dark places and unsatisfied needs. I know you, Leo. I think you could be what she is looking for, but you would need to be prepared to be open to parts of yourself you’ve rejected.
A knowing, dark glance passes between us. “Look, Nick, if you are talking about my father and what he did to my mother, there is no way I am going there.”
“Don’t be so sure, Leo. You don’t really know the whole story. Not all women want it sweet and nice. You can’t turn your back on your father’s legacy. You’ve already figured out that you can’t afford to ignore that side of you. Maybe that is what grabs you about Raisa. Maybe she’s calling to that part of you. You’ll never know unless you go there.”
