Skin Deep (16 page)

Grabbing her by the hands, Kellan cut a direct path to what turned out to be his sofa. He undressed in just a few economical moves, his shirt and shoes and pants landing who knew where, and finally, he stood in front of her in nothing more than a pair of black boxer briefs.

“Oh.” Isabella’s throat worked over a swallow. Holy shit, he was beautiful, all chiseled shoulders and flat abs. The dark, scrolling edges of a tattoo spanned one arm from the bottom of his shoulder to his biceps, and her fingers ached with the urge to touch him, to learn him by heart the way he’d uncovered her.

But she was going to have to take the scenic route next time, because right now, what Isabella
really
wanted was to fuck him.

Wrapping one arm around Kellan’s shoulder, she lowered her free hand over the tightly bunched muscles covering his midsection. Although his chest was mostly smooth, her fingers rasped over a crisp trail of dark hair leading down toward his low-slung waistband, and a fresh wave of desire bloomed between her legs.

That desire made Isabella’s mouth water as soon as her hand skimmed over his cock.

“Isabella,” Kellan grated, thrusting into her touch.

She didn’t deny him. “Shhh,” she whispered, stroking him with firm intention. “It’s okay if you want to let go, too. Go on, Kellan.” She slid his boxer briefs lower to palm his cock, hot skin on skin. “Lose control a little.”

A spear of wicked satisfaction moved through her chest as he pushed into the circle of her fingers. Isabella pumped her hand from root to tip, each one of Kellan’s heavy breaths against her neck daring her to move faster. On an upward glide, she swept her thumb over the head of his cock to capture the bead of moisture there, and he broke from her with a curse.

“Now,” came the dark demand from the back of his throat, making her even more wet. But a thought pricked at the back of her mind, and shit.
Shit
. As prepared as Isabella had been for every other situation tonight, fitting a condom in her itty-bitty purse had never even occurred to her. She was on the pill—no such thing as too careful—but as desperate as she was to let Kellan bury himself inside of her until they both screamed, horny didn’t trump smart.

Fortunately, he seemed to be on the same thought train. Bending to grab his pants from the floor, he slipped a condom from his wallet, sheathing himself with only a few deft movements. After exhaling her relief, Isabella splayed her fingers over the hard line of his shoulders, sending him to the couch behind them with just one push. She straddled Kellan’s lap, balancing the cradle of her hips over the corded muscles of his thighs. His stare glittered over her in the darkness that her eyes had grown accustomed to, and he claimed her waist in a rough hold.

“No.” Although she whispered the word, it stilled him completely. Isabella curled her fingers around his wrists. “I want
you
, remember? I want you to feel me. I want you to know where I’ve been, too. So no moving,” she said, guiding his hands to his sides and shifting her body over his. “Let me fuck you, Kellan. Let me find what
you
want.”

Isabella reached down to the slight space between them. His cock jutted up from the low center of his hips, thick and gloriously hard, and even though her heart was pounding so fast she was sure the damned thing would try to make a jailbreak, she angled her aching sex against him and pushed.

Oh. Holy. Hell.

Biting back her moan was never going to happen, so she didn’t even bother to try. With her thighs spread wide and their bodies joined to the hilt, Kellan stretched her inner muscles and filled her completely. Isabella sucked in a breath at the heat and the pressure and the dirty, wanton feel of his cock inside her pussy, and oh God, he could bury himself like this all night and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“
Ah
,” Kellan grated, the noise grounding her in the here and now. Bracketing his shoulders with both arms, she leaned forward and lifted slightly, pressing her palms into the soft leather of the couch behind him. The change in angle sent another round of sensations winging through Isabella’s core, but she tamped them down. She rocked back and forth with purpose, listening to Kellan’s breath and feeling his body tighten beneath her as she moved faster, then slower, then harder against his cock.

“Show me what you want,” Isabella said, pleasure filling her chest at the look of intensity shaping his face.

“Just you, sweetheart. Now don’t stop.”

The words arrowed deep, daring her to roll her hips and dig her nails into the back of the couch behind his shoulders. For every thrust, she retreated a little farther, riding the entire length of his cock over and over. Kellan’s hands formed fists at his sides, his eyes locked on the spot where he disappeared deep inside again and again, and the intensity sent a curl of want licking between Isabella’s legs. She lowered her fingers, sweeping them over the sensitive knot of her clit, shock moving through her as his hand covered hers.

“So hot.” His fingers joined in, testing the slick folds at the top of her sex while he filled her so thoroughly below, and the provocative sensations twined together to send her unexpectedly over the edge. Her climax pulsed through her, taking control of her voice, and Kellan tensed beneath her at the sound of her cries.

“Isabella. Oh, fuck, I—”

Gripping her hips, he pushed her all the way down on his cock as he thrust up to meet her. The sweet invasion sent another wave of pleasure through her pussy, and she arched to take every inch of his shuddering release.

Minutes passed with nothing but the sound of their ragged breath. Isabella slumped over Kellan’s body, her arms around his neck and his hands still locked around her waist, both of them inhaling and exhaling against one another. Her brain knew she should move, commanded her to do it, even. But her body was boneless, refusing to hear a damned thing her neurons said. Finally, Kellan moved her gently aside, slipping down the hallway for only a minute before returning to the spot next to her on the cushions.

“Here.” He reached for the blanket draped over the arm of the couch, pulling the edges around his shoulders and pressing his chest against her back.

Isabella’s brain snapped back online. She stiffened despite her body’s bid to melt into the warmth of Kellan’s touch. “Actually, I should probably go.”

His answer came quick and matter-of-fact. “No you shouldn’t.”

“I should,” she said again, unease beginning to form in her belly. The sex had been great—other-worldly, even. But she didn’t do this. She didn’t stay.

At least, she’d never wanted to.

Isabella’s heart nudged faster against her breastbone. “I have to be up early,” she whispered, but Kellan tightened his grip from behind her, and
jeez
, how could any man feel so freaking good when he wasn’t even touching her naughty bits?

“I have to be up early, too. I’ll wake you.”

“But—”

“Moreno.” He slid a kiss into her hair, putting yet another kill shot on her determination. “It’s two o’clock in the morning and I’m not wearing any pants. Don’t make me get up and walk you to your car.”

Dammit, she laughed. “I carry a Glock instead of a purse and I’m trained to the teeth in self-defense. I can make it to my car just fine, you know.”

“I do. But the thing is, I don’t want you to go right now. So could you do me a favor please, and just lie down with me and close your eyes? We’re talking a couple of hours of shuteye on the couch, here. No big deal. Plus, after the night we’ve had, you’ve got to be tired.”

Well, shit. Of course he had to go and have a point. “Okay,” Isabella finally said, letting him guide her back to the oversized cushions of the couch, which just so happened to be deceptively comfortable. Her breath found a slow, steady rhythm, and her body finally gave in to the full letdown of her adrenaline rush. Her muscles unwound one by one, their tight hold of awareness slipping into relaxation. Walker’s chest was warm against her back, which was oddly comforting considering how hard-bodied he was, and didn’t that just make it that much easier to let him hold her.

“Mmm.” She settled in against his back, trying—and failing—to stifle her yawn. “I’m still really mad at you for ambushing me,” she murmured. Whoa, how was keeping her eyes open so difficult all of a sudden?

Kellan tightened the circle of his arms around her, her relaxation growing even deeper as he dropped a kiss to her temple. “I know,” he said.

It was the last thing Isabella heard before drifting off to sleep.

B
etween two years
in a fire house and as many tours as a Ranger, decent sleep was one of those things that Kellan had pretty much written off. He wasn’t a robot—of course he needed (and got) a few hours here and there. But considering he’d spent his night on a rush of endorphins topped off with incendiary sex, managing even the slightest bit of shuteye was a complete fucking no-go.

Especially since his partner for both parts of the evening was curled up in his arms.

Kellan scooped in a breath, watching the very first strains of daylight color the room from the windows behind him. For the thousandth time, he catalogued the events of the past six hours in his head—watching Isabella’s uncut determination as she brazened her way past security at the Metropolitan, then again as she fast-talked her way past DuPree to get out the door. The certainty in her eyes as she’d told Kellan to invite her upstairs. The seductive fierceness that gave way to the tremble beneath it before rebuilding into even hotter intensity as she’d screamed his name and made him scream hers.

And for the thousandth time, he was shocked down to his balls that she’d agreed to stay.

Not that he hadn’t put effort in trying to convince her. With Isabella’s arm’s length, I-don’t-date attitude, Kellan had known that even asking her to go down the hall to his way more comfortable queen-sized bed would likely make her balk. But despite her initial bid to race out his door mere minutes after they’d finished having sex, he’d seen the vulnerability in her eyes when he’d asked her to stay, and felt the tension leave her body when he’d pulled her in close to hold her as she fell asleep.

So what was Isabella hiding beneath all that armor?

As if her stalwart defenses had somehow honed in on the question filling his brain, she stirred beside him. “Mmm.” Her drowsy murmur lasted for only a fraction before she stilled. “Walker?”

Easy
. If sticking around after sex wasn’t her thing, chances were, morning-after conversations were pretty far from her repertoire. “Were you expecting someone else?” he asked.

Isabella let go of a laugh, and bingo, mission accomplished. “Of course not. I thought you might be asleep.”

“Nope.”

“What time is it?”

Kellan eyeballed the degree of muted daylight now beginning to creep over the wall in front of them in earnest. “Just shy of six, I’d guess.”

She turned her chin in obvious surprise, her hair rustling over the bare skin of her shoulder. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little.” He’d closed his eyes. For now it would have to serve. “You slept.”

After a pause, she said, “Yeah, but I really should get up.”

He didn’t tighten the arm he’d slung around her over the navy blue fleece blanket keeping them covered, but he also didn’t move to let her up. “It’s Saturday. You’re not meeting Angel until nine, right?”

“Right.” The response came out with a heavy flavor of
what does that have to do with anything
, making Kellan’s pulse flash faster through his veins. The smart thing to do would be to cram all these weird feelings back into their boxes and let Isabella be on her merry way.

But fuck it. He was never going to get past her armor if he didn’t earn his way in. “So give me five more minutes.”

She tilted her hips, just enough to brush her ass over his morning hard-on. “If I’m remembering correctly, you take longer than five minutes.”

Okay, so his brain wasn’t the only part of him that was wide awake and standing at attention. But come on. He might be aiming at decency, but Isabella was still hot, not to mention pressed up against him and oh-so-naked.

Kellan sucked in a breath, channeling all his willpower into a redirect despite his cock’s raging protest. “And if I’m remembering correctly, you don’t hate when I do. But that’s actually not why I wanted the time.”

“Oh? What could possibly be better?”

“Tell me something about you.”

“What?” Isabella’s entire body tensed against his, her shoulder blades on his chest, her back on his belly. Kellan knew he could retract what he’d said. He could take back the words and she’d walk out the door and he’d put everything he’d felt over the last couple of weeks back into their allotted spaces, hidden away. If he took it back, Isabella would pretend she’d never heard him ask.

But he
had
asked. And as crazy and impulsive and as dangerous as it was, Kellan didn’t want to take it back.

He wanted more.

“Tell me something about you,” he repeated, and she shook her head in a quick back and forth.

“I told you the other night, I’m not good at this.”

Nope. He’d come this far. No sense in scaling back now. “Yes you are. Look, I’ll even go first again. My favorite color is blue.”

“Oh.” Isabella’s shoulders unwound by the tiniest margin. “I…um, I like red. Dark, like a nice merlot.”

“Hmm. I’m pretty much a beer guy,” Kellan said with just enough challenge to make her rise to greet it.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she answered, her trademark feistiness on full display. “A good bottle of red isn’t just a handful of drinks. It’s an experience.”

Damn, he’d never be off his toes with her, that was for sure. “You’ll have to show me,” he said, adding on, “I have a thing for political thrillers.”

“There’s a stash of romance novels on my bedside table.”

Unable to help himself, Kellan let his surprise ride out on a laugh. “Ah. You’ll
definitely
have to show me. What’s your favorite season?”

“Spring, right when the leaves start growing,” Isabella replied. Shifting beneath the blanket, she turned to her back, dipping her chin to look at him expectantly.

“Mine, too. Favorite pizza topping? If you say anchovies, I might have to kick you off my couch.”

“Black olives.” She laughed, a deep, throaty sound that came up from deep in her chest, and man, she was seriously beautiful.

Kellan propped his elbow against the couch cushion, holding his head up with one hand while nudging her with the other. “See, you are good at this.”

“You haven’t asked me any hard questions yet.”

“Why don’t we cross that bridge when we get to it?”

“Walker,” she started, but didn’t back the protest up, and hell. He was already in for a penny. No way was he going down without fighting for the whole damned pound.

“Look Moreno, I’m not going to lie. I like you, and I’d like to see you again. But for now, none of the questions have to be hard. Okay?”

“Okay,” Isabella whispered, blinking as if the answer had surprised her. Another minute passed before the shock on her face turned into a smile. “So, I gave you five minutes. Does that mean I get five back?”

His cock stirred beneath the blanket. “What’d you have in mind?”

Turning to her side to face him, her smile became a grin as she leaned in to kiss him, slow and sexy. “Something that’ll wake you up better than coffee.”

Hell yes
. Impulsive or not, Kellan rolled her beneath him in less than a blink. “Oh, sweetheart. Your wakeup call is going to take more than five minutes. But I wouldn’t be a good host if I let you leave without a proper sendoff.”

J
ulian sat
in the leather wingback chair behind his desk, his tie still straight and his suit jacket still buttoned despite the last of his guests having departed about an hour ago. Under normal circumstances, he’d have retired to his bedroom with the choicest video selections of the evening, letting the primal grunts and pained cries on the feeds from the private party rooms lull him to sleep. But this pre-dawn was far from normal, because what he was looking at instead were the photographs of two people he was going to murder.

Julian stared at the pair of printouts Vaughn had placed on the antique mahogany in front of him, forcing his hands to impeccable steadiness despite the utter rage tearing through his veins. “Are you certain this information is accurate?”

If Vaughn took offense at the question, he was wise enough not to let it show. “The RPD database might be a bitch to crack, even for me,” he said, shrugging even deeper into the hooded sweatshirt he wore like a sloppy second skin. “But it doesn’t lie. Isabella Moreno is a detective in the intelligence unit at the Thirty-Third.”

“A detective,” Julian repeated, looking again at the printout showing a black and white photo of Isabella in what looked to be her headshot for the department.

Vaughn nodded. “I’m as shocked as you, boss. But I triple-checked our security measures, and there’s no active investigation into you or anyone on your payroll, with the Remington police or the FBI. These parties are still completely under the radar.” After a pause, he said, “I pulled all the footage of her for a closer look. She obviously knows Danny Boy, and she seemed pretty into the guy she was with—something tells me he didn’t go into that bathroom with her to help powder her nose. There are plenty of cops with dirty secrets. You think she might just want to party?”

Julian considered the idea for a moment, but dismissed it just as quickly. If Isabella had come here to partake in sex or drugs or both, she’d have done so more openly. His reputation for secrecy was flawless, and besides, Julian had a condensed history of her case records right here in front of him. Detective Moreno seemed to have a penchant for pursuing crimes against women. Clearly, her interest in him was professional.

Anger locked his jaw hard enough that his words barely slipped out. “No, Mr. Vaughn. I do not.”

“There hasn’t been so much as a mouse fart about this operation anywhere online,” Vaughn said carefully, which was smart on his part. Drawing attention to the fact that they’d unknowingly hosted a fucking police detective last night wouldn’t win him any favors with Julian’s foul temper right now. “I can assure you, Mr. DuPree, the cops know nothing.”

“While your vernacular is quite charming, your statement seems a bit inaccurate,” Julian shot back. “Detective Moreno was here, after all, so she knows
something
. The questions that remain are how and how much.”

A bitter taste filled Julian’s mouth. Oh, but he detested the police. A useless lot, far too easily fooled, blackmailed, or bought off with the promise of having their cocks sucked. They were just as weak as the rest of the men who frequented his parties, either ignorant or swayed by overindulgence and depravity.

But not Isabella. No. She, it seemed, was searching for justice, and that simply wouldn’t do. He needed to teach her a lesson about what happened to those insolent enough to challenge his power. The question was, how to hurt her best.

A thought turned over in Julian’s mind, and he focused his attention on the second sheet of paper Vaughn had brought him. “Mr. Walker is a curious companion for our Detective Moreno, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I’m not really sure how fire boy plays into things,” Vaughn agreed, shifting his weight from one beat-up sneaker to the other over the edge of the cream and blue Aubusson. “It’s definitely not standard operating procedure for the RPD to let a civilian tag along on any kind of undercover operation, even if the dude was kind of a badass in the Army. His record’s cleaner than most surgical instruments, so chances are he’s not an informant or here for the party, either.”

Julian thought of Walker’s brutish flashes of overprotective temper as well as the way he’d taken Isabella’s mouth so savagely in the alcove outside the penthouse doors, and no, the man wasn’t in this out of forced obligation or for the thrill like Julian’s other guests. But why would Detective Moreno bring such unconventional protection when surely, she had a partner in the intelligence unit?

It was just one of the many questions that needed answers, and Julian was not a patient man. “Run everything you can on both of them, and don’t sleep, eat, or so much as pause to use the bathroom until I get a full report.”

“You’re the boss,” Vaughn said. “Anything else?”

Julian took a moment to think. The information he’d tasked Vaughn with finding would dictate how best to eliminate Detective Moreno and Mr. Walker, but in the meantime, he could still give that bitch and her guard dog the dressing-down they deserved for daring to think they could expose him, not to mention dole out some well-earned punishments.

A plan unfolded in Julian’s brain, dark and twisted and absolutely perfect. Yes.
Yes
. This would do nicely.

He checked the Patek Philippe on his wrist before sending his gaze across his desk. “Do we still have access to the holding facility on Oakmont?”

“The flophouse by the pier in North Point?” Vaughn straightened at the censure Julian had channeled into his stare. Really, was the terminology so difficult to remember? “Uh, yeah,” Vaughn said. “That…facility is still vacant.”

“Excellent. Have Franco escort Angel there immediately. Oh, and instruct Charles to find Mr. Marcus and bring him as well. We’ll also need some pharmaceutical supplies to use as an accelerant for a fire.”

Shame, really. Now he’d have to replace one of his whores
and
find a new source for his heroin. But there was no sense in dirtying his hands on two separate occasions, and perhaps Angel would be encouraged to speak freely if she saw firsthand what happened to anyone who double-crossed him.

No matter if she wasn’t. Julian had a cure for insubordination, and he intended to use it until that dirty, drug-ravaged whore begged for mercy either way.

Vaughn’s brows popped in obvious surprise. “You want to set the place on fire? Don’t you think the cops will get suspicious when the RFD calls in the bodies?”

“The police are imbeciles who won’t see anything more than a drug dealer and a prostitute who were stupid enough to cook methamphetamines without proper ventilation,” Julian said. “The deaths will be ruled a sad accident, and will barely be a blip on the news outlets in three days’ time.”

Vaughn paused, tapping one finger against his lips before shaking his head and smiling. “Damn, Mr. DuPree. I’ve gotta tell you, that’s pretty brilliant. Turning that abandoned house into a fake meth lab won’t take much. I bet one of Franco’s associates would be willing to donate some supplies in exchange for an invite to next week’s party.”