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The movie had ended while they were talking. Cleo flipped the TV to a local station to catch the news. They were past the top stories, so whatever might have been said about Sebastian’s death and Annaliese’s arrest was already over.
As they moved to the local weather forecast—overcast and even possible rain for tomorrow—Alec shifted and tugged on his jeans at the inside of his thigh.
What was wrong with her? Well, besides the obvious that she was the most selfish sex partner in the world. She’d gotten so caught up in herself and her stupid hang ups she hadn’t even thought about the position she’d left him in.
That stops now.
She picked up the remote and turned off the TV.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked.
Instead of answering, she grabbed his hand and pushed herself off the couch. “Come on.”
“Where’re we going?” he asked as she towed him behind her.
“To fulfill a few fantasies.”
“Oh.” His smile was there in his voice.
She pulled him into the bedroom, shut the door behind them, and left him standing at the foot of the bed while she flipped on a bedside lamp. Returning to him, she gave his shoulders a sharp shove that toppled him backward onto the bed.
His eyes gleamed and his grin looked like it would take a blowtorch to remove.
“Scoot up,” she said.
Still grinning, he levered himself backward on his elbows.
She put one knee on the bed, grabbed the bottom of her shirt, and stripped it off over her head.
“Aw. And it’s not even my birthday,” he said.
His face was going to freeze with that silly grin on it.
She put her finger to her lips. “Sh.”
He watched closely as she slid her fingers under the waistband of her sweats. Just for the pleasure of watching him watch her, she gave a little shimmy as she slid them slowly down over her hips.
He drew a ragged breath.
And then she was naked while he lay on the bed still fully clothed.
Being naked always made her feel a little vulnerable, especially when she was the only one. She felt a twinge of that now, but the way he was looking at her, drinking her in with his eyes, made a sense of power swell inside her as well.
“You are so beautiful,” he said softly.
Emboldened but still a little nervous, she lifted one foot to the bed, shifting her hips forward slightly, displaying her most intimate parts. Where she found the courage was a mystery.
The smile dropped off his face to be replaced by a look of pure lust.
Her clit throbbed once, then again.
She hadn’t realized what heady stuff power could be. Addictive, really. His gaze locked on as she ran her fingers lightly up the thigh of her bent leg. She fingered the barbell piercing and, for the first time, felt as if she were the kind of woman who should wear intimate jewelry. Slowly, she traced a line across her stomach and up the slope of her breast to her nipple. Pausing here, straying there, almost touching this, brushing that.
His eyes stayed zeroed in on the path her fingers took as though he couldn’t look away.
Cupping her breast in one hand, she lifted the other hand to her mouth.
His attention snapped up.
Who was this woman who was brazen enough to close her lips around her finger then draw it slowly out? It couldn’t be her using that shiny, wet finger to moisten her nipple. She didn’t do things like that.
But apparently, with the right man, she did.
And she liked it. Even more, she loved the way he looked at her when she did it.
“Cleo, you’re killing me. Come here.”
Not yet. “Unzip your pants.”
With urgent movements, he fumbled with the snap then unzipped, hiked his hips off the bed, and shoved his pants down. His erection sprang free.
She grabbed the hemmed edges and pulled them down while he skinned off his shirt and tossed it across the room.
“Now come here, woman.”
She gave him what she hoped was a seductive smile and crawled onto the bed, approaching slowly in her best predator imitation.
As she came level with his groin, he reached down and stroked her face. She turned into his hand and caught his index finger between her teeth.
His cock jumped as he hissed in a breath.
Her nipples were so tight it was nearly painful not having him touch them, but she wasn’t ready to give up being in control. When she sucked his finger into her mouth, his breath hitched.
She released it and swiped her tongue up its length.
A shudder wracked his body.
Tilting her head down to she could look at him through her lashes, she gave him a Mona Lisa smile. His chest rose in shallow breaths, the air moving through parted lips.
She looked down at his erection. “What do we have here?” She flashed him an innocent look. “Do you think I should explore this?”
“Yes. Please.”
Like he could stop her at this point.
She lowered her head and licked the slit in his penis.
A faint moan made her look up. His eyes were closed under brows drawn together as though he was concentrating with all his might.
Fine. Let him concentrate on this.
She took him in her mouth, sliding down on him until he reached her throat.
He rewarded her with a strangled noise.
Giving head had never really been something she enjoyed, but it was different with him. If it pleased him—and it clearly did—she wanted to do it. She sucked as she pulled back, and his hips left the bed as though she was drawing him with her. She fought off a smile and went to work with a will, wanting more than anything to do this one thing better than anyone he’d ever known.
He let out a long, shuddering breath. “God, Cleo. That feels . . .”
Apparently, the man who talked a blue streak in bed couldn’t find the words to describe how it felt.
She massaged his balls, now drawn up tight, as she took him again and again and again.
He muttered something in Spanish then reached down and hooked his hands under her arms. Before she knew it, she was underneath him, and he was reaching across her to the nightstand. He jerked hard on the drawer, nearly pulling it out of its slot, reached in, and came back with a condom.
He ripped open the foil wrapper with his teeth then went up on his knees and sheathed himself in one swift, no-nonsense move.
“You,” he growled, looking down at her, “are about to have the ride of your life.”
She couldn’t tell if that was a promise or a threat. Either way, his words sent a thrill of anticipation through her.
He lowered himself onto his heels, pulled her onto his thighs, then with one hand, guided himself into position. Poised to enter her, he looked up to meet her eyes. “I am going to make you come like nothing you’ve ever imagined.”
His words made her shiver. “You already have. This was supposed to be for you.”
“No, babe. This is for us. Both of us.” He stroked across her piercing, and the shivery sensation broke through, racing across her skin.
He looked down at where he was pressed against her.
It’s a cheat he can see that and I can’t. But she could see the look on his face, and when he met her gaze, the want in his eyes hit her like a freight train. And when he eased himself into her, still looking at her, into her, all the way to the depths of her soul, she melted into a hot, gooey puddle of need.
When he was buried deep inside her, his head tipped back and his eyes fluttered shut, as though he could take in the feel of her inside him, the way she’d physically taken him inside her body.
In dozens of romance novels, she’d read about heroes worshiping the heroines’ bodies, but it had always seemed like a piece of romantic fantasy, no more real than vampire heroes or . . . or hobbits. At that moment, however, she felt adored. It was a stupid fantasy to embrace, especially with a man like him, but she had no will to reject it.
He lowered himself onto her. When they were face-to-face, he began slowly stroking in and out.
She’d once wondered what it would be like to have his bedroom eyes gaze into hers during sex.
Her imagination had been woefully inadequate.
It was as though they’d created a magnetic connection too strong for either of them to break. Not that she tried because the connection was as addicting as heroin.
Their bodies maintained a slow rhythm but, even though it seemed to lack urgency, something inside her ratcheted tighter with each exquisite, torturous stroke.
“Cleo,” he said on a soft breath. Not a question. Not a statement. Not even an acknowledgement. Maybe . . . a prayer? And then his jaw tightened and his teeth clenched. His eyes closed and he let out a roar.
Whatever had held her earthbound shattered. She arched into him and went into orbit.
Before she’d even returned to earth, she thought, That wasn’t sex.
She’d had sex before, and that wasn’t what this had been. This had been something completely different.
We made love.
She’d thought she’d done that before, too, but she’d been wrong.
He was still laying on her, a heavy, boneless mass of satiation.
With a sense of wonder, she traced the line of his back with her fingertips, feeling the muscle and bone of this amazing man.
He nuzzled his way through her hair to nip an earlobe. “You are a wanton woman,” he said on a deep exhale.
A wanton woman. She liked the way that made her sound all Mata Hari.
He braced himself on his elbows and looked down at her. “Was it good for you?”
“You have to ask?”
His face blanked. She wasn’t sure what she’d said wrong, but somehow she’d screwed up. He rolled off her onto his side and propped his head on his fist. “Well, you know. I don’t relish the idea of you telling someone someday that you didn’t have as many orgasms with me as I think you did.”
Oh hell. She should never have told him that.
“I mean I think you had a good time just now. If you didn’t, you should get an academy award for that performance, but I don’t want to break my arm patting myself on the back.”
Having to reassure him—something she’d never expected she’d need to do—was popping her bubble of euphoria, but she took a deep breath and sucked it up. It was, after all, her fault for not having lied to him about her experiences with Martin. “Alec, it was fantastic. My bones are mush. Every cell in my body is singing in three-part harmony.”
His expression softened, his lips twitching. “Let’s stop before you start telling me I’m the best you ever had.”
He was the best she’d ever had. Of course now that would sound like the phoniest line ever. “I’ve screwed this up, haven’t I? You’re never going to believe I’m enjoying myself, are you?”
“I just want you to be honest with me.”
She wasn’t even being honest with him outside the bedroom. Not when she was considering Martin’s proposal to steal this story and take it to The Sun. It nearly choked her to say, “I am being honest. I’ve never enjoyed sex this much.”
His eyes warmed. “I like hearing that.” His chest inflated with the breath he drew. “And so far, I believe you.” The light in his eyes dimmed a little. “I want to keep on believing that, so I want a promise from you.”
“What?”
“If you’re not in the mood or you lose interest somewhere along the line, you tell me.”
“I . . . I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because . . . You men have such fragile egos―”
His eyebrows shot up to get lost under his messy hair. “Fragile? You think my ego’s fragile?”
“Let me finish. In the bedroom. Your egos are fragile in the bedroom.”
“Well, maybe. Sometimes. But that’s partly your fault. Not you personally.” He paused. “Well, yes, you personally.”
She opened her mouth to protest.
“Because you play-act. You—and the other women out there—encourage us to think we’ve done a good job when we haven’t. I’m not saying we don’t pressure you to do it.” He paused again. “I guess both sexes contribute. I just don’t like not knowing if it’s real.”
Honesty was supposed to be a good thing, but that one little comment was going to haunt her forever. Next time a man asked, she was going to lie her head off. “So I guess we’re at an impasse.”
“No. I don’t want to accept that.” He rolled his lips into a thin line. “We don’t have to keep up the pretense if we don’t want to, so how about this? If you’re really not in the mood, say so. Trust me. I’ll live. But let’s see . . . How did you phrase that? If you want to ‘move it along,’ you can tell me that, too.”
“What do I say? ‘Hey, buddy, you’re cutting into my beauty sleep?’ Or maybe ‘cut to the chase?’” Yeah, sure. She could imagine whispering that into his ear. Not. “Or do you have a Reader’s Digest condensed version of this story?”
He laughed. “Well, that would work, but maybe we could find something a little more diplomatic to signal you want to turn it into a quickie.”
“That!” She pointed, suddenly excited. “I could say that.”
“What?”
“Give me a quickie.” It would be almost like saying supersize me at McDonald’s. “Are you sure your ego won’t be crushed?”
“Good grief, woman, you really do think our egos are that fragile? No, my ego won’t be crushed. As long as you don’t say it every time.”
“No chance of that.” She really did like sex with him. She liked making love even more.
For a moment, she almost forgot this wasn’t going to last beyond their last day in Las Vegas.
~***~
Afterwards, he drew her close, and she laid her head on his chest, his arm around her shoulders. His fingers traced little circles on her upper arm, and she returned to basking in the afterglow for all of thirty seconds before her mind turned to the problem of how to get into Sebastian’s inner sanctum. Her thoughts made her want to fidget, but she was pretty sure afterglow was supposed to last longer, so she fought it down. He would probably be insulted if he knew her brain had turned to practical matters so quickly.
“How did you figure out Jada was there that night?” he asked in a musing, relaxed voice.
For a moment, she thought she could fall in love with him. Not having to pretend she wasn’t already thinking about something other than how he rocked her world made her feel safe. As though he accepted her for who she was.
Then she realized she hadn’t told him about her chat with Loretta. Would he be mad she’d gone without him?
Damn. Partnerships were hard.
She told him about her afternoon. As she finished, she said, “Loretta doesn’t think Annaliese did it.”
“Unfortunately, what the cops care about is evidence.”
“Their evidence is circumstantial. They don’t even have a motive.”
“They’re probably assuming the motive has to do with his womanizing,” he said. “Sooner or later—probably sooner—they’re going to look at her finances. They’re going to want to know about that deposit you made into her account. What are you going to tell them?”
Cleo tensed. That damned deposit. “I don’t know. That I want my lawyer there?” Even though that’s what Danny had advised, she was still half-kidding, but Alec hiked an eyebrow and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was: lawyering up would make her look guilty of . . . something.
She ran her hand over his chest. Odd how soothing touching him was. “The only proof that she owed him money is the marker she signed. If I could find it before it surfaces . . .” She wetted her lips with her tongue. She’d thought about searching for the marker several times. She couldn’t quite figure out how to attack it, but the idea kept nagging at her. She was sure he’d have a long list of reasons why a search would be futile, but Danny had thought it might still be out there. “The marker has to be either in his office or his suite. I need to get in there to search for it.”
“The police have undoubtedly already gone through everything.” He took a minute to study her face. “But that’s not going to sway you, is it?”
“Unless you’ve got a better idea, no, probably not.”
He sighed. “Well, who knows? Maybe they missed it. How do you plan to get access?”
Her heart sang a little. His willingness to let her do this crazy thing was more than she’d expected. Then the song died off. Taking the story to Martin seemed like stabbing Alec in the back. Did she really want her old life back that badly? It was hard to give up a dream she’d worked so long for. Maybe she could convince Alec to go to The Sun with her. But of course, that was a pipe dream. He worked for a tabloid. No self-respecting paper would touch him even if he wanted to work for them. And she already knew he didn’t.
“Cleo?” Alec said. “How are we going to pull off this treasure hunt of yours?”
She sighed. People didn’t get to have their cake and eat it too; she knew that, so she let go of her fantasy of working with Alec at someplace reputable to deal with the current problem. And then what he’d said clicked. “We? You’re going to help me?”
“Sure. Why not? I haven’t written an inside-our-prisons story yet.”
The risk of that was too real for her to find his joke funny. Was this man really willing to risk prison for her? Could he be falling for her a little?
Get real. Any risks he took were for the story. But that was okay, she told herself. He was still there for her, and that’s what counted. “I think the marker has to be in Sebastian’s suite.”
“That’s the crime scene. I’m sure the cops have been through everything there. I don’t see how they could have missed it. What about his office? They may have looked there, but Bales strikes me as pretty territorial. I’ll bet she kept them from digging too deep.”
“It’s possible. I still think it’s in the suite. It’s something I feel in my gut.”
He curled a strand of her hair around his finger. “And your gut’s infallible?”
“No. Not infallible. It’s pretty reliable, though. And I have a Pulitzer nomination to prove it.”
He grinned. “I love confident women. Okay. How do we get into the suite?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Well, while you’re working on that, I think we should take a stab at his office.”
“How? Even if Bales isn’t guarding it, we’d have to get past the receptionist.”
“Not if we go in after everyone has left.”
“So we go in the middle of the night? Because this is an eighty-hour-workweek crowd in a city that doesn’t sleep.”
“I’ve got a better idea. We go in during the memorial service.”
She pushed herself up so she could lean on one arm and look down at him. “There’s going to be a memorial?”
“On Tuesday.”
She would have liked to go. Sebastian hadn’t always been a wonderful person, but he’d been good to her. But he’d understand; her mother’s freedom was a higher priority.
“That’s actually a good idea.” None of the executives would miss the memorial. It would look bad. “Okay, Houdini. How do we deal with the locked doors?”
There would be three. The outer glass doors of the executive suite, the door that led to Bales’ office, and the door into Sebastian’s office. Bales might not lock the inner door, but they couldn’t count on that.
Alec smirked at her. “That’s easier than you think. I go to see Bales and slap a lockdown magnet on the doors.”
“A lockdown magnet? What’s that?”
“Some schools are using them. They’re flat, kind of like those advertising magnets you get from businesses for your fridge, but they’re heavy-duty and they go over the door’s strike plate.” He used his fingers to frame a space about one inch wide. “When it’s in place, the door won’t lock, but if there’s a threat inside the school, the teacher removes the magnet, the door locks, and they’re secure. No key or pass card required.”
“Let me guess. You did a story about school shootings.”
“Nope. I did a story about preventing the tragedies. These magnets are just one of the things I learned. They’re low tech, but they work.”
“Sounds slick.” It also sounded like a plan. It was the best gift he could have given her.