Decoy (3 page)

“Easy, it’ll be all right,” Roarke
whispered, sensing her increasing alarm and trying to calm her. “You must know
how bad
I want you. I’ve been aching for
weeks. Block them out and pretend we’re alone. Pretend we’re acting out a
wicked fantasy. “

Melanie focused on the two of them.
She inhaled deeply, smelling Roarke, his
arousal and her own. She clung to his neck and slowly shifted lower. Her
over-sensitized nipples brushed the tight curls of his chest, making them tight
and achy again.

Then she lowered herself another inch or
so until she felt his penis brushing against her vagina. Roarke
inhaled roughly at the contact and she tried to
ease down over him but grew frustrated. She couldn’t reach him with
her legs dangling
over
the arms of the chair. It took some shifting for her to untangle herself and
get repositioned. As she lowered herself, he lifted his hips the distance it
took to make the first thrust.

Despite her wetness, the process was
agonizingly slow. Damn, but he was thick and hard. She quivered with raw need,
feeling impaled by his steely strength. They were both breathing in rasping
pants by the time he had filled her to the hilt. She held perfectly still,
adjusting to the size and feel of him.

“Enough foreplay,” growled Clayburn.
“We’re wasting time. I want more heavy action in this video. How else will it
be worth my trouble?”

Melanie heard his words, but they were
distance rumbles of sound. Her pulse thudded in her ears, drowning out
everything but the sound of her own labored breathing. Blood scorched a fire
through her veins and pulsed heavily where her body joined with Roarke’s. He
made a wild sound of need, squirming beneath her, and she responded by pumping
herself up and down on his straining flesh.

Despite their limited maneuverability, their
passion swiftly reached a fever pitch. Flesh pounded flesh with his rock-hard
shaft ramming into her until they were raging out of control, coming
explosively, their bodies shuddering in long, hard climax.

On a wild cry of satisfaction, she
collapsed against him, relaxing her death grip on his shoulders and fighting
for breath. Their chests heaved, their sweat-slick flesh trembling in the
aftermath of an
incredible release. Clayburn
shouted his satisfaction, calling it wrap. He
switched off the camera and ordered his goons to grab Melanie.

She tensed again and felt renewed tension
ripple through Roarke. Then someone started pounding at the door.

“Police! Open up!”

Clayburn
swore
violently. “Out the side way,” he instructed his men. “Forget the woman,” he
added as they headed toward the opposite side of the room.

“Open the door or we’ll knock it down,”
threatened Lieutenant Talbot.

Never had a voice been so welcome. The
instant Clayburn
left the room, Melanie
jerked off the bandana they’d used to blindfold her. She blinked as her eyes
adjusted to the light as gunshots were fired at the lock on the hallway door.

“Get behind the chair.”

She knew Roarke would shield her as much
as possible, but there was little she could do for him. Still, she dropped the
bandana in his lap in case any female officers had accompanied the lieutenant.

In another instant, the door crashed open
and police officers, weapons drawn, rushed into the room.

“The side door,” Roarke told them.

“We’ve got it covered from both ends,”
said Lieutenant Talbot. He summed up the situation in a heartbeat, shrugging
off his sport jacket as he motioned a couple officers toward the side entrance
and told the others to stay in the hallway. He quickly moved towards them and
offered his jacket to Melanie.

While she was shoving her arms into the
sleeves, he was freeing Roarke from his bonds. “Clayburn has a video,” Roarke
explained, rubbing his arms as circulation returned. “Nobody sees it. If
anybody so much as touches it, I’ll destroy the other video and refuse to
cooperate.”

He and the lieutenant exchanged long,
hard stares, but then Talbot nodded.

“Your word of honor,” insisted Roarke.

“You’ve got it.”

Another officer supplied a shirt, and
Roarke tied it around his waist. He should have looked ridiculous, but he
looked like a pagan warrior, all hard and muscled and fierce. His dark hair was
tousled, his body bruised and his blue eyes burning with anger. He made a move
toward Melanie, but then the side door reopened. Four police officers had
Clayburn and his goons surrounded and handcuffed.

“Take the two flunkies out to the paddy
wagon,” ordered Talbot. “Smith and Larson, stand guard in the hallway until
we’re ready to take Clayburn.”

As the officers left the room, he took
possession of the camera.

“That’s evidence. You’re sworn to protect
it and me,” snapped Clayburn, smirking, yet wary.

“Accidents happen,” countered the
lieutenant.

Talbot opened the camera and let the
video slide to the floor. Then he stomped on it several times.

“I didn’t touch it, but I think the
film’s exposed and destroyed,” he assured Roarke. “That satisfy you?”

“I want five minutes,” Roarke replied on
a low, feral growl.

Melanie had seen him angry before, but
never as coldly, dangerously furious as he looked at the minute. He was literally
vibrating with it. S
he glanced at Clayburn, saw him begin
to sweat and she smiled.

“You’ve got it,” said Talbot, “but keep
it neat and don’t kill him, or I’ll have to throw you in jail.”

Roarke merely nodded, his total attention
focused on his quarry. The lieutenant ushered Melanie from the room. She stood
quietly in the hall and listened to the sound of flesh pounding flesh,
wondering idly how Clayburn liked being defenseless and brutalized. After a few
minutes, she heard him sobbing, then begging. She didn’t know exactly how
Roarke was me
e
ting
out punishment, but neither did she care.

Chapter
2

It was well after midnight when Roarke
pulled his car to a stop in front of Melanie's apartment building. They'd
showered and borrowed clean clothes at the precinct. Then they’d given their
statements. He'd produced the video of Clayburn
filming
his wife's death, and hoped the slime
ball's
fondness for filmmaking would
lead him
straight to death row.

Melanie had cooperated fully, but she'd
only spoken when necessary. She hadn't looked him directly in the eyes since
they'd been rescued. She'd agreed to let him drive her home, but hadn't said a
word during the ten-minute ride. Now the silence between them seemed especially
loud. He didn't know what to say or how to make things right with her. He'd
never forgive himself or the lieutenant for causing her so much shame and
embarrassment, even though the sex had been so incredible his gut tightened
every time he let his thoughts drift to her responsiveness.

On top of it all, he ached to have her in
his arms, to sink into her body and lose himself in her sensual warmth. He got
hard just thinking about it; and had needed to guard his thoughts all evening
or
and
hide an
erection. For months he'd fantasized about making love to her, but nothing
could compare to the reality, even under
the
bizarre circumstances. The sight of her naked and trembling had sent his blood
pounding in his loins. No way could he have resisted her once she was close
enough to feel, smell and taste.

Now he wondered if she hated him for not
having more control, hated him for not keeping her safe from harm or just hated
the fact that she'd met him.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said softly,
reaching for the handle.

“I'll walk you to the door.”

When she didn't argue, he climbed from
the car and moved to her side.

A tension filled silence continued as
they crossed the sidewalk and entered the building. The hallway was empty and
dimly lit. Melanie moved to the second door on the right, and inserted her key
in the lock. When she turned to say goodnight, Roarke moved closer, forcing her
to look up at him. Her face was pale, the creamy skin at the corner of her eyes
still red and irritated from the blindfold. He clenched his hands in anger. It
just wouldn’t quit eating at him.

“You're still angry,” she whispered, her
lips trembling slightly.

“No. Yes,” he contradicted himself,
wanting only honesty between them. “I'm damned pissed about the whole
situation. But not at you. Never at you,” he argued gruffly, sinking a hand
into her dark auburn hair. The feel brought a mental image of the same
beautiful, springy curls at the apex of her thighs. His body tightened at the
memory.

He cupped her head in his hands and
stroked a thumb over her cheek. When she didn't shift from his touch, it
encouraged him to continue. “We need to talk.”

Her tongue flicked out to moisten her
lips, and she swallowed nervously. The small sexy actions made his muscles coil
tighter.

“It might be better if we talk another
time. We're both feeling a little raw tonight,” she reminded.

He hesitated, wondering if she really
wanted him gone. If so, why hadn't she refused his offer of a ride?

“You're not afraid of me, are you, Mel?”
He caressed her neck, loving the feel of her soft, warm flesh. “
I
know I can be a brute, and I lost my temper a couple times, but I didn't mean
to scare you.”

He'd pounded Clayton to a pulp, mashed
his balls, and then raged like a madman at Talbot for getting Melanie involved.
She probably thought he was a raving maniac. The lingering anger that pulsed in
his gut was directed at himself, not her.

“I think you had plenty of reason to
vent,” she said, a slight smile curving her lips.

For the first time in hours, he saw her
eyes light with amusement.

“And maybe it's wicked of me,” she added,
“
but I'm glad you gave Clayburn back a
little of his own medicine. The penal system will be too lenient.”

Relief flooded over him. “Does that mean
I'm forgiven?”

He watched her brows crease in a frown.
“Why do you think you need my forgiveness?” she asked.

His laugh was harsh. “Let me count the
ways
—
one,
our attraction for each other got you hurt and humiliated; two, I couldn't
protect you from Clayburn and his henchmen; three, I couldn't control my desire
for you even though I knew you didn't want forced sex.” He paused briefly
before deciding to be completely honest and go for broke. “And four, I still
want you so bad that I ache with it.”

Melanie's big green eyes widened in
surprise. Her breathing grew a little shallow as her gaze locked with his. He
felt a new, sharper tension invade her body, and shifted closer, pressing his
chest against hers until he felt the soft fullness of her breasts crushed
against him. S
wallowing a moan, he remembered her
braless state. The knowledge had been driving him crazy every since they'd
donned their borrowed clothes. He wanted his hands on her breasts and plenty of
time to enjoy them. He wanted to feel the silky skin he'd only felt and tasted
with his mouth, but first he had to know she wanted it just as much.

“You still want me?” she whispered. “I
thought you'd hate me after today. I knew you'd be furious about me acting as a
decoy, but I was so worried about you.” She sighed deeply before continuing in
a near-whisper. “Then we were forced to have sex even though you've made it
clear you don't want to get involved with me.”

“I've changed my mind about that,” he
told her, leaning down to brush a kiss across her lips. They were as soft and
luscious as he'd thought earlier. He nibbled gently, and then flicked a tongue
over the bruised corners. Only a fool would have resisted her so long. He was a
fool for not making every minute count. If she'd have him, he intended to
correct that mistake.

When she returned his tentative caress,
he clutched her head tighter and deepened the kiss. Thrusting his tongue into
her mouth, he explored every inch of the hot, sweet space. Then she caught it
and began to cautiously suck him.

He went up in flames. “Invite me inside,”
he pleaded roughly, rocking his hips against hers so that she could feel what
she was doing to him.

In response, she grabbed his hand, tugged
him through her door and then slammed it shut behind them. Once inside, she
didn't bother with lights, but turned more fully into his arms and lifted her
face to his again. Roarke grasped her head in both hands and devoured her
mouth. When she moaned, he remembered her tenderness and eased the pressure.
His own mouth was sore, but he was too hungry to care.

“Tell me you want me as much as I want
you.”

“I want you more.”

“Tell me you want me right here and now.”

“Right here and now,” she agreed,
reaching for the buttons of his shirt and tugging them from the holes.

He didn't need any further encouragement.
Her borrowed dress was made out of some knit material. Grabbing the hem, he
pulled it up her body and over her head, baring her firm, round breasts. He
moaned, grasping her by the waist and lifting her until he could take a taut
nipple into his mouth. She cried out when he began to suckle, and he remembered
the clamps. Using his tongue, he worshiped each breast, licking and blowing on
them until her breathing grew erratic. She clutched
fists full
fistfuls
of
his hair, urging him to suck harder and deeper. He happily complied until she
was writhing in his arms.