Diamonds Are Truly Forever: An Agent Ex Novel 2 (15 page)

“A girl after my own heart,” Em said to the woman with the pitcher.

Always a flirt!

The woman smiled at him and returned to the counter.

“Nice is like pornography,” he said to Staci when the woman was out of earshot. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

“That’s sufficiently vague,” she said. “Leaves you plenty of wiggle room.”

He smiled and glanced at his watch. “Coffee break’s over. Time to get back to work.”

Which reminded her, “My groceries. The manager said to stop by customer service.”

“I’ll help you out with them.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “I insist.”

She wasn’t resisting.

Emmett stopped as they walked past the Redbox. “Let me get you the movies you were going to rent on your way out, on the Agency.”

“How did you know I was going to rent a movie?” she asked.

“I saw you looking at the kiosk when you walked in.” He tapped his temple. “A good spy is observant.
Red
and
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
sound good?”

“They sound great. But you really are too scary sometimes, Em. You read people’s minds too easily.”

*   *   *

Drew paused outside the front door of his condo with his key in hand. He was late coming home from the office. Overseeing the body’s removal, having an after-hours beer with his new Hook House co-workers, and stopping by the makeshift morgue to check on evidence had all taken longer than he expected.

He’d gotten away with moving Martel. No one suspected a thing. It was as if an execution never happened at Hook House. He wondered if the silence about the murder had rattled anyone’s cage. And if that person would crack and show themselves.

Damn, I’m a great brand manager.
If only the Hook House brass knew
how
good!

Drew’s body thrummed with a testosterone-laced adrenaline high. He could only liken it to euphoria mixed with lust. He hovered on the edge of frustration, full of pent-up want, needing release. He felt like celebrating. He felt like having hot, hard sex.

And now he was going to have to go into his own condo and face Staci, a woman who certainly didn’t want sex with him.

He took a deep breath and turned the key in the door. “Honey, I’m home!”

He tossed his keys on the sofa table in the entryway and set his laptop bag beside it. The house smelled like warm, melted chocolate, and chicken doused with wine sauce, and a whole host of other delectable smells he’d almost forgotten existed.

The kitchen table was covered with a white tablecloth and set for two, complete with two sputtering candles and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice.

Steam swirled from a pot of pasta bubbling on the stove.

Staci was in the kitchen. She stood next to the stove with her back to him, dousing slices of bread with garlic butter and Parmesan cheese. She wore a thin peach sundress with spaghetti straps that slid off her creamy shoulders. The hem of her dress fluttered and kissed her calves as she moved. She was barefoot. He didn’t know why he found that so sexy.

Oh, hell yes, he did. In the old days he would have cuddled up behind her, lifted her skirt, and had her before dinner.

Looking at the scene, it was hard for a man not to get the wrong impression.

“Oh good, you’re home. I hope you’re hungry,” she said as she turned the oven on and slid the pan of bread in under the broiler.

Oh, yeah, I’m hungry. Just not for dinner.

When she turned around, her face was flushed from the heat of cooking. A gentle sheen of perspiration glowed between her full, perky breasts.

The sight of her made his body go hard.

What he really needed was a cold shower. He forced his gaze from her before he lost control. He glanced around the kitchen.

A dark chocolate torte sat on a plate on the counter, along with a dozen chocolate cupcakes, and a plate of cream puffs. She’d been baking up a storm, which could only mean one thing. He hoped she was only upset about her lunch with her mother. Unfortunately, he estimated there were too many baked goods for something as simple as that.

He returned his gaze to her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He walked over and stood in front of her, trying hard not to stare down her dress as he put his hands on her bare shoulders.

She looked up with eyes that begged him to protect her.

“Someone tried to kill me today.” She threw her arms around him and pressed her head into his chest.

Fury collided with the adrenaline pulsating through him. He would have dashed off to kill whoever had gone after Staci, but she clung to him too tightly. And he meant too tightly for comfort. His comfort.

He put his arms around her. She was trembling.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “It’s okay.” He kissed the top of her head.

*   *   *

Staci hadn’t meant to throw herself into Drew’s arms, but once she got there, she couldn’t force herself to leave. Why did he have to feel so good, so strong, so reassuring?

It was like old times when being with Drew made her feel safe. Why didn’t she just pull away and ask him how his day was? Make her lies by omission and move on?

The gentle brush of his lips on her hair startled her. As she looked up, a lock of hair caught on her moist lips.

Before she could reach for it, Drew gently brushed it away. The heat of his fingers on her lips sent a ripple of desire through her. The look in his eyes was so strong and serious, so full of something powerful, she couldn’t look away. The combination was too commanding.

Her lips were trembling. She didn’t mean to kiss him, but when he leaned down, she went up on her toes and their lips met.

The trembling spark leaped into a raging fire. Drew didn’t just brush her lips, he took possession of them.

The next moment was a blur of desire and dancing tongues.

Drew dropped his hands to cup her butt, pressing against her as he slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders. She pulled his shirt loose from his pants and ran her hands over his hard abs and strong back.

They did a shuffle of sorts toward the sofa, kissing and groping. She unfastened his pants and pulled them down. He spun her around, kicked off his shoes, pants, and boxers, lifted her skirt, and toppled onto her.

He maneuvered around her thong panty and was in her in a single thrust.

She gasped, but she was ready for him,
so ready.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed him deeper into her as her skirt bunched around her.

We shouldn’t be doing this.

The thought didn’t stop her.

His hand slid beneath her dress and played with her breasts. She ran her fingers through his hair. She’d always loved his hair.

He thrust again.

She clenched a fistful of his hair.

And again. Harder.

She gasped as the pleasure built.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

Until her moan curled toward the ceiling.

She closed her eyes and arched back against him, riding the edge of building ecstasy, wanting release, feeling so close to Drew she wished this moment would never end.

She shuddered when crescendos of pleasure cascaded over and over her.

Drew groaned and clutched her before collapsing onto her. She was hot and sweaty and breathing hard. So was Drew.

And incredulous.

She released her grip on Drew’s hair and stared him in the eye, transfixed.
What just happened?

Unfortunately, there was no time to answer that question. She smelled smoke.

She lifted her head and looked over Drew’s shoulder, down the long length of his body, past his taut, naked butt, bare legs, and dress-sock-clad feet to the kitchen. An ominous black swirl of smoke wafted up from the oven.

“Drew … something’s smoking,” she whispered in his ear.

“We were smoking.”

“No, I mean, really smoking. Don’t you smell it? The garlic toast!”

The smoke alarm went off, screeching and cutting off further conversation.

Drew pulled out and started swearing, rushing to the kitchen in his shirt and socks and butt naked. He grabbed a pot holder, pulled the toast out of the oven, and dumped it into the sink where he doused it with water.

Staci sat up and coughed, pulled her skirt down, jumped up and ran to the smoke alarm, frantically trying to fan the smoke away from it and get it to stop buzzing. At last it turned off.

She looked at Drew and started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as he pulled the pot holder off and shut off the broiler.

She laughed harder and pointed at him.

He looked down at himself. “What? This is supposed to be impressive.”

She shook her head and lost it. “No, not you. This whole day. Everything.” She couldn’t stop laughing. Her sides shook so hard, she almost couldn’t breathe. She managed to sputter out, “Put your pants on so we can open a window.”

He pulled on his pants and cracked open the sliding glass door in the living room as he gave her a concerned look.

Thank goodness the blinds had been pulled this whole time.

Staci sat on the sofa with tears streaming down her face from laughing hysterically. She put her hands around her stomach. Why did she feel like crying?

Now that her emotional dam had burst, everything she’d been holding in all day broke loose. “This whole day. Everything. It’s a black comedy. A man tried to kill me in the grocery store. And now I nearly burned down the condo.”

Drew sat down beside her. “Not quite.” He handed her a paper towel to wipe her eyes with. “Rewind for a minute—who was trying to kill you?”

She took a deep breath. “A lecherous octogenarian on a motorized grocery cart. He copped a feel of my leg in the produce section.” Her shoulders shook and she started hiccuping. “He souped that cart up, too. He took the corner on two wheels.”

Drew stared at her as if she were crazy. “How?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a mechanic.” She tried to get a breath.

“How did he try to kill you?”

“First with a Brazilian wandering spider in the bananas. Then with a knife. In the soda row. Sounds like a game of Clue, but he was no Colonel Mustard.” She took another deep breath, trying to get a grip. “Turns out Grimley didn’t really need the scooter. He could walk on his own. He was surprisingly strong for someone with a weak heart.”

Drew frowned. “Grimley? He told you his name?”

“No, Em did. He was protecting me, which should come as no surprise to you. Do you know this Grimley?” She studied Drew and dabbed her eyes. He looked as if he knew Grimley, by reputation at least.

“He’s a dangerous man.” His tone was soft and reassuring. But he was holding himself taut, as if he was angry. “What happened?”

“I broke free. And then he had a heart attack and died. How was your day?” She was still hiccuping.

“Better than yours,” he said. “I found a dead body in the brewing room. Foreign agent.”

“Yeah, I’d say a dead body in the beer is a foreign agent. At least I hope it’s not a typical ingredient.” She couldn’t help herself. “Was he in a vat?”

“No, in a pile of hops. I was hiding the body beneath fifty-pound bags of it when you called.”

“Burial by hops, now that’s funny, in a black, black way.”

He nodded. “Yeah, in a black way.”

She took another breath. “Sounds like a great first day.” At last, she gained some control of herself. She dabbed her eyes with the paper towel again, and looked at Drew. “This can’t happen again.”

And she meant it.

“Laughing?” he said and sobered up.

She shook her head.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I don’t have enough renter’s insurance to cover a full-scale fire.”

She put her hand on his arm. “You
know
what I mean. Us. This was a one-off.”

His expression hardened. The look in his eyes was almost crestfallen. But that couldn’t be. Drew wanted this divorce as much as she did.

A sad thought occurred to her. “Is this all we ever were, Drew? A hormonal reaction to stress? The release to a spurt of adrenaline?”

He didn’t answer her question. “Let’s eat.” He stood, offered her a hand up, and led her to the kitchen.

Staci didn’t know what to think, feel, or say as she put the finishing touches on dinner and set it on the table.

Drew gestured to the piles of fresh-baked goods on the counter. “The old man in the grocery store, that’s what all this is about?”

She nodded, unable to look him in the eye.

“What really happened to him? A feel of your leg didn’t really give him such a sexual high that he keeled over?” He was trying to be humorous, but she detected a note of hurt and accusation in his voice.