Stealing His Thunder (Masters of Adrenaline) (3 page)

Her mouth opened and closed a few times as though she was thinking of snappy responses but then reconsidered saying them aloud. His dick was hard and he was pretty sure it was stealing some of the blood flow from his brain.

The girl reached out and dug her fingers into the fabric of his T-shirt, then pulled him close. Her mouth closed over his, insistent, demanding. She tasted like fresh air, the smell of ozone seeming sharper around her. Every molecule in his body was painfully awake—adrenaline surged through him like it had when he was young and stupid and running from the cops. He considered pushing her away, not wanting to let his attraction to her cloud his judgment. The life he led was no place for a suburban kid looking for a thrill.

But pushing her away was beyond him.

The initial forceful kiss gave way to something less full of bravado. Sweet and tentative, unsure of herself, she tried to get him to respond. Her tongue brushed at his lips, and he parted them, giving her access but not reciprocating, even though his cock throbbed painfully. The growly dominant parts of his psyche weren’t happy about being held back.

Eventually she stopped trying and pulled away. She let go of his shirt and retreated. He followed, backing her up until she bumped into the side of his car.

Nowhere to go now, little girl.

“Is that how you plan to get ahead in the world? If someone doesn’t want to work with you, you’ll kiss them?” He turned his head and spat, as though he was disgusted with her. She flinched, but didn’t turn away. “There are men in this business who won’t care that you’re beautiful. Actually, it’ll probably be a liability. There are no sexual harassment training videos and no security guards. You’ll either have to be charming or dangerous to get by. Possibly both. Why don’t you go home and take up something safer, like bungee jumping or skydiving?”

If he thought she was cowed, the smirk set him straight. “Why don’t you?”

The challenge in her gaze forced his body to respond. Without thinking, he pinned her against the car, one arm on either side of her, his body pressing her back against its unyielding frame. If he’d brought a sexier car, he might have been forced to see how she looked on the hood. When she didn’t object to being caught there, he kissed her, needing that much but denying himself more. He was going to pull away and send her packing . . . in a minute . . .

She responded with reckless enthusiasm. Their kisses turned bruising and desperate. His hand tangled cruelly in her hair and she moaned into his mouth. When he ground against her, she reciprocated, and her hands slid up into his shirt, making him shiver. Control was slipping from his grasp. Her fingers abandoned their exploration of his chest and back muscles, and she fumbled with the button of his jeans. He shoved her hands away, not willing to let her rush him, even though his body was calling him an idiot.

Instead, he forced his thigh up between hers and pressed it against her pussy. Her breath caught and in a heartbeat her eyes went from surprised to unfocused. Heat radiated through her jeans, and he wanted to slip his hand into them to see if she was wet too. He could feel her trying not to move, but she squirmed subtly against his thigh, making him ache to be inside her.

One of his hands found its way into her shirt. He mauled her breasts through her bra, the feel of them against his palms and the bump of her hard nipples between his fingers inciting his cruelty. Rough handling didn’t seem to bother her. She whimpered, her kisses punctuated with small sounds of desperation.

“What’s wrong? Should I stop?” His voice was rough, but he wasn’t feeling very civilized.

“Oh god, no. Please don’t stop.”

The words sent an electric surge through him, and he felt like Frankenstein’s monster waking from death—alive, out of control, in danger of going on a rampage. He wanted this woman in every vulgar, uncivilized way he could think of. He wanted to show her body, and her, who the alpha was in this equation. It sure as fuck wasn’t her. At that moment, it might not even have been him. His body was trying to take over his good sense.

Shit. He was supposed to be getting rid of her, not making out with her.

Unable to resist, he kissed her one more time, long and gentle, which wasn’t what either of them wanted.

When he pulled away, he forced himself to give her a cold look. “Stop following me.”

She stumbled a few steps away and stared at him in confusion.

“But what—why?” She blinked at him.

“Because this isn’t a game, little girl. If you keep following me around, you’re going to get hurt. I don’t want that on my conscience.” He got into the car and put it in drive, but kept his foot on the brake.

Brow furrowed, she stood there, looking lost.

He drove away before he put the car back in park and did something he wouldn’t regret in the slightest.

Addison poked at her roast beef with her fork. Sunday dinner at her parents’ house meant one of the three meal options: meat loaf with frozen French fries, overcooked roast beef and potatoes, or chicken casserole. Predictable made her father happy.

“How’s school?” her dad asked.

She took a break from playing with the last potato on her plate and looked at her dad. Years in middle-management hadn’t done Roger Kennedy any favors in regards to his health. His big gut and pale skin spoke of hours spent in an office of, coincidentally, an office supply store. His thick glasses and growing bald spot made him look older than he was. She wished he’d take up hiking or something to keep himself active. Even bowling would be better than TV marathons. But, the man had a heart of gold.

“Good,” she answered.

“Only a year or so until graduation.” He grinned at her. “Have you thought about where you want to do an internship yet?”

The reminder that her future loomed made the overly familiar roast beef less palatable. “It’s on my to-do list.”

Truthfully, she’d been avoiding the internship thing. She was hoping if she ignored the fact that graduate school was more than almost over and she had unpleasant decisions ahead of her, maybe it wouldn’t happen. Maybe the universe would hit the pause button and things could stay as they were for a little while longer.

Giving her classes a half-hearted effort hadn’t affected her test scores enough to lose her STEM scholarship. She felt a little guilty wasting it, but it was only March. Graduation was still over a year away, but that still didn’t leave much time until the end of life as she knew it. She’d already postponed it by entering the master’s of electrical engineering program and dropping to part-time. But she couldn’t hide from life by staying in school forever.

The lure of a regular paycheck—more than the minimum wage she made at the electronics store—tempted her to suck it up and face the real world. With more money coming in, she could pursue other . . . hobbies that gave her the charge she needed to avoid feeling dead inside.

The topic of careers made her stomach churn.

A buzzer went off in the kitchen and she was glad for the distraction.

“That’s the pie,” her mom said, placing her napkin on the table. “Oh! Before I forget, Addison, there’s an Extreme Scrapbooking class on Saturday at the community center.”

Her fork paused its poking. “Extreme Scrapbooking?”

Her mom bustled into the attached kitchen. “Twenty pages in six hours!”

Normally, Addison would be up for anything with the word “extreme” in it, but scrapbooking didn’t exactly evoke much of a sense of danger. What was so extreme about scrapbooking? Paper cuts?

“Do you want to go, sweetie?” she said, bent over the open oven.

I’d rather stick this fork in my eye, Mom
. She felt bad for thinking it as soon as the thought crossed her mind.

“Saturday?” Addison pretended to consider it. It was nice that her mom wanted to include her in things, but handling six whole hours of scrapbooking and people making polite conversation was a bit much. “Um. Sorry. I have plans.”

Her mom walked back in, carrying a steaming pie with crocheted potholders. “What kind of plans? A
date
?” Her mom’s smile widened and Addison knew that was her ticket out of this.

“Yes, a date,” she agreed. It was sort of true. She had a date with Fox, even if he didn’t know it yet. Some would call it “stalking,” but she preferred the term “aggressive pursuing.”

“Oh.” Her mom placed the pie on the table. In contrast to Addison’s dad, her mom had aged well. Like most women over fifty, Marilyn wore her brown hair short—as if it were a societal rule. Her smile was kind but shy. Once Addison had become too old to need a stay-at-home mom, she’d gone back to work as a receptionist at a dentist’s office, so her teeth were always shiny white. “It’s been so long since Jeremy, I was beginning to think maybe you were a . . . lesbian.”

Her ex hadn’t done much for her in the bedroom. Why was it guys were either sweet outside the bedroom but tame inside, or assholes in both places? Couldn’t she find someone with a little bit of both? Sweetness and edge.

Addison rolled her eyes. “I’m not a lesbian, Mom. I’m . . .” She paused. “Wait. If I
was
a lesbian, what would be wrong with that?”

“Nothing!” Mom wiped her hands on her apron. “Nothing at all. It’s just something a mother likes to know.” After sitting primly in her seat, she glanced at Addison hesitantly. “Joyce’s daughter just married her lesbian girlfriend. She brought the photos to our last scrapbooking event. They were so gorgeous! All the Scrappers were jealous.” She smiled in delight. “Two wedding dresses! Can you imagine?” Her mom’s friends called themselves the Scrappers—like they were some kind of menopausal gang armed with decorative scissors and double-sided tape.

“Mom.” Addison gave her a sidelong glance. “Are you saying you want me to be a lesbian so you can make a better scrapbook than your friends? ’Cause I’m gonna tell you now . . . it’s cock for me.”

Her mother gasped and her dad choked on his food. She should’ve felt guilty but someone had to keep them on their toes. Watching too much TV and doing needlepoint for hours was going to rot their brains.

But yeah. She was into guys. And not just any guy at this point. Fox, specifically.

After that panty-melting kiss, she was hooked. He was her newest high and she wanted to ride it, and him, again. Too bad he seemed adamant about pushing her away. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take a hint, but when a man kissed a girl like that, he didn’t really mean for her to go away, did he? Not only did he have a body to die for and a swagger that could make a girl swoon, but he held the promise of the kind of future she wanted—one filled with excitement and challenge. She just had to convince him he wanted her too.

“Um . . .” Her father blinked several times, as though his mind was trying to erase what it had just heard. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate dinner conversation, but thanks for the update.”

He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin that had been folded like a swan beside his plate. But even the napkin origami didn’t disguise the two empty spots at the table. Sunday dinner without her grandparents still felt wrong.

“How are Gran and Gramps?” she asked, deciding even a painful topic was better than the current one.

Her mother sighed. “Well, you know how it is. I’ve been driving Gran back and forth every day, but she hates leaving him with strangers. It’s so busy there, and he gets upset about the noise. Without her there to calm him down he can get pretty agitated. No matter how good the staff is, they can’t soothe him like Gran can.” Tears threatened to spill from her mom’s eyes, but didn’t. Was she already becoming resigned to it?

The way Addison’s father reached out automatically and squeezed her mom’s hand was beautiful in its simplicity. As tame as her parents were, they sincerely loved each other, just as much as her grandparents did—at least, the ones on her mom’s side.

“We can still sell the house,” her father said, and her mother waved the dismissal she always did when the subject came up. “A real estate agent came by the other day and said they were looking for houses to sell in the neighborhood. Apparently, young families are buying the suburbs right now and developers can’t move fast enough to keep up.”

Her mother sighed. “I know you love my parents, too, Roger, but what about us? Where are we going to live?”

“If we invest the money, we might be able to pay rent on one of the married units at the home for your parents, and buy a decent older condo. Addison is grown up now. I’m sure she could handle it.”

Addison wanted her grandparents together and happy more than anything, but a small, selfish part of her would be sad to let go of the house where she’d grown up. She’d always thought she’d buy her parents out when they decided they wanted to downsize, but she was nowhere near financially ready for that. But even if she had the cash on hand, owning a house at her age? It seemed so . . . final.

“I guess we could get an appraisal, in case we decide to go that route.” The way her parents were gazing at each other, as though in silent communication, made her think they were getting used to the idea, which worried her. She wasn’t okay with it. Not just for her sake, but for her parents’. They had put so much time into this house. They loved it here and were close to their neighbors and would happily have lived here forever if money hadn’t gotten in the way.

If only she could get money fast. There was the car thing, but how could she even sell a boosted car? Fox knew the answer to that—but would he tell her?

Speaking of which, she checked the tracking app she’d designed for her phone. Fox was on the move, heading toward the city. Abruptly, she stood up, bumping the table.

“Where are you going?” her mother asked.

“Uhh.” She stared at her phone, itching to be on the road with him. “I have someone I . . . have to see.” Another truth. “It’s important.” On her way to the door, she grabbed her purse off the coffee table.

“Wait!” her mom cried, following her. “I made you a new pillow.” She plucked a pink puffy square from the couch and shoved it into Addison’s arms.

She winced and looked down at the gift. In purple stitching, it read
I’D RATHER BE IN PARIS
.
It could join the other fifty needlepoint pillows on her bed, but how could she say no to something her mother made with love? She kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I love it.” She desperately needed a grandchild to spoil. Just not anytime in the next decade.

“See you next week, honey.”

She gave her mom a quick hug then flew to the door. “Love you, Dad!” she shouted on her way out.

In her car, she set up her phone on the dash so she could follow Fox’s trail. She cleared her concern for her grandparents from her mind. She tried not to think about how upset her family would be if they discovered her half-baked plan. They’d say her own future was more important than her grandpa being comfortable at the end of his life. But watching Gran and Gramps suffer was too much for her or her parents to bear.

She barely kept from tearing up. If she was going to get Fox’s help, she had to be smooth, not emotional.

Focus. Think about the quarry.

A visual of the sexy thief rose in her mind, distracting her from thoughts of how short a time people were given on this earth.

He was going to be so pissed when he realized she’d planted a tracking device on his car. What would he do when he found out? The possibilities were delicious and made her want to tell him as soon as possible. Her imagination started to build fantasies about his possible reactions, fed by the memory of his body pressed up against hers, the way he took control when he kissed her, commanding her with his mouth.

Ugh. She could come from another kiss like that. Sexy, evil man.

Time to push that out of her mind and focus. She had a fox to catch.

***

Rave music poured into the hot night every time the door to the club opened and a patron walked out. There were more leaving than being allowed in. She grunted in frustration.

He was in there. Fox. He’d walked in with two other men. She’d watched them enter from the street after she’d tracked his car to the garage around the corner.

The line to get into the rooftop club stretched down the sidewalk. Earlier, when she’d realized they were heading into the ritzy place, she’d had to improvise a new outfit. The night clubs on the strip were notorious for being picky about the look of their patrons. Her friend and roommate, Mariella, had left a bag in the back of the car after they’d gone shopping last weekend. Luckily, Addison hadn’t returned it to her yet. She’d pulled on the black miniskirt and traded her sneakers for the gold pumps, hoping her friend wouldn’t mind sharing. Using the scissors from the first aid kit her father insisted she had in the car, she’d cut away her black fitted T-shirt to show cleavage and her belly button. The lip gloss and eyeliner at the bottom of her purse proved to be godsends. Though the skirt was a little too short for comfort, and her pinky toes were numb, she looked good enough to get into the club.

If only she could get past this line. If the rest of the girls weren’t also wearing miniskirts and pumps, she might have stood a chance of skipping ahead with a little thrust and smile at the doorman. But Addison wasn’t tall and model-hot by Vegas nightclub standards.

Three people walked out the door and the bouncer finally let one in. Ugh. By the time she got into the club, Fox would be gone. Time for a new plan.

She felt around in her bag until her keys jingled in her palm. On her key ring, there was a rectangular box that scanned for car alarm frequencies. She’d made it a couple of weeks ago and had been waiting for a reason to try it. If she pressed the right combination of buttons, it should make every car alarm within a half mile radius go off at the same time. It might cause enough of a distraction for her to slip past the line and the doorman.

Keeping her hand in the bag, she keyed in the combo and a few seconds later, dozens of car alarms pierced through the night. Vegas was a loud place by nature—with beeping slot machines, drunk partiers shouting in the streets, and music blaring from every club and restaurant on the strip. But the alarms cut through the background noise, and soon a good number of people in line were talking about checking on their cars.

Addison covertly watched the doorman, grinning to herself that her invention worked. With the line restless, he stepped out of the doorway to peer down the street and try to calm concerned patrons. She rushed out onto the sidewalk and toward the door, pretending to be confused and searching her bag for her keys. At the club entrance, she waited until the bouncer wasn’t looking then slipped into the darkness.

The heavy beat of the music vibrated from the floor through her body. The green neon lighting hurt her eyes. The lower level was mainly the dance floor with a bar on one side. Bodies gyrated and collided under the pulsing lights. Pushing past the crowd, she headed to the elevator. Somehow she knew Fox would be on the rooftop, not on the dance floor.