Wicked All Night (14 page)

“I do.” Rachel laid her lips across his. “Love you, that is. You made me realize how good I could feel, how sexy the right man would find me . . . the kind of caring about my feelings and my pleasure that a partner should give.” She grinned at him suddenly. “Hey, are you affiliated with Google?”

He laughed and pushed into her again, the pleasure surging, rising, about to crest. “No, I just swiped a few pick-up lines from them.”

“I don't know, Decker . . . You have everything I've been searching for.”

Somehow, he smiled at her through a groan. “Is that a yes?”

Rachel rotated her hips beneath him, and felt ecstasy begin to tingle through her body. “Yes!”

The bliss exploded, and as she pulsed around Decker, he slammed into her, then let go of his restraint with a cry.

Her heart beat furiously, and she struggled for her breath. Decker barely let her drag in some air before he jumped off her, tossed away the used condom, and dragged her to her feet. “Let's go.”

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. “Where?”

“Vegas. I don't want to wait until even tomorrow. We'll find a nice chapel and get married by Elvis and have something to laugh about with our grandkids.”

Rachel would have giggled . . . except that he looked dead serious.

“What about your parents?”

He shrugged. “They've got a big shindig for my younger sister and her fiancé coming up in a few months. We'll send them pictures. Bet our wedding will be more fun.”

“Well, my parents . . .” What? They had seen her get married in the big white gown once. Did she really want to do all that again? No. This time was just for her and Decker. “They'll enjoy the pictures, too.”

Decker pulled her in tight for a hug. “That's the spirit! It's either that or I'll call the police and report you for stealing my heart.”

Would she ever get used to his crazy sense of humor? A whole bunch of protective male covered it and roared when she was threatened. But she loved this side of him, too. She'd thank him later for picking her up on false pretenses and lying to her to keep her safe. Let him sweat a little. In the meantime, she couldn't wait to be his.

“Um . . .” She started giggling uncontrollably. “This is crazy! What will my last name be?”

“You still don't know, do you? That's awesome!”

“It's a little irresponsible, so put me out of my misery and cough it up, Decker.”

He peered at her playfully. “Would you believe Papadopoulos?”

“Papa-doodie . . . what?” She smacked his arm. “No!”

“Pavlyuchenko?”

“No Pavlov's dogs or whatever in this house.” She rolled her eyes. “Try again.”

“You got me. It's Blaszczykowski.”

Rachel wrapped her arms around him and laughed. “I'm going to call the police and have you arrested for stealing my sanity.”

He gave her a juicy smack across the lips. “It's McConnell, honest truth.”

“Much better. Do you know how difficult it would be for a bunch of fifth graders to spell Blaszczykowski?”

“I'd bet you'd get a laugh or two out of it.”

She pressed her lips together to hold in a grin. “True. I'm grabbing a suitcase, I guess. I'll be Mrs. McConnell by tonight.”

“Yes, you will. But I'd rather just call you mine.”

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review at Goodreads or any reader site or blog you frequent.

Keep reading for a special preview of the next Wicked Lovers novel

HIS TO TAKE

Available March 2015 from Berkley

“I . . . I don't understand.” She finally blinked at him, and tears swam in her big blue eyes. Disillusion broke across her face. She looked so fragile, it tore at his fucking heart.

“I know it's a lot to take in.” He caressed her arms. “I'm so sorry.”

“We'll leave you two for now,” Sean murmured, turning to Thorpe.

The club owner nodded. “Let us know if you need anything. Take care of her.”

A subtle warning. Joaquin barely heard it as Bailey began to sob. He brought her to her feet and pulled her close. She fell limp against him, her legs barely supporting her. Now what?

Hell, he didn't do crying women. He didn't even do emotion. What he needed was a manual, training, or backup—something. But Sean and Thorpe were already shutting the door behind them.

As she clutched at his shirt and cast a begging blue stare at him, Joaquin knew he was on his own. He'd stirred the shit pot to avenge Nate, so he had to deal. Still, he panicked a little at the thought. When was the last time he'd been this close to a woman unless he was fucking a one-night stand? Hmm . . . Never.

“They lied to me,” Bailey cried into his shirt, then abruptly pulled away, turning her back to him and wrapping her arms around herself.

“Your adoptive parents?” He watched her cross the room and fought the urge to follow. What was wrong with him? He should be happy that she wasn't sobbing on him anymore. Instead, guilt flayed him raw.

Bailey nodded, her light brown hair brushing the length of her narrow back, the ends curling toward her waist. She was so damn tiny, and he'd heaped a shit ton of problems on her shoulders. He had to be careful or he'd break her. Somewhere, his logical brain asked why the hell she mattered. Joaquin wanted to say it was because, as Tatiana Aslanov, she might know something useful. But he wasn't good at bullshitting himself.

Oh, fuck. Wanting to sleep with her he understood. But this crappy remorse cocktail with its anxiety chaser swirling through his veins? It wasn't easy lust. He'd wanted to kiss her earlier—no mistake. In fact, he'd wanted to rip Thorpe's head off for interrupting them because he'd been aching to strip off that too-big T-shirt and get his mouth all over her pretty hard nipples while he worked his way into her pussy.

Right now, he wanted to kick his own ass for crushing the world as she'd always known it. Doing so was safer for her. She'd be better equipped to elude danger if she understood it. But in less than a few hours, he'd ripped away the veneer of her existence to expose its secret underbelly. She couldn't take more now.

And for some fucking reason he didn't understand, he wanted to fix everything in her life so she had no reason to do anything except smile.

“Of course!” she shouted back. “Whoever they really were. They lied to me about everything. Who I am, where I came from . . .” She clenched her fists and turned on him with a little red nose and trembling lips. “They made me think I was crazy. By the time I was seven, I was seeing a shrink for my ‘delusions.' And all that time, they spoon-fed me my school lessons, made me home-cooked meals, drove me to dance class, and placated me about spats with friends or boys who didn't like me. It was all just a lie. So if they weren't really parents, what were they? Babysitters? Bodyguards? Brainwashers?”

In the face of her furious hurt, remorse smacked him again. He probably could have handled her more gently. What could be kinder than barking questions, digging through her memories, and shoving pictures at her until you ripped apart her identity, dumbass?

Joaquin dragged in a deep breath. “I wasn't able to get a lot of information about your identity before I took you. Since then, I've been trying to fill in the blanks. Some of the info is coming faster than other bits, so I don't have a complete picture yet. I've got a few people working on it.”

“But you think they were FBI agents?”

“That's my best guess.”

“Tell me what you know,” she demanded through clenched teeth.

He understood the anger. It was bolstering her, and without it she feared falling apart. “They obviously raised you and kept you safe. I'm sure that was their number one job. Any memories of your past or hints that you remembered a life before them would need to be squelched. Not because they wanted to hurt you. Tatiana Aslanov disappearing kept you safe and gave you an opportunity to grow up normally. You probably resent the hell out of them right now, but most likely, those two agents accepted a thirteen-year assignment, knowing they may never see field action again. They had to shed their previous lives, abandon their own family. They had to become mom and dad to a stranger until you turned legal. They might not have been perfect, but they did their job. It was a shitload better than you growing up in some government detention facility.”

“I-I . . .” She gasped in an agitated breath, fighting her temper. “You're probably right about them making sacrifices to bring me up in a safe environment. They did that well. On the other hand, they made me believe we were a family, then they allowed themselves to ‘die' shortly after I turned eighteen. They abandoned me. And you're defending that?”

“No.”
Crap.
“They may not have had a choice. I was just trying to make you see the other side of the coin. I doubt it was easy for them either.”

“Obviously, they haven't missed me much since neither of them have attempted to make contact with me in about three years.”

“I'm sure they would have been prohibited from doing that.”

“Which tells me they value their jobs more than the girl they raised as their daughter. And what about you? You're with another government agency, so you're here to . . . what? Be my lover? Does Uncle Sam think you need to crawl between my legs in order to watch over me?”

Joaquin ground his jaw. She was hitting low, and the logical part of him understood that she was hurt, so she was lashing out at the messenger because she didn't have anyone else. But that didn't stop his temper from getting swept up in her cyclone of emotion. “I'm not here on anyone's orders. In fact, I'll probably be fired for pursuing this case because Tatiana Aslanov isn't on my boss's radar. When it became obvious the agency intended to do nothing, I couldn't leave you to that horrific death. So here we are. But let me clue you in, baby girl. Uncle Sam doesn't tell me who to fuck. I can't fake an erection, even for the sake of God and country. That kiss we almost shared? That was me wanting you because just being in the same room with you makes me want to strip off everything you're wearing and impale you with every inch I've got.”

When he eased closer to Bailey, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “Don't come near me.”

That defiance made him wish again that he was a spanking kind of guy. He'd really like to melt that starch in her spine. If she wasn't going to let him comfort her, he'd be more than happy to adjust her attitude with a good smack or ten on her ass, then follow it up with a thorough fucking. A nice handful of orgasms would do them both a world of good.

“I am so done with people lying to me,” she ground out.

That pissed him off. “You think I'm lying to you? About which part? Your parents being agents? That I'm sorry? Or that my cock is aching to fill your sweet little pussy until you dig your nails into my back and wail out in pleasure?”

Her face turned pink. “You're not sorry about any of this. I'm also not buying your sudden desire bullshit.”

“I will be more than happy to prove you wrong right now.” He reached for the button of his jeans. “I'm ready if you are.”

In some distant corner of his brain, Joaquin realized that combating her hurt with challenge wasn't going over well. On the other hand, something about arguing with her while he'd been imagining her underneath him hadn't just gotten his blood flowing, but boiling. If fucking her would, in any way, prove to her that he wasn't lying, he was beyond down with getting busy. If she let him, he'd give it to her hard and wicked—and repeatedly.

“No!” She managed to look indignant, but her cheeks had gone rosy. The pulse at her neck was pounding. Her nipples poked at her borrowed shirt angrily.

He put his hands on his hips. If she looked down, she'd see his straining zipper. “Do you still think I'm lying?”

“I'm done with this conversation.”

“If you're telling yourself you don't want me at all, then you're the one lying.”

“Pfft. You might know facts about me on paper, but you don't know me.”

“So if I touched your pussy right now, you wouldn't be wet?”

He'd always liked a good challenge. It was probably one of the reasons he loved his job. But facing off with her this way made his blood sing, too.

“No.” She shook her head a bit too emphatically. “And you're not touching me to find out. Leave me alone.”

“You're worried that I'd find you juicy. You're afraid to admit that I turn you on.” He stalked closer, his footfalls heavy, his eyes narrowing in on her.

“Stay back,” she warned—but her eyes said something else entirely.

“Tell me you're not attracted to me.” He reached out, his strike fast as a snake's, and gripped her arms. He dragged her closer, fitting her lithe little body against him and holding in a groan when she brushed over his cock. “Tell me you want me to stop. Remember, you don't like liars. I don't, either.”

She didn't say a word, struggled a bit for show. Mostly, she parted her lips and panted. Her cheeks heated an even deeper rose. Her chest heaved. Never once did she look away from him. “I'm involved with someone else.”

“If you think whatever you've got going with Blane is going to stop me . . .” He didn't bother to finish his sentence; he just laughed.

“So you're not listening to me say ‘no'? You're not respecting my feelings for another guy?”

“Let's just say I'm proving my sincerity to you.” He tightened his grip. When she gasped and her stare fell to his lips, triumph raced through his veins. “I'm also testing you. That pretty mouth of yours might lie to me, but your kisses won't.”

Joaquin didn't give her a chance to protest again. Normally, he would have. Women 101 was never to proceed without express consent, but this thick air of tension electrifying his blood and seizing his lungs was something entirely new and intoxicating. Their fight seemed to be helping Bailey forget her shock and sadness, not to mention the fact that it revved her, too. She wasn't immune to him—not by a long shot. Thank fuck.

Thrusting a fist in her hair, he pinned her in place and lowered his head.