Wicked and Dangerous
Read Wicked and Dangerous Online
Authors: Shayla Black and Rhyannon Byrd
PRAISE FOR
SHAYLA BLACK
“Scorching, wrenching, suspenseful, Shayla Black’s books are a must-read.”
—Lora Leigh, #1
New York Times
bestselling author
“Much sexy fun is had by all.”
—Angela Knight,
New York Times
bestselling author
“Orgasmic.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Wickedly seductive from start to finish.”
—Jaci Burton,
New York Times
bestselling author
PRAISE FOR
RHYANNON BYRD
“Combines passion and suspense with a touch of deadly danger guaranteed to keep you
reading until the very last page.”
—
Joyfully Reviewed
“A fast-paced, action-packed tale starring destined mates investigating a deadly truth.”
—
Midwest Book Review
“Byrd successfully combines a haunting love story with complex world-building.”
—
Publishers Weekly
Titles by Shayla Black
The Wicked Lovers Novels
WICKED TIES
DECADENT
DELICIOUS
SURRENDER TO ME
BELONG TO ME
MINE TO HOLD
OURS TO LOVE
Anthologies
FOUR PLAY
(with Maya Banks)
HOT IN HANDCUFFS
(with Sylvia Day and Shiloh Walker)
WICKED AND DANGEROUS
(with Rhyannon Byrd)
Specials
HER FANTASY MEN
Titles by Shayla Black writing as Shelley Bradley
BOUND AND DETERMINED
STRIP SEARCH
Titles by Rhyannon Byrd
TAKE ME UNDER
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For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
Copyright © 2013 by Penguin Group (USA).
“Wicked All Night” by Shayla Black copyright © 2013 by Shelley Bradley, LLC.
“Make Me Yours” by Rhyannon Byrd copyright © 2013 by Tabitha Bird.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-60250-8
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wicked and dangerous / Shayla Black and Rhyannon Byrd.—Berkley Sensation trade paperback
edition.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-425-26375-4 (pbk.)
1. American fiction—21st century. I. Black, Shayla. Wicked all night. II. Byrd, Rhyannon.
Make me yours. III. Title.
PS659.2.W53 2013
813'.010806—dc23 2013020743
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / October 2013
Cover photo by Shutterstock.
Cover design by Jerry Todd.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
WICKED ALL NIGHT
SHAYLA BLACK
To Rhyannon Byrd
for years of friendship and laughter—
and for giving me such a fun heroine to work with.
I had a blast!
ONE
AS DECKER MCCONNELL STRODE INTO THE LOUD BAR AT HALF
past nine on a Saturday night, the woman’s picture burned a hole in the pocket of
his black shirt. In the past six hours, he’d stared at it a hundred times. Rachel
Linden, age twenty-nine. Divorced. Graduate of UCLA, summa cum laude, with a degree
in education. Recent transplant from sleepy Moss Beach on the Florida coast to Louisiana.
Currently employed by the Lafayette Parish school system as an elementary English
teacher. Those facts might define the brunette whose dark eyes sparkled from a seemingly
average oval face, but that didn’t explain why just looking at her photo made him
hard as hell.
“You sure this Rachel woman is going to be here?” his boss, Xander Santiago, asked,
propped up against the quiet corner of the bar on his left.
“Unless she bails on her own birthday party, yep. I’ve got to find her before this
situation goes south.”
Decker sighed and surveyed the crowd through the club’s flashing lights. People were
getting their drink on and looking around for a nightly hookup. From what he could
gather, Rachel was only here because the new neighbors and coworkers who had become
her friends insisted that she celebrate her big day. Though the club was packed more
tightly than meat behind cellophane, he hoped he’d spot her soon. Every minute that
slid by was another minute that bad shit could happen.
And he wasn’t about to let it. He was a protector by nature. If the cops weren’t going
to help, then he guessed it had become his job. For whatever reason—boredom, maybe?—he
felt the urge to make sure she stayed safe.
Rachel’s picture suggested that she possessed a shy, good-girl quality. Not usually
the kind of female he gravitated to. That meant he’d probably find her in a corner
somewhere, trying to blend into the wall. He’d have to fish around for some way to
set her at ease before he glued himself to her side long enough to untangle this clusterfuck
he’d unwittingly stepped in. As far as he was concerned, naked was the best way to
keep her from harm’s way because he wasn’t remotely interested in being her big brother.
Everything he’d been able to dig up indicated that since becoming single again, she’d
lived like a nun. That was really fucking unfair to the male species. The idea of
her peeling off a button-down shirt and “work-appropriate” skirt to reveal her soft
curves, scantily clad in lingerie, made his cock stand up and salute.
Get your mind out of the gutter and back on business
.
Decker hated that voice in his head. The gutter was way more fun.
“Are you sure about this?” Xander’s brother, Javier, asked beside him.
He turned to the guy with a shrug. “No, but I don’t know what my more appealing options
are. Believe me, if I hadn’t run into a colossal pile of shit this afternoon looking
for a cold beer and an easy lay, I wouldn’t be here now, searching for a woman I’ve
never met.”
“And you tried the police?” Xander asked.
“Useless.” Decker rolled his eyes. “How much evidence should I need to prove another
man’s intent to commit a crime? The fuckers could at least look into it.”
But the lazy bastards of the Lafayette Police Department hadn’t listened to a word
he’d said while LSU played football. On the other hand, he probably shouldn’t send
a starched uniform fresh out of the backwoods police academy to do a job the CIA had
trained him once upon a time to do far better.
“So you think this plan will work?” Javier asked.
“You got a better one?” He shoved Rachel’s picture under the other man’s nose. “Look
at her. She’s a school teacher. She looks sweet, for fuck’s sake. I can’t stand here
with my thumb up my ass and let this nut job put a hole in her head.”
Studying the picture, Javier sipped his tonic water. After a couple of years of supposedly
being cozier with vodka than sanity, sobriety now suited him. “Of course not. I’m
just saying that if she’s recently divorced, she might not appreciate you romancing
her for ulterior motives.”
“What my brother means is that in a few short months of marriage to London, we’ve
learned how quickly our lovely bride can hand us our balls when we’ve screwed up.”
Xander smiled. “He’s thinking that you’d probably like to keep yours attached to your
body.”
“Exactly.” Javier grinned.
“I can’t tell her the truth,” Decker argued. “Why would she believe a total stranger
trying to convince her that someone’s put a price on her head? Besides the twenty-five
grand and the phone number this guy gave me, all I’ve got is her picture and some
basic information I could have pulled off the Internet. None of that proves anything.
If she actually does believe me, I’d probably scare the hell out of her.” He tossed
his hands up. “This asshole gave me a few days to finish the job. I’ll just make the
problem go away by then. Even if Rachel isn’t thrilled with my method, she’ll be alive.”
He peered deeper into the club, ignoring the come-ons of a few girls who didn’t look
old enough to even be here, wearing skirts so short he could almost tell if the carpet
matched the drapes. Finally, the crowd parted, and he spotted his target near the
wall, just as he’d predicted. Rachel. White wine in hand. Long hair like a chocolate
waterfall. Pretty profile. Thick lashes. Button nose. Full lips that would look perfect
wrapped around his cock.
Damn it, he wanted to get her naked. What a shame that wasn’t his first priority with
her, but he hoped he could find a way to make it a close second.
She smiled as a tall, African-American woman beside her whispered in her ear. Then
suddenly, Rachel whipped her gaze around and met his stare. Her little, rosy mouth
opened with a gasp. Even through the smoke and over the racket of the bad country
singer on the stage across the room, he could all but hear the sound. Yeah, he felt
the electric zing, too. Up his spine and clear down to his toes, it engorged his cock
so completely, he wanted to rip off that god-awful sensible blouse she wore, tear
away her panties, and fuck her breathless in the next thirty seconds. Normally, he
would, but this situation meant he had to use the head up north—at least a little.
And didn’t that just piss him off.
How fucking ironic that he couldn’t pick her up just for the fun of it. No, he had
to get close to keep her alive. Honestly, Decker didn’t like lying to her either.
The hell of it was he couldn’t think of another way to protect the woman he’d been
hired to kill.
• • •
RACHEL LINDEN FIXED
her gaze across the room at the man staring her way, standing between the two suits.
Her jaw dropped before she forcibly snapped it shut.
Holy cow!
Between the alcohol and the press of bodies, she was overheated. But he made her
shiver.
Military-short black hair capped off his angled face, covered by a healthy two days’
growth of beard. His eyes remained hidden behind a pair of aviators that rested on
top of chiseled cheekbones. His black shirt nearly busted at the shoulder seams. Under
the short sleeves, his biceps bulged. The soft cotton clung to every valley and ridge
of his pectorals and abdominals.
He was a man with a capital M, the sort who made a woman swallow her tongue. The kind
her mother had warned her about. The type who’d starred in her fantasies. And the
one she wanted sliding against her skin-to-skin now. Dark and bad, yes . . . but those
big hands and muscled forearms alone said he’d be oh so good.
Just looking at him, Rachel had trouble breathing. Every inch of him was hard. If
she’d had a fantasy in the flesh, he’d be it.
A tattoo—Asian writing maybe—drifted down his veined forearm. Dog tags hung from his
neck. The little smile curling his lips was somewhere between an invitation and a
challenge. And he was staring directly at her.
The bottom fell out of her stomach. Normally, she’d shy away from such a man. Aaron,
the fifth grade social studies teacher, had asked her out a few weeks ago. He was
polite and had kind brown eyes. He’d mentioned a local theater production that sounded
interesting. That was her speed. This man in front of her . . .
“He looks good enough to eat. And to lick, slurp, suck . . . Damn, girl!” Shonda,
one of the art teachers, murmured in her ear.
If you’re going to dive into a meal after starving, why not start with the juiciest
one you can find?
She glanced at Shonda’s dark skin gleaming under the dim house lights and faintly
flashing colored strobes. “Is it my imagination or is he staring at me?”
“Right at you, like he thinks you’re a tasty snack. Go on now. Talk to him.”
And say what?
Hi, I haven’t had sex since I divorced my ex over a year ago, and I’ve never had it
as down and dirty and sweaty as I’ll bet you could give it to me.
“Maybe he thinks I work here.”
Shonda snorted. “Maybe you’re insane. Jarelle is an awesome fiancé with enough freak
in bed to keep me smiling, but hell . . . If I were single, I’d be all over that guy
like paste on wallpaper.”
Rachel laughed. Leave it to Shonda to tell it like it was. And to be right. Rachel
had to admit that she’d never know what could be if she didn’t try to talk to Mr.
Tall, Dark, and Hot.
She turned back toward him, a welcoming smile in place. But he was already leaving
behind his two friends, wearing insanely expensive suits, and walking her way. No,
“walking” was the wrong word. “Approaching” was too weak. “Looming” maybe? Still not
right. “Prowling,” yes. “Stalking” sounded even more like it.
He tore off his sunglasses to reveal a stark pair of blue eyes, unabashedly roaming
over her body with a heat that made her swallow. He kept coming at her, invading her
personal space without compunction. Reflexively, she retreated. He smiled, then did
it again and again—until her back hit the wall.
“Hi, beautiful.”
Mercy, the low rumble of his voice was sexy. Her knees quaked.
“Hi.” She breathed the word as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath.
He looked her up and down, obviously scoping her out. “Hmm, you with all those curves,
and me here with no breaks . . . Damn!”
OMG, was that some sort of pick-up line?
“Um . . .”
If he’d intended to flatter her, he was headed in the wrong direction. She’d write
him off, except . . . The black skirt Shonda had insisted she wear tonight had seemed
stupidly tight—until she saw the appreciation in his gaze. That and his line, no matter
how terrible, made her think that, maybe, he actually found her sexy. And she wasn’t
interested in him for his conversational skills.
“Too much, huh?” he asked with a frown. “How about, there must be something wrong
with my eyes because I can’t take them off you.”
He
was
trying to pick her up—badly—but out of a bar full of pretty girls, he’d zeroed in
on her. Would wonders never cease?
Maybe if she stopped focusing on her ex-husband’s litany of critical comments and
started to believe that some men might like her as she was, curves and all, it wouldn’t
seem so weird.
“Definitely too much.” She gave him a smile that she hoped looked sophisticated and
wry, rather than giggly and excited.
“Oh, you like subtle. I got it.” He leaned closer and leered. “Hey, baby, you come
here often?”
The most obvious pick-up line ever, and when he delivered it with a grin, she laughed.
If this was his idea of starting a conversation, she wasn’t sure whether she should
be annoyed or charmed against her will. But she was definitely leaning toward the
latter.
“Never. This is my first time,” she admitted. “You?”
“Same. I was thinking that I hated places like this until I saw you. You’re better
than a broom because you swept me off my feet.”
Rachel couldn’t help but laugh. “Right . . .”
“No lie, beautiful.” He winked at her. “Tell me, what’s your sign?”
Yield.
If she were holding a sign, that’s probably what it would say because that’s kind
of what she wanted to do for him. Oh, but she guessed that wasn’t what he meant.
“Libra,” she said finally. “Today is my birthday. And I’ll only keep talking to you
if you stop with the pick-up lines.”
“Happy birthday! You mean I can’t ask you for a Band-Aid?”
She frowned. How had they gone from pick-up lines to Band-Aids? “I’m sorry?”
“I need one because I scraped my knees falling for you.”
Rachel tossed her hands up, shaking her head, and giggled. “Does this sort of thing
usually work for you?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. I never tried. You wanna tell me come morning?”
“My mama has a word for men like you. ‘Incorrigible.’”
Mock horror crossed his face. “I’ve given you the impression that I’m a bad boy with
no manners. Okay, maybe that’s not too far off. How about we start over? Decker.”
He held out his hand for a friendly shake, and she hesitated only an instant before
she slipped hers inside. A quick sizzle between them nearly made her shiver. It traveled
up her arm and through her body as his hand—warm, calloused, and huge—engulfed hers.
Dark hair dusted his forearms. Veins stood out. Decker was obviously strong, but he
touched her gently. When he smiled, the light inside reached his eyes.
“I’m Rachel.”
Slowly, he released her, and she was almost disappointed when he did. “So, Rachel
the birthday girl, can I buy you a drink?”
She shook her head. “I’ve already had two. That’s my limit. I still have to drive
home.”
“How about a dance?”
As if the cosmos knew exactly what Decker had planned, the twangy singer suddenly
took a break and the deejay played something slow and sexy—the kind of music that
made people want to drop their clothes and get horizontal.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” she demurred.
Because if she pressed up against him and swayed to the music, she might get ideas
about taking him for a test drive, at least for the night.