Lure of the Wicked Part 16

His hands filled her imagination. The warmth of his palms. His deft fingers kneading, stroking, feeling her body. Heat swirled low and tight. Naomi straightened. "You wish," she retorted lightly.

"You're tense again."

Outside the tinted gla.s.s, rain splattered, turned the muted lights of nighttime traffic and the glow of the city in shimmering rivulets. It hummed. Different from the steady, unending thrum of the mid-low levels beneath them, but just as alive.

Hungry.

Her eyes flared. "I'm wondering what I'm going to have to pay for this night."

"Pay?" Phin smiled. He studied her, from the tips of her crimson boots to her smooth, bare legs crossed under the hem of the silk dress. To her mouth. "I thought you said I had to pay for my women." The glow in his eyes should have scorched everything it touched.

A corner of her glossy mouth quirked. "I'm not your woman."

"Am I paying for you?"

"I'm not for sale." Naomi wanted to climb inside those eyes and cover her naked body in sweet, dark chocolate. Only vaguely aware of this little contest of verbal words, she slid her tongue over her bottom lip, easing the tip over that missing center ring. His eyes flamed to wicked, hungry life as he watched her lick the gloss away.

"Good," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "Then there's no mistaking this." And then he wasn't across the car anymore. He wasn't in the opposite seat. Between the s.p.a.ce of one breath and the next, Phin sank to his knees in front of her, his eyes brilliantly dark, glittering like ancient gold in a face suddenly taut with the heat Naomi knew drew him like a moth to flame.

That's what she was. Fire. And she couldn't help the sleek, intimate tug of arousal between her legs, the uncurling warmth that spread through her limbs like liquid silver as he speared his fingers into the loose wave of her gathered hair and tilted her face between his palms.

"Phin," she warned him, her eyes on his, "you're so going to get burned."

"G.o.d, I hope so," he said roughly, and kissed her.

He kissed her like a man drowning, in desperate need of air. He feasted on the full, lush curve of her lips as if he starved. He wasn't rough, he didn't force her, but, G.o.d, he didn't have to.

She wanted him. Wanted this.

Wanted more.

The luxury vehicle purred around them like a sleek cat as he swept his tongue into her mouth. It slid between her lips the way she wanted another part of him to mimic, deep, claiming. a.s.saulting every sense. She tasted the smooth rasp of his tongue, the minty, wet heat of his mouth, smelled his musky aftershave and drew it deep into her lungs. Wanted more.

Impatient, her breath catching, she pushed at his jacket. At the too expensive material that he shrugged out of, leaving it crumpled to the floor.

A low sound of approval rasped from his throat, jerked when she struggled with the b.u.t.tons of his shirt.

Phin tore his mouth from hers, let her take in deep, shaking breaths of air as he pushed her hands away and slid his fingers around her hips. "d.a.m.n it," he muttered, wrenching her off the seat and into his lap. Her knees. .h.i.t the floor, sharp points of rasped pain. He grunted, hissed out a breath as her thighs bracketed his waist.

As the center of her body settled over him like it knew exactly what it wanted. What she wanted.

"Not," he managed, "the way I'd imagined this."

He pulled off her coat, tossed it over his shoulder without care for the snowy white fabric. His fingers mapped her ribs, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Plunged into the neckline of the gray dress and found the same scarlet lace that she'd known he wanted to touch in the ma.s.sage room.

She'd worn it just for him tonight.

"Your fault for a.s.suming," Naomi replied raggedly, even as her head fell back. A groan escaped her. His clever fingers rolled her nipples, teased them to tight peaks of nerves, and she closed her eyes in pure, leashed ecstasy. "So good."

"Unbelievable." His chuckle strained from him, broke when he slid one hand under the hem of her skirt and found her bare leg. She choked on a gasp, sucked in a breath as his fingers slid across the sleek warmth of her inner thigh. "I intended to take this slower."

"f.u.c.k slower," she murmured, and jumped when his palm centered over her. It pressed hard against her c.l.i.t, lace and all. She moaned, her skin going up in flames. "A-actually, no, never mind. f.u.c.k me, Phin. Just me. Right now."

His eyes blazing, every muscle tensed, leashed, he laid her back on the seat. Spread her legs, his hands rough and shaking. Without warning, his fingers curled around her red lace thong, pulled it aside. Naomi grasped at the hem of her dress as he freed his erection from his slacks.

This. This was what she craved from Phin Clarke. This part of him, raw and wanting.

Jaw hard, he bent over her, pressed his mouth to the wild pulse at her throat. "I'm sorry," she thought he muttered, and then couldn't think at all as he slid inside her with one powerful thrust.

She braced her arms above her head, slammed them into the seat to keep from colliding with it as she moaned, jagged and unrefined. He caught her mouth with his, captured her wordless encouragement as he withdrew from her desperate, yearning body and slid deeper, slick and hard and hot. It spun wild heat into nuclear fission, filled her with so much sensation, so much him.

Her legs tightened around his waist as Naomi's climax shattered, too fast and intense. It rolled over her, a wave of sensation so forceful it bordered on pain. Phin drank her wild cries, pumped his hips, desperate to feel every clench of her muscles, every velvet squeeze of her o.r.g.a.s.m. Stroked her with his own body until he stiffened, toned muscles rippling in his back as he came hard, trembling with the effort to keep himself upright.

She was laughing before their mingled sweat started to cool.

Gasping for air, Phin lifted his face from her neck, his eyes hazed. Rueful. "That," he said slowly, "was not the way this evening was supposed to start."

Naomi's laughter flowed through her body. Made him flinch, hiss in shock and sensation as it wrapped around his still deeply seated c.o.c.k and squeezed.

"Don't do that," he managed, and smoothed one hand over her hip. "You're going to kill me."

Naomi shifted, her heart slowing its rapid beat. She took in a deep breath, struggled to keep it from trembling. "I don't plan on it," she said, and hoped her tone sounded as light as the fervent prayer wasn't. "I've just started with you."

Phin smiled. Slow, knowing, it reached from his mouth to his eyes, made them gleam with a promise Naomi didn't know how to read as he said, "It gets better."

She elbowed herself up, mind spinning in a thousand directions, and flinched as the driver tapped discreetly on the dark panel of gla.s.s between the seats.

Phin offered her a plain white handkerchief. "We're here," he said as the car began to slow. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d looked smug, satisfied.

Used.

A touch of smug satisfaction curled in Naomi's chest, too. She'd made him move sooner than he'd wanted. Made him act when he wanted to wait.

Made him come harder, faster than he'd planned. A delicious shiver curled through her. That's exactly how this was going to be.

Her rules.

Her choice to walk away.

She met his eyes, held his heated gaze as she slowly dragged the handkerchief over the still-pulsing cleft between her legs. Her muscles jerked under the rasp of soft cloth.

Knew he noticed when his nostrils flared, cords gathering in his neck as he tensed. "You're beautiful," he said, voice low and intense.

Too intense.

Because it was the easiest response, she laughed, crumpling the cloth in one fist and throwing it at him. "You're impossible." He caught it out of the air, folding it delicately between his fingers.

When he brought it to his nose, inhaled deeply, Naomi's smile faded. She knew what he smelled; she could smell the mingled fragrance of them both, her musk and his, just on the air between them. A slow, coiling spring tightened in her belly, between her legs, and she forced herself to remain seated. To clamp her traitorous knees together and b.u.t.ton her coat.

She fixed her hair. Loosely upswept and tousled was such an easy fashion to mimic. "So where are we?" Naomi strove for carefree, for casual curiosity. For easy indifference.

"You'll see. Naomi, are you protected?"

She didn't laugh. She wanted to, but his expression was so serious as he tucked in his shirt. Smothering her smile, Naomi nodded. All missionaries were. It was part of the yearly physical. But he didn't need to know that much. "I'm safe," she said lightly.

The look he gave her burned. "Not the word I'd ever apply to you, sweetheart."

A shiver ghosted over her skin. So intense.

So . . . sweet. s.h.i.t.

The door opened, Phin's uniformed driver standing on the other side. She saw night and rain-hazed lights behind him. Something made of gla.s.s.

Topside security.

Grimacing, she ignored the driver's proffered hand, smoothed down her dress as she stepped into the bitter cold. Her knees only wobbled a little.

Her chest wobbled a h.e.l.l of a lot as Phin unfolded from the car behind her. The man wasn't like any agent in the Mission. She knew there was muscle under that so-expensive suit, but he hadn't earned it fighting for his life in the lower levels of New Seattle. She doubted he'd ever been past the security checks on the city's highway.

He'd be useless in a fight. Useless in the streets below where the sun didn't reach.

So why the h.e.l.l did her throat go tight and achy when he said stupidly sweet stuff? When he touched that spot low on her back?

Phin took a black umbrella from the impa.s.sive driver, smiled at the man as if he hadn't just been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his date in the backseat of the man's car.

If the driver knew- No, Naomi thought, shaking her head with a grim little smile. Martin knew. Phin probably paid him too well to so much as bat an eyelash.

Phin snapped open the umbrella, raised it over her head as he gestured to the storefront at the end of the small walkway. "We'll be stopping here for a little while, then on to dinner. Are you ready?"

"I have no idea," Naomi said dryly. "I don't know where we are." It was somewhere in the heart of the downtown district, somewhere topside where business and the elite rubbed elbows with each other. She could see that in the neat, precise blocks, in the carefully planted trees placed in exact lines down each street.

In the cameras on every corner and slow, low-flying patrols of the sec-comps. About as safe as a low-security prison.

Not very safe, and still a prison.

The Cathedral of St. Dominic would be five minutes away by vehicle. The Mission had an office up here, but Naomi wasn't sure exactly where. She didn't come up here if she didn't have to.

Phin's fingers curved around her hip. "It won't kill you."

A grim slash of amus.e.m.e.nt had her shutting her mouth on the words that would only encourage him to ask questions. Questions she wasn't prepared to field.

After all, as a missionary, she'd gotten really good at finding things capable of killing her. She'd also gotten better at killing them first.

He led her up the walkway, to the gla.s.s door that didn't have a sign or logo. Nothing to indicate what it was, where she was. Frowning, she tipped her face up, peered past the edge of the dripping umbrella. "What are we doing here, Phin?"

"Getting ready." His casual lack of information earned him a look she knew wasn't friendly, but he chuckled, dipped his head to trace her lower lip with slow, lingering caress of his tongue.

Her blood warmed, sizzling away the cold that tried so hard to curl into her coat.

"Trust me."

"I really don't," she said, wry, brutal honesty, and he touched her cheek. His fingertips were cold, but gentle.

His eyes held hers steadily. "I know."

When the door swung open, mechanically operated from somewhere inside, he guided her into the warm interior. Naomi frowned impatiently while he shook out the umbrella. The foyer was simple, decorated in stark, modern lines. She didn't know anything about fashion, not this kind, but she guessed it was supposed to be plain, edgy.

Without anything on the walls, it just looked empty to her.

"Andy?" Phin's voice echoed down the hall.

"Come on in!"

The voice that floated back was smooth, polished, and decidedly not a voice that belonged to an Andy. Naomi's eyebrows rose as he gestured.

"After you."

The world that Naomi stepped into unfolded as unexpectedly as the woman who reigned over it.

The studio practically screamed stark modern edge, decorated in clear-cut lines of black and white. Everything was one or the other, every piece of furniture, every mannequin, everything down to the black-framed mirrors, the white carpet, the white veins in black marble. The lights set into the ceiling were harsh and unforgiving, as austere as the decoration that surrounded her.

But it wasn't the decoration that had her gasping in surprise. The real color blossomed from every corner, every wall-to-wall display of evening gowns, day suits, luxurious lingerie, every conceivable item for every part of a woman's day.

Knowing her jaw was hanging open, unable to stop herself from staring, Naomi spun in a slow, overwhelmed circle.

"What kind of G.o.ddess have you brought me, Phin?"

A short, slim platinum blond crossed the open, white-carpeted floor. Her herringbone suit was bright, blaring red, the pants cut too long in the leg and designed to fall neatly over her wickedly pointed black stiletto heels. She wore no blouse under the structured, fitted jacket, only a black lace bra showing just enough ample cleavage to catch the eye.

Her diamond white hair had been razored straight at her chin, her bangs a long, unforgiving line swinging just over her wide, blue eyes. She was arresting, strong-featured, with cheekbones high enough to give her face an unforgettable edge, but it wasn't her too-wide smile that set Naomi's hackles up.

It was the easy, familiar way she looped her arm through Phin's.

And the easy, too familiar way he kissed her cheek.

"Andromeda Nikolai," he said, turning to place the short girl directly in Naomi's reach. Her fingers itched. "This is Naomi Ishikawa. Naomi, an old friend, Andy."

A little blood would make her face look less severe, Naomi decided as she took the woman's offered hand. Andy tugged her down to kiss the air beside each cheek.

It took effort not to crush the slender fingers in her grasp. "Nice to meet you," she murmured.

"Any friend of Phin's has absolutely questionable taste," the woman named Andy said cheerfully. "But I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Ishikawa. I understand you're in need of a gown."

Naomi straightened. "Am I?"

"Isn't she?" Andy turned, found Phin where he'd wandered to a rack of sumptuous emerald green silk. "Phin, you didn't tell her?"