“One of us should know why. It sure as hell isn't me. Embarrassing oneself in front of a beautiful woman is never a good move.”
She laughed. She'd become a stripper to pay the bills. It didn't get much more embarrassing than that. “Let he who has not sinned . . .”
He snuggled even closer, looked up at the bright blue sky, before returning his attention to her. “You're not going to throw stones?”
“I might,” she teased.
“Ah, Rhonda,” he squeezed her shoulder, “ 'tis why I like you so much.”
“How do you do that? I mean sometimes your accent is barely noticeable and other times it's like you're right out of the highlands.”
“Practice. I learned to speak like a Yank my first year in New York,” he said with a perfect New York accent. “Of course, it took me a while to realize I had to take the New York out of the Yank, if I wanted to sound average. It served my purpose to drop a brogue that only drew attention to myself. When you're undercover it's not a good thing. Of course with Ryan, that's a
whole
different story.”
“Yeah.” Why did she have the urge to punch Ryan Sheppard? “What's with that guy? Does he pimp out the beautiful women who work for him, too?”
She'd caught Blake off-guard, and he regarded her with a stunned expression. Then he clued in. “Dozier.” He nodded his head. “What exactly did he tell you?”
“Only that Ryan has a habit of using your hotness against you.”
“Yes, he does at that.” He chuckled.
“Why are you laughing? If you were a woman, people would be totally disgusted. But because you're a man, your buddies think it's funny.”
“I'm smiling because you think I'm hot.”
“Every woman on the planet thinks you're hot. Does it bother you to be treated like meat?” It annoyed the hell out of her.
“It bothers me. At first, I took it in stride. He had, after all, found Christian and me on a case that required . . .” He stopped talking.
“You gonna leave me hanging?”
“It . . . well . . . Christian . . .”
“Holy shit.” How in the hell had she not seen it before? His hair was different and the man she'd known had had several large tattoos, but stillâthe face, the eyes. Even while wearing a heavy black liner, Blake's particular shade of blue was uncommon. “You were the Goblin King, the David Bowie knock-off that hung around with Christian when he worked at The Den. Mother of everything holy, you were a stripper! The girls were right.”
“Not one of my prouder moments,” he said, grumbling. “But how do
you
know that?”
“I was there. Damn, I knew I'd seen Christian before. The day I met him in Maggie's office,” she explained. “It took me a while to place him. Wow, I got costume ideas from
you
. Christian was, well, Christian. But you were unique. You scared those women and still they crowded the stage.”
“I watched
Labyrinth
religiously until I had Bowie's every movement and facial expression down pat. If I was going under cover as a stripper, I wasn't going to be myself.”
They had that in common. “I have to say, you succeeded. You packed the joint.” She grew warm just remembering his act. She didn't really care to watch male strippers. On ladies' night, she'd be there to bartend, grateful for the money, and grateful she could keep her clothes on. But the Goblin King exuded sex. He made every woman in the club want him, and of course, eager to open their wallets.
“I guess I should thank you.”
“Why?”
For giving me the thrill of my life.
“For shutting that dump down. Some of the girls were mad they lost their jobs. I wasn't one of them. If I'd known that creep had been storing girls in the basement, I'd have helped you and the feds. You guys did a great thing.”
“Thank you. It's nice to know someone appreciated the work we did.”
“Must have been hard, though. You know, taking your clothes off.” Had he been embarrassed? Humiliated? Or had he believed the end result would free innocent women from slavery? What was a little skin compared to that?
“Even with the G-string we got to wear, having my ass fondled by horny women twice a week wasn't my favorite assignment. Still, we got the job done. And in the end that's what counted.”
That had been her philosophy, too. In the end, her father's last days had been good ones, even if he couldn't remember who she was. It was better that way, because he couldn't remember his dead wife either. “Does your family know what you do?”
“You mean my job? Or that particular assignment with the feds?”
“Yeah, I'm guessing you didn't tell them about that one. I mean your job with Ryan.”
“No, better and safer they don't.”
“What do they think you do?”
“They know I work for Ryan. They're just not clear on what it is I do for him. I haven't been home in a while,” he said, so melancholy it was obvious he missed Scotland.
“Why did you leave?”
“It's a long story.” He got up to adjust something on the control panel.
“Uh, excuse me,” she said, nodding toward the big sea, “but what else have you got to do?”
“I could think of a few things I'd rather do than explain my family troubles.”
“You know, some people use sex to make money. You use it to deflect the conversation.”
He returned and before she knew what was happening, he'd straddled her, pinning his knees on either side of her hips. “Are you implying that I don't want to bed you? Because Rhonda, love, that couldn't be further from the truth.”
She was about to tell him he was full of shit, but he took her face in his hands and kissed her so hard it knocked the wind out of her. It was a kiss that backed up his statement. A kiss that made her lightheaded, consumed her in a way that made her eager for more. He pushed her down across the cushioned seat, continuing to straddle her, continuing to feed on her mouth.
His hand found its way under her baggy T-shirt. It was warm and insistent, his fingers skimming her rib cage, then fondling her breast. She recalled in vivid detail all the naughty things his hands had done back in Vegas. Then she remembered the reason they were here. And wanting to stop wasn't what made her pull away. The man had been shot and bullet wounds didn't heal overnight.
“You're going to hurt yourself.” She forced her head to turn away from all those luscious kisses. Not easy, when she wanted to repeat their Vegas night. She needed her head examined, but she wasn't sure if it was because she pulled away, or because she wanted a repeat.
“Let me worry about that,” he said, tugging on her chin with his hand.
She opened her mouth to object. Instead, he plunged his tongue inside, tasting of sex and everything an ungodly beautiful man would make her feel. She allowed herself another quick trip to nirvana and again pulled back.
“Blake, as much as I'd like to continue this, you're going to hurt yourself if we keep this up.”
“I am not. I feel fine. Well enough to do this.” He slid his hand under her clothes again and palmed her left breast. “Mmmm. Don't be mean,” he said practically pouting. On another man it would look feminine. On him, it made him even more sinfully beautiful.
She had a hard time resisting that face, but resist she did. She crawled out from under him and scooted down the seat. “If you hurt yourself, whose going to sail this thing?”
“Is that the only reason you stopped me?”
She considered the question and its validity. Did she want to sleep with him again? Was his injury stopping them? Or was it good old-fashioned common sense? Men like Blake didn't want her. Not only was he painfully beautiful, but he was an aristocrat. Aristocrats didn't get involved with strippers. Pride overcame her lust. “I don't sleep around. Just because I take my clothes off on stage doesn't make me easy. What happened in Vegas . . . ugh,” she shook her head, “should stay in Vegas. Sorry, I know that's a cliché, but in our case, it's the truth.” And didn't that just suck.
Chapter Thirteen
T
hree weeks ago, Blake would've agreed with her. He told Christian he'd keep his hands to himself. So he shouldn't be trying to convince Rhonda to sleep with him. He was no good for her and she deserved . . . love. Lots and lots of love. Something he couldn't give. Still, he wanted her. Wanted her so bad, he didn't give a shit about consequences. “You can't deny the chemistry between us.”
“No, but like I said, I don't sleep around.”
“You wouldn't be sleeping around. If anything, we're friends. Right? We are at least that?”
“So what would this be? Friends with benefits?”
“I'm not sure. I'm just saying, you make it sound . . . sleazy. I don't look at it that way.”
“Most men want to sleep with me because it
would
be sleazy.”
“That's not why I slept with you.” It wasn't and she should know that.
“Why did you? I'm not exactly your type.”
“Really? What's my type?” This was going to be interesting.
“Model-looking . . . perfect . . . classy . . . rich.”
“You're doing what you accuse guys of doing. You're stereotyping me and only saying that because I told you I come from an aristocratic family.”
“No . . . maybe . . . the rich part anyway. The rest, well, look at you. Guys with your good looks don't involve themselves with Goth strippers.”
He shook his head, disappointed that she would think so little of him. “You've spent so much time creating and hiding behind that persona, that you forget it's not you. But you want people to think it is. You count on people judging you on your looks. But some of us aren't like that. And I don't appreciate you doing it to me.”
“How am
I
doing that?”
“I have never in my life slept with a woman I didn't consider beautiful.
Never
. Shoot me. But everyone, male and female, has their flaws. Yes, I prefer women who use utensils. It makes for a messy date otherwise. And I left my rich circle of friends and became a US citizen to join the FBI. I wanted more out of my life than endless parties and trying to figure out how to piss off my grandmother. So for you to think me so shallow, because you think I'm too
pretty
, which, by the way, really bugs my ass, is insulting.”
“I'm
sorry
. I didn't mean to insult you,” she shouted.
“Well, you did,” he shouted back. “And more importantly, you insult yourself. I'm not stupid, Rhonda. My relationships haven't worked out, but that was my fault, not the woman I chose to spend time with. I know a good woman when I see her. Yes, I want to sleep with you again. Christian will kill me. Fuck him. But maybe if I'm honest with you, I won't hurt you like the others. I can't give you forever, Rhonda. I wish I could, but I can't. All I know is I love being with you, and not because I haven't a choice. You're funny. You make me laugh. You have a heart unlike anyone I've ever met, even though I know you wish you didn't. You're courageous and loyal. And I get hard every time I look at you.” He smiled, hoping his last comment wasn't out of line.
“Every time?” she said, sounding flattered.
He slid closer, wanting to touch her. “Every time.” He wrapped both arms around her. “I can't give you forever, but I can make sure that what I do give you is the best you've ever had. I don't know how much time we have together, but let's enjoy it while we have it.”
“I don't want to be that Goth sex kitten around you. I want to be me. But I'm not sure who me is. Maybe you won't like her.”
“It may be hard to separate everything you were on stage from the real you. And why would you want to? You're smart and sassy. You're tough and you don't take anyone's crap. On and off stage. The rest, you'll figure out. I'll help, if you want.”
She looked horrified at his words. What had he said wrong? “Rhonda?”
“I don't want to be anything like Black Opal.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Love, that's not an answer. But it doesn't matter. Just know I like
all
of you.”
She took him by surprise, kissing him with such ferocity, he forgot his question. Hell, he forgot his own name.
“Boat?” she asked between kisses.
“Anchor.” He nibbled her earlobe.
“Here or below?” She licked his neck.
It took a few seconds to formulate a coherent answer. “Below.” He didn't want the hard wood deck to distract her. No, he wanted every ounce of her attention on him.
She led the way, walking backward and kissing him with a mouth he truly appreciated. Inside, they didn't strip off their clothes in the same frenzy that had overtaken them in Vegas. He suspected his injury was making Rhonda cautious, so he was careful not to show any signs of distress. No way did he want her to stop. He let her take control. He allowed her to undress him, which was no hardship. He liked her hands on his body and was eager to reciprocate. When she had him naked, she made him lie down. He'd been about to argue, then realized he'd get to watch her take off her own clothes. It may not have been a striptease, but when her shorts and top hit the floor, the result was just as good. Especially knowing all that beautiful skin was about to touch his.
She lay beside him and ran her fingers over his chest, her feet along his shins, molding herself to him. He pulled her to him. He went to roll to his side, wanting her pressed against him, but she pushed him back. She smiled saucily before kissing her way down his body. Ah hell, she was going to kill him. Her tongue teased his stomach . . . then the sensitive spot between his hip and thigh. He considered stopping her. He wanted to be inside her. But he didn't. If he took control, she might pull away.
It took everything he had not to arch off the bed when that tongue licked him. Instead, he pressed his body into the bed. Thankfully, she was between his legs and looking down and didn't notice his grimacing. Oh, he wasn't in pain, but he'd take no chances in case she saw it that way. So he bit his tongue, kept from crying out when her mouth closed over him. He gave up trying to control his breathing as she sucked his cock. She had to know what she was doing to him, how good it felt, how much more he craved.
Her mouth was the conductor to his symphony of lust and pleasure, and if she didn't stop playing him, this concert was going to be over far too soon for his liking. He reached down and hooked his hands under her arms then pulled her up his body, over his painful erection.
“Hey,” she protested.
“I'm not hurting myself. Quite the opposite,” he growled and flipped her onto her back, desperate to taste her nipples. Pretty and pink, he'd never get enough. No matter how she'd cover them up, he'd remember what lay beneath, and how good it felt to pull those hard tips into his mouth.
He didn't play favorites. And as she writhed under him, letting him know she appreciated his attention to her breasts, he grew harder. Parting her thighs with his leg, he knelt over her knees, eager to see her wet and wanting. He wasn't disappointed.
“Shit,” he said. “Condoms.”
Her eyes widened. “Tell me you have some.”
“Well.” He licked his lips, admiring the scenery. “Wouldn't that be presumptuous of me? After all, I'm here. Stuck with you. And no one else. Condoms,” he said, running a finger up and down her wet folds “would mean I was planning on sleeping with you.”
“I . . . hate . . . you,” she said between gasps.
“Liar.” He flew off the bed and found his duffle bag. He opened it and pulled out the box Dozier had conveniently left him. He'd say this about his friend. He was on top of things. And soon, Blake would be too.
He returned to Rhonda, where he found her sitting up, her legs tucked beneath her, long black hair covering those luscious breasts. If he didn't get that condom on soon, it wouldn't fit over his raging hard on. “Oh lass, any sexier and my heart will stop beating.”
She smiled, pointing to the box in his hands. “Need help?”
“This would be the one time I'd not complain about your need to help. But I can manage.” Plus, he wasn't sure he could control himself if she touched him.
Condom on, he crawled toward her, kissing and forcing her to lie back. Enough teasing, he wanted and he wanted now. She opened her legs and welcomed him home. He knew he wouldn't last, but bloody hell, he was going to make her come. Even if it killed him. Their bodies met and collided, him thrusting, her receiving and reciprocating. Each plunge taking them deeper into that cavernous abyss filled only with pleasure. Her eyes closed. Her neck arched as her body squeezed and accepted, brought him closer and closer to the point of no return.
He rocked her gently, mimicking the ocean waves outside their berth. Then he moved hard and fast, his body too impatient. When she screamed his name, the look of ecstasy on her face so intense, he couldn't hold back. His orgasm seemed to go on and on, his skin so sensitive, the sensation teetering between pleasure and pain. Both erotic, both mind-numbing. This was heaven. She was heaven.
* * *
Rhonda stretched from the tip of her toes to the tops of her fingernails. She'd give it to the boat's designer. This bed was not only comfortable, but had enough space to do all kinds of naughty things. She glanced over at the man beside her, asleep, naked, and beautiful. She promised herself to stop commenting on how gorgeous he was, but she couldn't stop herself from thinking it. She propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at their feet, sticking out from under the sheet Blake had thrown over them. Shit, even his toes were perfect.
He'd said everyone had flaws. What were his? Except for a small round scar on his left hip, he was physically perfect, and she didn't have to go a round of
Jeopardy
with him to know he was smart. Damn, the man was even honest. He'd promised her no future. Which was fine with her. Not that she couldn't see herself falling for a guy like Blake, but better she didn't. It could only end in disaster. Regardless of what he'd said, he was still an aristocrat and she a stripper from the wrong side of the tracks. She was a good person, but sometimes that wasn't enough.
Fear could be what was drawing them together. Nothing brought two people closer than someone wanting you dead. But for now, none of that mattered. They were two people with the same goalâstay alive.
Staring up at the skylight, she couldn't believe where her life had taken her. How the heck had she ended up running from an assassin? She lay back down, wiggling her toes. What the hell, she felt too delicious to muck it up by worrying about the future. She turned onto her side to watch the blond Adonis sleep. He even slept perfectly. No snoring, no loud, heavy breathing, just the soft rise and fall of one amazing, sculpted chest.
She'd turned the corner, her stomach having kept down the contents of their dinner in bed. While the sway of the boat made her queasy, she no longer felt like she'd consumed a gallon of sour milk. Thank God, because that would have been embarrassing last night . . . twice . . . and early this morning. A warm tingle covered her body and zinged right down to her girlie parts. Unable to resist, she brushed a lock of fallen hair off Blake's forehead. He opened one eye and she gasped.
“How long have you been awake?” she asked.
“Longer than you.”
“What? You've been lying there faking it?”
“Yup.”
“That's dumb.”
“I've discovered it's best to give a woman time to herself in the morning. Either to make a quick escape for girl things or contemplate waking me up. You didn't seem to be in any hurry to get out of bed so,” he turned onto his side, “I assume you wish to go again?”
Heat flooded her face. “Presumptuous much?”
He pulled her in with one arm. “Are you denying you weren't thinking about making love with me? I dare you.”
“You dared me last night. And look where that got you.”
“Yes, indeed,” he said, then pressed his mouth to hers.
Two exhausting but fun hours later, they were showered, dressed and eating cereal on deck. The sky, dotted with gray clouds, threatened rain and a very bumpy ride down the coast.
“How's your stomach?” he asked.
“Not trusting those clouds.”
“There's a little town about ninety minutes from here. It's not much, but it has a dock and a nice old woman who runs a quaint little inn. We'll stay there until this passes.”
“It is safe?” She didn't want to jeopardize their lives just because she didn't want to start vomiting again.
“If we'd been followed, they'd have caught up by now. It's safe.” He swallowed a spoon of Cheerios and motioned for her to do the same. “Eat. You'll need your strength.”
“For what? You said it's ninety minutes away.”
“And what do you think we're going to do in those ninety minutes?” He grinned wickedly.
“Listen.” She pointed a finger at him. “I'm not saying this hasn't been fun, but you need to rest.”
“I'm fine.” And he tried to prove it by stealing a kiss.
“You are more than fine, but I'm referring to the hole in your chest.”
“Have I added sarcastic wench to your repertoire?”
“Not yet.”
He made a check mark in the air. “Done.”
“I should start my list for your faults.”
“I have no faults.” He ate another spoon of cereal.
“You said everyone has flaws.”