Sin on the Strip (30 page)

Momentarily stunned, Maggie pressed her head into the cushions, looking up at stormy, chocolate eyes narrowed on her. “I haven't yet,” she assured him, and she wasn't going to, she told herself, feeling a bravado she hadn't experienced in years.

She'd survived countless incidents. How many times had she repeated that mantra and never believed it? Today, she'd lived through the mother lode of evil and taken back her life. She wasn't sure what the future held, but she'd handle it. Fear was inevitable. Without it she wouldn't be human, but she'd work with it when the need arose and learn to respect it when it overwhelmed her. She didn't need to prove anything to anyone.

“Maggie.” His frustration rolled over her like an angry tidal wave and a little of her newfound courage drowned in it.

She wanted him to understand. “I've been such a coward. But no more.”

“Coward? How do you figure?”

“My whole life I've been a chicken-shit. Afraid of going to hell if I wasn't good enough, afraid my father wouldn't love me, of failing and finding another dead kid. I've been afraid,” she repeated, resigning herself to the fact that a part of her was still terrified of those things. But her life was hers now.

“Are you kidding? You left home at sixteen, went to a school on the opposite coast from your parents. You took on Cooper how many times and shut down a human trafficker.”

“I couldn't defend myself. If Horace hadn't come to my rescue, Desilva would have raped and probably murdered me.”

He winced, his eyes closing. When he opened them he pressed his mouth to hers. Hard and possessive, the kiss sent a message. Just what she wasn't certain, but in his kiss she was whole. She was no longer a woman taking shelter in his arms, but a woman in control. And this woman wanted more. But he broke the kiss, taking her breath with him.

“Just so you know, killing a man isn't an act of courage. Cooper found you because you had the common sense to turn your cellphone on. But you have to stop sacrificing yourself to save others. You're no good to anyone dead. Cut the hero act.”

“I . . . no.” She wasn't playing the hero and she resented the comment. “I did what I had to do,” she argued. “He'd have sold those women. I couldn't let him do that.”

“You'd found his location. You should have waited for the police.”

She got angry then, remembering why she'd jumped the gun. “He was raping one of those girls.”

“So you what, you charged him?”

“I thought I could distract him long enough for the police to show up.”

“That was too high a risk.”

She shivered. It had indeed almost cost her. “I know that now.”

“Doing things half-cocked,” he touched a finger to her chest, “and with too much heart, is what's gotten you into trouble. Get that first kid out of your mind, Maggie. They don't all end up dead in alleys. If they do, it's not your fault,” he pressed another kiss to her mouth, driving his point home.

She wondered who exactly he was trying to convince. “Aren't we a pair? Trying to right a wrong from so many years ago.”

“You didn't kill that kid they found in your alley.”

“You didn't kill your sister,” she countered. “How many women has that job of yours allowed you to save? Huh, smartass?”

He rolled to her side, pressing her between the couch and himself. He brushed the tips of his fingers over her lips, back and forth, his breath deepening as if the caress somehow soothed him. With a tender smile, he looked into her eyes. “You got me all figured out?” Hooking his hand under her knee, he lifted her leg over his hip.

“Maybe,” she admitted, realizing for the first time her rash behavior must have hit a sore spot. He was right. She had to listen to her instincts, instead of ignoring them when they warned of danger. “I'm smart, you know,” she said defying him to argue. “I'll always wear my heart on my sleeve, but I promise not to sit on my brain.”

He seemed relieved. The strong muscles that pressed against her relaxed, helping their bodies mold into each other. “You'll wait for help?”

“Help's not always around.”

“I'll say it again. You're no good to anyone dead.”

Did anyone include him? She realized she was holding her breath for more. But for what exactly? Did she think he'd profess his love and they'd live happily ever after? No matter how much she promised to ask for help, part of her knew that, on occasion, rare as she promised herself that would be, she'd get herself into situations that he wouldn't approve of. Knowing him, he'd have a hard time accepting that. Her friends may not like the risks Maggie took, but they'd stick by her. In the end, they were her friends. Beck wasn't dumb enough to intentionally stay with a woman who might, on occasion, push the one button that set him off.

He kissed her then, the tip of her nose. She closed her eyes to let him kiss each eyelid, then her cheeks, and lastly, gratefully, her mouth. That tidal wave of frustration she'd picked up on before was replaced with a tsunami of sexual heat as their tongues explored, tasted and stroked. It rose to dangerous heights with each deep thrust, submerging her in a lustful storm of passion.

Abruptly stopping the kiss, he stood, taking her with him. “Bedroom. No more couches. Not tonight anyway.”

Not waiting for approval, Beck bent down, picked her up, and carried her to the bedroom. He set her down beside the bed then went to stand behind her. He reached around to untie her robe. Fisting the lapels, he pulled them down, baring her shoulders. She gasped when his open mouth clamped down on the sensitive base of her throat. A shiver rocked her body, her thighs squeezing together at the delicious ache his tongue created with each taste of her skin. She couldn't wait for more.

He tugged her robe off, let it lie in a heap by her feet as he stripped off his towel, tossing it with hard flick of his wrist. Pressing his chest to her back, he cupped her breasts, his stiff erection nestled against her bottom. Unable to stop herself, she arched into him, loving the deep groan Beck made.

He moved his lips to her ear. “Do that again, Maggie.”

She complied, hearing a “Sweet God” from Beck. In only seconds, she was flat on her back with him beside. He reached for a remote on the bedside table. A soft beep later, the gas fireplace burst into flames and the lights switched off.

“Never let it be said I'm not romantic.”

“No, just sanctimonious.”

“Never again,” he promised, closing his eyes as she traced circles around one nipple.

Who knew a man's nipples could be so sensitive? Making a mental note to return, she slipped her hand down his six-pack, caressed his hip and made a grab for his tight ass. She gave him a squeeze before returning to the space between their bodies to wrap her hand around his hard shaft.

Beck drew a sharp breath through his teeth, his mouth so fast on hers she forgot to inhale. Before she could think, he clutched her bottom and pulled her close. He continued to show her how a good old southern boy made a woman never want to leave his bed. He left no skin untouched, either by hand or mouth. When he parted his lips to speak, it was to say her name in that sexy drawl. Even his groans of pleasure carried the enticing accent. She'd never get enough of it, of him.

And wasn't that her dilemma? Because in her heart she knew this would be their last night together. Or rather, it should be. He might consider extending his stay, but he had a job to return to and it wasn't in Vegas. She'd enjoy a few more days with him, but in the end it would only make it harder. No, tonight had to be their last.

He teased her, tasted her, and showed her heaven twice before she was able to speak and ask him for a condom. He smiled, reaching out to the bedside table, pulling out the gold wrapper.

“Let me,” she offered and snatched it from his hand.

“You know what you're doing?”

“Relax. How hard can this be?” Then looking down, she knew exactly how hard. She grinned.

He made a grab for the condom, but she held it out of his reach. “Are you rejecting my charitable assistance?” she asked, grinning mischievously.

“You're not going to hurt me, are you?”

“Trust me.”

He gave her a nervous laugh. “Maggie.”

Using her teeth she carefully tore into the wrapper. She removed the condom and tossed the rest over her shoulder. Straddling him, completely unabashed by her nudity, she inch by slow tortuous inch unrolled the latex over the length of him. The muscles in his stomach tightened and she made sure to prolong her act of charity, although she figured he wasn't seeing it that way. She then ran her thumb and index finger over his flesh. “Just checking for tears,” she said, loving the way he tossed his head back and groaned. After several minutes of ensuring there were no rips in the condom, she heard a whoosh of air as he exhaled. A drop of sweat trickled down the side of his handsome face.

“There you go again, taking chances,” he rasped.

Puzzled, she trailed her fingers over that rippled stomach. “Huh?”

“You're playing with fire, teasing me like that.”

She shrugged, letting her hand slip lower. “As I've just discovered, I can take the heat.”

“Darlin', I plan on giving you all you can take.” He flipped her off him, covering her body with his.

That drawl would be the death of her. “Shut up and kiss me.”

He obliged her, kissing her until her lips grew numb and tingled. He kissed her until her body squirmed with a will of its own. He kissed her as he parted her thighs with his knees and positioned himself between her legs. He kissed her until he owned her, plunged deep inside, filled her until she didn't know where he began and she ended. His lips continued to seduce her as his hips tormented her, thrust after thrust.

Encouraged with a sense of liberation, she wrapped her legs around him and met his rhythm. Fear no longer an anvil around her neck, she opened her heart to loving him. If he didn't return her feelings, she'd deal with the heartache. She wasn't jumping into this blind. She knew what she was doing and the risk she took. He was worth it. “Christian,” she called out.

He threw his head back and growled her name then claimed her in another staggering kiss, swallowing her scream. Her intense orgasm seemed to go on forever, her body refusing to release him. When he came, the low guttural sound he made coupled with the movement of hips slamming into hers, she reached another earth-shattering orgasm. Could someone die from sheer pleasure? Shaking from aftershocks, they held each, riding a mind-numbing wave to shore.

With her body still humming, her cheek pressed against his heart, she did the one thing she'd never thought she'd do, willingly open herself to more hurt. “I love you.” It hadn't been a loud proclamation but, confident he'd heard, she waited for him to respond. Uncertain if he'd scoff, tell her she confused great sex with love, or return the sentiment, she was stunned by his reaction.

After kissing her tenderly on the lips, he separated their bodies and went into the bathroom.

“W
ell, that was a jackass move,” he berated his reflection in the mirror. She just told him she loved him and he ran like a chicken-shit teenager. Any other guy would have confessed to loving her back. Right? Then what, they'd live happily ever after? He wouldn't drive himself crazy wondering what shit she'd gotten herself into?

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck,” he muttered, his teeth clenched, his hands bearing down on the Italian marble. He was going to screw this up. This wasn't some case he was working. This was Maggie. Stubborn to the bone, hotheaded, my way or the highway. . . generous, selfless, passionate . . . beautiful, Maggie. He loved her.

He should have seen the signs. Ryan had. Would it have made a difference? Not one iota. He was a selfish asshole. So was this right, for either of them? Would she be true to her word and stay out of trouble? Ruled by her heart, he figured pigs would fly first.

The case now over, Wiseman's and Christian's own personal agenda set to rest, Ryan wanted him in Russia helping the newly posted Blake find a missing supermodel. Insured for three million dollars, her agency couldn't claim one red cent without a body.

It was so nice to have a boss who cared. Unlike Maggie, all they worried about was the loss of revenue. Had he ever had a case where money wasn't at the crux of it? Except for Samantha Wiseman, all of his clients had ulterior motives for hiring ICU. Maybe that's why he'd devoted so much of his time to finding her. Her father hadn't been trying to protect his investment, simply his child.

He stared at his reflection. Maggie didn't do any of this for money.

She may have come to terms with her demons today, but did it make her wiser or less reactionary? Would she practice caution like she promised or let her heart get the best of her, again? She'd taken years off his life, seeing Wright point that gun at her.

If an act of violence took her . . . leaning over the black marble sink, Christian splashed cold water on his face. What the hell was he going to do?

 

Maggie huddled under the covers of the living-room-size bed. She'd gone and done it again. Hadn't she just promised to think before leaping? She could tell herself she made a rational decision and understood the consequence, but really, any fool could see she'd let the afterglow of great sex make her say something that he obviously hadn't wanted to hear. Yeah, sure, she loved him, but that didn't mean it was wise to say it out loud. She'd gone and made whatever time they had left together awkward.

Hearing the click of the bathroom door, she sat up in bed, one hand clutching the blanket to her chest. Pretending her heart wasn't breaking and she hadn't just humiliated herself, she smiled. “Hi.” She could do this. She'd been doing it for the last five years. While ignoring what had happened to her hadn't been the best of moves, in this case she just needed to get through the night. Tomorrow she'd have a good cry.

He stood in the doorframe, naked and all tanned skin, staring at her. His eyes roamed over her body, sending a chill over her that almost, almost softened the pain.

“You look awfully lonely in that big bed,” he finally said. “Why are you covering yourself up? Take it off.”

Maggie blinked, the sudden sharpness in his tone intimidating the crap out her. She clung tighter to the blanket, too stunned by his predatory stance to say anything.

“Did you hear me?” he asked, taking one step forward.

She nodded, unable to do anything else. Last week this might have scared her, this week she knew better.

“Off,” he repeated.

After a long pause, mesmerized by his chocolate eyes, she did as he asked, baring her breasts. Finally, she listened to her instincts. Whether he acknowledged it or not, he had feelings for her. Nothing he said, or rather didn't say, would convince her otherwise. She'd just have to make him stick around long enough to admit it.

“Good girl,” he said and slowly stalked toward her. A wolfish grin on his face, he crawled over the king-size bed and onto her body. “Just wanted to see if you'd listen.” Straddling her thighs, he cupped her face and blew her mind with his kiss. Nipping at her lower lip, licking the corners of her mouth, he whispered, “First I'm going to fuck you. Then I'm buying you dinner.”

Never had she imagined that kind of profanity would turn her on, but she'd grown instantly wet and ready. “I don't have anything to wear.”

“Closet.” He pushed her down on the bed. With no preamble he suckled her breast.

She gasped. “Closet?”

Licking the tight nipple, he repeated, “Closet.” After lavishing the same attention on her other breast, he explained. “I had your friends call your size to the shop downstairs. Everything you need for the next few days is here. Now, using your own words, shut up.”

True to his word, Christian did exactly what he said he'd do.

 

After another shower, together this time, they dressed and went to dinner. In the elevator, impressed by his taste, Maggie had to say something. “This is a Cavalli bustier gown.”

“Yes, I know.” He smiled and made her gasp as he ran a finger along the edge of the gown and over her breasts.

“Did you pick it out?” she managed to get out. The black cocktail dress cut just above the knee and showed off her best assets, her legs.

“Do you like it?” he said, his devilish grin heating her whole body.

“If I said no, would you tell me you didn't?”

Nodding he said, “No.”

She laughed. “I love it.”

“Me too,” he said, kissing her.

Admiring the way he looked in the dark Armani suit, if her stomach hadn't rumbled an embarrassing chorus, she'd have pushed the up button and returned to their suite. Instead, she allowed him to take her to Prime Restaurant, where they enjoyed great steaks and an exceptional bottle of red wine. Surprisingly, dinner wasn't awkward at all. He kept the conversation going, asking her questions about UCLA, answering questions about his career with the FBI. He told her funny stories about Ryan, his boss, and the alligators he kept at his New Orleans home. The man was a serious playboy but from the way Beck talked, she could see he admired him, his loyalty to his employees. Anyone looking at them would never have guessed she'd humiliated herself by telling the man she loved him and his response was to hit the bathroom. It was as if it had never happened. And as the evening wore on, her irritation grew.

He held her hand across the table. “I'm going to fly home in the next few days, spend some time with my dad and then visit my mother.”

“Good plan.” So there it was. He was leaving.

He'd shut his phone off, but through force of habit she kept hers on. It rang. Unable to stop herself, she took the call from the director of the group home. Luckily, it was to tell her all was well. Hannah had been placed in good foster care and would be starting school on Monday. Thanking him for the update, she hung up and felt like the call had put a damper on their evening.

“Do they always do that?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” she shrugged, “but I did ask to be kept in the loop,” she said, trying to explain the interruption.

He nodded. Although he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, she couldn't help but wonder if she was feeling guilty about disrupting their wonderful evening or whether he didn't like being reminded about her run-in with an enraged pimp.

When she returned from a trip to the powder room, he wore a scowl. Unwilling to ruin the romantic dinner again, she was too scared to ask what had changed.

Lost in thought, he didn't hear the waiter inquire about dessert. “Not for me. Maggie?” he said on the second request.

“Coffee, please.” What had him so preoccupied?

After the waiter returned, they went out onto to the patio to watch the fountain show.

“I hate to put a damper on the evening,” he said.

“Then don't.” She wasn't ready to hear anything negative. Except for the call, the evening had been perfect. If they were going to discuss her professing her love, it could wait until tomorrow.

“Sorry, darlin', but you should know Cooper called while you were in the powder room.”

“Anything new?”

“The press have the story. It'll hit the morning papers. Tomorrow the department will hold a press conference.”

“Damn.”

He grinned at her curse. He set her cup on a patio table and took her hands in his. “There's more.”

More?
How much more could ruin my life?

“Your parents know.”

“What?” she shouted, catching the attention of several guests. She lowered her voice. “How?”

“A reporter.”

Her heart dropped. “Oh, no. I have to call them.” She scrambled through her evening bag for her phone, then remembered she'd left it on the table. “Can I borrow your cell?”

“Sure, but Maggie, there's more.”

Her head began to spin. “I need a chair.”

He pulled one out and waited for her to sit before taking one for himself.

Looking up at the star-speckled sky, she wondered what she'd done to deserve this. “Okay, I'm ready. Go.” She wasn't ready, not really, but what was done was done and freaking out wasn't going to help.

“Your parents called Cooper, looking for you. He had to tell them everything.”

“Everything?” She swallowed hard.

“Not much point in holding back. He said your father was very,
very
insistent, and hard to refuse.”

“Yup, that'd be him.”

He took back her hands and kissed each one. “They were more worried about you than the media. Cooper assured them you were fine and well taken care of. We'll call them in a few minutes and you can put their minds at ease. But you should also know your father will be at the press conference tomorrow.”

Maggie's jaw dropped. “Wonderful. Any more good news?” she asked. What else would the universe toss at her?

“I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, but we could only hold the press off for so long. When a man is shot, in your house . . .”

Knowing he was right didn't make it any easier to swallow.

“Want the rest of it now or later?”

“Are you trying to kill me? There must be an easier way of getting rid of me.” She jerked her hands away.

He leaned in and kissed her. His thumb swept across her chin. “Don't shoot the messenger,” he whispered against her mouth.

That which doesn't kill you, she told herself, comes back and tries again. “Okay, let's have it.”

“The media is all over the club.”

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.”

“No, but they have a,” he grunted, “they have shots of your father going in.”

“Kill me now,” she moaned into her hands.

“Come on,” he said, lowering her arms. “It can't be that bad. Cooper said to catch the repeat on the eleven o'clock news.” He looked at his watch. “We have ten minutes.”

“Great, ten minutes until I see my work destroyed and my father raked across the coals.”

“Hey, it was your father who went to the club. He knew you weren't there and in all likelihood knew the press would be. He's a grownup and can take care of himself.”

True, he'd already asked her to expose herself once by attending his book signing. “Can I worry about the club?”

He shrugged. “Why don't we wait and see what happens? Come on, let's go back upstairs.”

She stood, Christian taking her into his arms. Regardless of the other people on the patio, he kissed her, long and hard for several minutes, to the applause of their onlookers. She'd be lying if she said it didn't make her feel better.

 

In their suite, Christian excused himself while she switched on the flat screen. It wasn't difficult to find the story. Every channel was broadcasting the scandal. She watched the footage of her house, the police cars surrounding the home of Reverend Hopewell's daughter. Christian returned to the living room as a body bag was removed and put into an ambulance. Standing, she listened as they laid out sketchy details surrounding the murders of two Las Vegas dancers and the attack on a third, all who worked at Heart's Desire, a club run by the good reverend's daughter.

From behind, Christian wrapped his arms around her, when, for added effect, they tossed in old footage of her father at one of his outdoor sermons, surrounded by thousands of followers. “Just what his followers will have to say about Maggie Anderson is anybody's guess,” the anchor said.

“Right,” she answered the television. Like they didn't hope
his
followers would lynch her father. They could get months out of that story.

Then they aired the video of her father shoving his way through the reporters to get inside her club. He'd ignored the harassing questions answering only, “No comment.” According to the bloodhounds, he stayed thirty minutes before coming out. With the help of two of her bouncers, he managed some breathing room and looked about to make a statement. Maggie froze.

They fired questions about her, his knowledge of the club, about the murders and his reaction, et cetera, et cetera, and he ignored them all.

“My daughter,” he scolded them, “has been through a traumatic experience. Anything I say won't be good enough for you vultures. You'll take it and twist it to sell papers and commercials. My baby girl doesn't need your lies. If you'd done your jobs before coming here smelling blood, you'd all know exactly what she's doing at this club.”