Somebody Killed His Editor: Holmes & Moriarity, Book 1 (31 page)

Then one savage act changes everything, testing not only their fragile bond, but Gabriel’s will to live.

Warning: Combination of Italian stallion and Spanish conquistador could cause spontaneous
combustion. Read with icy cold margaritas on hand for emergencies.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Mexican Heat:

Mesmerized, body swaying slightly to the throb of the music emanating through the floor and walls, his own sexual need tight and hot in his belly, Gabriel reached out to brush a fingertip over the surface of the nearer painting as though trying to touch the indescribable, seductive emotions on the canvas, emotions he craved but had yet to acknowledge even within himself.

He was leaning closer to get a look at the signature in the bottom corner of the canvas when a scuffing sound jerked him back to reality too late. Beguiled by the exotic sights, the primal beat, and his own personal demons, Gabriel never heard the man behind him until he was seized and pinned face down over the broad oak desk.

He struggled, but alcohol and shock at his own carelessness slowed his reactions. His arms were twisted behind his back, his wrists painfully bent.

Belatedly, he remembered the semiautomatic pistol in the glove compartment of his SUV. He’d deliberately left his piece behind, expecting to be frisked entering the club; he hadn’t really anticipated trouble that night. But that was no excuse. He’d been foolhardy. He deserved to get popped just for being stupid.

And the odds of that fate were good because he could feel the outline of the other man’s shoulder holster and gun pressing into his back. The good news was he hadn’t already pulled his weapon and blown Gabriel’s head off.

In fact, now that Gabriel considered it, although the other man’s hold was effective, it wasn’t particularly…professional. It wasn’t even genuinely threatening though the full weight of his assailant had landed across his back, forcing the air from his lungs in an
oof
. The most immediate danger seemed to be to Gabriel’s dick, which was trapped between his hips and the rounded edge of the hard surface.

Warm, tequila-laced breath danced across the cheek not rammed into the desktop. The scent of sandalwood soap and clean sweat teased his nose. Gabriel squirmed until the feel of a thick cock pressed against the back seam of his jeans froze him.

This was…different.

“Listen,” he got out. “The door was open, and I saw the paintings. I’m not trying to steal anything.”

No response.

Torn between the fear that he was really in trouble and the illicit thrill of being trapped and helpless in such a compromising position, Gabriel forced himself to remain still. When nothing further developed, he tried to turn his head to see his attacker, but a rough-velvet cheek landed on his own cleanly shaved one, immobilizing him.

“Hey, asshole,” Gabriel managed. “You hear me?” He gave one angry heave, which the other suppressed without much effort.

“Uh…something you want to say to me, asshole?” he inquired with an effort.

A genuinely amused chuckle rumbled out of the chest pressed into Gabriel’s back and a low, honey-coated voice interrupted him just as he was getting started. There was a shift of hips and the thick rod riding the crease of Gabriel’s jeans slid over him in short, slow strokes. Rubbing his bristled jaw over Gabriel’s cheek, the man teased in a seductive growl, “Speaking of asses,
pequeño asno elegante
, I must say,
yours
is
very
fine.”

That lean jaw moving against his own, those deep, smooth tones—that sexy trace of Spanish accent—

vibrated through Gabriel’s whole body, tingling all the way down his spine to his tailbone.

A tongue traced the edge of Gabriel’s ear. His cock jerked at the touch, desire rippling from his groin directly to his brain, flooding out common sense, reason—self-preservation—and Gabriel found himself pushing back, craving that increased contact. He closed his eyes, biting his lip, feeling the answering hard heat through their clothing—too much clothing.

The man chuckled, a deep, slightly breathless laugh. “So you want to tell me what you’re doing in this private office, gringo? Besides offering up this pretty ass of yours?”

The laugh, even more than the words, recalled Gabriel to himself and his situation. His eyes snapped open. What the hell
was
he doing?

“I told you what I was doing. I was admiring the art collection. If you don’t want people in here, then don’t leave the fucking door open. It’s a public place. An open door is an invitation to enter.”

Unimpressed by this speech, his captor said softly, breath warm against his ear, “Possibly. Or did you think I was in here? Were you following me? I think maybe you were, gringo.”

Say what?
Gabriel made another attempt to free himself, but he could buck and pitch all he liked; he was just wearing himself out. Expelling a frustrated breath, he made himself relax once more on the hard surface. His breath fogged the glossy wood beneath his cheek.

“You’re out of your fucking head…”

But of course he knew now. Only one man in Club Madrone that night had reason to think Gabriel might be looking for him. Well, two men counting Benny, but this powerful build and confident voice in no way belonged to that skinny, whiny weasel.

Gabriel renewed his struggles, nearly levering himself up from the desk, before giving in to the greater weight and strength forcing him back down.

Body tense, Gabriel waited, ready for whatever the next move was.

And there it was: that honeybaked chuckle again. It drove Gabriel frantic.

“Whatever you’re thinking,
dick
head, forget it because I don’t know what the
fuck
you’re talking about. I don’t know who you are, and I wasn’t fucking following
anyone
.”

The hard shaft against his ass pressed closer, and Gabriel involuntarily flexed his hips, rubbing himself over the desk edge and then back against the bulge snuggled into his crack
. God. Please, please.

Yes. Jesus, please some kind of release…

Hot breath scalded his neck and cheek. The man said silkily in his accented English, “
Madre mios
.

You, my ferocious little one, have a gutter mouth a demon would be proud of.”

Little? Little?

“Fuck. You.” Incensed, Gabriel tried to headbutt his captor, only to have a forearm bear threateningly down on the back of his neck. Face smooshed against the slick wood again, he found breathing increasingly difficult.

He jerked as teeth nipped at his nape, the sharp sting startling a shudder out of him. The man gave a satisfied grunt.

“I think”—there was a deliberate pause—“I’d prefer it the other way around.”

Gabriel tried to remember exactly what he’d said, and hissed as he was unexpectedly hauled off the desk. Hands momentarily free, he lashed out, managing to land a couple of hard but largely ineffectual blows at the other’s head. A second later his arms were yanked behind his back, wrists pinioned by one large, capable hand.

Christ, this guy’s strong
. Gabriel felt a flicker of genuine alarm. Even if he really wanted free, he wasn’t sure he’d manage it. Once again he was manhandled over the desk.

Fingers threaded his hair, caressing, curling through the long strands. “So soft,” the big man murmured. “Like a kitten.”

“K-kitten? I remind you of a goddamned
kitten
?” Gabriel stuttered his indignation. He didn’t want tenderness, didn’t want caresses. He tossed his head, but the questing fingers merely clamped in his hair, demanding stillness.

“Shhh.” And the guy said it gently, like he fully expected Gabriel to hush up now.

And appallingly Gabriel felt a melting in his gut, a desire to shut up and do whatever this prick told him to do.

The larger man deliberately shoved his hips against Gabriel.

“D’you…mind…” he gasped.

“I might,” he was informed mildly. “I might be quite sensitive. You might have seriously hurt my feelings.”

Once again the sonofabitch was
laughing
at Gabriel. He ground out, “Yeah, right. Okay, asshole. Fun is fun. Now let me up. I’ve got things to do and places to go. Not that this hasn’t been a night to remember…”

A breath of tequila huffed against the side of his face, tickling his ear. “Is that what you really want, little tiger? You do not like my attentions?”

Gabriel shivered as the man plastered himself closer still, his stiff member rubbing up and down Gabriel’s ass. “You do not want my warmth against your body?”

He shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“We both know you’re lying,
mi gatito parvulo
.” A big hand slid between Gabriel’s legs to grope the hard bulge there. “You desire me,
si
?”

“No, I don’t see,” Gabriel gritted. But, oh God, the feel of that big hand fondling him through the stiff denim of his jeans. It was all he could do not to beg.

The exploring hand found his waistband and worked the button fly of his jeans. Before Gabriel could do more than grunt out a protest, his Levi’s were roughly dragged down. Cool air wafted over his bare cheeks as the jeans slid down his long strong legs to pool at his feet. He was left standing there in his jock strap.

“Silk,” the big man murmured approvingly. “Yes. That is you. That is perfect.”

Perfectly embarrassing, maybe.

And the wisp of silk and elastic went with one swipe, freeing Gabriel’s swollen cock to jut up against the polished wood of the huge desk. He started to turn, then thought better of it, tensing at the clink of a belt buckle. This was followed by the slide of a zipper. Gabriel stood frozen, the blood pounding dizzily in his ears. His cock was already leaking in excitement.

The big man said something soft in Spanish, something Gabriel couldn’t quite catch, but the velvet growl of words nuzzled into his hair set his heart tumbling.

Long steely fingers wrapped around his shaft. The blunt, callused pad of a thumb slowly massaged the head, teasing the underside and tracing the creamy slit. Gabriel bit his tongue to keep from moaning, but as the edge of that thumb smeared the precome, a faint sound escaped him. His knees weak, he gratefully acknowledged the hard arm about his waist, only noticing then—distantly—that his hands were free. Good thing. He needed them to steady himself on the edge of the desk.

Hard fingers moved between his legs, exploring the tight sac and then leisurely moving on. A sliding caress of one angular hip and then the long blunt fingers slowly traced the crack of Gabriel’s taut ass.

Then came the delicate press of a thick fingertip on the hot pink hole of Gabriel’s anus.

“Holy mother!” the man said huskily. “You feel so ripe, so ready for me.”

Gabriel moaned again, shivering. “Oh…fuck!”

The fingers pierced him slowly, sweetly. Slickly. Slickly?
Lube? Where did this guy get lube?
Was he some kind of always prepared sexual Boy Scout or did he find it in a desk drawer? It wasn’t hard to believe in this place: tubes of KY dispensed with the bottles of Wite-Out.

“Is that a request?” The man pressed his lips next to Gabriel’s ear. The hand holding Gabriel’s straining cock in its callused warmth stilled. “Because if it isn’t, I’ll stop now.” Though the voice was no less seductive, an undertone of inflexibility cut through the haze of Gabriel’s lust. “I have no wish to take what is not truly desired.”

Gabriel twisted, staring back at the stern, handsome face watching his own. The big man’s cock was nestled hotly in the crease of his ass. His own shaft rested trustingly in the other’s tight grip. And
now
the guy wanted to discuss it? Jesus fucking Christ!