His throat worked when he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. “What are you doing?”
“No one can see us.” Glancing at the privacy screen that made the air waver ever so slightly, she tugged at the seal on his fly. “I know you've tried exhibitionism before. I remember the night we spent in the Peep Show at Tail. Pressed up against the glass for everyone in the technobrothel to watch.”
The look in his eyes was hot enough to burn. A little smile quirked up one side of his lips. “I remember. I remember every nanosecond we've ever spent together. Every word, every sigh, every moan. I'm not the one who's been running away from what we have.”
Now it was her turn to swallow, her hands stilling. “It was for your own good.”
“Was it?” His finger crooked under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Or was it because you're scared to be with a man you're not trying to scam?”
“It's more complicated than that and you know it. My life is . . .” She rolled a shoulder forward, unable to find the right words. The convincing words. But who was she trying to convince? Him or herself? She didn't know anymore, and that disturbed her more than she liked.
Breck shook his head. “Your life is what it's always been, Tamryn. This specific situation is especially personal for you, but . . . this is your life. Playing the game. On the grift.”
Never safe. Never trusting anyone. Never knowing if or when her cover might be blown. Never letting anyone in. She'd been lying to everyone so long, it threw her off balance that he knew the truth, that he was seeing the sordid ugliness of her reality. She might have learned to pass for someone wealthy and worthy of a man like Breck, but she knew what was fiction and what wasn't. She didn't lie to herself.
He leaned forward, his lips a micrometer from hers. They stayed that way for a protracted moment, gazes locked. The scent of him filled her nose, and her muscles loosened, heated. His breath brushed against her skin when he spoke. “Maybe if you stay around me long enough, it won't be so scary to have something real with someone who knows you.”
Butterflies winged through her stomach and she wanted to pull back, wanted to hide behind a convenient mask, a charming smile, but there were no masks with this man. He'd seen behind them. But he was wrong. It wasn't just scary to consider having something real with someone who wasn't just another grifter like her.
It was terrifying.
Gut-wrenching. Utterly horrifying.
It couldn't happen. This wasn't her reality. There were no fairy-tale endings for people like her. She was no one's sweet, innocent little Cinderella. She was more akin to the wicked witch. And she didn't have time for fantasies. She had bigger problems to deal withâlike keeping her sister alive and well.
That
was no game to her.
Pushing to her feet, she twisted away from Breck. “Let's watch theâ”
His hands snapped around her waist, jerking her backward into his lap. She squealed, her claws unsheathing on instinct as she grabbed the arms of the chair for balance. Struggling against his grip, she hissed. “I can slice you open, birdbrain. Don't forget that.”
He controlled her movements, and she could feel his rigid cock rubbing against her backside as she wriggled. His voice was a low growl in her ear. “Ah, but you know I like it when you use your claws on me, kitty cat. Just like I know that you like it when I make sure you can't.”
Meaning when he tied her down and did whatever he wanted with her. Wicked, carnal things that made her moan and beg for him to make her come. Over and over again. And he did. He always did.
His arms locked tight around her waist, holding her still. One hand gathered up the front of her dress until he could reach under it and slide his palm up her thigh to cup her sex.
Excitement whipped through her, made her breath rush in little pants and her heart pound in her ears. It almost drowned out the sound of the horn that announced the next race. His talons shredded her panties, left her hot, slick sex exposed. He jerked the scrap of microsilk away and threw it to the floor. The brush of cool air against her heated skin made her shudder and writhe. He ran the tip of one talon along the lips of her pussy, and her hands clenched on the arms of the chair.
“Breck,” she hissed through gritted teeth, feeling her fangs rub against her bottom lip.
Not bothering to answer, he flicked his talon across her hardened clit, and the muscles in her thighs jerked in response. She moaned, opened her legs to hook over his, and let her head fall back on his broad shoulder. The fabric of his shirt rustled, and there was something undeniably erotic about the fact that the only parts of them that were unclothed were their sexes. His cock prodded her backside, making her burn for the surcease that only he could give her.
“Slide my cock into your pussy, Tam.” His voice was a rough, intimate growl that sent shivers racing down her skin.
Releasing her hold on the arm of the chair, she had to concentrate on retracting her claws before she could do as he bid. She reached between her spread thighs to grasp his straining dick. Pressing the head to her entrance, she rocked her hips backward to take him into her while he thrust up. They both moaned as he filled her.
“Breck!”
“Tam,” he groaned in return. “Ride me, beloved.”
As if there was any other choice now. She had to finish this, her body screeched for fulfillment, the cheetah within her little more than a cat in heat. She lifted and lowered her hips, and his rocked to the same quick rhythm she set for them. Now. She wanted to come now. He slipped one hand up to fondle her breasts through her dress, roughly pinching and twisting each tight nipple in turn. Pinpricks of sensation radiated out from where he touched her. It was exquisite torment.
Using her grip on the chair for leverage to move ever faster, she took advantage of her cheetah speed. The cat and woman wrestled for control, and she wasn't sure who won. They both got what they wanted.
Sweeping the finger on his other hand back and forth across her clit in time with her movements, Breck pushed her to the edge of her endurance. The way his cock filled her, stretched her to the limit, made her clench her teeth. It was too much, each deep penetration sent tingles skipping down her limbs. She could feel orgasm building inside her, her muscles tightening until she knew she'd snap. Up, down, up, down, she rode him hard and fast, sweat slipping down her temples and her lungs heaving as she chased after that inevitable conclusion.
“Come for me, Tam,” he ordered, pinching her clit.
She imploded, her channel fisting around his cock in hard pulses that left her gasping. His hands bracketed her hips, holding tight enough to leave bruises. He took over the motion, forcing her to move on his cock as he kept thrusting into her pussy, dragging her orgasm out while low cries burst from her throat. Her inner muscles flexed on his cock again and again until she thought she might die from the overwhelming sensation, but then he froze beneath her, jerked her down to seal her sex to his, and ground his pelvis upward into her pussy. She screamed as another climax streaked through her, and his come pumped inside of her while he groaned, long and loud.
Relaxing bonelessly against him when it was over, she felt quivers of aftershock running through her limbs. It was headier than a hit of bliss. She sighed and pried her claws out of the kleather. “I ruined the chair.”
“Worth every cred they're going to charge me for it,” he replied, stroking his fingers in lazy circles on the inside of her thigh. A satiated sigh heaved from his broad chest. “We need to get ready for the party.”
But he made no move to rise, just stayed right where he was. Which made it that much harder for her to do the right thing, but a flash of Sophie's face went through her mind and she had to act.
She rose on shaky legs, his cock sliding free as she stood. Her thighs were damp with her wetness and his seed. Keeping her dress bunched in her hands, she turned for the wash closet. “I'll be right back.”
“I can clean up out here.” Grabbing for a napkin that had arrived with the champagne and appetizers, he groaned. “Hurry, I think the last race is about to start.”
As if to prove his point, the blast of the horn echoed over the raceplex. She put a bit of cheetah speed behind her clean up, using water, sanitizer, and a hand towel to take care of as much of the mess they'd made as possible. It would have to do. They didn't have time to go back to the inn where they were staying to change clothing. She smoothed her dress down her legs and tidied her hair, then stepped out in time to see him sealing his pants.
“Time to go.”
Stooping down, he picked something up off the floor. He dangled what was left of her panties from one finger, bringing them up to his nose to sniff. “Ah, the scent of a woman who's wet.” His grin was wicked. “I don't think you'll be wearing these to the party. Let's hope there's no breeze to lift that skirt up.”
“The party is indoors.”
The sound of his rich laughter followed her out of the box.
5
T
wo steps forward and three steps back. It was the endless dance between Breck and Tam. He tried to pull her toward him, and she pushed back. There was a hollow fear in the pit of his stomach every time he thought about what happened once this was over. Assuming they came through this in one pieceâand he could only hope that was even possibleâhe still had no idea if she would want anything permanent with him. The cheetah-shifter was a moving target. A very fast one, at that.
She knew they were mates now, but what did that really mean to her? She didn't feel this connection, this compulsion to stay with one person forever. That was the albatross around his neck, not hers. For all he knew, she didn't even give a shit. She might want him, might care about him, might even love him, but that hadn't kept her with him before. What chance did he have that it would keep her with him now?
How long could he keep chasing her? How many times did she have to shove him away before giving up was better than trying again?
He sighed. Now wasn't the time. Her mind was on the situation with her sister, as it should be. He couldn't hold that against her. If he had any family left, he'd do whatever it took to help, too. Just as he was willing to do whatever it took to help his mate. But in the back of his mind, the nagging worry was constantly there.
What if she disappeared again?
Slipping his arm around her trim waist, he led her into the Duke of Gemini's party. He blinked. The place was . . .
gaudy
was the best word he could come up with. It was festooned with microsilk rosettes in every imaginable shade. Most of them ugly. There were ice sculptures, gyrating belly dancers, a fountain burbling liquid that looked remarkably like blood, and a banal few vidscreens replaying the racing highlights of the day. Somehow, he'd expected something a bit more tasteful. Polished and refined.
This was none of those things.
Glancing up at him, Tam snorted. “You really hadn't heard of His Grace's tastes?”
“What taste?” He whispered from the corner of his mouth, smoothing his expression into the polite lines his mother had always insisted on when the Breckenridges were in public.
A giggle spilled from her, and she covered her mouth with her fingertips. She was so beautiful. Her black microsilk dress managed to be sexy, chic, and sophisticated at the same time. Her hair had been up this morning, but their session in the raceplex box had left it trailing down her back in soft waves. He wanted to get his hands into it again, loved that he knew she wore nothing under the dress. He wanted his hands under that again, too.
She poked his arm. “Here he comes.”
He didn't have to ask which of the many men milling in the huge room was the duke. No, there was only one who fit right in to this tacky monstrosity. He was as round as he was tall and rolled toward them, loud laughter bursting from his throat at something the painfully skinny man beside him said.
Tam bent her head and curtsied deeply when the duke stopped in front of them. Breck managed to incline his head respectfully, but he wasn't going to bow. He'd probably fall over laughing. The man was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen. A brilliant green snake nanotat wound up from under his shirt, wrapped around his neck and up his face. It writhed under his skin, blinking and flicking out its forked tongue. Another nanotat was a single blue tear that rolled down his cheek from the corner of one eye, rolled back up again, and then trailed down once more.
“Your Grace,” Tam purred as she rose from her curtsy. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“Ah, who's this?” The man's puffy cheeks made his eyes disappear when he smiled.
“I'm Constantine Breckenridge, and this lovely lady is Felicia Tamryn.” Summoning up his most winning grin, Breck introduced them with a flourish of his hand. A man like this would appreciate a bit of ostentation. “By odd coincidence, we both prefer our last names to our first, so please call us Breck and Tam, Your Grace.”
The rotund man's laugh boomed out. “It is quite the coincidence, no?”
Tam's hand tucked into the crook of Breck's elbow. The look she gave him was nothing short of adoring. “I've always liked to think it's part of what makes us perfect for each other. We have so much in common.”
“You are a beautiful couple.” His Grace favored them with a little wave that would have made the queen proud. “Enjoy my party. Have a drink to celebrate all the winners today, and another to commiserate with those who weren't as lucky.”
He and his entourage rolled by, leaving Breck and Tam to circulate with the other guests. She poured on the charm whenever they spoke to anyone, and he was reminded why she was so good at getting people to do whatever she wanted. She was beautiful, smart, witty, and she had enough charisma to draw even the most resistant out of their shells. Some of it was real, he knew, but some was an act for the benefit of those watching. He doubted anyone except him could tell the difference. She was damn good at what she did. If only she used her abilities for something slightly less nefarious.
An hour and a half passed before they got their first glimpse of Abernathy. Finally. Breck took a step in his direction, but Tam's hand restrained him. She murmured, “Let him come to us.”
“Why?”
Her eyes sparkled with laughter when she met his gaze. “Who does this for a living, again?”
Snorting, he pinched her backside, making her jolt forward a bit. “I wasn't arguing with your expertise, just trying to learn something.”
“Considering a new career?” She arched an eyebrow.
“Your tactics would work in my line of work, beloved.” Something he'd thought more than once before. Would that be a way to keep her? Give her a legitimate outlet for her skills and the opportunity to keep Sophie with her? She'd said this was the only thing she could do once she'd become a criminal, because no one would hire her. Perhaps he could change that for her. Then again, he wasn't certain being her boss was a direction he wanted to take their relationship. Something to consider at a later date.
Another member of the House of Lords drifted near, and Tam drew her and her husband into a conversation. Catherine and Kenneth Fordythe seemed to like to hear themselves speak expansively on everything. The topics went from horse racing to laws regulating betting on human races. It was then that Abernathy and his wife came to say hello to the other couple, and Breck realized that somehow Tam had known this would happen, that the two members of the House of Lords were friends and talking to one would bring over the other.
Impressive.
He engaged lightly in the discussion. Most of it was about English politics, which was something he knew little about. He did participate in conversations about business. Mostly, he just watched Tam do her thing, making both the other couples fall in love with her.
Abernathy's wife sighed, glancing at a troupe of gyrating belly dancers with a small smile. She had a face that could rival any of the horses at the raceplex today. “This is a very . . . exotic party. We don't get anything like this in London.”
“Is that really a bad thing, Drusilla?” Breck arched his eyebrows in mock surprise, making the politicians try to hide a snicker.
“I like it. It adds a bit of . . . something to the occasion.” Mrs. Fordythe waved her champagne flute, indicating the ice sculptures shaped like famous racehorses and lit in eye-searing phosphorescent colors. Her husband hummed in agreement with her, but he didn't seem to disagree with her about anything. She had him well trained.
Lord Abernathy huffed, his thick mustache ruffling. “I do like things a bit more dignified, but this is the place to be after the Classic.”
It took Breck a moment to remember the final race today had been a big annual event called the Ascot Classic.
“Well, perhaps we can accommodate your tastes.” His smile included both couples. “Tam and I are hosting a party back in town at my penthouse. The Royale. You'll all be sure to come, won't you?”
Abernathy's eyebrows rose at the mention of the exclusive establishment. If Breck had the penthouse there, it said something about his affluence as well as his influence. He let his smile widen. “I'm in town on business for a few weeks. Always good to meet new people, make new connections. You never know what might come of it.”
“What business is that, if you don't mind my boldness?” Mr. Fordythe asked.
Breck took a sip of his scotch. “I own the Breckenridge Group, among other enterprises.”
And that was when his last name connected with what the newsvids said about New Chicago corporations. He watched their eyes light as comprehension dawned, and a bit of calculated greed came from both politicians.
“Good friends of ours, Hunter Avery and his mate, will also be there.” Tam rested her head against Breck's shoulder, the very image of innocent curiosity. “Have you met the Averys before?”
Few had. Before his mating, Hunter had been a well-known recluse, shying away from the public because he was guaranteed to end up on the newsvids. Now, however, if his wife had a job in London or Beijing or any other city on the planet, he was likely to be close behind.
Tam offered a sweet smile. “They're a charming couple. Really, you must meet them, mustn't they, darling?”
“Of course.” Breck grinned back, trying to look as adoring as she did, but doubting he pulled it off.
“I'll be certain to send details around to your secretaries.” When they came up with those details, she meant.
There wasn't a reciprocal offer to attend the Abernathy's ball, but at least they had an additional opportunity to wrangle that out of them. Breck was willing to bet if the Averys showed at the party, he and Tam could command any audience they wanted. People would use any angle to get a piece of Hunter Avery.
Tam ran a hand down Breck's arm. “Darling, I seem to have run out of champagne.”
“We can't have that. Let's see if we can find a waiter.” After they stepped away, he bent and whispered in her ear, “How are you going to guarantee the Averys are there? Darling.”
She grinned at him. “I thought I'd try asking them.”
“You think that will work?” His tone was dubious, he couldn't help it. “Hunter hates society parties.”
Her shoulder dipped in a nonchalant shrug. “Delilah would come for me.”
“She's a friend?”
“
Friend
is perhaps too strong a word, but we've developed a respect for each other's work over the years.” Tam's eyes crinkled at the corners, but she didn't quite smile. “We're both very good at what we do, and that can occasionally be . . . mutually beneficial.”
He frowned down at her. “You've worked together before?”
“I can't say.” She winked. “Discretion.”
“Honor among thieves.” He chuckled as they reached a table filled with miniaturized dishes from all imaginable food groups. He picked up one that looked like it might have been a tiny chicken.
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” she retorted a little too sharply. “There
are
certain codes of conduct that people adhere to. It keeps us all safe. Or safer, as the case may be.”
“Stop assuming that every word I say about your profession is a criticism.” He shot her a look.
“I'm not.” But the protest was weak; she tried to hide a wince and didn't quite succeed.
“You are. Stop it.” He held up the chicken. “What kind of gene-junking do you think made this possible?”
“More importantly, is it safe to consume?” Her lips twisted into a funny shape, though he thought he saw a flash of relief that he wasn't going to pursue the disagreement.
“I don't think I'll risk it.” He set the dish back down and got back to their original discussion. “I like the Averys. I'm sure they'll be delightful additions to our party. I assume you know someone who can plan it for us.”
“Yes. Me. I may have grown up on the London docks, but I can throw a party that won't shame you.” She hurried on when he gave her a pointed look. “I'll speak to the Royale catering staff when we return to town tomorrow.”
It was moments like this that showed the cracks in the veneer she'd applied so carefully. When she was manipulating people, she was the most confident woman he'd ever met. When it came to the woman beneath the act, she had flashes of vulnerability that caught him off guard. Sometimes it even seemed to border on self-loathing, and that worried him. “Well, then. Better you than me.”
“I assume you have an assistant who handles these things for you.” She gingerly bit into what looked like a mutated strawberry. It was fluorescent blue. Her eyes widened in horror and she snatched up a flute of champagne, gulping it down.
“Glad I didn't risk it.” He laughed at the expression on her face. “But I have three assistants, at last count. They handle everything. Terrifyingly efficient women. You remember them.”