Wilde Thing (5 page)

Her lips skimmed his jawline, teasing his senses. “Well, just so you know, a month is a very long time to lust after one particular person, and my anticipation level is already near to bursting.”

His breath left his lungs in a tight exhale. Scorching heat curled inside him at the thought of her body primed and ready for his. The notion threatened his restraint, making him
burn
to give all that confined excitement within her a proper and very provocative kind of release.

God, she was so damned sexy, she made his insides ache and his palms sweat—a feat no other woman had
ever accomplished. She was a beguiling witch, a temptress who would undoubtedly hold her own when it came to fulfilling his sensual and erotic demands in the bedroom.

Lifting one of his hands to her face, he cupped her cheek in his callused palm, dragged his thumb along the curve of her jaw, and addressed that anticipation problem of hers. “I guess we’ll just have to make sure we do something about all that pent-up desire of yours,” he drawled.

Unable to hold back the rampant male instinct firing his blood or to resist the hot female invitation in her eyes, he lowered his head, and she eagerly met him halfway. Her lips parted beneath the coaxing pressure of his, and his tongue swept inside, slow and teasing, then gradually taking possession of her mouth in a deep, wet, ravenous kiss that was unmistakable in its carnality and sexual intent.

The distinctive, familiar rumbling sound of a sports car pulling into the parking lot penetrated the mind-numbing pleasure of the moment. Reluctantly he pulled back, preparing himself to deal with the consequences of putting his relationship with Liz on public display.

“Shit,” he muttered, and at her startled, wide-eyed stare he explained, “It’s my partner, Cameron. And I apologize ahead of time for putting you in the middle of an embarrassing situation.”

Her cheeks were flushed with color, but she didn’t seem the least bit ashamed or uncomfortable at their predicament. “You mean getting caught making out?”

The humor threading her husky voice relieved him and made him smile. “Yeah.”

“Well, let’s get something perfectly straight,” she said, her gaze holding his as she boldly ran a hand from his shoulder to his chest. “I
let
you kiss me, of my own free will, and I wanted it as much as you did. So I can handle the consequences of getting caught if you can.”

This woman never ceased to amaze him, and he liked having proof of just how adventurous she could be. He gave her a nod of agreement, stepped back, then turned to face his partner and best friend since college, who’d just unfolded his big body from his new metallic-blue Porsche Boxster. Cameron headed their way, his curiosity undisguised as he looked Liz over and obviously liked what he saw.

Steve’s stomach churned with an uncharacteristic bout of male rivalry. He’d never been a jealous man, and he’d certainly never felt any competition from his love-'em-and-leave-'em partner, yet he couldn’t deny the protective, possessive impulses making themselves known where Liz was concerned.

Cameron neared, and knowing an introduction was inescapable, Steve decided to do the deed and get it over with. “Liz, this is my partner, Cameron Sinclair. Cam, Liz Adams.”

Liz politely held out her slender hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Cam shook her hand. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said as an unmistakably charming grin slid into place.

Unaffected by his blond good looks and flirtatious attempt, Liz merely smiled and glanced back at Steve. “I really need to get going.”

He agreed. The sooner she was on her way, the sooner Steve could set Cam straight about a few things, namely, that Liz was taken, and second, that she was a client as well.

Opening the driver’s-side door for Liz, he waited for her to get settled in the seat and buckle herself in, knowing damn well that his partner was ogling her smooth, tanned thighs where the hem of her skirt had ridden up.

Steve stepped more fully in front of Cam, blocking the other man’s view of Liz’s assets. “I’ll talk to you tonight,” he said, and enclosed her in the small car.

As soon as Liz turned onto the main street, Cam asked without compunction, “So, who’s the hot number?”

Steve knew what his friend wanted to know: beyond Liz’s name, what was her connection to him, and what was the
real
scoop between the two of them? “She’s a client, and someone I’m seeing, so I’d advise you to keep your eyes, hands, and thoughts to yourself.”

Cameron’s brows rose in surprise, and he held said hands out to his sides in supplication. “Whoa, what’s with the territorial attitude?”

Feeling irritable and provoked, when he was normally so calm and collected, Steve scowled at Cam. “I’m just letting you know up front that she’s taken.”

“By you, obviously … judging by that kiss I interrupted and that boner you’re sporting.”

“Go to hell, Sinclair,” he growled.

Cameron chuckled and slapped Steve on the back, unfazed by his foul mood. “I’ve been telling you for months now that you ought to get laid. I’m just glad to see you’ve taken the advice to heart with one hell of a sexy woman.” Cam’s affable disposition ebbed into a more serious expression. “But I do have to say, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you mix business and pleasure. What’s up with that?”

Steve shrugged. “Extenuating circumstances.” Along with the need to get one certain woman out of his system.

Cameron narrowed his gaze, obviously guessing that there was much more at stake. “Must be some case.”

“It is.” Steve rubbed his fingers against the throb beginning in his temple. The heat of the sun beating down on his head, along with Cam’s line of questioning, was giving him a headache.

Knowing there was no avoiding the inevitable conversation to come—the discussion where he gave his business partner a rundown of the situation so that
Cam was familiar with the dynamics of the case should he need to get involved, which was standard practice between the two of them—Steve headed back toward the office building.

“Come on; I’ll explain everything inside.”

T
he tension vibrating through Steve was due to a culmination of sexual anticipation and a keen restlessness he couldn’t shake—a hindering impatience that had grown with each hour that passed since Liz had left his office building that afternoon.

Exhaling a harsh stream of breath, Steve continued his agitated pacing across his living room floor. Normally, he was a patient, relaxed kind of guy when it came to delays and lengthy downtime on a case. So many aspects of his job had trained him to endure long waits and even longer hours of dull and monotonous surveillance. It was boring, tedious work at times—no unruly hormones or other unwanted emotions involved—and tonight’s prolonged wait should have been no different.

Unfortunately, the mind was a powerful stimulant and had the ability to conjure up all kinds of provocative scenarios that could drive a man crazy. Unlike a straight surveillance job, there was nothing to watch or observe in terms of Liz’s case. Not yet, at least.

At the moment, and until the clock struck 11:15 P.M., all he could do was imagine her somewhere on the third floor of that building, titillating callers with frank sexual talk and using her feminine wiles to bring men’s
explicit requests to life over the phone lines. Servicing other men verbally and getting them off on the dark, carnal fantasies she wove for their pleasure. And what about the callers who deigned it their duty to talk dirty to her in return?

“Christ,”
he muttered, unable to fend off the surge of frustration adding to the other unexplainable feelings that had consumed his thoughts for the past hour and a half. He shoved his fingers through his thick hair, annoyed with his possessive behavior and the unexpected realization that this one certain woman could get to him on such a gut-deep level—and so damn quickly. He was a man used to being in control of every aspect of his life, his sex life and the women he chose to date included, and he didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t subdue his uncharacteristic reaction to Liz’s temporary job.

Rolling his taut shoulders, he soothed his irritable mood by reminding himself that very soon it would be his turn to increase the heat and level of excitement between them, to share some of his most forbidden desires with Liz and find out what she craved, as well.

And then, later tonight, they’d unleash those fantasies and fulfill them.

Over the arousal settling like molten heat in his belly, his stomach managed a hungry growl—a surprising bid for
food
in the midst of his turbulent thoughts. Although he’d eaten dinner hours ago, apparently all his keyed-up energy and the circuit training he’d put himself through in his home gym earlier had quickly burned off his meal. Figuring he had time for a late-evening snack before he called Liz, and welcoming the distraction, he headed into the kitchen, rummaged through the refrigerator, and cringed at the lack of sustenance that greeted him. He hated grocery shopping and hated cooking more—those were two aspects of being a bachelor that sucked.

Grabbing the last cold bottle of beer and finding an open bag of chips in the cupboard, he headed upstairs to a secondary bedroom he’d converted into a fully equipped home office. Sitting down at his desk, he booted up his computer. While he waited for the unit to warm up, his mind wandered to the conversation he’d had with Cameron after Liz’s departure that afternoon. They’d discussed the nature of Liz’s case, The Ultimate Fantasy, and her cousin’s disappearance, so that Cam was at least briefed on the case.

Steve didn’t bring up his personal relationship with Liz—what happened between them beyond the case was nobody’s business but their own. As a good friend and understanding partner, Cam had respected his privacy and hadn’t pushed for details.

He tossed a few potato chips into his mouth, took a long drink of his beer, and checked his personal E-mail account. He chuckled through the series of raunchy, ribald jokes that his brother Adrian enjoyed sending to him and Eric, but it was the E-mail from Steffie Wilde that made him smile and his chest expand with affection.

He loved hearing from his sixteen-year-old daughter, especially since she’d moved to Texas with her mother, Janet, and stepfather, Hugh, nearly three years ago. Steve missed Steffie—E-mails, talking on the phone, and seeing her only a handful of weeks out of the year didn’t seem like nearly enough time with her during these crucial teenage years.

But he’d take whatever he could get, including the E-mails and digital pictures she sent through the Internet, which kept him updated on her life. Opening the letter, he read the contents, imagining in his mind how her expressive blue eyes would sparkle as she regaled him with her latest tales of school, her involvement in the drama club, and the boy who’d taken her to one of the high school formal dances.

He clicked on the attached files and looked through the collage of photos she’d taken with the digital camera he’d bought for her this past Christmas. There were pictures of Janet and Hugh, happily married and enjoying their life in Texas, along with shots of Steffie posing for the camera with her beloved golden retriever, Buffy.

And then there was his little girl in a long formal gown, looking absolutely stunning and too sophisticated for her tender young age, standing with a sandy-haired boy who had his arms around her waist and held her much too close for Steve’s liking. Her hands rested on his chest, their heads were touching, and the look of adoration glimmering in Steffie’s eyes made Steve’s heart constrict with a startling sense of déjà vu.

Steve took another gulp of beer as a jarring realization crashed over him. His daughter, age sixteen, was not only allowed to date, but she was the same age that he and Janet were when they’d started going steady. They’d become high school sweethearts, and after two years of dating exclusively and just a month after graduation, Janet discovered that she was pregnant.

Eight months later, Steve was a married nineteen-year-old, and a daddy to a sweet baby girl who’d wrapped him around her little finger the moment she was born. He’d worked two back-to-back jobs to support his new and unexpected family, until he’d graduated from the police academy and landed a decent-paying job with Chicago’s finest.

For ten years, he’d devoted himself to raising Steffie, done his best to keep his marriage together despite the growing tension between him and Janet, and taken his job as a police officer seriously—until he’d taken a bullet to his upper right arm, which had affected some nerve endings in his hand. The injury hadn’t caused any paralysis, thank God. The only time he felt any discomfort was when he did a lot of heavy lifting or worked out
with his weights too much. But there had been enough damage for the doctors to worry about his reflexes when it came to shooting his weapon. They’d made the recommendation to Steve’s lieutenant that he be reduced to modified work duty, which in essence meant sitting behind a desk pushing paperwork, or writing tickets for expired meters. That hadn’t been an option for him, since he wasn’t one who could handle a desk job, thus his change in careers to a private investigator.

The shooting, and the stress of his job, had brought a lot of things to a head in his marriage that he and Janet had ignored for far too long. When she asked him for a divorce, he didn’t protest. He’d known for years that they were only going through the motions of being husband and wife, more for Steffie’s sake than anything else. Their split had been amicable, and they were both much happier as a result of going their separate ways.

And now here he was, six years divorced and a confirmed bachelor who enjoyed his lifestyle and career. He just wished that Steffie didn’t live so damn far away.

He sent an E-mail back to his daughter and checked a few other messages. Finally, the time arrived for him to call Liz, to establish himself as a regular caller and client. To do his best to unearth some of her secrets and fantasies, and share a few of his own.

Anxious to hear her voice and be the recipient of her attempt at verbal seduction, he finished off his beer, shut down his computer, and headed to his bedroom down the hall. He striped off his clothes and donned a pair of boxer shorts for the sake of comfort, grabbed the cordless phone from the nightstand, and sat down on his king-size bed, which suddenly seemed much too big and empty when all he could think about was having Liz filling the vacant spot next to him.

Punching in the phone number he’d memorized the moment he’d seen it on the business card Liz had given him, he settled himself against the pillows pushed against
the headboard, more than prepared to seduce and be seduced.

The phone on the small table jangled, and Liz’s gaze automatically shot to the watch on her wrist, to gauge the time, as she’d done with each call since the beginning of her shift over two hours ago. It was 11:15, her designated meeting time with Steve, but that didn’t mean another call couldn’t slip past the switchboard operator before Steve’s and keep her on the line for another ten or twenty minutes of sex talk.

Please, please, please let it be Steve,
she silently prayed as another shrill ring echoed in the small confines of the room. She wore a headset, which left her hands free, and all it took to connect the call was a press of a button on the phone unit on the table. She reached out, touched the flashing button with her index finger, and hesitated, her heart drumming hard and fast in her chest—in an odd combination of anticipation and dread, because she had no clue who was on the other end of the line.

God, she didn’t think she could handle another anonymous caller desperate for sexual attention, and a down-and-dirty verbal exchange to get him off. She shuddered in disgust, knowing the previous men she’d talked to this evening had climaxed from the requested fantasies she’d fulfilled—or had pretended exceptionally well, just as she’d fabricated loud and robust orgasms on her end just to end the call as quickly as possible. So far, her act had been convincing enough to earn her praise and compliments from her male patrons.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine what her cousin found so enticing about being a phone sex operator. Liz was far from being a prude, but she found the job downright creepy in terms of engaging in intimate and very explicit conversation with so many faceless
strangers. It had taken monumental effort for her to separate her real personality from the sex kitten the caller expected her to be, and that meant pretending to be a woman who was sophisticated and experienced when it came to lewd, outlandish, and kinky sex acts.

All for the sake of finding her wayward cousin and saving Liz from having to involve her aunt and uncle in another one of Valerie’s impossible escapades.

A third loud ring jarred her back to the present, demanding she pick up the line before someone peeked in on her to find out why she wasn’t answering. Forcing herself back into the role she’d been playing, she inhaled a calming breath and connected the call.

“Hi, baby,” she greeted huskily, using the opening line another operator had suggested she use to immediately break the ice and make the customer feel like he was special.

“Hello yourself,” a familiar male voice drawled, the low, sexy timbre making her heart beat even faster.

Steve. Thank God.
Relief flooded through her, so strong, she felt light-headed.

“Is this Sindee?” he asked, playing the game like the dedicated nightly caller he would become.

“In the flesh,” she replied automatically, her flirtatious comment coming easily with him, and without any pretense.

“Mmm, I like the way that sounds.” There was a smile in his tone, one she knew would be all male and pure seduction in person.

Letting the night’s tension drain from her limbs, she leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and conjured his image in her mind. Thick, silky black hair that was undoubtedly tousled around his head. Sinful blue eyes filled with heat and hunger. And a lean, muscled, aggressive body she couldn’t wait to see and feel in action. There was only one thing left she needed to know to complete the picture.

“Where are you?” she asked curiously, and readjusted the earpiece to her headset to make it fit more comfortably.

“In my bedroom, in my bed,” he said softly, seductively. “Wearing very little.”

Oh, he was very, very bad. Unbidden, more mental images appeared, of Steve stretched out on his mattress in a classic
Playgirl
centerfold pose—hands behind his head, a come-hither look in his eyes, and a whole lot of sleek, naked skin showing around the silk sheet draped strategically over one thigh and the bulge between his legs. The delicious, arousing fantasy caused her breasts to swell and her nipples to tingle and pucker tight, her first physical response to a man tonight. One she welcomed, because it was Steve.

It was hot and stuffy in the small room, and she was certain he’d just raised her internal temperature into the triple digits. Reaching for her bottle of water, she took a quick drink to quench her suddenly parched throat before responding. “I didn’t think eleven-fifteen would ever get here. I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear your voice.”

“Likewise. I guess it’s been a long night, for both of us.” He paused, letting the subtle insinuation in his words—that he’d been equally anxious to talk to her—settle between them before he asked, “What’s it like there?”

“Claustrophobic,” she said, and laughed as her gaze swept the six-by-six area she’d been assigned for the evening. The walls were a dingy beige color, with no extras to bring a little brightness or cheer to the room. “My so-called office is about the size of a janitor’s closet. And it’s so warm in here, it’s almost stifling. But at least it’s private.” And thank goodness for that, considering all the moaning, groaning, and heavy breathing she’d had to feign.

“Have you been able to talk to any of the other operators?”

“Only briefly before I started my shift and during my ten-minute break.” Kicking off her sandals, she propped her feet up on the table and wiggled her toes in front of the small handheld fan she’d set on the table to stir up the air in the room. Another thirty-five minutes of idle chitchat with Steve, and her shift was over, she thought gratefully. “Roxanne wasn’t here tonight, but I introduced myself to a few other girls.”