The Sex Files

“Really?”

“Really.”

Yeah, this strange little encounter was definitely going to end with them in bed together, he thought, his pulse quickening. If he was lucky, maybe the affair would even develop into something more. With an unexpected twinge of emotion, he thought of the house he’d built near his office in Quantico, then he pushed away the image. He’d be satisfied if this love game just lasted through Christmas so he wouldn’t wind up spending the holiday alone.

She’d fixed her gaze studiously on the elevator buttons, but the black mask couldn’t hide how her eyes drifted again to choice parts of his anatomy. He shook his head in bemusement, recalling how Anna had come to his office, slyly bribing him with lunch while running the Sex Files through his Quick Composite software, just so she could pull up a picture of her friend, this woman. No doubt, Vic, who was a whiz with cameras and optical illusions, had helped her with this.

Along with producing “Cameron’s” picture, Anna had stuffed condoms into his wallet, too. Cameron—maybe that was even her real name—was showing herself to be every bit as adventurous. Even as he admired the woman’s face, he was giving her points for ingenuity. She’d almost made him—a completely rational law enforcement agent—believe that an image of America’s sexiest woman had come to life.

It wasn’t every day that such a gorgeous, intelligent woman went to so much trouble for his benefit. Sexually, she must want him badly. Not only had she followed him all over Manhattan, wearing slinky clothes, but she’d rented a hotel room. Silently, he cursed the elevator for going so slow. He couldn’t wait to see her lying on her back in bed. Her gaze locked with his, and before she glanced away, he saw desire flare in her eyes, naked and bright.

He parted his lips to speak. Then they both started talking at once with him saying, “Look, I’m sorry I scared you—”

“Out there,” she quickly clarified. “You just caught me off guard. Like I said, I can explain—”

“I didn’t mean to, but—”

“None of this is what it seems—”

Just as he thought she’d tell him she was Anna’s friend, she stopped talking. Uncertain, her smile remained fixed on her lips. It wasn’t exactly a come-hither expression, but his mouth turned cottony, anyway. His palms itched. Her picture didn’t do her justice.

Wind and drizzle had tightened the loose waves of her hair, curling the ends like ribbons. The strands looked even darker than they had outside, the color of things that didn’t belong in New York City—wheat in a farm field at night, syrupy honey drenching a warm honeycomb, wet straw scattered on the floor of a hayloft. Much of her face was covered by the mask, but the skin Oliver could see was alight with a healthy, ruddy glow. He didn’t bother to hide his appreciative gaze. Why should he? She was seducing him, right?

Even the closed raincoat couldn’t conceal her full figure. She’d belted the coat tightly as they’d run for the hotel, accentuating the nip of her waist. The hem hit shapely calves, and smooth legs shimmered through sheer stockings she wore with black pumps. Oliver could almost see himself, just moments from now, wiggling each shoe from a slender foot before tugging those stockings down legs he knew would be as smooth as satin. Heat swirling in his lower belly, he pictured her upper thighs, imagining how black garters would look on her water-smooth skin. Was she wearing panties? What color?

Once more, his dreams came flooding back, and unbidden, he was remembering the blush of her breasts, lathered in mentholated oil. The elevator seemed to explode with the scent of mint, and his body tensed. He was about to act on impulse, step closer and haul her into his arms, when she suddenly said, “You had every right to confront me.”

The elevator had paused, its doors laboriously opening onto a vacant hallway, then shutting again. Pulleys groaned as the car heaved, lurching upward once more. “Believe me,” she continued, “I know how unnerving it can be when someone’s following you—”

Now that he was sure she was Anna’s friend, he’d rather progress the relationship, not dwell on apologies. Hearing her teeth chatter, he murmured, “Don’t worry about it. You must be freezing. Let’s get upstairs and get you warm.”

“You don’t have to be so nice about this,” she said guiltily. “I have been following you.”

“Yeah.” He sent her another smile. “And I caught you.”

“As I said, I can explain—”

“No need. I understand now. The question is, what are we going to do next?”

Before she could respond, the doors opened. Gliding a hand beneath her elbow, he steered her into the hallway. “Which room?”

Her voice sounded shaky. “Uh…712.”

When they reached the door, she inserted a key card, then pushed open the door and entered. She was halfway across the room when she turned to face him. “Here we are.”

Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, Oliver felt he could barely move. Only the bathroom light was on. Deeper in the room, where she now stood, everything looked as dark and soft as chocolate. She looked as tasty, too.

Beautiful. That was another word for her. Quick Composite had only given him a picture with which to fantasize, but now they were off the busy streets and out of the rain, and he could take a better look at her. Or at least he could once they turned on the light.

“Sit down if you’d like,” she said.

The words skated along his nerves, rippling all the way to their endings. “Thanks,” he murmured without moving.