The Business Of Strangers

The restraint he’d been exerting snapped abruptly. She was pulled against him, the move shattering any sense that she could control this. The kiss turned rawly primitive, even as he walked her backward to press her against the wall of the elevator, sealing their bodies together. Currents of electricity sizzled and crackled between them. One of his hands settled at her nape as his mouth ravished hers, as if to coax her even closer, and he widened his stance so that she was standing between his legs.

He tore his mouth away from hers to bury it at her throat. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you.” His voice was low, harsh.

“I know.” Her answer was nearly a moan, as she arched her neck to allow him better access.

“You, too?”

There was a part of her that wanted to withhold assent, but that would have been pointless. He was a man experienced enough to recognize that the instant attraction that had sparked between them was mutual. And her response to him now was its own answer. “Yes—”

The word stopped on a gasp when he nipped at the sensitive cord of her neck. His tongue soothed the sting in the next instant. “So stay.”

It was a demand rather than a plea, and the carnal promise implicit in it made her stomach clutch. He knew exactly how to touch her, his mouth slightly rough, his palm burning the bare skin of her nape, his fingers tangling in her hair. As close as they were, she could feel the unmistakable hard ridge of his erection pressing against the notch between her thighs. She wouldn’t have to hold back with him; she could respond with every bit of the explosive arousal churning through her, and he would meet it, match it. But still she was vaguely surprised to hear herself answer, “For a while.”

A low sound was torn from him. She felt cool air against her skin and realized dimly that he’d unknotted her ruined shirt. With a quick jerk he had it open, the remaining buttons flying, and his impatience called to a streak of wildness in her, one she was usually careful to keep deeply buried.

There was so little in her life she could claim as her own. Only memories garnered from the last six years. Certainly not her identity, which she’d stolen from another. But this moment was hers. Personal and genuine, it was hers to keep, to remember, to experience to the fullest.

His tongue was tracing the mounds of her breasts where they swelled above the top of her bra as he pushed the blouse from her shoulders, to pool forgotten on the floor of the elevator. Her hands went to his shirt, jerking it impatiently from the waistband of his pants, her fingers flying over the buttons.

When she had them undone, she smiled, satisfied, her breath coming a little faster. The wall of his chest was firm, muscled and bisected by a patch of dark hair. His stomach was hard and ridged. He’d work out, she thought, for the same reason she did—to keep instincts alert and body prepared for whatever dangers awaited. But whatever the reason, the sight of all those well-honed muscles sharpened her desire to a keen edge.

His hands were undoing the clasp of her bra when she leaned forward, tested one hard pec with her teeth. His flesh jumped beneath her lips. Her sudden surge of satisfaction at his involuntary reaction fractured in the next moment when he pulled the straps of her bra down her arms and tossed it aside. Bending his head, he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked strongly.

Colors pinwheeled against her closed eyelids. Her knees went to water. His mouth worked at her ravenously, one hand kneading her other breast, his thumb flicking across her nipple to urge it to a tauter point.

Her muscles took on the consistency of melting wax. To brace herself, she hooked a leg around his hips. With increasing urgency she battled with his shirt, pushing it off his heavy shoulders, over his bulging biceps. Because he wouldn’t release her, it remained trapped there, halfway down his arms. Her palms raced over the expanse of flesh she’d bared, exploring the different textures of smooth skin and crisp hair over unforgiving bone and sinew.

There was a primal sort of sensuality to be enjoyed through touch alone. Her hands roamed his torso, discovering every angle and hollow. She traced the shallow indentations between his ribs, scraped a nail over his nipple and was rewarded by his quick shudder.

He raised his head, and when the cool air struck her nipple, still wet from his mouth, she shivered. With quick movements, he struggled out of his shirt, then put both hands under her butt to lift her. Ria clasped her legs around his waist and he carried her that way back into his apartment, swinging the door closed behind them.

Their mouths did battle, tongues darting, teeth clashing as hunger mounted. She slid her hands into his hair to pull him closer, and felt the hot ball of need knot tighter in the pit of her stomach.

When her shoulders were pressed against a cool smooth surface, she arched her back and dazedly opened her eyes. Rather than his bedroom, they were in the dimly lit living area, her back to a window. Then Jake’s gaze caught hers, and her pulse stuttered.

His eyes glittered, intent and predatory. His hair was mussed from her hands, his cheeks flushed with arousal, his expression faintly savage. Her heart pumped, heavy and fast. A normal woman would be having second thoughts, feeling an innately feminine fear in the face of his unvarnished desire.

But Ria reveled in it. It called forth her own unchecked response. There was no holding back; he wouldn’t have allowed that even if she’d tried. She could let her own passion rage and know it would be returned in like measure.

Setting her on her feet, Jake stripped her of her slacks and shoes with quick movements, then took a moment to admire the picture she made. She was just a few inches shorter than him, slim, with sleek muscle beneath velvety curves. Her breasts were high and firm, nipples beaded. He fondled them, drawing them into tighter points even as her hands went to his waistband.

He clenched his teeth as she worked the zipper slowly over his hardness, saw the little smile she gave as her hand reached inside the opening to squeeze him lightly. His vision blurred, cleared, and he saw only her.

She wasn’t like any other woman he’d had—not shy nor bold, playful or serious. She was, like him, totally focused on the moment, the gut-wrenching pleasure that could be had between two people with no pretenses between them.

And she wasn’t, he noticed, as he parted her feminine folds and slipped a finger inside her, a natural redhead.

Her inner moisture eased his way as he probed her gently. He could feel the delicate pulsation as the feminine muscles clenched around his touch, let himself imagine how it would feel when he took her fully.

And then conscious thought shattered as she freed him from his clothes and took him in her hand, clever fingers stroking the length of him in a rhythm guaranteed to send his temperature skyrocketing.

It was a battle to drive each other crazy, and he engaged in it for a few minutes, tasting the pulse at the base of her neck, the crease below her breast. But as the roaring in his blood sounded in his ears, he knew the battle was lost. She’d gotten him hotter, faster, than any woman of his experience, and if he didn’t have her soon, he was going to disgrace himself.

Jake broke away long enough to fumble in his pocket for a condom. Ria took it from him and tore it open as he dispensed with his clothes, but the excruciating care she took when she rolled the latex down his length had him gritting his teeth.

His hands less than gentle, he turned her around to face the window, his hormones surging as her sexy form was reflected back for him. Bracing one arm under her against the glass, he pressed her legs apart with one knee and stepped between them. Using his free hand to guide himself, he found the sweet slick opening and entered her.

Their moans mingled. He stopped a moment to haul more oxygen into his lungs, struggling for control. He didn’t want this to be over too soon. There was still so much to be savored, rare pleasure to be drawn out as long as possible. But she was just as tight and hot as he’d imagined, and as her hips pressed back against him, forcing him deeper, he abruptly surrendered.

He plunged into her over and over again. He couldn’t get close enough, deep enough. Sweat popped out on his forehead. Their position, while erotic, made it difficult to enter her as fully as he wished, and frustration clawed through him. He wanted to be pounding inside her, to feel her struggling to accept every inch of him as they both tried to get even nearer. He wanted to be buried deep within her when they both came, their climaxes tearing through them.

He withdrew from her, hormones screaming, breath heaving out of his lungs in great ragged gulps. He reached for her hands, bracing them on the glass, elbows bent, her weight forward. Catching her reflection in the glass, he nearly groaned. There was a curve to her lips, a female knowing in her eyes that shredded any thought that he might be in control of this. Whatever he took, she allowed. And he was just desperate enough at that point to be grateful for it.

She moved her legs closer to his, the position bending her a bit at the waist, her hips tilted toward him. And when he surged into her that time, both of them forgot to breathe.

Jake moved, slowly at first, then in hard measured thrusts that drove him deep inside her, almost completely withdrawing before plunging again. He slipped a hand down to stroke her slippery folds, every surge of his hips pressing that taut bundle of nerves against the heel of his palm.

His eyes wanted to close as he lost himself in the motion, but he fought to keep them open, sought to clear his vision. The sight of their reflections moving in the glass was savagely sexy. Her throat was arched, her lips parted, as if a scream might be ripped from her at any moment. The image elicited an unfamiliar primordial possessiveness from somewhere deep inside him. Mine. For now at least.

“More.” The word was torn from her, sharp with need. “Harder.”

Her hips pumped back against him in time with his movements, driving him deeper, faster. His senses were all centered on her. Sight, scent, sound, touch.

When she tensed against him, giving a strangled cry, he could feel her release pulsing around him. Her orgasm unleashed something inside him and he surged against her wildly. There was no thought of finesse as he pounded into her, only an all-consuming passion that wound tighter and tighter until he couldn’t tell where he stopped and she began. Ria whimpered, and the small sound had pleasure slamming into him. He gave one last thrust of his hips and joined her, his climax spinning him over the edge in a headlong dive into sensation.

Ria stared at the road, trying to focus on the act of driving. But it was difficult to concentrate when her muscles still quivered with satiated pleasure, and her pulse still kicked at the memory of the last several hours.

She and Jake had made it to the bedroom for the second bout. And the third. And she was ready to admit she’d underestimated his effect on her. Good sex could leave the mind clear and the brain sharp. Great sex, she was discovering, could prove much more distracting.

Leaving him sleeping a couple hours before dawn, she’d silently gathered up her belongings. It had taken her a minute to recall exactly where she’d left her purse and bra, but she found them both, along with her ruined shirt and his T-shirt, in the still-open elevator. Because he’d keyed in the code before stopping it, she was able to press the close button and take the elevator to the ground floor.

She’d spent the better part of the drive home trying to shake thoughts of the evening from her mind. When she pulled into her driveway, she knew there was no use trying to sleep. She was too wired. Instead she took a flashlight from her car and did her customary examination around the perimeter of the house. She had any number of small “tells” that would alert her if someone had sought entry. A hair across the front gate; a paint chip on the doorknobs; trip wires hidden in the yard. But nothing appeared disturbed.

Ria let herself into the house, too used to the need for security to consider the measures she took. Resetting the alarm, she grabbed a quick shower and changed into a fresh uniform before checking the clock. She had a couple of hours before she needed to be at work, so she headed to the office she’d set up in the second bedroom.

Law enforcement wasn’t the highest paying profession, but she’d always lived simply. Her furniture was sparse and strictly utilitarian. She bought her vehicles used, with an eye on economy and reliability. This house was the first she’d ever had. Apartments weren’t plentiful in the area, and she did like the privacy afforded by its location on the outskirts of town.

She’d been careful with her money, making regular deposits in an offshore account. If she ever had to run again, she wouldn’t be doing so without a dime to her name. She had two sets of full ID waiting just in case. But as time went on, she was less and less certain she’d ever use them.

Ria was tired of running. Before someone came for her again, she’d see this thing finished.

Flipping on the light in the office, she sat down in front of the computer. The vast majority of her expenditures were right in this room. A top-of-the-line hard drive, scanner, printer and various other accessories were imperative for a person making her own ID. And the Internet had long been an invaluable tool in her search for answers to her past.

She pulled up her files, smiled at the pop-up header. BENNY’S SECURE-IT ELECTRONIC VAULT: YOU’RE WELCOME! Her friend could make a fortune off his encryption/decryption know-how, but instead preferred to spend most of his time creating increasingly complex video games. He assured her the market for his products was endless. She’d had to take his word for it. She wouldn’t know an Xbox from a Gameboy.

She clicked on the file entitled Tattoo. When she’d first gotten out of the academy, she’d combed the Department of Justice’s Missing Person Clearinghouse for pictures and descriptions that matched either her or the man she’d killed in L.A. There were dozens of informal registries available online, as well, but after three years she’d finally admitted the truth: whoever she’d been in her former life hadn’t been missed. And apparently neither had the men who’d been sent to kill her. She’d tucked away the desolation that had occurred at the thought and focused on other leads.

Ria had long thought that the identifying mark shared by her and the two assassins was the single best clue to her identity. She’d recognized the intricately detailed image of Pegasus and concentrated a great deal of time on what the tattoo might mean. But chasing that particular lead, too, had proved fruitless.