Sex, Lies and Valentines

Damsel in distress, he reminded himself as his blood heated. He’d been called a lot of things in his life, but the kind of guy who took advantage of abused, vulnerable women didn’t make the list.

Then she slid a foot along his calf. A foot that was wrapped in those sexy ribbons she probably called shoes.

Gabriel swore he felt his brain stutter. His body, already on high alert, funneled all his blood straight down to his dick. A dick that was only too happy to have her press even closer, so her leather-clad hips made it clear where the party was.

“I needed that money,” she sniffed, looking up at him with the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Swimming in tears, the lushly lashed gaze was hypnotic, tugging at his soul. “I can’t make rent without it. I’m already two weeks overdue and going to be kicked out in the morning.”

All she needed was to throw in a sick grandma and an ailing cat. But still, what’s a guy to do?

“Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket, then peeling four hundreds out of his wallet. “This will cover your loss. Now let’s go in and dry your tears. I’ll buy you a drink, then get you a cab ride home.”

She gave a shuddering breath. The kind that pressed those delicate breasts against his chest

“Thank you,” she whispered after a brief hesitation. She gave him a look that was somewhere between gratitude and pure seduction. Gabriel was pretty sure he heard a few of his brain cells explode in tiny little sexual pops. “But I can’t take your money. Not unless you let me thank you. Properly.”

His brain fogged with an edgy, needy passion, Gabriel tried to find the words to tell her he didn’t need to be thanked.

Before he could, though, she slid her hands, palms flat, up his chest. Smoothing, but not soothing. Heating his skin through the layers of fabric as easily as if he’d been nude.

As she curled her hands around the back of his neck, she leaned in, her breasts amping that heat up to a fiery level.

Gabriel’s hands curved over her leather-slick hips, pulling her closer, tighter.

Her mouth met his. Soft at first, just the brush of those glossy lips. Once, then twice.

Sweet.

She slanted her head to the side. Their lips fit together perfectly. Too perfectly for his comfort, he realized. Shifting, he prepared to pull back. Then she slid her tongue along the seam of his mouth and what was left of his brains spontaneously combusted.

The kiss went wild. Tongues slid over each other. No soft caress here—it was an intense duel for control. Hot, intense.

Fabulous.

Before Gabriel could take it a little hotter, a little wilder, she pulled back. Her eyes were huge. Passion, and something that looked like a cross between fear and horror, swam in those blue depths.

Then she blinked and looked sultry again.

“That’s just a taste of my thank-you,” she purred.

“I’m looking forward to another bite,” he murmured, lowering his head to try her again.

“Put your hands on your head,” a voice barked from behind Gabriel.

He could barely hear through the roaring in his head. Everything he was, everything he had, was focused on the blonde and the sexual desperation she was spinning in his body.

“You heard me. Back away, mister,” the voice sounded again.

“What?” His fingers still burning with the feel of her, delicately tempting, Gabriel curled them into her shoulders to shield her from the interruption. The blonde, though, gave a shuddering sigh, then stepped back and made a show of slipping the cash into her bodice.

“Hands on your head.” The voice, male and angry, was doing serious damage to the passion buzzing through his system.

Before Gabriel could decide what to do about it, hell, before he could reengage his brain, someone grabbed him.

“What the hell …”

The distinct rattle of handcuffs filled the air just before the metal slapped against Gabriel’s wrist.

“You’re under arrest for solicitation.”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Gabriel tried to wrench his arm free. But even at six-three, he was no match for the hairy gorilla with a badge glaring down at him.

His gaze cut to the blonde.

Her gaze didn’t glow with tears, or passion any longer.

Nope, she just looked satisfied.

Gabriel resisted the urge to cuss.

Because he was damned sure she was the only one of the two of them who’d be feeling any satisfaction tonight.

“WE BOTH KNOW you don’t have a case against me. Which means I’m here as a courtesy,” Gabriel stated in a bored tone as he leaned back in a surprisingly comfortable chair. He stared at the guy who had to be a cop, even though he hadn’t introduced himself. Nor had anyone trotted out the Miranda, and they weren’t in a copshop, yet. So this was about something else. “Why don’t you tell me what you want, and then I can be on my way.”

For all his cocky tone, a niggling of worry tickled the back of Gabriel’s neck. But he brushed it aside. His ID claimed him as Gavin Lane. Even though he hadn’t planned to, he’d left the incriminating paperwork at the hotel with Jerry. He wasn’t worried. They had nothing on him.

Despite his lack of concern, the way the other guy—was he a cop?—was ignoring him was starting to get irritating.

“Entrapment never looks good to the brass, you know. Add to that, I didn’t agree to pay the babe for sex. So why don’t we do both ourselves a favor and call it a night.”

The guy didn’t respond. He just kept on flipping through some fat file folder.

His jaw as tight as the muscles bunched in his shoulders, Gabriel was starting to get seriously pissed.

Being ignored had a way of doing that to him.

“So …”

Finally, the guy said something.

As he spoke, the cop—or whatever the hell he was—finished reading the file, then set it on the desk. This was a guy who was into control, Gabriel decided. Not the best adversary considering he also held most of the cards. But Gabriel’s daddy had taught him at a young age to keep an ace or two up his sleeve, so he was confident he’d get through this. It was just another game.

“I’m Hunter,” introduced the man. He didn’t offer to shake hands, though. Just as well, since his name was ringing some bells. Warning bells, that is.

There had been a guy by the name of Hunter who’d spent a good portion of his FBI career chasing Gabriel’s old man. Narrowing his eyes, Gabe inspected the man in front of him. Mid-thirties, at the most. Local law, not federal, right? He’d have flashed credentials if he was a feebie.

The name was just a coincidence.

Spend enough time committing crime, and sooner or later a guy had to start doubling up on names. Law of averages and all that.