Hostile Attractions Page 11

  “Shhh.” He puts his fingers in his mouth, licks off my taste. “I had to know. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

  This man needs to come with a warning because he’s deadly. I’m amazed I didn’t come right then. But I’m close. So close.

  “Beautiful,” he says again, putting his hand back where I need it. This time he finds my clit too, stroking it in time with his fingers thrusting inside me.

  It’s too much. My body is going to tear itself apart.

  His cock presses hard on my belly as his fingers work in my pussy. He thrusts once, twice, in time with the motions of his hand.

  I grab his hair, seal my mouth to his. His cock is fucking my belly, his fingers are fucking my pussy, and my tongue is fucking his mouth. It’s all so goddamn raw.

  He releases my waist, grabbing my knee and hooking it over his hip, opening me even more to him. The rhythm of his hand on my sex never slows though. He’s not giving me even an inch to breathe, to slow down. He’s making this climax come for me as hard as it can.

  When it does come, every muscle in me clenches at the power of it. Even my toes. Strange noises come between my clenched teeth, animal things that I hardly recognize.

  Elliot holds me the entire time. He strokes slower, gentler, like he’s helping me come down. It’s… it feels sweet, even though I know he’s not.

  It makes me feel sweet, even though I know I’m not.

  Finally I gain control of my limbs, although I’m still limp. I haven’t come that hard since… since ever.

  Elliot’s watching me closely, the lines around his mouth strained. His chest is gloriously bare, and lower… My eyes widen.

  I reach for his erection straining at his waistband. All I can think about is him filling me, easing the emptiness in the heart of me. My orgasm is fading and I still need more. More of him.

  He grabs my hand before I touch him. His touch is firm, letting me know that he’s not kidding around. “No. Just you.”

  I don’t understand, then I do. He can touch me, bring me to an intense climax, but I can’t do the same for him.

  It could be read as him being nice to me, putting my pleasure first, but it doesn’t feel that way. I thought we were in this together, but I was wrong.

  I wriggle my wrist free. “You don’t have to—”

  He turns his head. “I do. And you need your rest.”

  “You weren’t so concerned about my health when I was screaming your name as I came a few minutes ago.”

  His gaze flares red-hot, and for a moment I think he might grab me and toss me down on the sofa. Finish this the way we both want it to.

  But slowly, his cheek twitching, he brings all that fire back under his control. He reaches down, brings up my pajama shirt. “Put this on.”

  I consider telling him “Make me,” but the fight is draining out of me. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right—I’m crashing again. So instead I start to pull it on, my hands clumsy.

  He sighs, then comes to help me. As quickly as he undid them, he’s got the buttons closed again. For a moment his fingers seem to linger on the last button, the one closest to my throat, but then he releases it.

  “Can you get into bed by yourself?” His cock is still hard and straining, tenting his pants. But he seems determined to ignore it, to deny his need.

  Fine. He can play the martyr. I don’t care.

  He just gave me the best orgasm of my life, and I’m already furious with him again. That’s quite the talent.

  “I’m good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I don’t offer to share the bed or take the couch. I’m going to enjoy having that bed all to myself, all out of spite.

  But holding my spite all night won’t quite be the same as holding him.

  Chapter 17

  “Have you found anything yet?”

  I’m trying to keep my voice down as I talk to Finn over the phone, but voices carry in this tiny space. The stairs basically act as a noise funnel, which means Minerva can probably hear everything.

  When I checked on her, she was asleep. But she could have been pretending. Or she could be awake now.

  I’m too frustrated and wound up to care. I want to climb up the stairs, get into my own bed, and fuck her senseless. I also want to know who she really is and what else she’s hiding.

  I want my calm, staid life back too. I’ve got a hard-on like whoa, but I can’t do anything about it, which was never a problem when I lived alone. This keeps up, I’m going to pass out from lack of blood.

  So I called Finn. If he’s found anything on Minerva, that should make me feel better. And being reminded of what a liar she is should help kill my erection.

  “Dude,” Finn says, “I don’t have much to go on. I started by limiting the search to just California, but a woman named Emily who disappeared five years ago? You’re still talking thousands of records to go through. Maybe even a million. It’s a big state.”

  “I thought you were a genius at this.” I want to smash my phone into my forehead.

  “I am, but you need to chill. What, did you get into another fight with her? You sound tense.”

  Tense. That’s hilarious. “I’m fine. I just need to know what you’ve found.”

  “Did you get her last name by any chance?”

  “She, uh, she’s been sick.” And the minute she felt better, I fingered her like a horny teenager.

  “Should have gone to a hotel,” Finn says.

  Which would have left Minerva ill and completely alone. “I’m good. I’ll try again on the last name. What about the hard drive?”

  “Oh.” I hear Finn’s eyes widening. “That shit is amazing. They’ve got this facial-recognition algorithm that’s so fucking sick. Light-years ahead of anything I’ve seen before.”

  Great. So Minerva made a really great tool to oppress people. That won’t add to her guilt at all.

  “Don’t tell her that,” I say.

  He misunderstands me. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to compliment her.”

  I swallow my angry sigh. There’s no point explaining how they’re wrong about her. “She wants her drive back.”

  “I thought Anjie gave it to her.”

  “She did, but she’s got no computer to access it. I told her I couldn’t let her have my laptop. Do you know Dev’s reasons for not letting her have her own data?”

  There’s a long silence. “I don’t think she should have it either.”

  I work my jaw. I have to keep my voice down, but I really, really want to shout. “It’s hers. What do you care if she stole it?”

  “I don’t. In fact, I’m stoked she did. But she can’t sell this shit. It’s too explosive. Did you know the CIA and the NSA are fighting over some of this stuff? That’s crazy.”

  It is, and she’s going to be caught in the middle. She already is. “So what do we do? You guys don’t want to release it, but we can’t keep her here forever.”

  “Wait, you want to give it back to her?”

  I pace through the living room. The curtains are closed, so no one from outside can see me, but I still feel exposed. “I think she’s going to give it to the press.”

  Finn bursts out with a laugh. “Is that what she told you? Man, I love you like a brother, but you’re not seeing straight here.”

  “She gave you and Doc all that information. She helped get Doc’s brother out of prison.”

  “And she helped put him there in the first place.” Finn’s getting angry now, a rare thing for him. “Are you arguing ’cause you believe her or because it’s your favorite thing?”

  I’m not going to get any further with Finn than I did with Logan. I need to try a more neutral party. “Sorry, can’t help it. I haven’t slept much.”

  “It’ll all be over soon.” Finn’s typing something—I hear the clatter of the keyboard across the line. “We’ll figure this thing out and then she’ll be gone.”

  My mouth flattens. I don’t want her gone, just disappeared into
the world. Or worse, in a prison cell. But Finn’s not going to understand. “Let me know if you find anything. Oh, and has there been anything else about this promotion story? Anything about how she’s disappeared?”

  “No. Fuchs is going to want to keep that nice and quiet. His favorite employee running off with all his secrets isn’t a good look for him.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, man.”

  I hang up, then tap the phone against the couch arm. There’s a tickle in the back of my throat like I’ve been talking too much and a tightness at my temples. Probably the symptoms of blue balls coming out.

  I glance down at myself. At least my erection has died down. Although I’m still clenched up with need. She’s so close. And she tasted…

  I shake my head. This is madness. I need to focus on something else.

  Like how everyone close to me keeps insisting that Minerva hasn’t changed. The Bastards aren’t saying it to piss me off, even though it feels that way. They’re reminding me of what I shouldn’t forget.

  That Minerva has been my enemy—our enemy—for as long as we’ve known her. That she’s deliberately hurt people close to us. Pretended to enjoy it even.

  Hell, maybe she really did enjoy it. Did she keep up a role for five years… or did she just eventually fall so far into it there was no gap between who she was before and who she was pretending to be?

  I need to get more out of her about her past. Keep my head clear around her and my mind on my mission.

  But goddamn, those silky blue pajamas… I’d dare anyone to keep their head if she came out in those.

  Actually, I don’t. I want the sight of her in those pajamas to be all mine.

  I’m fucked.

  I brace my hands on the counter and let my head hang between my arms. But the rush of blood to my brain doesn’t help.

  So I pick up the phone and call Dev.

  “Yes?” He never says hello. Just yes, as if he knew you were calling before the phone even rang.

  “Minerva wants her drive back. And I’m thinking I’ll give it to her.”

  I don’t know why I’m taking the aggressive route immediately. Maybe it has to do with whatever I heard in Dev’s voice at that meeting that I didn’t like.

  Maybe it’s my sexual frustration working itself out on an innocent target.

  “What does she want with it?”

  That catches me up short. Her friends haven’t contacted her—Finn’s hacked into the email accounts she set up on my laptop and he’s watching them—so why would she need the drive again? Just to look over all the stuff she took?

  “She didn’t say. But I’ll ask her.”

  “You haven’t given her any internet access, have you?”

  “No. What the hell do you think she’s going to do?” I’m starting to get pissed at Dev—she’s not some criminal mastermind. “Why can’t she access the drive?”

  There’s a long beat of silence. “She’s already contacted a reporter. All she needs now is the drive and she can send him everything.”

  That’s impossible. Dev doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

  But Emily’s crafty. Cunning. My stomach knots. “How do you know that?”

  Dev doesn’t answer. “Releasing that information now might be disastrous.”

  My skin goes cold. Dev is being very weird, even more than usual. “What are you doing? Is she going to get hurt?”

  “No one’s going to be hurt.” His tone is calm. “And I need her to not blow everything apart. Just trust me.”

  I should. Dev’s been with the Bastards from the very beginning. The algorithm that made us all billionaires—he wrote it. He might be the secretive one, but I’m the outsider. They didn’t need a lawyer until after they got rich.

  Being Logan’s brother was my entrance into their world, not any special tech skills of mine. But they accepted me wholeheartedly anyway.

  I need to listen to Dev and not my libido when it comes to Emily. But it’s so goddamn tough.

  “You’re up to something,” I say. “Do the others know?”

  “Just keep her under control. Remember everything she’s done. Remember who she works for.”

  “She’s living in my house. I can’t forget.”

  “What’s she been doing this whole time?”

  “Sleeping. She’s sick,” I explain.

  “Really?” Dev seems surprised something so mundane could happen to her. “No more murder attempts?”

  “No. But he has to know she’s here.” I pull aside the curtain, looking for the guards. One waves to me from the dock.

  “He knows she can’t stay there forever, so he can bide his time. It’s what I’d do.”

  I frown at the approval in his voice. “Are you channeling him now or something?”

  “He’s not that mysterious. He’s just willing to go further in pursuit of his goals than most people.”

  “Willing to cross more lines, you mean.”

  “That too,” Dev agrees. “And she crossed those lines with him. Just because she’s betrayed Fuchs doesn’t mean she’s suddenly innocent.”

  No. But things are generally more complicated than innocent and guilty, and things are super fucking complicated here.

  A thought occurs to me. “Have you been trying to find her real name too?”

  He makes a noncommittal noise. “If I find it, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Which doesn’t really answer the question of if he’s looking, but Dev is a withholding bastard.

  “But you’re more likely to get it out of her first,” he says. “Being stuck there with her.”

  It doesn’t feel like being stuck. It’s too comfortable, too intimate for that.

  “I’m doing my best,” I say, which isn’t entirely true. I should be always pressing her, trying to get more. Trying to get the full truth from her.

  Instead, I’m playing nurse and getting her off. If Dev knew, he’d be shocked. Disapproving.

  Which isn’t enough to make me feel guilty about it.

  “Will you be in tomorrow?” Dev asks. “We can send over a nurse. And you can still get a hotel room.”

  “It’s fine. Taking care of her…” My voice tries to fade, but I force it on. “It’s fine. We’ll survive.”

  Dev laughs softly. “Yeah, as long as you keep her away from the Caltrain.”

  “She’s not going anywhere,” I promise.

  Chapter 18

  I’m awakened by a groan. Or maybe it’s a moan.

  It’s some noise of pain and it’s five in the morning. I was sleeping so well too, dreaming of Elliot naked, cock rock hard, telling me how stupid he was to stop us earlier. How I’m always right. About everything.

  It was a great dream.

  The noise comes again. That’s definitely a human, and they are not in good shape. And they’re downstairs.

  I stumble out of bed. It must be Elliot, but I can’t think what’s going on. The security detail hasn’t come crashing in, so I don’t think someone broke in.

  “Elliot?” I flip on the kitchen light. “What’s going on?”

  He’s on the couch again, but this time he’s on his back. His shirt is still off—God help me—and one arm is tossed over his eyes. His skin gleams with a fine sheen of sweat.

  In a moment I’m next to him. The heat coming off his skin shocks me.

  “Oh no, you got sick too,” I say as I kneel next to him.

  “No,” he mumbles.

  I wriggle my hand under his arm to check his temperature. Oh yeah, he’s burning up. Like, worrisomely hot.

  He grabs my wrist, tosses it away. And bares his teeth.

  Good Lord, someone’s a bad patient. “You’re definitely sick. And if you bite me, I’ll bite you back.”

  “Promise?”

  Oh, if he weren’t so sick, I’d be so turned on by that. What a waste of a flirtatious remark.

  “See?” I take his arm and pull him off the couch. “You don’t get sick from being out in the cold. It
’s a virus.”

  I get him to his feet and he leans heavily on me, making me stagger.

  “God, I wish I could make you stop arguing.”

  We stumble together toward the stairs. “I think you like it.”

  “Like isn’t the word.”

  Implying that I inspire something beyond simple liking with my arguing. Something sexier.

  Somehow we drag ourselves up the stairs. I manage to roll him into the bed, pull the coverlet out from under him, then tuck him in.

  “I’ll bring you some ibuprofen,” I say. “And some 7UP.”

  He frowns. Sick as he is, it still hits me right in the chest. “7UP?”

  “Yep. Didn’t you get 7UP when you were sick?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes closing. “There’s no more chicken soup. No 7UP.”

  The sadness in his voice kills me. Like he can’t imagine a world where he’d get soup and 7UP when he’s sick. It might just be the fever talking—his skin is like a stove top—but the emotions feel real.

  “I’ll get you some ibuprofen and water then,” I say. “We’ll deal with the chicken soup and 7UP shortage later.”

  It doesn’t take me long to go through the bathroom cabinets. Elliot is a minimalist for sure—there’s a razor, shave cream, and some soap there, and not much else. The ibuprofen is front and center, and I fill the cup by the sink for him.

  He takes the pills without complaining, then flops back onto the bed once he’s done. He looks so miserable my heart wrings out. I want to do something more for him, besides the little I’ve done so far.

  Chicken soup and 7UP. I can try to find that, have it ready for when he feels more like himself.

  I head downstairs and start going through the kitchen cabinets. But… they’re mostly empty. There are plates and cups and silverware and pots and pans, but anyone could own those. The things he might like—boxed mac ’n’ cheese, a certain kind of cracker or cookie, or even a loaf of bread—aren’t here.

  Or maybe I’ve consumed all the food he had. Ate up the bread and the chicken noodle soup he likes. He gave everything he had in the cupboards to me.