Decadent. Suzanne Forster
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she looking for? And more importantly, who did she work for?
It was possible Aragon had sent her in to check him out. She might even be the reason Sam had been stalled in his access to the lower level, although Aragon wouldn’t have been likely to use an amateur. Sam could feel his neck tightening at the thought of this woman in Aragon’s employ. And it wasn’t pleasure burning in his gut. No woman should be at the mercy of that bastard, and this woman didn’t strike him as the type who’d let herself be at anyone’s mercy. Maybe that’s what drew him. Her nerve.
Hell, she was stalking him. That alone was pretty gutsy.
He couldn’t think who else might want to investigate him at the moment, so the odds were with Aragon. This might be another test of Sam’s suitability for membership, and he couldn’t take the chance that it wasn’t. Other than his uncle, no one knew about his personal reasons for being here, so she couldn’t possibly be connected with that mess. If nothing else, he would get some answers out of her tonight.
Sam removed his leather jacket, threw it over the back of a chair and walked into bedroom. “Well, well, well,” he said, eyeing his visitor.
Finding her had never been in question. Finding her draped across his king-size bed, her shoes kicked off and her chin propped up in her palm…now that was a bit of a surprise.
“Mr. Aragon sends his regards,” she said, allowing a seductive pause before adding softly, “and me.”
“Does he now?”
She nodded, her dark eyes sparkling as seductively as the tiny smile on her luscious lips. “I found my contact lens, thank you.”
Sam made his way slowly to the side of the bed. “I’m glad to hear it.” When he looked down, he spotted her high heels lying on the carpet, where she had kicked them off. “And just what am I supposed to do with you?” he asked. He leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. He gave her his best disarming smile as he cocked his head appraisingly.
“Anything you want.”
“Now that’s what I call a generous offer.”
His focus narrowed on her face as he searched for something that he had seen a thousand times on a thousand different faces. It was called a tell, and every one had one. It could be anything—a tick, a cough, a certain glance, a gesture.
The woman on his bed locked stares with him. He wouldn’t have called it a poker face, but she wasn’t giving anything away. Or was she? His gut caught the nuance more than his eye. It wasn’t much, a slight challenging rise of her left eyebrow.
“You’re under no obligation,” she said smoothly. “If you prefer to be alone, that’s fine, too.” She moved to sit up.
This was the preamble to her exit line, Sam knew. He pushed himself off the dresser and sat down on the side of the bed, deliberately taking in a long, leisurely eyeful of her. Her short skirt revealed a lot of leg, probably more than she wanted. But everything about those legs was sexy and nice, from her trim ankles to the curves of her calves and thighs. Even the goose bumps.
She was either cold or frightened. Probably both, he imagined. Personally, he liked it cold. It kept him sharp.
“No,” he said, “I think I’d like you to stay a while. After all, it’s rude to refuse a gift offered in friendship.”
Sam rose and placed his hands on her shoulders. He gently pushed with one hand and pulled with the other, pivoting her around on her bottom until he had her positioned just so. He urged her back until her head rested on the thick, fluffy pillows. A strained smile fluttered across her lips as he brushed the hair from her forehead.
“So, how long have you worked for Mr. Aragon?” he asked. He kept his voice soft and nonthreatening.
“A while,” she replied.
“Do you like your work?”
“Sometimes.”
“Have you lived here long?”
“Not really.”
Sinclair grinned. “You’re just a font of information, aren’t you? You sound a little dry. Would you like something to drink? Water, wine?”
She shook her head.
“Good, let’s talk.”
“About what?”
“I have to admit I’m curious about what took you into the cemetery late at night.”
“Just taking a walk. I needed some air and I like dark places.”
“I see,” he said. “This walking through graveyards on your hands and knees…is that something you do often?”
“Not unless I lose a contact lens.”
She compressed her lips in an effort not to smile that struck him as charming. “But you found it?”
“My brown eyes are blue tonight, aren’t they?”
“Oh, yes.” Another challenging tilt of her eyebrow. Possibly she was enjoying this match of wits as much as he was.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl like that,” she said. “You startled me.”
“And that’s why you tried to hide from the security guards?”
Her brows knit. “I wasn’t hiding, Mr. Sinclair. I was…I was startled. You frightened me, popping up out of nowhere like that. You shouldn’t do that. In some circles it would be considered very rude.”
“You seem pretty good at popping up out of nowhere yourself.”
Her response was one of the best I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about expressions he’d ever witnessed. And he’d witnessed a few.
Sam allowed silence to fill the seconds as he leaned toward her lips. “I’m going to kiss you,” he said. “Is that all right with you?”
Her breath was warm on his cheek and smelled faintly of peppermint. But the tantalizing hints of cinnamon swirled around him, too. Was that her makeup? Her lipstick? He took in a deep draught, savoring its essence. She had to be one of the more enticing women he’d ever had on his bed. Too bad this was all just a setup on his part, a prelude to his interrogation process.
Her lips trembled slightly as his descended toward them. Sam took his time, and sweet time it was as he slipped his right hand under the fold between the pillows and the comforter. His fingers touched a cool, hard cylinder just as his lips touched warm, soft flesh. She moaned softly into his mouth, and Sam wasn’t sure if it was protest or surrender.
He noticed she kept her hands at her side, her palms pressed tight against the bed as her entire body stiffened, becoming as rigid as a wooden plank. Before freeing her mouth completely, Sam indulged in a tiny nibble of her bottom lip. It was succulent and moist, sweet and lickable. Everything a bottom lip should be.
The sigh that slipped out of her was hot and breathy, almost a moan. Sam knew if he didn’t stop this he’d have his own wooden plank to worry about. The sensations stirring deep in his groin were all too familiar. Warmth and fullness. Rising male pleasure.
“Let’s play a game,” he whispered in her ear.
“Ga-ame?” Somehow she’d managed to stretch the word into two complete syllables and make it sound cute in the process. His wait for the proverbial gulp went unrewarded, however. All he got was a dry click from her throat. It would have to do.
He placed his left hand next to her right arm, letting his visitor know that he could easily pin her to the bed under him. As it was, they both understood that she wasn’t going anywhere.
“It’s been my experience that women either love this game or hate it,” he said. “Nothing in between. What do you say? Don’t want to disappoint Mr. Aragon, do we? Not when he was kind enough to send such a generous and alluring gift.”