Sins, Lies & Naughty Games: A Blackwell-Lyon Security Collection Read online

  She’s already taken off her boots, but now I want to do away with the rest of her clothing, and I step up behind her, determined to make that happen. “Close your eyes,” I say, and I’m gratified when she does. “Arms up.” Once again, she complies, and her willingness to trust me is as much of a turn-on as her soft skin and delicious scent.

  I grab the hem of her shirt and pull it up over her head. She makes a little whimpering sound, but doesn’t object.

  “Next the jeans,” I say, as I peel the bra off of her and toss it aside. “Take them off for me. Underwear, too.”

  The windows are slightly tinted in defense against the sun, and at this time of day, there’s a bit of a reflection. She looks up, then meets my eyes in the glass. I wait for her to protest, but she says nothing. She just unbuttons her fly, then wriggles out of the jeans, her underwear slipping down with the denim.

  Then she stands there, looking out at this wild section of Austin, her hands at her sides, her legs slightly parted.

  I’m standing behind her, but in the window, I can see that her nipples are tight, and she’s biting on her lower lip.

  “This excites you,” I say, and when she nods, I exhale with relief. Because damned if it doesn’t turn me on, too.

  “This is my favorite view,” I say. “Not the city. Not the trees. Not the river. But you standing in front of me, your skin glowing, your body reflected in the window. Because honestly, how could anything be more lovely?”

  “Liar,” she says, her mouth curving into a smile. “Nice words, but they're a lie. How can this be your favorite if you’ve never seen it before?”

  I step up behind her and cup her breasts, then slide one hand down between her thighs. She’s wet—so damn wet—and all I can think is mine.

  “I’ve seen it before. Not specifically, but the idea of it. The idea of you. An innocent beauty standing right in front of me, naked and wanting me.” I move the hand on her breast up to her forehead so that I can bend her head backwards, elongating her neck. She draws in a shaky breath, but doesn’t move. “Tell me you want me.”

  “Yes. So much.”

  I release her, and she sighs, but stays like that, leaning backwards against me, so that I’m supporting her weight and she’s trusting me to keep her upright.

  One of my hands is still between her legs, and I tease and stroke her until she’s writhing against me, hot and ready. “Take off your clothes,” she demands.

  “Anything the lady wants,” I say, as I hurry to strip.

  “Do you mean it?”

  I tilt my head, wondering what she has in mind. “Try me.”

  She slides into my arms, kicking away the last of my clothes, then captures me in a white hot kiss that both surprises and excites me. “Jez, baby,” I say, when I pull away, gasping for breath. But she’s not giving me a break. Her hand slides between our bodies and she strokes me, making me even harder than I could have imagined, and sending a wild heat coursing through me.

  “Now,” I say. “Dammit, Jez, I need to be inside you now.”

  “What floor are we on?” There’s a frantic note to her query.

  “The twenty-seventh.”

  “Can anyone see in?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “The window,” she begs. “Please, take me by the window.”

  Hell, yes, I will.

  “Hands on the glass,” I order. “Bend over.”

  She does, and the view is so hot, I almost come right then. But I want to be inside her. I want to be with her. Her. Not just sex, but Jez. And as I move behind her—as I slide my cock deep inside her hot, wet, pussy—as I claim her once and for all—I can’t help but wonder what that means.

  But right now, I’m too fired up too care. Too lost in passion. Too lost in the waves of pleasure rippling over me.

  Most of all, I’m too lost in Jez.

  And when she explodes in my arms—when she cries my name and shakes so hard her legs give out—I feel like the most powerful man on the earth.

  We’ve sunk down to the carpet, and I rouse myself long enough to clean us up and get robes. Then I open the door and lead her onto the balcony, settling her on the oversized chaise lounge before I go back inside for two glasses of bourbon.

  I’m tending her—and that’s a far cry from my usual routine.

  But it feels right. Good, even.

  And when she smiles up at me as I hand her a glass, it also feels remarkably like home.

  “I love this,” she says, before I can think too hard about these errant, semi-domestic thoughts skittering through my mind. “Way up in the sky with a balcony. It’s like living in the city, but still getting away.”

  “It is,” I say. “I’d like to have a house one day, but only if it has that getaway quality. And that would mean a pretty big yard. And I don’t have the time to deal with it.”

  “You could hire someone.”

  I shake my head. “Not the same. There’s something primal and personal about a yard. What?” I say, catching her look of surprise.

  “It’s just that I’ve always felt that way. I want a garden, and I don’t have one for the same reasons. No time to deal with it and I don’t want someone else tending what’s mine.”

  I nod, thinking how much we have in common, and how unexpected that is.

  She sighs, and takes a sip of the bourbon. “This has been a great few days,” she says. “And to be honest, I haven’t had a lot of fun lately,” she says. “So thank you.”

  “Because of the scandal?”

  “Yeah. But even before that.”

  I turn toward her, remembering our conversation last night. “You’re living a shadow life.”

  She bristles. “I love my sister.”

  “I’m not saying you don’t. But you need to live your own life. What happens when she’s ready to manage her own career?”

  “This isn’t your problem.” Her words are sharp, and painfully true.

  Painful because I want to help. I want to pull her into my arms, hold her close, and help her figure it all out.

  And damned if I know where I made that left turn, but I did. And now I’m careening toward something with this woman that I don’t fully understand. All I know is that it feels right—and that I’m not ready to put on the brakes.

  “It is my problem,” I tell her. “I don’t know why or how or if you’ll let me help. But dammit, Jez, you got under my skin. And I can’t walk away. Not now. Not without trying.”

  Her lips press tight together and she holds her eyes wide, obviously fighting tears. But then she pushes out of the chair and hurries inside.

  I give her a moment, then follow. She’s in the kitchen, the faucet running, her hands clutching the countertop.

  “Hey.” I put my hand on her shoulder, resisting the urge to turn her around and pull her into my arms, even though that’s exactly where I want her to be. “Talk to me.”

  “I’ve got this,” she says, more to the sink than to me. “I do,” she adds, turning to face me. “It’s just that sometimes I wish I could hand it all off to someone else. That I could just let go and back away. You know?”

  “I do,” I say. I take her hand. “Come with me.”

  She eyes me curiously, but she doesn’t protest when I lead her into my bedroom.

  “I can’t help with Del,” I say. “At least not without some research and a few dozen phone calls. But about you handing it off to someone else … about that, I have a few ideas.”

  I watch her face. The flicker of interest. The hint of nervousness. “What do you have in mind?” she finally asks.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I—”

  She hesitates, and in that moment of silence it feels like the ground has fallen out from under me. And fuck, I want to kick myself, because I should not have fallen this hard, this fast. I know better than that.

  But what the hell, right? Because all that’s going on here is a multi-night stand. And in a few days, she�
��s heading back to LA, and I’ll hop back onto 2Nite, and my life will return to stasis.

  In the meantime, I have Jez.

  And when she nods and says, “Of course I trust you,” everything seems sane again.

  “Sit on the bed,” I order, and when she complies, I go to my dresser.

  “What exactly are you doing?” Her voice is amused, but wary.

  “Forcing you to give everything over to someone else. Close your eyes. Now,” I add, when she hesitates.

  She narrows her eyes, but then she complies—and then yelps a little when I put a sleep mask on her, then tighten it to ensure she can’t peek.

  “Pierce, I don’t—”

  “Hush. You’re giving yourself over. You’re letting go. You’re putting me in charge. That’s the deal. And I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

  She licks her lips, and I hold my breath, afraid she’s going to balk. But then she nods.

  “Good. Now lay back and put your arms above your head, wrists together.” I’m certain she’s going to protest again, so I’m surprised when she complies without argument.

  I get on the bed beside her, then bind her wrists with an old tie. The headboard has a shelf on it, and since I don’t have a better option, I unplug my alarm clock and thread the extension cord though the loop of the tie, effectively binding her wrists near the headboard.

  “Pierce…”

  “Yes, baby?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I just wanted to know you’d answer.”

  “Always. Now relax. Just breathe.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Sweetheart, I’m going to make you come.”

  “Oh.”

  I smile, seeing the way her body tightens just from the suggestion, and then I settle in to thoroughly explore this woman. I brush kisses over every inch of her. I oil my hands and massage her breasts. I suck on her tits. I kiss my way up her legs. And I tell her throughout all of it how absolutely fucking beautiful she is.

  I lose myself in her pleasure. In watching the way her skin contracts at a touch. In judging the pattern of her breathing. I want to know everything, and I lose myself in the reality of Jezebel.

  And only when she is writhing and whimpering, begging for my touch, do I gently slip my fingers between her legs, then hold her still when she tries to grind against me. “Oh, no. That’s for me to do,” I say, and then I make it my mission to take her to the absolute height of passion.

  And since she actually screams when she comes, I think that I did a damn good job.

  I hold her body as it shakes in the last throes of the orgasm, then very gently I take off the mask and untie her hands.

  Immediately, she curls up against me, then sighs deeply. “That was incredible.”

  “The orgasm or letting go?”

  “That’s a trick question,” she says, opening her eyes. “I came so hard because I let go.”

  “Listen to you,” I tease. “My star pupil.”

  She reaches out to smack my chest, but I grab her hand and kiss it. “If you can do it in bed,” I say, “you can do it in life.”

  “Have an earth shattering orgasm?”

  “Surrender some control.”

  I think I’ve proved my point, but she just shakes her head, then props herself up on one elbow. “You’re forgetting one thing. I trust you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I trust you.

  The words rush through me, warm and satisfying—and scary enough that I force them aside. This isn’t about me. It’s about her. It’s about Del. It’s about finding an agent or a manager or a partner—someone who can share the burden with Jezebel until Del’s ready to take it over herself.

  And that’s exactly what I tell her.

  “And my point’s still the same,” she says. “I don’t have to get naked with them, but I still have to trust them. And after what happened with Simpson…”

  She trails off with a shrug, then shifts on the bed so that she’s propped up on her knees. “But you, sir, are taking my problem far too seriously. I’ll work it out. And in the meantime, we need to get going.”

  She nods at the clock, and I curse softly. I’d completely lost track of time. We need to be back at the hotel in just under half an hour. “You’re a bad influence on me,” I say.

  “The feeling’s entirely mutual.”

  Fortunately, my condo is only a few blocks from the Starfire, and soon enough I’m handing the valet my keys and ushering Jez into the elevator with fifteen minutes to spare.

  She uses her key to access the floor, and moments later we walk hand-in-hand into her suite—only to find Kerrie sitting at the table, looking directly at us.

  Her brows rise, and I see a smug little smile flicker before being replaced by her poker face.

  “You’re early,” I say, releasing Jez’s hand. “Where’s Del?”

  “Remind me never to be a movie star,” she says. “Your schedule totally isn’t your own.”

  “Kerrie…”

  “She’s on the set. Connor took her. Said you could relieve him when you got back.”

  “The set?” Jez says.

  “The producers called while we were in the steam room. I guess they wanted to get started early or something.” She takes a gulp from her water bottle and looks at me. “Can you take me home before you go? I’ve got plans tonight and no car.”

  “Sure. Grab your stuff.” I turn to Jez as Kerrie starts to shove magazines and a pair of flip flops into a tote bag. “You?”

  She shakes her head. “I need to sort through a few things here and make a couple of calls to LA.” She reaches for my hand, glances at Kerrie, then pulls it back. “I’ll see you later, though. When you bring Del home.”

  “Yes, you will,” I say. I step closer, then lower my voice so that only Jez can hear. “You can fire me again tonight.”

  “Deal.”

  “I’m ready,” Kerrie says.

  “Hang on. I want to grab a water bottle.” My phone chimes as I head for the fridge in the small kitchen area. I pull it out and set it on the counter, looking at the lock screen notification as I open a bottle of water and take a long swallow.

  J from 2Nite has messaged you: Back in town. Let’s try again tonight?

  I’m about to dismiss it when Kerrie calls for me to bring her a bottle, too. I grab one from the fridge, and head back toward the door, then toss the bottle to my sister. “All set?”

  “Let’s go.”

  I wave to Jez, resisting the urge to kiss her goodbye. Not because it would be unprofessional, but because I’d never hear the end of it from my sister.

  My sacrifice doesn’t pay off, however, because the first thing Kerrie says when we get in my Range Rover is, “You like her.”

  “Of course I do. She’s nice. Smart. Competent.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You’re falling for her.”

  “No, I’m not,” I lie, because I don’t want to get into it with my sister right now.

  “It’s okay if you are.”

  “Kerrie…”

  “I’m just saying that would be good, that’s all. I mean, I know that whole thing with Margie messed you up, but I worry about you. Mom and Dad worry, too. They’re just never going to tell you. Or if they do, they’ll wait until Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

  Our parents retired to Nevada five years ago, and while we stay in touch, the phone calls tend to be pretty bare bones. But my parents are more than happy to meddle when we’re together in person for the holidays.

  I keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road. “Like I said, I’m fine.”

  “Maybe. But one of these days you’re going to have to realize that only Margie was the asshole and not the entire female population. I mean, some of us are actually loyal, you know? And I love you, is all.”

  I sigh. “I love you, too.” I hesitate, and for a moment I consider telling her everything and letting her help me parse out this mess of emotio
ns that’s tangled in my head.

  But then her phone rings, and the moment is lost.

  “Hey,” she says. “What’s up?” A pause, then, “Sure, I’ll tell him. Bye.”

  “What’s up?”

  “You left your phone at the hotel. Jez called Connor so you wouldn’t worry when you couldn’t find it.”

  “Oh, good. Thanks.”

  “And apparently Lisa tried to reach you,” she adds. “When your phone and the office line went to voice mail, she called Connor. She’s in town and wants to meet you for dinner. She told Connor she has news. And he said he’ll cover for you on the set.”

  “News.” I frown slightly, considering, but I don’t have any ideas. “I was just telling Jez about her. She was asking about our work.”

  “You told her about Lisa and the stalker? Did you tell her what happened?”

  I understand the surprise in her voice; I don’t often share that I killed a man. “I told her.”

  “Like I said,” she says smugly. “You’re falling for her.”

  This time, I don’t bother to deny it.

  I use Kerrie’s phone to call Lisa back, then drop my sister off before going home to change. All of that takes about an hour, but I still manage to arrive right on the dot to meet Lisa. She’s already seated, and she stands up and flings her arms around me as I approach the four-top near the front of the restaurant.

  “I’m so glad you could come. I know it’s horribly short notice, but I’m only in town today. We came in to see Daddy.”

  “How’s your father doing?” I ask. I haven’t spoken to her father in months. All I know is that he’s living in Salado now, a small town about fifty miles outside of Austin.

  “Great,” she says. “He’s been doing a lot of renovation work, so business is picking up. He uses your recommendation on the website I made for him.”

  “Good. That’s what it was for.” I take a sip of my water, then notice the bottle of champagne chilling in a nearby bucket. “Are we celebrating?”

  She nods, looking like she’s about to overflow with her news. “But you have to wait until—oh! Derek!”

  I turn and see a tall, curly-haired man scanning the restaurant. He smiles and hurries toward us, then kisses Lisa’s cheek. And, I notice with approval, he doesn’t flinch at all when he kisses her right on the jagged scar, a souvenir of her attack.