The Dangerous Boxed Set Page 15

  Her neck. Wow. That had turned out to be one of her top erogenous zones. Who knew? Nick had somehow known. Every time he put his lips to that one particular spot under her ear, she broke out in goose bumps.

  She was thinking about that, about the lazy way he’d licked her neck this morning, while his thumb rubbed over her nipple, when she saw Nick, appearing suddenly out of the icy mist.

  She was staring dreamily out the big library window, thinking of him and for a moment, it was almost like a scene out of a movie.

  The big, handsome man, black haired and blue eyed, tall and strong, striding out from the mist. He walked like a gunslinger, loose and lanky, big heavy coat swirling around his legs, looking right and then left, checking out the situation. He was always intensely aware of his surroundings, more like a sentry or a soldier than a businessman.

  Watching him appear out of the mist, for a second she thought What a looker. And then, in an intense burst of pride, she thought That looker’s mine. For the time being, ladies, hands off because that one’s mine.

  As he crossed the street, Nick looked up and met her gaze and Charity’s breath froze in her chest.

  Time slowed, stilled. Her heartbeat thickened, sounded loud in her ears. She watched him, utterly unable to move, as he crossed the street. Long-legged strides, hands deep in his overcoat, hatless. He walked directly under the streetlamp and his hair shone blue-black in the feeble light.

  Each stride was met with an equal thump in her chest as he came closer, closer, never taking his gaze from hers through the big plate-glass window of the library.

  As Charity watched him watching her, her body automatically readied itself for him. Her skin felt feverish, prickly. Her blood pulsed thickly through her veins, in time with his strides. The muscles in her groin tightened, the muscles in her belly clenched. Her breasts felt hot and swollen, pushing against her bra. She could feel the inner muscles of her sheath softening, growing moist.

  Did he know what was happening to her body?

  Nick looked grim, jaw muscles clenching, eyes never leaving hers. His eyes were glowing, a mystical cobalt blue that penetrated deep inside her skull.

  For a second he disappeared and then he was at the door, pulling it open to let a gust of cold air enter. She welcomed the burst of cold air moving over her skin, cooling it, because when he walked through the door, she felt a blast of internal heat so intense it was like walking in front of a furnace.

  Nick didn’t break his stride and he didn’t greet her. He took in the empty library in a glance then took her elbow in his hand, propelling her toward the back.

  His grip didn’t hurt but it was unbreakable. Charity found herself scrambling to keep up with him.

  They were at the back before she could gather her wits about her.

  “Nick? What are you—ah …”

  What he was doing became clear as he herded her into the supply room and closed the door. There was only a dim 20-watt lightbulb high up in the ceiling but it was certainly enough to see his expression by.

  Her heart rate kicked up.

  Nick advanced slowly and she backed away. Not out of fear but out of excitement at the heat in his eyes. She stopped when her back hit the wall and, a second later, Nick’s hands slapped against the wall on either side of her head.

  His head moved down as her eyelids drifted closed. Her head fell back, tipped against the wall. She expected one of his bone-melting kisses, but he stopped just before fitting his mouth to hers. She could feel his hot breath washing over her face.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered.

  Charity smiled without opening her eyes. “Hello,” she whispered back.

  “Did you miss me?”

  Every cell in her body had missed him. “You have no idea.”

  Nick leaned in, pressing his entire body against hers. “Oh yeah,” he said softly. “I have an idea.”

  His freezing overcoat was a shock against Charity’s bare overheated skin. Her shins, wrists, cheeks. Nick leaned even more heavily against her, shuffling his feet between hers, so she was forced to widen her stance.

  He gathered her skirt in his big, cold hands and started pulling it up, bare knuckles icy against her thighs. Charity clutched the lapels of his overcoat for balance.

  She didn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t. Everything in her was concentrated inward, on all the sensations evoked by his heavy, strong, cold body.

  The heat burning her up inside and the contrasting chill against her skin. The soft cashmere of the coat contrasting with the roughness of his hands.

  Her skirt started hiking up and she could feel the cold of his clothes against her thighs.

  He was pressing against her so hard now that she could feel his erection through the layers of clothes, hers and his. He was huge.

  She gave a half laugh. “You were thinking about this.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “Oh yeah,” he breathed.

  Charity shifted a little, brushing her mound against the erection, feeling it grow even longer, thicker. Oh God, this was so exciting!

  “You were—” She took a deep breath as he nipped at the skin behind her ear. “You were thinking about this in the snow?”

  His nose was in her hair, mouth against her ear. Charity could actually feel his breath break when he discovered she was wearing thigh-highs. His hand froze as his penis leaped against her.

  She’d put them on this morning, knowing she’d be cold when she left the library, but also knowing it would excite him when they got home.

  It never ever occurred to her that he’d discover them in the library!

  “God.” His hands found the bare skin between the tops of the stockings and her panties. They were warmer now. Not even a Vermont winter could keep Nick cold for long. “You wore these to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”

  “Mmm.” Actually, yes.

  His hand cupped her, middle finger pressing lightly, the silk a thin layer against her opening and she shuddered, the movement evoking another surge from him against her.

  “For the record, it’s working.”

  He kept his hand there, warm now, hot even. Just the pressure of his hand against her made her thighs clench.

  He was kissing her now, slow, deep kisses, licking her tongue, her teeth in slow movements, echoed by his hand against her, stroking slowly.

  She felt him everywhere, pressing against her, smelling of snow and pine and Nick. Then the smell of sex bloomed in the room after he unzipped his pants, the sound soft in the dusty room, as his penis sprang out.

  Charity wanted to open her eyes and see him. She loved the sight of it—a hard column with thick veins in an unruly nest of curly black hair. But her eyes wouldn’t open, not while he kissed her so deeply.

  Nick pried her right hand away from his coat and curled it around him. She couldn’t see him but boy, she could feel him. Everything about him tightened when she touched him. His penis became, impossibly, even longer and thicker. His heart beat hard and fast, and she could feel the heartbeat, right there in her hand. Her thumb covered the huge, rounded head and he wept for her, too.

  Such power, she had.

  Then Nick tugged sharply, tearing her panties right off, and his finger slid inside her and she gasped, legs trembling. Oh God, he had power, too.

  His finger stretched her, mimicking the movements of his tongue in her mouth and she whimpered.

  The smell of sex was suddenly stronger in the air–her arousal and his. He’d touched her for only a minute, but she was soft and wet. His finger penetrated with ease. She’d been thinking about him all day. And all day her body had been primed for this.

  Nick withdrew his finger, running the tip around her opening, preparing her.

  “You’ve been thinking about me, too, honey.” Another slow penetration, withdrawal. She ached with emptiness when his hand pulled away altogether. “Haven’t you?”

  He was asking her something. She had no idea what. But with Nick touching her like this, there
was only one possible answer.

  “Yes.”

  He shuddered. She felt it all through her own body.

  A ripping, crinkling sound and he had protection on. His kisses were wilder now, so deep she almost couldn’t breathe, and had to breathe through him. His own breaths heated her cheek and she could feel his wide chest rising and falling at a faster rhythm.

  “Lift your leg,” he whispered, running his hand down the back of her thigh. Charity obeyed, as he helped her curl her leg around his, opening herself completely to him.

  He had to bend his knees slightly to fit himself to her opening, swirling himself around her, trying to go slow.

  She could feel his tight control in his hands, slow and trembling, in the drop of sweat running down his temple, in his harsh breathing. He pressed a little inside her and she clenched around him.

  “Jesus,” he breathed. Another drop of sweat fell. “It has to be hard and fast, honey, because I’m about ready to blow. I really have been thinking about this all day. Had a woody, too. Really uncomfortable, let me tell you.”

  Charity let out a burst of laughter, charmed at the thought of him negotiating business deals with an erection. Her laughter was cut short when he entered her completely in one hard thrust.

  Charity’s eyes opened wide, staring into his, an inch away. His eyes were narrowed, staring at her intently. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

  “Fuck. Sorry.” He took a second to catch his breath. “Did I hurt you? Honey?” He frowned when she didn’t answer. “Charity answer me. Did I hurt you?”

  She could barely hear him, his voice distant, as if he were a thousand miles away, instead of pressing against her, up in her. She was totally caught up with what was happening inside her, tightly wound, everything in her circling inward, hardly able to breathe. All the nerve endings between her thighs were on fire as she clenched and clenched again around the huge, hard rod inside her.

  He pressed a little harder and the tension broke. The world spun away, everything inside her got tighter and tighter until, with a little cry, she began coming in long hard pulls, as if her body were trying to entice him even more deeply inside her.

  “Shit!” Nick’s entire body jerked in surprise and he started moving in her, short, hard jabs, completely unlike the easy, long rhythms of his normal lovemaking.

  Both his hands were cupped around her bottom, holding her up to him as his tight, hard strokes banged her against the wall. He swelled inside her, his movements becoming irregular, almost frantic and then he started coming, too, teeth and jaws tightly clenched against a moan, a lock of raven-black hair falling over his damp forehead, tapping against his skin with each hard movement.

  Charity softened, her contractions slowing down, her muscles turning lax. The only thing holding her up was his chest pressed against hers, his hands on her buttocks, and his penis inside her. Her arms dropped. She didn’t even have the energy to hold on to him.

  There was a faint noise, a clattering sound, which she couldn’t decipher. It was only when she felt cold air against the sole of her foot that she realized she’d lost a shoe.

  It was the only place she was cold. Every other part of her was steaming hot, particularly where he was still inside her. He had softened a little after his climax, but not much. He was still hard inside her and it felt like flameless fire.

  “My God,” he muttered. “That was—” He blew out a breath. “Well.”

  “Absolutely,” she whispered. She couldn’t have said it better herself.

  They rested against each other. If it hadn’t been for the wall, they would have both fallen to the floor. Nick rested his cheek against the top of her head and her lips curled in a smile.

  Impossibly, his penis twitched and her vagina spasmed around him.

  “No,” she said. “Can’t.”

  “Me, either.” Nick let out a gusty sigh against her hair, ruffling a curl. “Like to, but can’t.” He shifted slightly. “As a matter of fact, I’d better do something before the rubber leaks.” He straightened slightly, starting to pull out.

  “Charity? Charity? Where are you?”

  Charity froze and looked up, appalled, into Nick’s amused gaze.

  “Charity?” The tone was peremptory, her name pronounced in short, staccato syllables. Cha-ri-ty. A long stress on the last syllable. Cha-ri-teee! Only one person spoke her name like that. Mrs. Lambert, the former chief librarian.

  Oh God, she couldn’t even pretend not to be here. The door was unlocked and her coat was hung on the coat rack. Mrs. Lambert knew this place like the back of her hand–she’d worked here for forty years.

  The supply room would be the first place she’d check. And there was no place at all in the room to hide a six-foot-two handsome devil of a man.

  Charity pushed at Nick. “Let me go!” she hissed.

  With a little sigh, he pulled out of her and stepped back, penis bobbling at half-mast. Charity looked at it, then at him, and with another sigh, he tucked himself away in his pants and zipped up, wincing, the zipper loud in the silence.

  “Charity! Where are you, girl?”

  Mrs. Lambert’s sensible boots made a clomping sound on the library’s ancient hardwood floor. Charity could follow every step she was making. She was checking the periodicals room, the reading room. A discreet knock on the lavatory door.

  There was only one place left to check.

  “Wipe that grin off your face,” she said in a fierce whisper, hopping over to her missing shoe, straightening her skirt, combing her hair out with her fingers. Nick obediently assumed a serious expression, biting his lips not to smile. His eyes were full of amusement, though.

  It was quite all right for him to be amused. He’d be leaving soon. Charity was going to spend the rest of her life here, and Mrs. Lambert was the biggest gossip in town.

  Charity even had a morals clause in her contract, which had amused her when she’d signed it, the idea of infringing the morals clause of her employment contract as remote as the thought of flying to Pluto.

  Nick cleared his throat and she leaped to cover his mouth with her hand. His eyes gleamed at her. The devil.

  “Not a word,” she said fiercely. “Not one word!”

  When she dropped her hand, he mimed zipping his mouth. His smiling mouth, the scoundrel.

  “Charity, my dear. Where on earth are you?” The boots clumped closer.

  Charity checked her skirt, smoothed it out, fanned herself quickly in an attempt to cool down and winced at the thought of her kiss-swollen lips, and of being naked under the skirt. She was sure the smell of hot sex surrounded her like a cloud.

  Well, there was nothing for it but to brazen it through. She lifted her head and took in a deep breath.

  Showtime, she thought and opened the door, closing it quickly behind her.

  “Why Mrs. Lambert,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”

  Fourteen

  Vassily Worontzoff’s mansion

  Thursday evening, November 24

  The instant Nick walked up the granite steps and walked through the huge door of Worontzoff’s crib—palace would be a better word—every hair on his body stood on end.

  There was no visible reason for it. No reason at all why his blood was running cold. No reason for the adrenalin dump.

  Everyone streaming up the steps and into the house was elegant and wealthy. Solid citizens. Culture mavens.

  The buzz of well-bred voices echoed around the huge foyer, mixed with the murmur of well-trained servants taking coats, offering drinks, pointing toward a big reception hall.

  Nick recognized the governor of Vermont, two senators from big states, a high-tech tycoon, and a famous movie director. Everyone else looked like they were famous. Average age fifty, average income several million dollars per annum on up.

  This was it.

  He was in the belly of the beast.

  This was when Nick shone. He was at his best in extremis, close to the heart of
the danger. He’d been here before, often. It was the whole point of being undercover, to get close to the unprotected center, as an insider.

  It was when that internal mechanism he’d been born with revved up, the one that gave him the moniker Iceman. It was like a sixth gear and once it kicked in, his thoughts, sight, and hearing were enhanced. He was preternaturally aware of his surroundings, his entire body turned into a quick-response machine. He could be cool and calm on the outside while on the inside, his head was working its way through the complex geometry of betrayal.

  While all the smug, self-satisfied elegant folk were eating Worontzoff’s hors d’oeuvres and drinking his French champagne, congratulating themselves on being invited into the great man’s home, Nick took stock.

  Ninety-five percent of the people here were as clueless as lambs right up to the moment of slaughter. They had no idea what they’d walked into.

  They thought they were among their own kind. They weren’t. They were with monsters.

  It was amazing to him. How people could be around predators and not feel that they were different.

  One elderly gent with an ebony cane topped by a silver orb took a drink off a tray offered by one of Worontzoff’s minions. He didn’t notice the barbed-wire tattoo visible under the snowy white cuff or the slight bulge under the left armpit of the man holding the tray. No doubt the goon had a backup in an ankle holster and a knife in a hip sheath. Not to mention a garrote in the fancy cummerbund.

  He was an operator, no doubt about that. Steel gray crew cut, knife scar along the jawline, in his fifties and fitter than any twenty-year-old could ever hope to be.

  And Clueless Geezer happily lifting a drink from the tray Crew Cut held, unaware that with one word from Worontzoff, Crew Cut would rip his throat out. Jesus.

  Nick knew, though. He’d been around people like Crew Cut all his life and every sense he had was on high alert.

  So he walked around with a hand to Charity’s back, not as a gentleman would, to guide her gently and stake his claim, but because he was ready at any moment to shove her to the ground and pull out his Glock at the first sign of danger.