Wanted by J. Kenner

  "I knew you'd understand."

  He cocked his head toward the stern. Or maybe it was starboard? I never could keep anything nautical straight in my head. At any rate, I followed him through a wooden door into a stunning salon that resembled a high-end condo's living room. That opened onto a dining area, and beyond that I assumed there was some sort of cockpit area, but I didn't see that because Evan led me down a small staircase to the next level that consisted of only one giant stateroom. The realization didn't sit well with me, primarily because it conjured up thoughts of all the women he'd undoubtedly entertained there--women who didn't come for platonic visits in which they slept in their own room. I mean, "Come back to my place," is a time-tested pick up line. But how much better must it be if the line is, "Come back to my boat"?

  "What's wrong?" he asked. "You look pensive."

  "It's an ugly rumor," I countered. "I never think unless I can help it."

  He kissed my nose. "Or maybe you think too much."

  I frowned. Because with that, I was in total agreement.

  Fortunately, his phone rang, distracting him from figuring out what I'd been thinking about. He glanced at the display, then looked at me. "Sorry. I need to take this. There are bathing suits in the top left drawer. Why don't you put one on and join me back on deck?"

  "Sure," I said, though inside I was cursing. Apparently, I'd been right. And not only did he bring women here, he brought so many that he provided clothing.

  "Hey," he said as he took the call and left the room. "Talk to me."

  And then he was gone and I was alone in the stateroom with another woman's bathing suit. Except that when I started to rummage through the drawer, I discovered that they all still had tags. I glanced toward the door, as if he was still there. As if I could somehow conjure him and, in doing so, I would understand all of his mysteries.

  Since the drawer was spacious, I took the liberty of taking my clothes out of my bag and putting them inside. I picked an emerald green bikini, changed, and headed back up to the salon. He wasn't there, and so I continued on toward the deck in search of him.

  He was still on the phone when I arrived, standing with his back to me as he faced the expanse of the lake. "Come on, man. You know me better than that, and I'm sure as hell not going to leave you hanging. Yeah, I'm thinking two years across the board. But we need to take care of all this California bullshit now. I know it's a mess, but it's going to get messier if the rumors are true and they're coming our way. Yeah, well, we need to be sure."

  He laughed. "You're such an ass. Okay, fine. Hit me with the rest of it."

  I heard his low whistle. "Neely's a prick, but you're right. This could develop into a problem. Cole's good, but--yeah, I know. It's not the kind of thing I should joke about. Let me plot out some options, and get back to you on this. As for all the other--what? No. You know damn well, the more volatile, the sooner I want out. Shit yeah, I'm becoming risk averse in my old age. As soon as you get close to thirty, your whole perspective changes."

  He chuckled, then said a soft, "Fuck you, and don't give me grief. We've already talked about my reasons. I can't risk fucking things up for her."

  I frowned, feeling like a voyeur even as I tried to make sense of the one-sided conversation. I don't think he realized I'd come on deck, and I sure as hell didn't know who "her" was. The word seemed to hang above his head, pulsing red in some giant cartoon bubble. I didn't want to be jealous--this thing between us was, by definition, a temporary arrangement. But while my head might know that, the rest of me was turning a jealous green as verdant as my suit.

  Well, fuck.

  I missed some of his conversation while I was off being jealous in my head, and the next thing I knew he was beside me. "I didn't hear you come up."

  "I'm very light on my feet," I quipped.

  "Are you?" he asked, then pulled me to him, my right hand in his left, and his right at my back, as if we were about to waltz.

  Whatever angst I'd been feeling vanished. "Evan!"

  He moved on the deck, leading me and--since I can barely ballroom dance with music, much less without--I had to give him points for avoiding my decidedly not light feet.

  "I didn't mean to eavesdrop," I said. "But what's up with Neely?"

  "Neely?"

  I laughed. "Yeah, you remember him? The guy who got the real Creature Notebook. You mentioned him on the phone just now. Like I said, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but his name kind of popped for me. Is it about the Da Vinci?"

  "What could it have to do with the Da Vinci?" he asked, which was a good point. Before I could concede that, though, he spun me around, then dipped me with a flourish. I laughed, enjoying this lighthearted side of him. Then he pulled me up and kissed me, and my bubbly mood shifted on a dime to something much more intense. I opened my mouth, my body firing immediately just as it always did around Evan. Foreplay might be fun, but I damn sure didn't need it. One touch, one look, and I was aroused. As if I was a lock and he was the only key that fit. As if we were two halves of a treasure map.

  As if I'd been waiting for him my whole life.

  I pulled away, suddenly confused.

  "Lina?"

  I heard the concern in his voice and forced myself to smile at him. "Sorry. I think I got a little lightheaded when you dipped me."

  "Sit," he said, leading me to a lounge chair. "I'll go get you some water."

  He was gone before I could protest, and I was left on the deck, feeling guilty about my lie. Because the truth was, the more I got to know Evan, the more the fantasy I'd spun since I was a teenager was being shoved out by the reality of the man.

  Reality.

  There was a funny word.

  I thought of the secrets that Jahn had said that Evan held. I thought of the allegations that Kevin had made. I thought of the dark flashes I'd seen in the alley and about Evan's own cryptic comments about being a bad bet. All those elements had played to my fantasy of a dangerous bad boy staying one step ahead of the law.

  Now, though. Now I wanted more than the fantasy. I wanted to see the reality of the man.

  I'd shined a light on the dark things that I kept hidden, and now I hoped that he would do the same.

  "Hey," he said, hurrying back onto the deck. He had a sparkling water with lime, and as he handed it to me, he knelt beside me, his free hand going to my forehead.

  I couldn't help but laugh. "I felt dizzy," I protested. "Not feverish."

  "Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to touch you," he said.

  My mouth curved into a smile. "You don't need an excuse."

  "No? I'm very glad to hear that." He glanced back toward the stairs leading below. "Can I entice you with baked brie?"

  "Um, yeah. I love brie," I said honestly.

  "I know. Jahn used to make a point of buying it before you came each summer."

  "And you remember that?" I was grinning like an idiot.

  "I remember a lot of things. Green beans wrapped in bacon. Baked potato with no butter but tons of sour cream. And steaks medium rare."

  I narrowed my eyes. "I thought you couldn't cook."

  "For you, I'm making the effort."

  I held out my hands and let him pull me to my feet. I caught him in a kiss--slow and wet and sensual. "Should I feel special, or do you cook for all the women you bring to your boat?" I was teasing--well, mostly--but his response was one-hundred-percent serious.

  "I've never brought a woman to the boat."

  "Oh." I trembled a little in his arms, warmed by the way he was looking at me. As if he never wanted to look away. And suddenly, I was lost. I didn't fully understand the effect he had on me, on my body. All I knew was that I could never have enough of him. "Evan." His name felt ripped from me. "God, Evan, I want the brie--I do. But right now, all I really want is for you to fuck me."

  His mouth curved in a slow, sexy smile, and all I could think in that moment was that it was my smile. Right now, for however long it lasted, this man was all mine. Every hard
, delicious inch of him.

  Slowly, he traced his finger over the top band of the bikini bottoms. I bit my lower lip, my belly tightening and my skin prickling as I anticipated that finger dipping inside the band, then sliding lower and lower until--

  He pulled his hand away, grinning when I looked accusingly at him. "Patience is a virtue, Lina. And anticipation is one hell of an aphrodisiac."

  "Maybe," I said sulkily. "But in case you hadn't noticed, I don't need an aphrodisiac with you."

  "That's very good to know." He stepped closer to me, then let his gaze rake over me. I tried not to react, but damn me, my breasts felt heavier, my nipples tighter. And when he let his gaze linger at the junction of my thighs, my cunt tightened in response to an unfulfilled demand--because the bastard really wasn't touching me. "I should keep you perpetually like this," he said, his voice low and smooth. "All hot and wet and wanting me."

  I swallowed, and I swear it was all I could do not to slide my own fingers down inside the damn bathing suit. "That's how I always am," I said, because he already knew it, and because there was no reason to hide anything from this man.

  "I'm very glad to hear it," he said. "Especially since I feel the same way. You make me burn, Lina."

  He brushed his fingertips over my shoulder, then trailed them lazily down my arm, making me shiver. And then, just as my eyes started to flutter shut, he pulled his hand away.

  I blinked at him, wanting more, but he just shook his head. "I think that's enough for now," he said, his voice cocky.

  "You're an asshole, Evan Black. You know that, right?"

  "Believe me, sweetheart, I've been called worse." He gave me a gentle tug. "Come on. I should start dinner."

  "Maybe I should wait here. The lounge chair is pretty comfortable. I could finish what you started."

  "Oh, no you don't." He took my hand and tugged me close. "I want you frustrated, baby. No touching. Your cunt belongs to me. Your orgasm belongs to me. I want every ripple of pleasure that courses through your body to come from me. Do you understand?"

  I nodded, feeling suddenly a little unstable, and not because of the rocking of the boat. And I had to admit that although I might be sexually frustrated at that moment, there was no denying that the promise in his words made it all worthwhile.

  I grabbed a terry-cloth cover-up from the arm of a lounge chair and followed him to the kitchen, though he wasted no time telling me that it was called a galley. True to his word, there was brie, and he set it out along with a selection of crackers and fruit that we nibbled on as he went about making dinner, cutting the ends off the green beans, testing the potatoes in the oven, seasoning the steaks.

  I watched him in silence, sipping wine and wondering about all the facets of Evan Black, both seen and unseen.

  I wanted to know everything, and before I could talk myself out of it, I asked the question that was most on my mind. "Evan," I said. "Why do you say you're not a safe bet?"

  He looked up from where he was uncorking a bottle of wine. "There are a lot of reasons," he said, and I heard the hint of caution in his voice.

  "I'd like to know."

  "Are you giving up on the idea of going to Washington?"

  "What?" I shook my head, confused. "No. Why would you think so?"

  He held my eyes for a long moment, and though I tried to figure out what he was thinking, I found no clue in his expression. "Never mind," he said. "It doesn't matter."

  I took the glass of wine he handed me, then took a sip. I considered dropping the whole thing. He was right, after all. I wasn't staying. In three weeks, I'd be gone. So what did it matter if I never dug beneath that tarnish to see the man hidden inside?

  Except it did matter. I wasn't entirely sure why, but it mattered a lot.

  "Is it because of the kind of business you're in?"

  "You mean the strip club?"

  "I mean whatever you do that makes you not a safe bet."

  He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his own wine, his eyes never leaving my face. "I think I know a certain FBI agent who's been putting ideas into your head."

  I licked my lips, suddenly unsure that I should have opened this door. "Listen, never mind. I don't want to spoil dinner."

  "I haven't even put the steaks on yet. We have time." He put his wineglass down and crossed the galley so that he was opposite me across the bar. "What did Kevin say?"

  I considered avoiding the question, but knew Evan well enough to know that he'd press. "He said that the FBI was watching you. That you're into all sorts of shit. He wasn't specific."

  "And you believe him." There was no emotion in his voice. No anger. No nothing. Just a question, spoken in a monotone.

  "I didn't say that. All I want to know is why you'd tell me that you're not a safe bet."

  "Because it's the truth," he said.

  "Evan ..."

  "What?" His tone had barely changed, but somehow it was harsher now. "You want me to fill up your glass and tell you a bedtime story? Something that excites you? Something that makes you feel close to the kind of guy who can make you feel wild?"

  I looked away, because that was what had started all of this, but now I wanted so much more.

  "Something fast-paced, right? Maybe the story of a kid whose family went to shit when he was still in high school? Who turned to doing whatever the hell he could to make a buck in order to keep his family from having to live on the streets. Drugs. Stolen merchandise. Stolen cars. Whatever he could think of. And maybe this story's a tragedy, do you think?"

  He was speaking fast, but every word was measured. As for me, I was holding my breath, taking in every word, understanding that he was giving me a view of the inside of Evan Black, and I was doing my damnedest to see the truth behind the tale he was spinning.

  "Maybe he gets arrested and sent to one of those teen work camps. The whole scared straight bullshit. But let's not write a typical ending. Let's not have it really work. Let's touch on some irony. Let's have our boy meet some other kids. Two others, and they become tight. But scared straight? Not hardly."

  Cole. Tyler.

  I remembered Jahn telling me that the three had met at some camp when they were teens. Holy shit.

  "And then when the three got smart," he said, leaving the kitchen area and circling the bar, "they learned how to dodge the system. How to take risks. How to do whatever they needed to do to get by, because they all three knew that the universe doesn't play fair." He was right in front of me, all heat and power and control. "And if the universe doesn't play by the rules, then why the fuck should they?"

  "They shouldn't," I said as my pulse pounded in my ears.

  He stroked my bare arms as I stood there feeling exposed despite the fact that I'd slipped the short-sleeved cover-up on over the tiny bathing suit. "You don't want a safe bet, Lina," he said, his voice low. "Do you?"

  "No."

  "You want a man who lives on the edge. That's the kind of thing that gets you hot, isn't it?" His fingers toyed with the white zipper pull at the base of my throat.

  "Yes," I admitted as he pushed the cover-up off my shoulders. It fell to the floor in a puddle of white terry cloth. Evan's palms caressed my arms, sliding up and down, and it wasn't mere friction that sent the heat coursing through me.

  "You want a man who likes to fly," he said, tracing his fingertip over the curve of my breasts along the outline of my bikini top.

  My breath became ragged. My skin felt prickly. And behind that tiny scrap of material, my nipples were painfully hard.

  "You want little bit of danger." His finger slipped under the material to flick my nipple, making me gasp. "You want to know that the man in your bed doesn't play by the rules." That same finger trailed down my belly to the band of bikini bottom.

  I shifted my stance, spreading my legs a bit, and feeling my cheeks heat when I heard his soft, knowing chuckle.

  "Tell me I'm right," he demanded, though he already knew it was true.

  "You're rig
ht," I said.

  "Tell me you want me to fuck you."

  "I do." I felt the charge through me, like I was touching a live wire. I closed my eyes. "I want you, Evan. I want you to fuck me."

  "Take off the top," he said.

  I opened my eyes and found him looking not at my breasts, but at my face. Our eyes locked, and I swallowed, the force of the emotion I saw in his eyes making me weak. I reached back, then untied the string between my shoulder blades. Then I reached higher and brushed my hair aside before tugging at the bow that was the only thing now holding the top in place. I let it fall, then stood there in front of him, my breasts bare and heavy, my nipples hard and tight and practically begging for his touch.

  He moved closer, then pressed his thumb against his mouth, making it wet before rubbing it slowly over my sensitive nipple. I felt the shock of his touch all the way through me, making me squirm as liquid pleasure pooled between my legs, warm and enticing.

  He reached out, cupping my breasts in his palms, then bent to suckle me, so slowly and thoroughly that I had to reach out and grasp the back of a stool for fear that I would collapse to the ground.

  When he pulled back, I felt the chill of the air on my damp breasts and saw his soft smile of satisfaction. I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, wondering where he would touch me next.

  I wasn't surprised when he told me to drop my bikini bottom. I did without hesitation, and I saw the heat flare in his eyes. I saw, too, the bulge at the front of his shorts.

  He knelt in front of me, then ran his fingertip down my pubis. I was bare, every fold visible and swollen with desire. I was sensitive--so damned sensitive, and when he bent close and blew a soft stream of air across my clit, I thought I would come right then.

  "That's my girl," he said. "I love looking at you." He leaned closer, then slowly licked me along my slit all the way up to my belly button, the sensation so surprising and erotic that I cried out, unable to hold back either the sound or the shimmers of pleasure that shook my body.

  He stood, and I wanted to scream with protest. I wanted more. I wanted his tongue on me, his fingers stroking me, his cock inside me. I wanted it all right then, all at once. I wanted to be so overwhelmed with sensation that I lost myself, and floated away in a haze that was only Evan.

  But he wasn't moving that fast. He was doling out pleasure, and as much as I wanted the assault, I had to admit that this was fine, too.