Ruthless

Chapter 39

It”s time

May 10

Friday night

“That feels sooooo good.”I fell into Donovan’s massage like my friend Tara would fall into a vat of dark chocolate if you gave her the chance.

It was two weeks after the end of Kristin’s captivity. Killing Professor Michaels hadn’t been enough to satisfy his need for revenge, and he was looking for Cabot harder than ever.

And I was searching just as hard for that sonofabitch whose initials were still carved into my flesh beneath the bandage I wouldn’t take off.

The night Donovan rescued her, the Big Men had put a bullet in every professor there. They hadn’t killed the men, even though it would have been pretty damned satisfying if he had.

RED covered everything, of course. The agency even found ways to get Harvard to terminate the professors’ employment. They’d never work at another major university again.

The carpet in Kristin’s living room was soft beneath me as I sat with my back against the couch, between Donovan’s knees, while he sat on the couch and massaged my neck and shoulders. The news was just white noise as my head lulled back. I was in ecstasy. His massages were almost as good as the sex.

Well, not quite.

He stopped massaging and his fingers pressed into my shoulders.

“Ow, that hurts.” I tipped my head further to look up at him and saw his gaze fixed straight ahead on the TV, his jaw set.

What had been white noise came into focus as the reporter’s words sank into my consciousness.

“…vanished from this local nightclub.” The reporter had just the right amount of concern in her voice. “Eyewitnesses believe the young woman was taken by the same man seen abducting other women. What you will see next is an artist’s rendering of the suspect.”

A white page now filled the screen with a drawing that closely resembled a familiar face. “Danny,” I said, and Donovan’s hands tightened on me more. It hurt enough that I shrugged out of his hold. “He’s one of the men who helped kidnap me, and helped Cabot escape.”

Donovan growled, “He’s a dead man.”

The reporter continued. “The suspects appear to abduct women from different nightclubs throughout the area, and Boston has many nightclubs.” Then the reporter gave a particularly solemn look. “The Boston Police Department is asking your help in finding the individuals responsible for abducting these young women. If you have any information that might provide any leads, please call…”

The TV clicked off, and I saw Donovan set the remote on the end table.

“So much for RED’s control over the media and the BPD on this one,” I said with a groan. “Senator Shelton’s going to be ticked, big-time.”

Donovan grunted and started massaging my shoulders again, rubbing his thumbs at just the right pressure points.

Screw the news.

I sighed in bliss. “Want to talk about when you went back into Navy Special Ops?”

Donovan didn’t say anything, but didn’t stop the orgasmic massage, for which I was very much pleased.

“It’s a long story, Steele.” His massage became a little rougher as he added, “And it’s not a good one.”

“Ease up a bit, Donovan.” I tilted my head back so I could see his face, and he stopped the massage and rested his hands on my shoulders. I met his blue eyes. “You can tell me. After all, I totally spilled my guts to you.”

“Not totally.” He kissed me on the forehead, and his wonderful male scent had an instant effect on me, sending a tingling sensation throughout my body. “One of these days I’ll tell you,” he said, and I heard the truth in his voice. “Just not now.”

Donovan drew me up into his lap, turning me enough so that we were looking at each other. He gave a quirky smile.

“I’m going to miss our time here when I go home tomorrow,” I said softly.

His smile faded and he brushed my hair from my face. “Stay awhile longer.”

I touched his stubbled jaw. “It’s time, Donovan.”

He said nothing then kissed me before he took me to the floor and slid off my jeans. He kept his clothes on, just pausing long enough to unfasten his jeans and sheathe his erection.

Donovan’s cock was inside me, filling me, stretching me before I could catch my breath. It never failed to amaze me how good he felt as he thrust.

Every time with him was wild and passionate, like he couldn’t take me hard enough or fast enough.

It curled my toes when I met him with my upward thrusts and felt him hit my G-spot.

He pushed my shirt up and sucked my nipples. “Yeah, like that.” I clenched my fingers in his hair. “More. Please suck them more.”

Donovan stopped with his groin pressed tight against mine. “What do you want, Agent Steele?”

I whimpered. “I want you to fuck me so hard I’ll scream loud enough to shake the walls.” Donovan loved it when I begged and talked dirty to him. And he made me beg. “Please, Donovan.”

The way he drove in and out of me, pistoning his hips, I don’t think he could have stopped if he tried. His clothing felt so good against my naked flesh as he rubbed me in all the right places.

My orgasm was so fabulous that I did cry out, and the walls did seem to rock. Donovan groaned his release, his cock pulsing inside me.

I remained lying on the floor, looking up at him as he tossed the spent condom into a wastebasket. I was amazed at how big his cock still was.

Even more amazing was that he stripped out of his clothing, sheathed his cock again, and was inside me in seconds.

He fucked me like he had to release every demon inside him to be whole again.

And I welcomed him.

May11

Saturday morning

The itching going on under my cast was going to drive me out of my friggin’ mind as I packed. Cast would be off in a week. Could. Not. Wait. What a long four weeks since Cabot had broken my arm.

My fillings were going to fall out if I didn’t stop grinding my teeth every time I thought of that SOB. How much time since he’d gotten away? Too long. The leads we had managed to turn up went absolutely nowhere. And it was pissing me off, big-time.

But we did know an auction was going down soon.

Tick tock.

My Red Sox nightshirt went into my case first, followed by the shorts, jeans, bikini panties, and everything else.

Home sounded so good. My own bed, my own kitchen, my own mess.

Pecan Sandies and Mountain Dew, here I come.

It had been two weeks since the end of Kristin’s captivity. She would be returning home from the medical center tomorrow and I didn’t want to be in the way.

At least it looked like she was going to come through better than a lot of women would. Mentally scarred, but she was tough, a lot like her brother. She was a realist, and a graduate student in psychology. She knew she couldn’t escape unscathed and the trauma would take her a long time to get past. And she might never fully heal mentally.

There was no denying the fact, though, that everything had changed for her. To know what to expect wasn’t the same as actually living it.

I don’t think Donovan could have been happier that she would be back, or more scared to have her coming home—like she might break in his care.

Like I said, since Kristin was returning, I didn’t want to be in the way when she got home.

And I missed my own place.

Dixie peered into the room, gave a loud meow, and turned away with her head in the air. I wasn’t sure if she approved or disapproved of my leaving.

Just as I gathered all my stuff together—and had proudly done it one-handed—the front door opened and closed with a loud thump. Then heavy footsteps thudded down the hallway and to the door.

Donovan came to me and wrapped his arms around me. “Stay a little while longer,” he said for the tenth time.

“You don’t have to say it’s because you’ll miss our fabulous sex,” I said.

“Lexi—”

I leaned into him and wrapped my good arm around him. “I just need to be home, okay?”

“Lexi—”

“Take me home.”

He heaved a deep sigh that I felt all the way through my body. “I’ll carry your stuff.”

May19

Sunday afternoon

The peeling skin on my formerly broken forearm flaked off as I scratched. Okay, gross, but it friggin’ itched. It was so good to have that cast off that I’d take the itching any day.

Besides, it was my place, and I had a vacuum cleaner. Somewhere.

A week after I’d left Donovan’s, I’d settled into my old routine. It felt good. Still, I missed seeing the big jerk every day.

I almost dropped the bowl of freshly nuked popcorn and two bottles of Guinness when someone banged on my front door. The Red Sox pregame blared from my little TV on the back balcony.

Damn it. I was all set to kick back and enjoy some time with a bunch of my neighbors who’d be on their balconies, too.

Ugh. This had better be good.

I set the popcorn and Guinness on the coffee table and kicked aside a pair of socks I’d stripped out of the night before.

When I got an eyeful through my peephole of who was on the other side, I grinned. Yeah, it was good all right. Real good.

The chain rattled as I slid it across, and the bolt clicked when I unlocked it. The knob turned before I even had a chance to do it myself and Donovan pushed the door open.

Somehow, he managed to slam the door shut and grab me for a hard kiss at the same time. I climbed him, wrapping my thighs around his hips, and held onto his broad shoulders with my palms. He grasped my butt cheeks with his large hands and held me tight to him.

“Mmmm.” I tipped my head back as he moved his lips along my jawline. “I like,” I said as his erection pressed between my thighs.

“Floor or bedroom?” Donovan said in a throaty growl as he worked his lips down my throat to the gap in my Red Sox jersey.

“Balcony.”

That got his attention.

He raised his head and met my gaze.

“Hey, I don’t want to miss the game.” I brought my lips to his ear. “We’re going to kick some Yankee butt.”

Donovan quirked his mouth in that adorable way, although I’m not so sure he’d like the word “adorable” associated with him.

A very naughty glint was in his eyes. “The Red Sox won’t even score.”

“Blasphemy!” I slugged his biceps and slid down his body until I was standing again. “You know how to live dangerously, Agent Donovan.”

He brought me tight again for a hard kiss, but I placed my palms on his chest and shoved him back. Not an easy feat when my lips wanted to stay glued to him.

I headed toward the coffee table. “Twenty-five on the Sox.”

“You’re on,” he said, and slapped my backside when I bent over to pick up the bowl of popcorn and Guinness.

A bottle chilled my palm and I shoved it into his hands when I turned around. “Make yourself useful.”

“I can think of lots of ways to make myself useful.” He had a wicked expression that almost made me want to forget the baseball game and play a little catch with Donovan.

“Forget it.” That was not so easy to say. I walked past him and headed toward the balcony. “There are more important things, you know.”

“Why tease ourselves, Steele?” He grabbed one of my ass cheeks with his hand as we crossed the threshold onto my balcony. “The Yanks are going to win anyway.”

“This popcorn and that Guinness are going to look so good all over your clothes.” I raised the bowl as I faced him and glared.

He lifted his free hand in a gesture of surrender. “We’ll just wait until you’re forking over that twenty-five.”

I narrowed my eyes and increased my glare, but he pulled up a chair in front of the small TV on my balcony and kicked back, with his ankles crossed and his fingers laced behind his head.

The seat next to him was the most comfortable so I had to sit in it, of course.

Mmmm, smelled so good out here. A clean breeze, grilled hot dogs, sun-dried laundry.

My neighbors were already shouting at their screens.

“Heya, Lex,” Jerry yelled across the alleyway, through the laundry hanging on the clotheslines between us.

A couple of other neighbors shouted to me, too, and I yelled back at them. The wood railing was rough under my palms as I leaned over the balcony, looked down at the first level, and waved at Marty. When I sat again, I glanced at Donovan, who looked both intrigued and a little amused.

I kicked his shin.

Forget Donovan. Time for the game.

Yeah, nothing like watching ‘‘the boys” on a Sunday afternoon and shouting at every good or bad play along with my neighbors across and down the back alleyway. Wasn’t long before popcorn was all over my balcony from jumping up with every wicked good play the Sox made. Donovan and I downed a couple of bottles of Guinness each.

Halfway through the game my voice was hoarse from yelling at the umps, who’d made a ridiculous number of bad calls as far as us Red Sox fans were concerned.

During the seventh-inning stretch I wanted to punch Donovan again for looking so smug with the home game at zero-two, Yankees.

“I could rat you out, you know.” I leaned close enough to catch the masculine, spicy scent that made me want to climb all over him again. And stay there. “I’d have Jerry and the rest here in seconds if they found out you’re a Yankees fan.”

Donovan grabbed my waist and pulled me onto his lap, knocking my chair onto the balcony with a loud thump. He cupped the back of my head and kissed me.

Mmmm. What game?

Something vibrated between us. Ooh, that felt good.

He moved his lips from mine, but didn”t take his gaze off my mouth as he fumbled between us before drawing out his cell phone.

“Donovan.” The irritation in his voice made me smile. He obviously liked being interrupted about as much as I did.

Uh-oh. His expression and his voice hardened. “Steele and I will be there in fifteen minutes. Have all teams ready, but don’t make a move till we get there, unless necessary.”

My heartbeat picked up. Something big was going down, no doubt about it.

Donovan snapped his phone shut and stuffed it back into its clip on his belt. He rose and set me on my feet. “The van came back to the Diamond Castle and made a ‘pickup.’ I’ll fill you in on the way.”

First thing, Donovan called each member of his special special team while he locked up. I snatched my always-ready go bag with my raid gear and weapons. After we got into the SUV and took off I strapped on my Kevlar vest and armed myself in every way possible.