Kitabı oku: «Flash of Death»

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to try …”

“Do tell.” Trent smiled. “What does a nice girl like you think about alone in the deep of night?”

And in her whiskey-induced honesty, Chloe told him. Every lurid, naughty detail of every lurid, naughty fantasy she’d ever had. By the time she was finished, his eyes blazed with desire and his body was obviously more than eager to play along.

“I don’t think we can get to all of that tonight, Chloe, but we can definitely make a dent in your list.” He rolled out of bed and fetched her discarded panty hose. With quick efficiency, he tied her wrists together and then to the headboard and knelt between her knees, his eyes burning with dark fire.

“Let’s see just how far you’re willing to go, my nice, normal little accountant.”

Dear Reader,

This was one of those books that burst into life, hit the ground running and never looked back. It’s always a special treat for me when a pair of characters take over the story and drag me along purely to act as their typist. Chloe and Trent sent me on a particularly wild ride, and I really had to type fast to keep up with them.

Chloe was a ton of fun. It was a challenge to write the sibling of a former heroine and to find a completely unique story for her even though Chloe and her sister came from essentially the same background. Trent continues my exploration of the limits of current science and what the near future may look like. I continue to be amazed at how close we are to having abilities like Trent and the other members of the Code X team.

And then, of course, there was the sizzling chemistry between Chloe and Trent to capture on the page without burning it to ashes. Throw in a bad guy or two, attempted murder and kidnapping, and we’ve got a recipe for a fun read.

So pour yourself your favorite beverage, order out so you don’t have to cook supper, relax, put your feet up and dive into a flash of death, mayhem and true love!

Until next time, happy reading …

Cindy Dees

About the Author

CINDY DEES started flying airplanes while sitting in her dad’s lap at the age of three and got a pilot’s license before she got a driver’s license. At age fifteen, she dropped out of high school and left the horse farm in Michigan where she grew up to attend the University of Michigan. After earning a degree in Russian and East European studies, she joined the US Air Force and became the youngest female pilot in its history. She flew supersonic jets, VIP airlift and the C-5 Galaxy, the world’s largest airplane. During her military career, she traveled to forty countries on five continents, was detained by the KGB and East German secret police, got shot at, flew in the first Gulf War and amassed a lifetime’s worth of war stories.

Her hobbies include medieval re-enacting, professional Middle Eastern dancing and Japanese gardening.

This RITA^® Award-winning author’s first book was published in 2002 and since then she has published more than twenty-five bestselling and award-winning novels. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at www.cindydees.com.

Flash of Death
Cindy Dees

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Kathy, you keep me sane even when I accept insane

deadlines. Thanks for everything. You’re the best!

Chapter 1

Chloe Jordan knew one thing: the combination of turning thirty and being one of the only single women at her little sister’s wedding was thoroughly depressing—expensive-chocolate-and-cheap-wine-binge depressing. The hell of it was that she, as the maid of honor, emphasis on maid, old maid, had an ironclad obligation to be the life of the party. No matter how much she loved her little sis, this night officially sucked.

A chorus of spoons knocking on glasses startled her out of her momentary slip into melancholy. Shouts of laughter went up as the groom laid a smoking-hot kiss on the bride. Sheesh. Somebody throw a bucket of ice water on those two.

Chloe checked her bitterness. Sunny’d had a really crappy run of luck and deserved all the happiness she could get. The lucky groom, Aiden, obviously loved Sunny fiercely. Next up on her personal hit parade of depressing events was bound to be playing indulgent auntie to their perfect children. Yippee.

The band resumed playing too loudly to talk over, and thankfully a mob of guests piled out of their seats, relieving her of any duty to go out onto a painfully empty dance floor and “get things started.”

It didn’t help her mood that she’d had a little too much champagne and was starting to feel a little weepy. Sunny was so beautiful and radiant, and she was so proud of her little sis. Chloe noticed from her seat jammed in the corner that it had started raining outside.

One of the groomsmen got the bright idea to light up a cigar, and furthermore, to pass out cigars to all the other groomsmen. A cloud of noxious blue smoke enveloped her. Her stomach roiled ominously.

Enough was enough. She took her queasy stomach and crazy mood swings and fled the reception in search of fresh air. She burst out of the private club that was one of Denver’s most exclusive addresses and inhaled deeply. But even the rain wouldn’t give her a break and the skies opened up without warning. Her hotel was right across the street and she ran for it, racing down the club’s wide steps. Streetlights glittered off the wet pavement as she dashed between cars.

She never saw it coming.

A big, dark SUV accelerated toward her out of nowhere, its engine growling hungrily as it shot forward. Its headlights were blinding and she stared into them in shock.

The impact was incredible, knocking her completely off her feet and sending her flying through space splayed out on her back. Something powerful wrapped around her torso, yanking her in a midair one-eighty so she landed on her stomach. She slammed into something …

… and didn’t die horribly. Whatever she’d smashed into had definitely been hard but not nearly as unyielding as concrete. Her breath was knocked clean out of her, though, and she gasped frantically to no avail. Disoriented, she stared down at the man lying beneath her. Had she been thrown into him and knocked him down?

An engine revved and tires squealed behind her. She looked up in time to see a black, shiny, wet SUV disappear around a corner at a high speed.

She’d nearly died. And the man lying so still beneath her had probably saved her life by breaking her fall. Had she killed him? All of a sudden, she was able to breathe again. She sucked in a sobbing breath and rolled off of the man.

“Are you okay?” she asked urgently.

His eyes blinked open, and silver eyes stared up at her, laser-intense. Eyes she recognized. Ohmigosh. He was one of Aiden’s groomsmen. Trenton something. Hollings. That was it. She’d heard some of the other guys call him Trent.

“I’ll live,” he rasped. “You?”

“I’m fine. You broke my fall. I’m so sorry—”

He cut her off. “No need to apologize. Who was in that car?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see anything, and then those headlights were coming at me. I guess the SUV hit me and sent me flying into you.”

“Actually,” he murmured, sitting up carefully, his dark hair tousled and sexy, “I’m the only thing that hit you. I knocked you out of the car’s way at the last second. Had that SUV hit you, something that heavy moving that fast would have killed you instantly.”

She stared, stunned anew. He really had saved her life. For a man who’d just been knocked flat by a human-sized flying object, he popped to his feet with a speed and grace that shocked her. A hand materialized in front of her eyes. It was big and tanned and calloused in stark contrast to the pristinely starched white cuff and onyx cufflink above it.

She took his hand and floated to her feet.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, his voice deep. Rough with concern.

She looked down at her red silk gown ruefully. The side seam had torn from the hem almost all the way to her hip. Her slender leg was entirely exposed. “I’m fine. But I can’t say the same for my dress.”

He looked down critically. “I like it better like this. A woman with legs like yours should show them off.”

Her startled gaze lifted to his, and he smiled at her. But not just any smile, rather a sizzling hot one that promised a long night of steamy seduction if she was interested. She about fell off her three-inch stilettos in shock. Trenton Hollings was flirting with her? The hottest groomsman out of a whole batch of ridiculously hot men? No way.

He offered her his forearm, and she looped her hand around it in minor shock. The hard muscles beneath the soft Italian wool contracted sharply. “Ready to try crossing the street again?” he murmured.

“I swear, I looked both ways. I never saw that car coming. One second the street was clear, and the next, there it was, running me down.”

Trent nodded, frowning. “I believe you.” His frown deepened as they stepped gingerly back out into the wide boulevard. They managed to cross to the other side of the street without incident, although her escort did pause as they reached the far curb to take a long look back over his shoulder at the scene of her near miss.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked cautiously.

Her words seemed to jolt him out of his reverie and he gave himself a little shake. “Getting you up to your room in one piece and cleaned up is on my mind.”

She looked down at herself in alarm. Just how bad did she look? As if it mattered. She was darned lucky just to be alive, for goodness’ sake. They stepped into a hotel elevator, and in the small, enclosed space, her tall escort dwarfed her. She was not short herself at five foot seven, plus three inches of heels, but he still had several inches on her. He was muscular without being thick. His shoulders filled out his tuxedo nicely, and well-defined biceps flexed within his sleeves. No wonder the impact of him slamming into her had knocked her halfway across the street.

“Do you save women from being run down a lot?” she asked to fill the silence.

His mouth twitched in humor. “Not often.”

“What do you do when you’re not doing that?”

He shrugged. “I’m a bum.”

She blinked, startled. “You clean up pretty well for a bum.”

A full-fledged grin flashed her way, all but knocking her off her feet again. Nobody got teeth that perfect and white without expensive orthodontic work. And that tuxedo was no rental monkey suit. It was cashmere with Italian lines exquisitely tailored to his athletic physique. Not to mention Sunny’d told her how wealthy and successful all of Aiden’s groomsmen were, not so subtly hinting that Chloe should pick one and go for the gusto. The guys had all gone to college together, apparently. Frat brothers, in fact. And most of them worked with billionaire Jeff Winston at Winston Enterprises. Bum. Right.

“Tell me another lie,” she murmured.

“You’re ugly and not the slightest bit sexy.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “Excuse me?”

“You asked for a lie.”

Before she could think up a snappy comeback the elevator door opened and he reached an arm out to hold it open. His free hand came to rest lightly in the middle of her back as he shepherded her out. She felt surrounded by him, and it was the strangest sensation. Maybe it was because she was with men so rarely, or maybe it was because he was so freaking hot, but either way, her breath shortened disconcertingly.

As she exited the elevator, her heel caught in the door’s track and stuck momentarily, pitching her off balance. Instantly, Trent’s strong hand was on her elbow, steadying her. “I’m such a klutz,” she mumbled.

“Good thing for you I’m not,” he replied wryly.

She started down the hallway toward the snazzy suite Aiden had insisted on paying for. Chloe wasn’t penniless anymore, but she surely wouldn’t have wasted so much money on an extravagant hotel room that, outside of sleeping and showering, she’d spent about five minutes awake in each day.

She glanced sidelong at Trent. “Are you one of those athletic people who always manage to land on their feet and make the rest of us mere mortals look silly?”

He shrugged modestly.

She sighed. “That’s what I thought.” As she fumbled with her room’s key card, he lifted it from her shaking fingers. Wow. That near miss with the SUV must have rattled her worse than she’d realized.

“Let me get that.” He reached past her to open the door and then did a strange thing. He put a restraining hand on her arm. “Wait here.”

She frowned as he disappeared into the dark suite. He was back in a minute, flipping on light switches as he came. What was that all about?

“What are you standing out here for?” he asked.

“You told me to—” She broke off as she caught the glint of humor in his silver eyes. Dry sense of humor this guy had.

She followed him into the suite.

“When did you get into town?” he asked as he moved over to the picture windows and inexplicably pulled the blinds closed on a magnificent view of Denver’s night lights glittering in the rain.

“Three days ago.”

His brows flickered. “And you haven’t had time to unpack?”

She glanced around the suite, startled. “I am unpacked. Clothes in the closet, toothbrush in the bathroom.”

“Jeez. The room doesn’t even look occupied. Are you always this … neat?”

“Well, yes.” There was nothing wrong with order. It made life infinitely easier. She could always lay hands on exactly what she wanted when she wanted it.

“And what do you do for a living, Chloe?”

She winced at his question. She’d give anything to do something exotic and sexy that would impress this man. But she was who she was. She sighed and answered reluctantly, “I’m a forensic accountant.”

“What does that mean? You do dead people’s taxes?”

She smiled. “No. It means I take apart companies’ books and find the discrepancies they may or may not be trying to hide.”

“You’re some sort of auditor, then?”

“Not exactly. Forensic accountants are used mostly in criminal investigations to find the money trail.”

“Who do you work for?” Trent asked.

“I’m a freelance consultant at the moment.”

“Sounds … interesting.”

She laughed. “About as interesting as watching grass grow, right? Actually, I find the work fascinating. But I don’t expect other people to get it.”

He wandered around the suite examining every detail, and although she enjoyed the view of him from so many angles, she was eventually prompted to ask, “Are you always so restless?”

“Hmm, what? Oh. Yes.”

“And what do you do for a living?”

“Nothing.”

She frowned. “How do you support yourself, then?”

He stopped roaming and turned to face her in surprise. “You mean you can’t smell the trust fund at a hundred yards? I thought all women could do that.”

“Sorry. Not me.” Trust fund, huh? Big enough that he didn’t have to work at all? Must be nice.

He resumed roaming, poking around behind the bar. “Aha!” he crowed. He turned around with a bottle of whiskey in hand. She recognized the label vaguely as an expensive single-malt variety.

“So, how do you fill your time if you don’t work?” she asked curiously. She’d put in sixty- and eighty-hour weeks for so long, juggling bookkeeping jobs and school while she got her accounting degree and master’s in forensic accounting she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

He set two shot glasses side by side on the wet bar and poured generous shots of amber liquid into each. He looked up at her and grinned. “I play for a living.”

Play? She couldn’t ever remember a time when she’d done that. Maybe when her folks were still alive. But even then, her hippie parents had been such flakes about money that she’d ended up taking over the family finances before she’d turned ten. She’d always been more of an adult than anyone else in the Jordan clan. And when her parents died in a boating accident halfway around the world from her and Sunny, orphaning them at ages thirteen and ten respectively, she’d grown up for real. Fast.

Trent thrust a shot glass at her and, startled out of her grim thoughts, she took it.

“Drink up. You need it.”

She frowned down at the whiskey.

“You had a bad shock and your nerves are fried. Think of it as medicine,” he coaxed.

Mentally holding her nose, she lifted the shot glass and tossed down the shot of whiskey in a single gulp. Fire exploded in her throat and roared down into her belly. She coughed and swore as tears streamed down her face. Trent, the cad, laughed as she mopped at her eyes.

He neatly downed his own shot and went back to the bar for refills. When he came back with another shot glass for her, she waved it off.

“Second time, it goes down as smooth as silk. I promise.”

She snorted. “That’s because every nerve in my digestive track is incinerated at the moment.”

He smiled winningly. “Exactly.”

“I shouldn’t. I’ve already had too much champagne—” she started.

He cut her off gently. “Don’t overthink it. Just trust me. You need this.”

She did have a tendency to talk herself out of everything fun in life. And she was safely in her hotel room with a man her sister swore was a great guy. That pleasant, warm feeling spreading outward from her belly button really was very nice, too. She took the second shot and slammed it back before she could change her mind.

This time it made her feel light-headed. A little silly, even. Just what the doctor ordered.

“Another?” Trent asked.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, sir?”

He grinned unrepentantly. “I am.”

“Why?” she blurted. Whoops. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it just slipped out all by itself.

He answered, “You’ve looked uptight all day long.”

“I am not uptight!”

“Honey, if you were wound too much tighter, you’d snap in two.”

Okay, she was starting to feel a little dizzy. But nice dizzy. Like she wanted to throw her arms out and dance to the sensation.

“Why don’t we get you out of those shoes?” Trent murmured, guiding her over to the edge of her bed and sitting her down on it. He knelt at her feet, sliding his big hand down the back of her calf with sensual leisure. “I never have been able to understand why women wear these things. They look blasted uncomfortable.”

He tossed one red shoe over his shoulder and she giggled as she wiggled her toes. “But heels make our legs look so nice,” she explained earnestly.

“You don’t need any help to make your legs look great,” he announced as the other red stiletto went flying.

She stood up and hiked up her torn skirt enough to reach under it. It occurred to her in a distant corner of her mind that she would never, under normal circumstances, do something as intimate as take off her hose in front of a man like this. She stated, “Now if you want to know what’s really uncomfortable and stupid in women’s fashion, it’s panty hose.”

She started to peel hers down, but then warm, strong hands were there, pushing her fingers aside.

“Let me get those for you.” His hands were a warm slide down her thighs, leaving a trail of wanton destruction in their wake. As her legs positively wobbled, she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself. She lifted first one foot and then the other so he could remove her hose.

“I say we outlaw panty hose,” he declared as hers went flying over his shoulder.

She laughed gaily. “I second the motion.”

“Turn around,” he instructed.

She did so and was startled to feel her gown’s long zipper sliding down. Cool air caressed her back. Warm hands kneaded her shoulders and she let her head fall forward with a groan of pleasure. His clever fingers went right to the massive knot that perennially twisted at the base of her neck.

“Are you always this tense?” he asked. His voice was smooth and deep and warmed her from the outside the same way the whiskey warmed her from the inside.

“Pretty much,” she answered honestly.

“Do you need me to do something about it?”

He already was. The knot was unraveling beneath his fingers like magic. And then his clever plan dawned on her. She craned her head around to look at him over her shoulder. “Are you seducing me?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Well, duh. You’re a complete hunk. But me? What would a guy like you see in a girl like me?”

He laughed softly. “Have you looked at yourself in a mirror? You’re a knockout. Not too many women can pull off sophisticated and pure-as-the-driven-snow in the same look.” He ticked off her additional attributes with his fingers against the side of her neck. “You make me laugh. And you’re smart or you wouldn’t be a forensic accountant. And you have a kind heart or you wouldn’t have suffered through your sister’s wedding with a smile on your face all day.”

“I didn’t suffer—”

“Sure you did. Anyone who really looked at you could see it in your eyes. The way I hear it, you practically raised her. She’s your only family and she’s starting a new life with someone else. No matter how much you love her, that has to hurt. Has to make you feel all alone in the world.”

What a perceptive man to have noticed. And he must have a pretty kind heart himself to be here comforting her like this. “You’re right, of course,” she murmured. As the truth of his words sank in, a knife of grief and loss stabbed at her heart. She’d faced terrible loss in her life, agonizing loneliness. But this was right up there. Oh, Sunny. I’m gonna miss you so much. Tears sprang to her eyes.

She started to turn around to face Trent, but his big hands forestalled her. And then something warm and resilient moved against her neck where it joined her shoulder.

“You’re not alone, tonight,” he murmured against her skin.

Desperate need for that to be true had her leaning back toward him, her whole being reaching out toward the solace he offered. Just once in her life, she would love for someone to be strong for her, to take care of her. His hands moved slowly across her stomach, easing her back against him even more closely as if he was telling her to lean on him. But if his hands were there, what was that touching her neck?

His mouth! As realization dawned, a host of delicious sensations ripped through her, radiating outward from where his lips moved across her skin. Languor and lust rolled through her, making a beeline for her knees and threatening to collapse them. Whiskey, thy name is temptation.

Was she seriously going to do this? Trent Hollings? The bachelor every female at the wedding had been throwing herself at? Of course, he’d been the one to throw himself at her. Literally.

“Tell me again not to overthink this,” she muttered.

He turned her around then, his hands unerringly finding every hairpin and tossing them aside. He plunged both hands into her thick, blond hair and pulled the French twist down around her shoulders in lush waves. Her hair was her secret pride, and she was glad he could see it like this. She never wore it down in her daily life. In her career field, she needed people to take her seriously and not treat her like some kind of sex kitten. But tonight, she was okay with that. If Trent Hollings thought she was hot, she was darned well not about to talk him out of it.

“Mmm. Better,” he murmured. “I’ve been itching to do that all day.”

“Really?”

He took her face in his big hands and tilted it up to his. “Really.”

She tensed as his head lowered toward hers. He paused, his mouth inches from hers, and breathed, “Don’t overthink this.”

Right. Live in the moment. Go for it. Carpe diem. His lips touched hers and the platitudes fled in the face of this stunningly sexy man kissing her. His mouth was warm and smooth and confident, and in about ten seconds, he’d blasted past all her experience in kissing. His lips parted hers and his tongue tested her teeth. She gasped at the invasion and he took immediate advantage of it to taste her more deeply.

His arms tightened around her, lifting her against his big, warm body. A hand slid up her back to her head, cradling it in a large palm and drawing her even further into the kiss. And then he was kissing her with his whole body. Whether that was him moving against her or her moving against him she couldn’t tell and didn’t care. Her dress gaped open in the back and his hand burned her bare flesh as it dipped inside the gown. She was shocked when his hand slid down to cup her derriere and … Oh, God, she’d forgotten she was wearing that silly thong Sunny’d talked her into. Something about panty lines ruining the lie of the gown.

He made a sound of surprised approval.

“What?” she blurted.

“I didn’t peg you for a naughty-lingerie kind of girl.”

Painfully aware of the drawer full of cotton granny panties across the room, she didn’t disabuse him of the notion. For the first time all day, she was grateful for the tiny scrap of spandex and lace nestled a little too intimately in her nether regions. Trent’s finger traced the thin line of the thong downward and she groaned in pleasure and embarrassment.

“You’re overthinking,” he warned laughingly. “Let go and enjoy yourself.”

Her knees did buckle then. He caught her up against him with ease and kissed her with gusto until her knees would bear her weight again. “Ahh, you’re going to be a joy to seduce. So artless. So natural. Such a nice young lady.”

“Is that bad?” she asked, frowning up at two of him swimming in her gaze. She did believe she was officially buzzed.

“Not at all.” His fingers slipped under the shoulders of the lined gown with its built-in shelf bra. Which meant she wasn’t wearing a blessed thing under the gown. Except that sexy little black thong, of course. He hooked the red silk and slipped it off her shoulders, kissing her skin as it was revealed. The gown whispered down her body to the floor in a bloodred puddle and she shivered. Whether it was the cool air on her skin or Trent’s hot mouth on her skin that caused it, she couldn’t say.

“You’re magnificent, Chloe. How is it some man hasn’t snatched you up and made you his?”

She blinked up at Trent as he straightened and shrugged off his tuxedo jacket. Nope, no padding in them there shoulders. His starched, white shirt clung to a physique that could make a girl weep with appreciation. Realizing belatedly that she was all but drooling at him, she answered, enunciating carefully so she wouldn’t slur her words, “I’m too boring. And neat. Men hate neat.”

Trent laughed as he stripped off his cummerbund and tossed it aside. “That’s not how I hear it. Most men love a woman who’ll pick up after them. When I settle down, I’ll hire a butler to do the job. It’ll save on resentment from the ladies in my life.”

Ladies. Plural. Of course a man like him had scads of women chasing after him. “I’m just one more in a long string of conquests, aren’t I?” she accused. Who knew whiskey brought out such a brutally honest streak in her?

He laughed lightly. “Never. You’re one of a kind, Chloe Jordan.”

At least he knew her full name. The way she heard it, that was an exception for most pick-up artists. For surely, this man was a master of the art. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to care as his hands slid over her ribs and cupped her breasts, lifting them and testing their weight. She wasn’t all that stacked, although she’d always privately thought her breasts were rather nicely shaped. Trent seemed to think so, too, as his mouth captured one pert, rosy peak and sucked gently. Lightning bolts started at his mouth and spread outward through her body.

“Oh, my,” she sighed. “That’s lovely.”

A strong arm swept behind her knees and she was tipped on her side all of a sudden as he picked her up and laid her on the bed. The down comforter gave beneath her weight, and the room spun lightly around her. And then Trent was there, stretched out beside her, propped up on one elbow, yanking the knot out of his bow tie with his free hand. Shirt studs went flying as he jerked his shirt free of his trousers and all but tore it off.

She reached up to help push the shirt off his shoulders and gaped as acres of tanned chest appeared before her eyes. “Yowza,” she breathed.

He laughed heartily and she glared up at him. “Are you laughing at me?” she demanded.

“Yes, I am. It has been a while since I’ve gotten that sort of reaction out of a woman from taking off my shirt.”

“Do you only date blind women?” she retorted.

He leaned close to kiss her lightly before answering, “No. Jaded ones. Like I said, you’re one of a kind.”

“Hey. I didn’t fall off the pumpkin truck yesterday, you know. I live in San Francisco and work at a very upscale address. Of course, I’m going to take that company down, but—”

He stopped her rambling with his mouth against hers. She wasn’t sure how he got his trousers off or how the covers got thrown back, but in a moment, she was lying on her back on Egyptian cotton sheets with a thread count so high they felt like velvet against her skin, and Trent was stretched out in all his naked, unconcerned glory beside her.

“Please tell me you’re a little bit drunk, too,” she muttered.

He grinned, flashing that million-dollar smile at her again. “I’m drunk on you, baby.”

She rolled her eyes and he laughed back at her. He really was incorrigible. But then the smile faded from his eyes, leaving them a dark, smoky gray that pierced through her whiskey-induced fog like high-beam headlights. All of a sudden, heat radiated from him. A promise of sex so steamy it would burn away all the fog and bring the night down around them.