Absolute Pleasure

He shook his head and moved to the desk. “I’ve done nothing to interfere with your investigation. I even offered to give you copies of my files. That should tell you there are no ulterior motives at work here.”

She wasn’t quite ready to agree with him, even if she did believe he was telling her the truth. “Were you fired?” she asked.

His gaze remained steady. “I was no longer employable.”

Which was not an answer and only heightened her curiosity. “Will you tell me why?” she asked. Agents were relieved of duty for any number of reasons, from failure to pass a psych exam to illegal activities. He didn’t look like a crazy or a crook. But then, neither had Ted Bundy.

Duncan looked away and pushed the stack of case files from the edge of the desk, considering how much, or how little, to reveal to Sunny. He’d had no illusions that he’d be able to keep his former association with the Bureau a complete secret from her, he just wished he’d been able to milk information from her before the door to opportunity was slammed in his face. Three cases with hefty recovery fees that would go a long way to keeping his business solvent were on the line.

Perched on the edge of the desk, he shifted his attention back to Sunny and her caution-lined gaze. “I bombed my annual firearms recertification,” he stated honestly. Since she’d come asking questions, he was banking that she’d been unable to access his full service record. “But why ask me? You must’ve looked me up on the system before coming here.”

She glanced away. “So why couldn’t you pass?”

Bingo. She didn’t know squat, which was fine by him.

“An undercover assignment went bad,” he told her, again truthfully. “I caught a bullet in the shoulder and ended up with a torn rotator cuff and a lot of nerve damage.” He leaned forward and brought his left hand down hard on the edge of the desk a couple of times.

She winced. “You have no feeling at all?”

“Almost none. What isn’t numb, hurts like the devil when the mercury dips too low.” And served as a daily reminder of choices he’d made, resulting in the end of his career.

He squelched the resentment before it had a chance to surface. “The nerve damage was too extensive,” he added. “Managing a firearm was enough of a challenge, let alone taking aim on a moving target.”

She circled the chair and perched on the padded arm. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

The sincerity in her voice made him uncomfortable. Arrogance deserved no sympathy. Wasn’t that what he’d been told?

“Old news,” he said, anxious to change the subject. “Any other questions?”

She held up her index finger. “One more.”

The smallest trace of a smile touched her lips, and he started to relax. For now, at least, his secrets remained safe.

“Were you really an undercover op, and where?”

“You sound surprised,” he said, tactically avoiding the second half of her question. The Bureau’s computer system might keep his past hidden, but he couldn’t say the same for the men he’d put in danger.

“A little.” Her smile widened a degree. “No, I take that back. You have the same…intensity as a guy I know who used to work undercover out of D.C. As if you’ve seen more, done more than the rest of us mere mortals.”

A few pImages** from his time as an undercover operative haunted him some nights, making sleep all but impossible. He’d crossed the line, a fact he wasn’t particularly proud of, but her assessment still made him smile at the reminder of better memories.

“A false sense of superiority comes with the territory,” he admitted. “Eventually someone reminds us superhuman capabilities only exist in sci-fi flicks.”

Her green eyes sparkled with amusement. “Even Achilles had a weakness.”

That smile of hers was easily becoming his Achilles’ heel. She’d looked damned cute, too, when she’d first shown up with her superagent feathers all ruffled. “So this guy,” he said, watching her closely. “Exactly how involved are you?”

“Not that involved,” she said, her voice laced with more humor. “He’s very happily married with a baby on the way.”

“Good.” He couldn’t help himself. His grin widened. “Then it’s safe to ask you to dinner without trespassing?”

Her frown would’ve been effective if it hadn’t been for the brief flash of pleasure in her eyes. “Why would I want to have dinner with you?”

Slowly, he came off the desk and walked toward her. “Because you think I’m irresistible.” Arrogance did have a certain usefulness.

“What I think is that you’re awfully sure of yourself.” Nervousness coated her gentle laughter, taking the sting out of the insult.

Nervous was good, when it translated to interest. “So, how ’bout that dinner?” he pressed, narrowing the remaining distance between them.

She caught the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth. Weighing her options? He hoped the scale tipped in his favor. Just thinking about kissing her was making him hard. A romantic entanglement with a federal agent probably wouldn’t be his wisest move, but he had nothing against playing out a fantasy or two. Besides, he was only offering dinner, he reasoned. For now.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. Uncertainty mingled with longing in her eyes. “We probably shouldn’t.” Her voice lacked the conviction necessary to dissuade him, courtesy of her soft, husky tone.

“Why not?” He took one last step, his thigh brushing against her knee. Heat shot to his groin. “Let’s take all this chemistry out for a ride and see where it leads.” He knew exactly where he wanted it to lead…right to the nearest bed.

“I…”

“You what?” He bent toward her. Her breath fanned his lips. “Want me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Not about to give her an opportunity to change her mind, he cupped the back of her head with his good hand and brought his mouth down softly over hers. Apparently gentle wasn’t her thing, nor was she shy about upping the ante. Her slender arms wound around his neck, bringing their bodies together, but not close enough to suit him.

The silken glide of her tongue taunted him, teased him, dared him to deepen the kiss. He willingly obliged, slanting his mouth over hers and stealing inside to take all she offered. She tasted sweeter than he’d imagined. And minty, he thought. Like fresh peppermint taffy.

Moving his hands to the swell of her hips, he urged her off the chair and into his arms. She pressed against him, her beaded nipples brushing temptingly against his chest through the thin material of her blouse. He skimmed his hand up her side and along her rib cage to cup the side of her breast with his palm. She issued a soft moan and pulled her arms from around his neck. For a brief instant he thought he’d taken things too far—until the coolness of her fingers interlaced with his and she guided his hand over her breast.

His dick swelled to the point of pain and throbbed. Need ripped through him. He didn’t give a damn if she was appointed the next director of the Bureau, he wanted her, preferably naked and beneath him with her legs wrapped tight around his waist.

He dragged his thumb over her nipple, and slid his other hand over her bottom. She moaned into his mouth and her fingers flexed over his. Maybe she liked it on top where she called the shots and set the pace. He imagined her above him, the enticing sway of her breasts as she rode him. Slow. Easy, taking him deep inside her tight, hot sheath until the pressure built and her body demanded more. Harder. Faster, driving toward fulfillment with each thrust of their bodies until they came together in an explosion of heat.

She guided his hand from her breast, over her flat stomach and lower, sighing into his mouth when he cupped her sex. She tested his control when she rocked against his hand.

A loud rap on the door sent them scurrying in opposite directions. Duncan dragged his hand through his hair and watched Sunny walk unsteadily to the far side of his office. Her shoulders rose and fell as she drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly. When she slipped a bouncy curl behind her ears her hand trembled.

He took comfort in the fact she was obviously as rattled as he by the unexpected passion of that kiss. The past few months he’d been too swamped with work to pay much attention to anything not related to business. The explosion of heat between them reminded him that he hadn’t gotten laid in weeks, nothing more.

Another loud knock saved him from having to think too much on the subject. He went to the door and opened it to find Lucy Barstow, the agency’s office manager, giving him one of her cast-iron glares over the rim of her bifocals.

He blocked the door, but that didn’t stop her from craning her neck to get a better look. “Yeah?” Somehow he managed to maintain a civil tone. “What is it?”

“We have a situation.” Lucy handed him a neon-yellow sticky note. “Abe from Able Pawn just called. He acquired a sizeable diamond engagement ring last week that showed up on the regional hot sheet that went out today. He’s giving you twenty minutes to see if it’s one of ours before he has to call it in to the Baltimore P.D.”

Despite the interruption, a slow smile spread across his face. Hot merchandise often showed up in pawn shops. By law, the owners were supposed to notify the cops when they inadvertently received stolen goods, which the cops would then confiscate. Since the brokers would be out the cash they’d paid for the pawn, as a result, they were only too happy to line their pockets with the finder’s fee Duncan paid them if the property turned out to be an item he’d been hired to recover.

In Duncan’s opinion, it was a win-win situation. The client paid a recovery fee, not a full-loss claim and the claimant’s property was returned. The brokers were happy because they recouped a fraction of an otherwise total loss. The system wasn’t perfect and pushed the spirit of the law, but when all concerned were pleased with the final outcome, he didn’t see a problem.

Duncan checked his watch. “Call Abe back and tell him I’ll be there within the hour. And have Marisa track down the Burbank and Ricci files.”