One Wicked Night Page 6

  Myka abandoned her hold on his ass and fumbled with the snap on his jeans. He let her have her way as he removed his hand from her hair and pulled up her top. No bra. Chocolate nipples stood at the ready, begging to be sucked. He obliged, closing his mouth over a rigid peak.

  "Oh, God.” Myka arched off the couch. Her pussy clenched and unclenched around his fingers. One of her hands closed around his cock and he was now the one jerking, calling on his deity.

  "Fuck."

  She tightened her hold. Justice thrust into her hand and stretched her pussy with three fingers. His thumb pressed on her clit while he caught a nipple between his teeth.

  She panted and swiped a finger over his cock head. His thrusting fingers sped up, her hips followed. The heated palm stroked him, stoked the fire raging in his balls. A climax threatened, but he didn't want to spend in her hands, he wanted in.

  "Myka, baby, I need inside you.” A broken whisper.

  "Yes.” She kissed his neck, sank her teeth in.

  He shuddered.

  "Yes."

  He pulled his slick fingers out of her fluttering cunt. They glistened with her juices and he had no choice, he brought them to his lips, licked the delicious cream off. Myka watched him with hooded eyes as she kicked off the jeans caught around her thighs.

  Justice dropped a kiss on her lips and stood, anxious to sink into the welcome heat of the woman waiting for him. Toeing off his red Air Force Ones, his gaze landed on the front door in time to watch the handle jiggle.

  Someone was at the door.

  Fuck! He'd put a bullet in whoever it was.

  "Myka, get dressed. Now.” He bent, pulling the SIG out of his ankle holster.

  "What's wrong?” She sat up, looking dazed.

  "There's someone at the door, hurry up.” He refastened his jeans and steadied her as she stood and did the same with hers. Once she was straight, he motioned to her bedroom. “Go in there and don't come out until I tell you to."

  She opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. With a sharp nod, she walked away. Justice cocked his gun and strode to the front door. Whoever was on the other side was dead meat for interrupting him and Myka.

  He stood still behind the door as it creaked open. A large man wearing a dark suit and sporting thinning blond hair stepped inside. Justice waited a beat before he kicked the door closed. The intruder jumped and moved to turn around, but Justice stuck the gun in the side of his neck.

  "Move and I kill you."

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  Chapter Eight

  * * * *

  "Let me see your hands,” Justice barked.

  Trembling hands shot up.

  Stepping in front of the man, Justice patted him down with one hand. “Who are you?"

  "Uh, I'm Harold Nevins. Senator Prentiss's advisor.” Bright spots of color stained his ruddy cheeks. Fear reflected in the green eyes darting back and forth. “He sent me to talk to Myka."

  Justice straightened, raising an eyebrow. “Why would he do that?"

  Harold shrugged. “I don't know. He called me up, said Myka wasn't being herself and to talk some sense into her."

  "Huh.” Justice cracked his jaw. “Is that part of your job description, Harry? Can I call you Harry?” He took a step closer and watched the man's eyes widen.

  "Um, yeah.” Harry swallowed with a loud gulp. “You can call me Harry."

  "Put your hands down, Harry. Is part of your job description talking sense into Myka?"

  One by one, Harry's hands dropped in slow motion to lay flat on his thighs. He rubbed them on his dark pants. “I'm like her uncle. I'm always refereeing shouting matches between her and her father."

  "And did the Senator tell you why she was acting out this time?” Lowering his gun, Justice clicked the safety back on. The other man breathed a sigh and Justice's lip twitched.

  "Roger keeps things to himself where Myka is concerned. I know not to ask too many questions."

  "Yeah, well, I want you to tell the senator she'll talk to him if and when she feels like it. If he can't understand that, I'll be happy to simplify things.” Gaze on Harry, Justice yelled for Myka to come out.

  She appeared seconds later with hesitant steps. “Uncle Harry."

  "Hey, kid.” Harry's smile wobbled. “Your guy here is very protective, I'm sure I'll appreciate it once my heart rate returns to normal."

  "Yeah, he has that effect.” She wrapped her arms around the burly man. “What are you doing here?"

  "Something weird is going on with your father, but he won't talk to me.” Harry held her at arm's length, searched her face. “Now I come here and you have a bodyguard? What's going on?"

  Myka glanced at Justice, then back at her uncle. “Justice isn't my bodyguard and I'm going AWOL for a few days."

  "Oh? Oh!” Understanding dawned in the green gaze he settled on Justice. “But what about the papers, they say—"

  "I know what they say.” Myka waved his words away. “But none of it is true."

  "But—"

  "It's a long story and I don't have the time to explain right now.” She took his hand, guided him to the door. “I don't want to deal with my father, okay?"

  "Will you be all right?"

  She looked over her shoulder, met Justice's gaze. The trust reflected in her brown stare humbled him. “Yes,” she said, “I'll be fine."

  * * * *

  Myka couldn't pinpoint the minute she'd come to trust Justice, but what she told Uncle Harry was the truth. She'd be fine with Justice. At least her body would be—her heart was another matter.

  She sat beside him in his car as they drove away from her apartment. Her body ached for the climax she'd been denied earlier. Hiding in her bedroom, she'd promised herself she'd take what she wanted. There's nothing saying she couldn't indulge herself while they hunted for the person who wanted her dead.

  "He called me your guy."

  She jerked her head up. “Hmm?"

  "Harry called me your guy and you didn't correct him.” He kept his gaze straight ahead.

  Her heart beat accelerated. “Should I have?"

  "Never been anyone's guy before."

  "Who says you're mine now?” She wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs, forced her voice to remain nonchalant. “Do you want to be my guy?” The words came out barely above a whisper.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw. The fingers gripping the steering wheel tightened. “What about you being my woman?” he growled.

  Myka dug frozen fingers into the armrest and bit the inside of her cheek. “I thought I already was.” A bold statement, but true ever since Toronto.

  The car squealed to a stop at a red light. Justice turned to her, fire blazing in his onyx gaze. He lifted a hand and brushed a thumb over her lips. “You thought right,” he rasped.

  Myka melted into a fucking horny puddle. She opened her mouth, but the blare of her cell phone interrupted her words. Tearing her eyes away, she fumbled in her jacket pocket for her phone. “Hello?"

  "Ms. Prentiss?"

  She frowned. “Yes, who's this?” Justice raised an eyebrow, she shrugged in response.

  "Troy Savage, Celebrity Lifestyle magazine. Any comment on your recent engagement to Kevin Lawrence?"

  Goddamn it! Instant headache. “All right, enough. Mr. Savage, is it?” She pressed a finger to her temple.

  "What's wrong?” Justice asked.

  "Yes, ma'am, Savage,” the voice on the phone said eagerly. Probably thought he was about to get the scoop of a lifetime.

  Myka gritted her teeth. “Mr. Savage, you can quote me when I say I am not, nor will I ever be, engaged to Kevin Lawrence.” She hung up the phone and powered the damn thing off.

  "What was that about?” Justice shot her a glance.

  "Fucking reporters.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  "They do that a lot?"

  "Not at all, even with my father being who he is. But Kevin's different, he lives his life in public.” She rubbed her eye
s. “A fame whore, that's what he is."

  "How can I help?"

  "You can feed me, then take me shopping. If I'm to stay at your place, it needs to look like someone actually lives there.” Silence greeted her words. Myka cracked an eyelid. He stared at her with an odd expression on his face.

  He blinked, saluted her with his right hand. “Aye, aye, Cap'n."

  She giggled as he turned on the radio. The Notorious BIG's unmistakable Brooklyn drawl filled the vehicle as he rhymed on One More Chance.

  Myka shut her eyes and nodded to the hypnotic beat. Rough fingers covered hers where they lay on the armrest. Warmth flooded her body. She suppressed a shiver and spread her fingers. His twined around hers, anchored her to him in a near desperate hold. She gripped him just as tight and allowed a smile to spread.

  * * * *

  They bought bedding, toiletries, cleaning supplies, kitchen appliances and even more food. Justice dumped the millions of bags onto the floor with a groan. He'd never shopped so much in his life and he never wanted to do it again. Myka stood in the middle of the room, the handle of her suitcase in hand and stared at him.

  "What's wrong with you?” she asked.

  "Wha-what's wrong with me?” He stalked her, watched the whites of her eyes get bigger. “You dragged me all over the freaking mall,” he said through clenched teeth. “Buy this, buy that. We need this, we need that. I'm this close to strangling you.” He held up two fingers, barely any space between them, and she burst out laughing.

  "Oh, poor baby. The big, bad killer hates shopping, does he?” She leaned in, kissed his jaw. “There, is that better?"

  "Not yet.” He grabbed her around the waist, brought her up against him. “I'm gonna need more than a peck to soothe the ache."

  "'Kay, I feel you.” She gripped his shoulders, planted kisses on his chin and neck. Soft, heated touches that had him nearly bursting out of his zipper.

  He cupped her ass, rubbing his cock to her jean-clad front. His head fell back, exposing him to her lips. She nipped and licked him. Justice held on tight and enjoyed the feel of Myka in his arms. Her nipples poked his chest, sending pinpricks of fire coursing through him.

  She went back up to his ear, licked his earlobe, then caught it between her teeth. “I want steak for dinner,” she whispered. “Make use of that portable grill I spent your money on.” One last tug on his ear and she stepped away.

  "Wait, where are you going?” She starts a bonfire, then walks away?

  Shrugging, she said, “I'm tired. I'm going to take a shower and climb into bed. No, you're not invited.” She grinned and walked away. “Wake me when dinner's ready."

  "Damn tease.” His gaze stayed on her ass as she disappeared with a chuckle. He enjoyed her, with or without the delicious sex. His woman. He didn't know what made him bring that up, but hearing someone call him Myka's guy felt good. It fit. Better than anything else he'd ever worn.

  He wanted to be her man. Protect her from the bad stuff. He froze in the process of emptying the shopping bags. He didn't do relationships, only sex. One night stands. Regardless of what brought them together, Myka wasn't the one-night-stand type. Circumstances drove her to him, and though she was in pain and heartbroken, he was glad. But obstacles littered their way like a mine field.

  Someone wanted her dead. When he neutralized that problem, they still had to deal with him. What he did. She wouldn't be able to live with him, knowing he killed people. She had no choice now, but someday soon, she would. And would she choose him? Could he ask her to be with him the way he was now?

  He'd toyed with the idea of quitting for a while, as recent as the days leading up to Maysin calling him for this job. The real reason he'd gotten into this business was to avenge the death of his family. He didn't even get to do that, someone beat him to the punch before he could make Johan Vicente pay for killing his father, mother and unborn baby sister.

  He brought his fingers to the spot inches from his heart. The scar had long since disappeared, but he could feel it. The wound from the bullet Vicente's thugs put in him. He was twelve, a child, but they didn't care. Three men, each carrying two MAC 10s wiped out his family. They thought they'd killed him, too. He thought he would die from the pain when he was told his parents were gone. In that hospital bed, he'd vowed revenge, promised those three angels in heaven he'd make Vicente pay.

  He'd groomed himself into a killing machine for revenge, yet he hadn't been able to. What would he do to keep Myka by his side?

  The vibrating of his phone knocked him out of his reverie. He picked it up from the counter, checked the caller ID. Maysin.

  "Yeah, Mace."

  "J, we need to look at Roger Prentiss's opponent in the senate race."

  "Archie Benoit? Why?"

  "I did some digging. It turns out Prentiss was behind word getting out about Benoit's hidden mistress and love child."

  "Wow.” A few months back, word broke about the mistress Benoit kept for almost fifteen of the twenty years he'd been married to his wife. Subsequent news of the ten-year-old daughter from the affair sent Mrs. Benoit running to the courthouse to file for divorce, yet Archie Benoit refused to drop his campaign. He'd lost a major fraction of his supporters, but picked up more after a televised debate in which he kicked Roger Prentiss's ass. Figuratively, of course.

  "How did Prentiss find out?” Justice asked.

  His friend chuckled. “The man has good investigators. They dug and dug until they hit pay dirt."

  "You think Benoit knew Prentiss was behind it?"

  "How could he not? Who else stood to gain?"

  "That's true, but we need proof.” Justice unwrapped a slab of steak from its package and placed it on a flowery platter. “Are you checking his finances?” He sprinkled seasonings on the meat.

  "Yeah, I'm rooting around, but nothing's jumping out at me. His campaign finances are public knowledge, so he can't use that to pay my exorbitant fee.” Maysin chuckled. “On the personal front, the majority of his money came from the wife. She inherited it. Don't really see the scorned Mrs. Benoit coughing up the dough to do off your target."

  "Her name's Myka."

  "Uh-huh, tell me about Myka,” Maysin said. “How's the pretty miss doing?"

  "Don't fuck with me, Maysin,” he growled into the phone. “Do I quiz you about your Harper obsession?"

  "So it's an obsession with Miz Prentiss? And don't mention Harper to me, I'm off her."

  Justice laughed. “Oh, really? Since when?"

  "Since I've got a date tonight.” Maysin sighed. “Sasha set me up with a girl from her club. We're going out to dinner and stuff."

  "Yeah, I can feel your enthusiasm from here.” Justice shook his head. That fool was so gone over Harper Royce.

  "I'm trying, damn it. I want her out of my head.” A pause. “But enough about me. What's the deal with you and the Prentiss chick?"

  "Fuck if I know.” Understatement of the century. “It's complicated.” Boy, was it ever.

  "Yeah, no shit.” Maysin snorted. “Listen, tomorrow Benoit will be in Manhattan at a firehouse for some handshaking and picture taking. I'll send you the info in a text. Get your ass up there, find out what he knows. And please,” he begged, “If he is responsible, try not to dust him off in public, hmm? I'd hate to have to bust a cap in your ass. I'm kinda fond of you.” He hung up.

  Justice laughed softly. Even though Maysin was only five years older than him, his friend couldn't help acting like a father. They'd been friends for a long time—in fact, Maysin was the one who gave Justice his first contract job.

  He'd been living on the streets of Seattle after running away from his Godmother's home, stealing to support himself. One night, a limo pulled into the alley he slept in. He hadn't thought anything off it, until out of nowhere, gunshots rang out. They hit the vehicle from every direction. The noise went on for what seemed like hours as he hid inside an empty dumpster, peering out. Finally, the din quieted down, muted footsteps retreated. A man—the chauf
fer—staggered from the car, drowning in blood. The chauffer dragged himself to the back and opened the door. Another man fell out, shot in the chest and torso. The driver tried to help the passenger, but weak from blood loss, he collapsed. Dead.

  Justice couldn't say what made him come out of the dumpster and approach the vehicle, but he did. The man in the backseat wasn't dead. He was able to whisper where he wanted Justice to take him. He instructed Justice to take the money in his pocket, way more than he'd ever seen, and get them a cab to a whispered address. The man—Hector Ferreira—wouldn't hear about being taken to the hospital. He wanted to die at home, he said. When Justice was finally able to coax a taxi into the alley, they went to the house of Hector's son. Maysin. Scarred and completely adoring of his father.

  Maysin took his wounded father into a room and didn't come out for three hours. When he finally surfaced, Hector was dead and Maysin was vowing revenge. That's when Justice learned the Ferreira's line of work—contract killers. He told Maysin his story and offered to help him find his father's killers if he gave him a chance.

  They'd been inseparable ever since.

  Justice blinked, bringing the present into focus. His woman wanted steak, she'd get steak. He opened the fridge door and peered inside. What else could he whip up? He wasn't the greatest cook, but he hadn't killed himself yet, so that was a plus. This was also the first time he'd be cooking for a woman. Ever. Being around Myka brought a whole lot of firsts.

  He grabbed a handful of supplies from the fridge and dumped them on the wooden countertop. Here's to hoping he could deliver.

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  Chapter Nine

  * * * *

  Low music woke Myka. Her eyelids fluttered as the scent of spicy cigar smoke mixed with delicious aromas teased her nostrils. She sat up and sniffed. Well, it appeared she'd found the only man in the known universe who took orders.

  Her stomach rumbled. Grinning, she flung off the covers. Time to test Justice's cooking skills—if he couldn't burn her food the way she liked, he was out of her life. Hopping off the bed, she dragged her fingers through her hair and tugged at the red t-shirt she'd pulled over her panties.