Dirty Ties

“Nope. That’s why silly innovations like security cameras are such a waste of money.” With my hands on my helmet, I pointed a finger at the ceiling of the elevator.

“We’ll do this here, then.”

“This?” I mean, I knew what this was, had fantasized about it for months, but the elevator wasn’t the place for a secret liaison.

“This.” He shifted, his boots bracketing mine, and cupped a hand between my legs.

The squeak that left my mouth tumbled into a full-body moan as his fingers circled the clit piercing through my pants.

I rocked my hips against his hand as electric sparks lit up my body. I wanted it, wanted him, so very badly. His powerful shoulders, wide chest, the quickening of his breaths, the aggressive roll of his pelvis, the burnish of highlights glimmering his hair. All of it once a mystically-wrapped package now exposed and offered. I could take it, right now. Except… “Cameras.”

“They’re offline.”

“That’s…” I shook my head, my mind swimming through the unbelievability of it.

Was he lying? Not just anyone could walk into the Trump Tower and bring down its security network. It was too much. Like super-hacker, the government’s-beaming-mind-control-rays-past-my-tinfoil-hat too much. Yet I knew he had something techie going on inside that helmet of his. While that added even more sexy to the whole growly-badass thing he had going on, it also meant he wasn’t working alone.

“You were talking to someone in the garage. About the cameras?” I envisioned a van waiting outside on the curb, filled with a team of e-crime cyber nerds wearing headsets and thick-framed glasses. “Who?”

“How did you get access to the racing network?”

My throat closed up. Crap, I hadn’t expected that question. As an executive at Trenchant, I knew too much about the races. I could broadcast the details, the grids, the racing times, all of it, and bring down the entire syndicate. How many people would try to kill me before that happened? How did I know there weren’t people on my payroll who were members of the network? Watchers. Guardians.

If Evader discovered who I was, would he turn me over to the underground network? How loyal was he?

God, I sounded like a conspiracy nut, but I’d rather be paranoid than dead.

Actually, I’d rather be coming, because right now, his fingers were still rubbing my clit with maddening skill, making it damned hard to think. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m your next competitor, the racer you haven’t defeated yet. Scared?”

A chuckle vibrated through his chest, the bionic accent giving it a dangerous edge. “There’s no one I haven’t defeated yet. But you race without clothes on, then yeah, you got a good chance of winning.”

I released a soundless breath, thankful he hadn’t pressed for the truth. He really did seem content with letting me keep my secrets.

Fingers slipped beneath the tight grip of my helmet. “Tell me your face is as intoxicating as your body.” He wedged his hands around my jaw, his thumbs sweeping up and coming together on my lips. “What are you…twenty-five?”

Unsure how to answer, I lifted my shoulder, holding tight to my helmet. The compliment both warmed and worried me. I hadn’t been twenty-five for twelve fucking years, and now I really didn’t want him to know my age.

“Full lips,” he murmured as a thumb pushed past my teeth and held down my tongue.

It was a dominating grip, an act of ownership, but not malicious. Which fit him well. Erotically so. Like the mold of his leathers.

I didn’t release the hold on my helmet, but my God, this felt…right. How many men had I been with over the past two decades? Too many. Yet none had touched me, aroused me, or controlled me like this. And he did it with the pressure of his thumb.

The salty flavor of his skin fused with the scent of leather from the gloves he’d removed. He thrust in and out of my mouth, simulating the flex of his hips.

I sucked his thumb with hollowed cheeks, swirling my tongue and teasing a delicious moan from deep in his throat. Desire swelled between my belly button and spine, building into a knot and spreading low, lower, until my inner muscles ignited in mini-spasms.

I no longer gave a shit if he was lying about the cameras being down. I only cared about his fingers and where he would put them next.

“Fucking hell, that mouth.” He moved his hands, closing his fingers around my neck. “What are you trying to do to me?”

I followed the V cut of his abs to the waistband of his pants. “Nothing near what I want to do.”

He didn’t stop me from freeing the button, didn’t stay my hand as I grasped the zipper. His fingers mirrored my actions, yanking my pants to my thighs, only to find another layer of clothing.