Wanted (Most Wanted 1)

I blinked at him, wanting more, but he just shook his head. "I think that's enough for now," he said, his voice cocky.

"You're an asshole, Evan Black. You know that, right?"

"Believe me, sweetheart, I've been called worse." He gave me a gentle tug. "Come on. I should start dinner."

"Maybe I should wait here. The lounge chair is pretty comfortable. I could finish what you started."

"Oh, no you don't." He took my hand and tugged me close. "I want you frustrated, baby. No touching. Your cunt belongs to me. Your orgasm belongs to me. I want every ripple of pleasure that courses through your body to come from me. Do you understand?"

I nodded, feeling suddenly a little unstable, and not because of the rocking of the boat. And I had to admit that although I might be sexually frustrated at that moment, there was no denying that the promise in his words made it all worthwhile.

I grabbed a terry-cloth cover-up from the arm of a lounge chair and followed him to the kitchen, though he wasted no time telling me that it was called a galley. True to his word, there was brie, and he set it out along with a selection of crackers and fruit that we nibbled on as he went about making dinner, cutting the ends off the green beans, testing the potatoes in the oven, seasoning the steaks.

I watched him in silence, sipping wine and wondering about all the facets of Evan Black, both seen and unseen.

I wanted to know everything, and before I could talk myself out of it, I asked the question that was most on my mind. "Evan," I said. "Why do you say you're not a safe bet?"

He looked up from where he was uncorking a bottle of wine. "There are a lot of reasons," he said, and I heard the hint of caution in his voice.

"I'd like to know."

"Are you giving up on the idea of going to Washington?"

"What?" I shook my head, confused. "No. Why would you think so?"

He held my eyes for a long moment, and though I tried to figure out what he was thinking, I found no clue in his expression. "Never mind," he said. "It doesn't matter."

I took the glass of wine he handed me, then took a sip. I considered dropping the whole thing. He was right, after all. I wasn't staying. In three weeks, I'd be gone. So what did it matter if I never dug beneath that tarnish to see the man hidden inside?

Except it did matter. I wasn't entirely sure why, but it mattered a lot.

"Is it because of the kind of business you're in?"

"You mean the strip club?"

"I mean whatever you do that makes you not a safe bet."

He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his own wine, his eyes never leaving my face. "I think I know a certain FBI agent who's been putting ideas into your head."

I licked my lips, suddenly unsure that I should have opened this door. "Listen, never mind. I don't want to spoil dinner."

"I haven't even put the steaks on yet. We have time." He put his wineglass down and crossed the galley so that he was opposite me across the bar. "What did Kevin say?"

I considered avoiding the question, but knew Evan well enough to know that he'd press. "He said that the FBI was watching you. That you're into all sorts of shit. He wasn't specific."

"And you believe him." There was no emotion in his voice. No anger. No nothing. Just a question, spoken in a monotone.

"I didn't say that. All I want to know is why you'd tell me that you're not a safe bet."

"Because it's the truth," he said.

"Evan ..."

"What?" His tone had barely changed, but somehow it was harsher now. "You want me to fill up your glass and tell you a bedtime story? Something that excites you? Something that makes you feel close to the kind of guy who can make you feel wild?"

I looked away, because that was what had started all of this, but now I wanted so much more.

"Something fast-paced, right? Maybe the story of a kid whose family went to shit when he was still in high school? Who turned to doing whatever the hell he could to make a buck in order to keep his family from having to live on the streets. Drugs. Stolen merchandise. Stolen cars. Whatever he could think of. And maybe this story's a tragedy, do you think?"

He was speaking fast, but every word was measured. As for me, I was holding my breath, taking in every word, understanding that he was giving me a view of the inside of Evan Black, and I was doing my damnedest to see the truth behind the tale he was spinning.

"Maybe he gets arrested and sent to one of those teen work camps. The whole scared straight bullshit. But let's not write a typical ending. Let's not have it really work. Let's touch on some irony. Let's have our boy meet some other kids. Two others, and they become tight. But scared straight? Not hardly."

Cole. Tyler.

I remembered Jahn telling me that the three had met at some camp when they were teens. Holy shit.

"And then when the three got smart," he said, leaving the kitchen area and circling the bar, "they learned how to dodge the system. How to take risks. How to do whatever they needed to do to get by, because they all three knew that the universe doesn't play fair." He was right in front of me, all heat and power and control. "And if the universe doesn't play by the rules, then why the fuck should they?"

"They shouldn't," I said as my pulse pounded in my ears.

He stroked my bare arms as I stood there feeling exposed despite the fact that I'd slipped the short-sleeved cover-up on over the tiny bathing suit. "You don't want a safe bet, Lina," he said, his voice low. "Do you?"

"No."

"You want a man who lives on the edge. That's the kind of thing that gets you hot, isn't it?" His fingers toyed with the white zipper pull at the base of my throat.

"Yes," I admitted as he pushed the cover-up off my shoulders. It fell to the floor in a puddle of white terry cloth. Evan's palms caressed my arms, sliding up and down, and it wasn't mere friction that sent the heat coursing through me.

"You want a man who likes to fly," he said, tracing his fingertip over the curve of my breasts along the outline of my bikini top.

My breath became ragged. My skin felt prickly. And behind that tiny scrap of material, my nipples were painfully hard.

"You want little bit of danger." His finger slipped under the material to flick my nipple, making me gasp. "You want to know that the man in your bed doesn't play by the rules." That same finger trailed down my belly to the band of bikini bottom.

I shifted my stance, spreading my legs a bit, and feeling my cheeks heat when I heard his soft, knowing chuckle.

"Tell me I'm right," he demanded, though he already knew it was true.

"You're right," I said.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"I do." I felt the charge through me, like I was touching a live wire. I closed my eyes. "I want you, Evan. I want you to fuck me."

"Take off the top," he said.

I opened my eyes and found him looking not at my breasts, but at my face. Our eyes locked, and I swallowed, the force of the emotion I saw in his eyes making me weak. I reached back, then untied the string between my shoulder blades. Then I reached higher and brushed my hair aside before tugging at the bow that was the only thing now holding the top in place. I let it fall, then stood there in front of him, my breasts bare and heavy, my nipples hard and tight and practically begging for his touch.

He moved closer, then pressed his thumb against his mouth, making it wet before rubbing it slowly over my sensitive nipple. I felt the shock of his touch all the way through me, making me squirm as liquid pleasure pooled between my legs, warm and enticing.

He reached out, cupping my breasts in his palms, then bent to suckle me, so slowly and thoroughly that I had to reach out and grasp the back of a stool for fear that I would collapse to the ground.

When he pulled back, I felt the chill of the air on my damp breasts and saw his soft smile of satisfaction. I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, wondering where he would touch me next.

I wasn't surprised when he told me to drop my bikini bottom. I did without hesitation, and I saw the heat flare in his eyes. I saw, too, the bulge at the front of his shorts.

He knelt in front of me, then ran his fingertip down my pubis. I was bare, every fold visible and swollen with desire. I was sensitive--so damned sensitive, and when he bent close and blew a soft stream of air across my clit, I thought I would come right then.

"That's my girl," he said. "I love looking at you." He leaned closer, then slowly licked me along my slit all the way up to my belly button, the sensation so surprising and erotic that I cried out, unable to hold back either the sound or the shimmers of pleasure that shook my body.

He stood, and I wanted to scream with protest. I wanted more. I wanted his tongue on me, his fingers stroking me, his cock inside me. I wanted it all right then, all at once. I wanted to be so overwhelmed with sensation that I lost myself, and floated away in a haze that was only Evan.

But he wasn't moving that fast. He was doling out pleasure, and as much as I wanted the assault, I had to admit that this was fine, too.