Heated (Most Wanted 2)

"Possibly."

The speaker went from static to dead. A moment later, the door opened and an old man with eyebrows that resembled caterpillars opened the door. He wore a ratty flannel bathrobe and gestured us inside.

"First floor. Back here." He led us back, opened the door.

The room was about as depressing as I'd ever seen. Not much more than a converted closet with no windows. "Cheapest unit we got," the old man said.

"Did she tell you she was moving?" I asked. "Leave a forwarding?"

"No forwarding. Just said she'd got a job in Vegas."

I looked around. There was nothing in the place, not even debris. "You clean?"

"Nah, she did. Wanted her deposit back. Gave it to her, too, so don't start giving me shit."

I stared him down. "I wouldn't dream of it." I met Tyler's eyes. "So she packed up, cleaned up, and hit the road. But she didn't tell you where?" I asked the old man. "Did she take a taxi to the bus station? Rent a car?"

"No idea. 'Cept someone was driving her. Saw that much at least."

"Who?"

"Saw the car, not the driver." He glanced into the room. "You're not really interested, are you?"

"Sorry," Tyler said, then handed him a twenty. "Sorry for waking you."

"Someone went to Vegas with her," I said. "Or at least drove her to the bus stop. The girls at Destiny might know who."

"They might," he said as we walked back to where Red stood holding the door open. "But we'll talk about it later. That's enough for one night."

He was right, I thought, as I slid into the back seat beside him. My worry for Amy was fast fading, but as I shifted in my seat to look at Tyler, I couldn't help but think of Kevin's allegations--that these guys were into all sorts of shit. And, for better or for worse, I wanted to know if it was true.

We drove in silence for a while--Tyler received some texts that he needed to answer, and I took the opportunity to email Candy and tell her that it was looking more and more like Amy was alive and well and kicking up her heels in Vegas. Then I used the browser on my phone to start searching for Amy Dawsons in the Vegas area. There weren't many, and I'd start making calls in the morning.

When we finally reached the part of Chicago I recognized--down by the Magnificent Mile--I tucked my phone away and frowned at the scenery. "We're going the wrong direction," I said.

Tyler put his phone down and followed my gaze. "No," he said. "We're not."

"This is the way to Pilson?" I asked, mentioning my neighborhood.

"It's one way," he said. "But we're not going to your apartment."

I raised a brow. "No? What happened to telling Red my address. Me being ready tomorrow. All that big production about putting me in the back of this car?"

"One, it's now past midnight so it is tomorrow. And two, things have changed," he said, glancing meaningfully at me. "And I've changed my mind."

Amused, I leaned back. "So where are we going?" I asked, but I didn't really need to. Red was already maneuvering the Lexus in front of The Drake.

"What if I just want to go home," I asked, as he opened the door for me.

"I'd say no."

"Oh." I considered that. Considered my very visceral reaction to his words. We'd thrown each other off-kilter at Destiny. But now ... now Tyler was most definitely the one in control.

He held out his hand for me. I hesitated only the slightest of instants, then took it and allowed him to lead me inside the hotel and up the stairs toward the lobby.

"I hope your room's close," I said lightly, determined to steady myself. "It'll be nice to kick off these heels."

He glanced down toward the foot I had helpfully extended to show off the seriously uncomfortable strappy sandals and shiny new pedicure. "Lovely. But I might prefer you keep them on," he added, and there was no mistaking the heat in his voice. "Everything else can go."

Oh, my. So much for getting steady. He'd very soundly knocked me off balance again. I licked my lips. "Is that a particular fetish, Mr. Sharp?"

"A rather common one, I believe." We were near the lobby's plush couches, and he gestured for me to sit. When I did, he took a seat next to me, then lifted one of my legs and rested my ankle on his thigh. My hem hit just above my knee, and I wore no stockings. Fingers of cool air crept under the folds of my dress, soothing my already overheated skin.

Not that Tyler was helping to cool me down. Just the opposite. Slowly, he traced a path along my hemline, his fingertip burning a trail along my bare thigh. "It's not, however, one of mine."

"Tyler." I couldn't manage any more. I was surprised I'd managed that much.

"Hmm?"

"You really should stop."

"Perhaps. But I don't want to." His attention turned to the back of my knee, his clever fingers stroking a spot so delicious the sensation pooled between my thighs and I actually moaned. "I've had you," he said. "But I haven't yet savored you." I looked at his face, and the pure, open desire I saw there was as deep and vivid as my own.

"Please," I whispered. I meant to say please stop. At least I think I did. But it didn't come out that way.

His hand cupped the back of my leg and stroked down my calf slowly, slowly, so painfully slowly.

"Please," I said, trying again. "People will stare."

"People might. I don't believe you care much. I know I don't."

I closed my eyes. He was right.

Finally, his fingertip brushed lightly over my ankle, then skipped over the leather of my sandal before finding the arch of my foot and gently tracing the edge. On any other day, I might have cringed from being tickled. But right then I wasn't remotely ticklish. I was too damn turned on.

"No," he murmured, as he carefully returned my foot to the floor. "I don't have a foot fetish. But if I was going to develop one, I would surely start with yours."

"So you have no interesting proclivities?" I teased, trying to sound bold so that he wouldn't see how well he'd twisted me up. And, yes, trying to get a sense of what he intended for me once we reached his room. "No fetishes of your own?"

"I didn't say that." He stood, then held out a hand to help me up.

"If not feet, then what?" I asked, appreciating the firm way his fingers closed around mine.

His gaze skimmed slowly over me, the inspection both unnerving and very, very erotic. "You'll know soon enough."

My stomach fluttered as he led me toward the elevator.

The doors snicked open, and Tyler released my hand, only to replace it at the small of my back as he directed me into the well-appointed car. More like a little room, actually. A floor to ceiling mirror dominated the back wall, flanked on either side by wall-mounted light fixtures. At the base of the mirror, and directly in front of us, was a charming little couch.

"A fainting couch," Tyler said as I met his eyes in the mirror, my own brows raised. "A throwback from the days of corsets and minimal air-conditioning, I assume. But it certainly raises some interesting possibilities in our modern world."

"There aren't that many floors in this hotel," I countered, looking over my shoulder at the man rather than his image. "We don't have time for that many possibilities."

"A valid point." He stepped around me and moved to sit. "But it's a sad fact of our society that we don't ever seem to enjoy the time that we do have." He held out his hand, palm up. "As I mentioned, I believe in never squandering time."

I looked at his outstretched hand, and my mouth went dry, my knees suddenly weak. His lips curved up in the kind of smile that promised long kisses and slow hands, and I think I melted just a little bit right then. My only saving grace was my reflection in the mirror. At least I didn't look as unbalanced as I felt.

Why was I so twisted up? He'd already touched me intimately--already made me come. I'd already fucked him, taking charge of the moment. Riding him, watching pure passion on his face.

So what about now was keeping me so unbalanced?

But it was a foolish question, because I knew the answer. I'd surrendered to this man despite having no idea what was coming, what he wanted. How far he would go.

This was no longer about Amy. No longer about getting inside Destiny or about Kevin's accusations.

Right now, this was about nothing but me.

And that simple fact excited me as much as it scared me.

I still hadn't taken his hand, and now he crooked a finger. "Come here, Sloane," he said, and there was nothing left of the light banter or even the sharp tones of the man who refused to be played. This voice was sensual, commanding. It was a voice designed to make a woman wet, and to ensure that she obeyed.

I did.

One step, then another until I was standing in front of him. I looked down at him, not wanting to catch my own eyes in the mirror. Not wanting to see the anticipation and desire that I knew colored my face.

I felt like a rookie, unsure of what would happen next. And I was acting like a teenager, craving that first brush of his lips over mine.

Slowly--achingly slowly--his eyes roamed over me. He said nothing, but I could almost hear the low thrum of his approval vibrating in the air. He stood, the motion filled with both grace and power. And then, with unfailing gentleness, he reached out and brushed the edge of his thumb over my cheek. "I wonder," he murmured, then trailed off into silence.

"What?" I asked, when I couldn't bear the quiet any longer.

"I still haven't kissed you," he said. "I wonder what you'd do if I didn't try to kiss you at all."

My breath hitched in my throat, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out in protest. Instead, I managed to collect my thoughts, then tilt my head as I openly studied him. "So is this your fetish? Tormenting innocent women?"