What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 8) Read online

  Of course, hiring hookers wasn’t their general M.O. Neither of them ever needed to hire a pro, but that was hardly the point.

  The point was—

  What was the point?

  Ah, yes. Cody turning down pussy.

  An occurrence so rare it probably caused a rip in the space-time continuum.

  Even as a kid he’d been a horn dog. They both had been. Women, women, women. Nothing was as exciting as a new conquest. And with their profession, the covert missions, constant travel—relationships just weren’t in the cards.

  Besides, the world was filled with gorgeous, willing hotties who loved a man in a uniform. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Full-figured, slender. Legs, boobs, thighs… Too many choices to settle for just one.

  And fuck. He was in Vegas. Hot and willing women were everywhere. Some of them didn’t even charge. Determination, to find one of them and have her tonight, raged in him.

  The elevator door dinged open and he glanced up as he made his way down the hall. The breath caught in his throat.

  Yeah.

  Exactly.

  She was perfect. Long legs. Tantalizing curves, tightly wrapped. Boobs out to here and a slinky skirt. She wore a leather jacket over a clingy black shirt. Leather on a woman always made his mouth water a little. Her face was perfection to begin with—a delicate, alabaster sculpture—but her makeup, something exotic and alluring, caught him like a fist to the gut. Red lips. Eyes darkly shadowed with long, lush, patently false lashes and a Cleopatra slant. She carried her impossibly high heels in her hand, swinging them carelessly. Her bare pedicured feet slapped the floor in a saucy cadence.

  She saw him coming and her lips quirked up. As though she had mysterious secrets, and they amused her. Her eyes raked him, assessing his muscles. She popped her gum. “Well hey there,” she cooed, swinging her shoes in a wider arc.

  Dane felt her coo straight down to his balls.

  Fuck.

  Visions filled his mind. Visions of him pushing her up against the wall and fucking her here, now, scorched him.

  Her face wrinkled up into an adorable puddle. “Say, do you know where Cody’s room is?”

  Yeah. She had to be the hooker.

  Something hot, hard and needy curled through his gut. “Cody doesn’t need your services tonight.”

  She blinked. “He…doesn’t?”

  “No. But I do. If you’re interested…”

  Her eyes widened. She looked him up and down. Her tongue peeped out.

  He shivered.

  “Interested?” He loved the way her lips parted on the word. The way it floated between them on skeins of the air.

  “Are you?” He shot her a speaking grin. It seemed to bedazzle her. His dimples did that to chicks sometimes. Apparently even pros weren’t immune.

  A sigh passed her lips. She seemed to melt right there in the hallway. “I…am.”

  Two words. Two little words.

  They skewered him.

  “Come on. My room’s this way.” He held out his arm, suppressing a quiver of excitement as she hooked hers into it and gazed up at him. Damn she was gorgeous.

  Too bad she was a hooker.

  He didn’t know where that thought, that trickle of regret, came from. Tonight was about reclaiming manhood—for all men. For Cody.

  He would sink himself into sensuous pursuits without compunction. Fuck her and send her on her way.

  If she was any good, maybe he’d give her a tip.

  Chapter Two

  Tina waffled. Oh, not about her decision to go with him. She was definitely doing that.

  She was torn between desolation that Dane Coulter—the guy she’d been in love with her entire life but who had barely noticed her—didn’t recognize her, and exultation that he was noticing her now. She could only chalk it up to the makeover Angie had insisted they all have for their sexy photo shoot, which had been part of the bachelorette party package.

  She looked damn good and she knew it.

  Good enough to—finally—capture his attention.

  Her makeup was some perfect confection created by an artist who dubbed himself The Master. Her outfit was to-die for, despite the fact it had been culled from a bargain basement. Even her hair was cooperating tonight, her long locks falling in perfect waves down her back.

  She’d been on her way to show her brother her new “look,” to laugh about it perhaps, when she’d seen Dane, the man of her long-held fantasies, strolling toward her.

  And damn. He was hot.

  Hotter than she remembered.

  Then again, it had been years. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been robed in a cap and gown at graduation. She’d seen pictures of him through the years though. Pictures of him and Cody kneeling before a deuce and a half in Afghanistan, at some bar in Stuttgart, holding a puppy he’d rescued from a gutter…

  The photos didn’t do him justice. In person, he was devastatingly handsome. Maybe just plain devastating.

  He was bigger than he’d been in high school. Bigger, taller and just…more. His muscles, lacquered by a tight black tee shirt, bulged. Tattoos danced over his biceps. The planes of his face were angled. His high cheekbones, dark brows, long blade of a nose, all the same, but sharper. His eyes hadn’t had those shadows back then either, that predatory glint. His hair—his thick mop of curls—was gone, shaved off, revealing the perfect shape of his head. His chin, however, wasn’t shaved. It was covered by a smattering of dark fuzz. A scar on his cheek, rather than detracting from his looks, made him even more fascinating, dangerous.

  And he smelled… scrumptious. As he moved, his cologne, a clean enticing scent, enveloped her in a cloud.

  Oh, he was dangerous all right.

  She didn’t care.

  The slight buzz from the margaritas at the bachelorette party, the sexual sizzle ignited by the strippers who’d burst in on their party wearing camo fatigues with rip-away crotches, all contributed to her bravado.

  In real life she would never hook arms with some random guy and sashay by his side to his room. But hell. This was Dane. The man of her fantasies. Judging from the hunger in his expression as he looked down at her, the heat that passed between them where they touched, he wanted her.

  Thank God she wasn’t still the dorky teen with braces she’d been when they’d last met.

  She looked amazing tonight. He happened to wander by and notice her. No one else was around. And he wanted her.

  It was as though, somehow, magically, all the stars had aligned.

  There was no way—no way—she would miss this opportunity.

  Excitement danced low in her gut as he swiped his room key and led her into his suite. It was a nice suite—not as sumptuous as Angie’s, but nice all the same—with a small sitting area and an enormous king bed. The windows looked out on the sparkling lights of the City that Never Slept. Or one of them.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, taking off his watch and dropping it on the table by the door. It drew her attention to his forearms, thick and muscled and sprinkled with dark hairs. They were roped with thick veins. She’d always had a thing for bulky forearms. And she’d always had a thing for Dane. The combination was irresistible.

  Tina tipped her head to the side and blew a bubble with her gum. “Margarita?”

  He waved at the glossy wood armoire against the wall. “I have a mini bar. It’ll have to be shots. What’s your poison?”

  “Tequila then.” Might as well keep a good thing going.

  He hunkered down and searched through the fridge, pulling out a tiny bottle of tequila for her and whiskey for him. He cracked them open and dumped them unceremoniously into two glasses and handed her hers. No ice or anything.

  Good thing it didn’t matter to her, or she’d be pissed at his cavalier attitude. The drink was lubricant, a time filler. They were dancing around a seduction, and they both knew it.

  Or…not.

  Apparently seduction was not necessary. Because Dane took a sw
ig of his drink and said, with no preface whatsoever, “So do you have any no-nos?”

  She gaped at him. “No-nos?”

  “Anything you won’t do? Because I’ll be frank. I like a little kink.”

  Holy God.

  First of all, the heat scorching her was mind-numbing. Literally.

  Mind. Numbing.

  Those brash words from Dane’s gorgeous lips and she nearly lost her balance.

  Second of all—he liked kink.

  So, in fact, did she. Nothing super dark, but a little slap and tickle for sure.

  “Um…” She took a sip of her drink and shuddered as the harsh bite of liquor burned through her. It clashed with the flavor of her gum. “What kind of kink are we talking about?”

  He strode to his suitcase and fished around, pulling out a long leather strap with two loops on the ends. Her eyes fixated on it. She gulped.

  “I want to tie you up,” he said, his voice low, taunting, as though he expected her to squeak like a mouse and scuttle from the room.

  The. Fuck.

  “Hmm. I think I can handle that.”

  “I’ll probably smack your bottom.”

  Also good. She tried not to flinch in anticipation. His hand on her ass? Gawd.

  “I won’t hurt you, though. I’m not into that. And of course, I’ll use protection.” He held up a pack of condoms.

  Well da-ham. He’d come prepared. A smile curled on her lips.

  “Billy said your fee’s been paid.” His brow quirked.

  The smile froze on Tina’s face. A combination of horror and rage and something else altogether snarled through her as she realized how right she’d been. Not only did he not recognize her—after knowing her her entire life, for pity sake—he thought she was a hooker.

  Granted, she did kind of look like a hooker, with makeup plastered on as if with a trowel. But still…

  She glanced at him from beneath the impossibly long lashes The Master had glued to her lids. Not her style, but she liked the way they looked. The way they made her feel…like someone else. Someone sultry and daring. Someone Dane would want.

  To tie up and spank.

  Aside from that, the temptation to have him, taste him, fuck him, ran rampant in her. For years she’d fantasized about her older brother’s best friend. All through puberty and long after that. Every man she’d met, dated or been with had been gauged against Dane Coulter. None of them had measured up.

  Ah yes, the temptation to have him was overwhelming.

  Not to mention how much fun it would be watching him shit a brick tomorrow, when he realized who she really was.

  Too delicious to pass up, really. The whole package.

  He stood there in the middle of the room, holding the strap in one hand and the condoms in the other, waiting for her reply. Though he was all Dom, she couldn’t help but notice a hint of tension in him, as though he was, on some level, afraid she’d say no and waltz away.

  He wanted her. And he wanted her bad. It was the heat in his eyes that gave him away, the way they flicked over her and burned with hunger. Yeah. Irresistible.

  Sure. She could be a hooker for the evening.

  “Anything else?” she purred, ignoring his unasked question.

  The tightness in his expression released. “No. That’s it. Anything from your end?”

  “Just enjoy, baby,” she said, tossing back the rest of her drink and setting the glass on the table. She sashayed over to his side and tugged his tight black tee shirt from the band of his jeans. She wanted him out of it. She wanted to see his chest. She wanted him naked.

  He grabbed her wrist in a gentle cuff. “No,” he said.

  She peeped up at him. His chin was firm and bristled with enticing scruff. A muscle worked in his cheek. “No?” She went for a playful tone.

  He glared her down. “I don’t think you understand. I direct the action. Do you understand my meaning?”

  Oh God. Did she.

  She’d played games like this with boys before, but never had she experienced such dominant energy. She let her hand fall to her side. Lowered her chin in what she hoped was a submissive mien—she really didn’t do submissive well, and never had. “Yes.”

  “Yes…what?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  He broke character for a moment, rolling his eyes. “How long have you been doing this?” he asked, but it was, apparently a rhetorical question, because he barreled right on. “The correct response is ‘Yes Sir.’”

  “Oh. Right.” She shot him an impish grin. “Yes Sir.”

  “And—What’s your name again?”

  “I didn’t mention it.”

  He frowned. “What should I call you?”

  She studied him for a moment as a litany of stripper names skipped merrily through her mind. And then a memory, a memory from long ago, suffused her. Her lips curled. “I’m Bambi.”

  “Bambi.” His snort said it all. Yeah. Right. “And spit out that gum, Bambi.” The rumble in his voice told her the gum really annoyed him for some reason. She filed this fact way—for later. When annoying him might come in handy. But she did as he asked, spitting the gum into the wastebasket with a “Patooey.”

  Then she linked her hands behind her and wiggled from one side to the other. She could tell her blasé attitude annoyed him as well. His fingers curled into fists as though he wanted to spank her now. “Anything else, Sir?” She invested her tone with a rebellious thread.

  Sure enough, his nostrils flared. “Are you wearing panties under that skirt?” God she loved when he barked.

  “Yes…Sir.” His eyes narrowed at her deliberate hesitation.

  “Take them off.”

  “Off?”

  He sucked in a breath and, astonishingly, seemed to grow even larger. “Off. And don’t question me again.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at her coldly, but heat blazed beneath. “Well?”

  Tina thrust away the sudden flurry of nerves and slid her hands to her thighs, palms down, then slowly skated them up, under her hem. His breath snagged when he caught sight of her panties, some lacy confection shaped like a butterfly from a famous store with seriously overpriced lacy confections. She let a little moan escape her throat as she eased them down.

  He appreciated the effort. His gaze was riveted. His body hummed with tension.

  “Like this?” she asked in a little girl voice, as she pushed her panties to her ankles. She turned slightly, so her bare ass was within his line of sight. And she waggled it.

  “No talking,” he snapped, as though he couldn’t take it. Couldn’t bear to be teased. And wouldn’t allow it.

  She stepped out of her panties, leaving them on the floor. Rather than feeling exposed, she felt energized. He still stood by the bed, watching her, staring at her with brooding hunger. The outline of his cock in his jeans was unmistakable.

  Sudden need swamped her. Well, not too sudden—she’d wanted him forever, after all—but it was sudden in its intensity, in the brash, bold realization that he was here, hard for her…

  And she wasn’t wearing any panties.

  “Sit on the couch.”

  It was a leather couch, buttery soft. And cold. She hissed as the slick material touched her heated flesh. He said nothing more and, setting the condoms and the leather strap at the foot of the bed, prowled across the room. He sat opposite her in the straight-backed chair and studied her in silence for a long while, sipping his drink. So long, it made Tina a little nervous. She resisted the urge to fidget.

  “Spread your legs,” he said.

  She did, watching him as he watched her.

  And then, again with the silence.

  She nearly jumped when he spoke, his voice, low and silky, filling the room like a caress. “I like your jacket.”

  “Thanks.” It was a cute leather bolero with metal studs. She’d bought it on sale at a great little thrift shop on the Eastside. It screamed Vegas. Perfect for a wild girls-only bachelorette—

  �
�Take it off.”

  She quickly complied, removing the jacket and revealing the tight black Lycra shirt beneath. She loved this shirt, the way it hugged her curves and highlighted the swell of her breasts. He liked it too. His tongue peeped out as he stared at her. His lashes flickered as she drew in a deep breath and traced her cleavage—just in case he hadn’t noticed it.

  “Hands to your sides, please.” His tone was light, but carried scorching weight. She dropped her arms and waited for his next command.

  But he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Perhaps he wasn’t a boiling cauldron of lust. She was. She longed to touch him. To drag her palms over those bulging pecs, to explore the flex of his biceps. To taste his chin.

  He made her wait. Sitting there, bare-assed, stewing in her juices. Punishing her, perhaps, for her earlier insouciance. It was a long, long while before he said, “Now, your shirt. Take it off slowly.” It was small compensation, that tremor in his voice.

  Her fingers shook as she took hold of the hem and eased the material up, pausing, now and again, to assess his attention. Oh, it was fixed. On her. His eyes burned as she revealed her breasts, cupped as they were in black lace. She couldn’t resist thrusting them forward as she draped the shirt on the sofa back behind her.

  She licked her lips and folded her hands in her lap. And waited.

  It was nerve wracking, being bare before him but for a flimsy bra and a skimpy skirt, having him sit there and stare at her. As though he knew the effect he was having on her, his lips, those luscious lips, kicked up into a smile. He took another sip of his drink.

  “Pull up your skirt.”

  “What?”

  He frowned at her question. “Pull up your skirt. Bunch it up around your waist. I want to see all of you.”

  She swallowed an eep and did as he asked.

  “Legs farther apart. I want you exposed.”

  Holy God. Her body, of its own accord, clenched, but she complied. She couldn’t not.

  “Now, sit still.” He stood and ambled toward her, his drink in one hand. Like a lion approaching an antelope. Tina had the sense he wanted to pounce, wanted to gobble her up, but was keeping himself tightly reined.