The Man For The Job Page 8

  "Are you all right?” He grew breathless and hoarse.

  She nodded and reached for his belt. Unbuckling it, she took a moment to shove his slacks and boxers down to his knees. His erection was rock hard and gloved in silken skin. Swallowing, she hid her surprise.

  Mike cupped Gwyneth's breasts—small, but perfect. He bent over her writhing form and teased his tongue around one of her pink nipples, tightening it into a pearl. She gasped at his touch and arched against him, her heart pounding in her ears.

  The sudden contact nearly made him lose it. Threading his fingers carefully through her blond hair, he took a long ragged breath, then let it out. “Are you sure?"

  "Yes-s,” she gasped.

  Mike struggled out of his trousers. “Protection?” He glanced around frantically. “Mine's so old, it's out of date."

  Eyes still glazed with passion, Gwyneth rolled over, opened the drawer in the bedside table and pulled out the necessary item. “Here.” She handed it to him. “Such a waste to cover your lovely—"

  "Lovely?” Little Mikey had been called many things, but never lovely. He took her hands in his, and together they sheathed him. He groaned. Her sensual touch sliding up and down his penis—pure magic.

  "There seems to be another obstacle,” Mike whispered as he pulled down her white leggings.

  "I know you can get rid of it,” she whispered back, her breath warm on his neck.

  "And another,” he declared softly, revealing a white lace thong.

  "I trust you will prevail."

  Mike captured the thin, elastic band of her thong with his teeth and teased the scrap of lace down over her slender hips and long legs. A triangle of blond curls beckoned. Gwyn opened herself to him. He parted her delicate folds and found another pearl. He flicked at the small nub with his tongue. Her pelvis writhed upward, as he circled the sensitive spot. Inhaling the scent and tasting her musk, he sighed. Perfect.

  Gwyneth moaned and thrust toward him. “Please."

  Centering himself over her and taking his weight on his elbows, he thrust home as she rose to meet him. Gloved in her silken warmth, he found her tight and delicious beyond imagining. “Slow,” he breathed, trying to keep from losing control, his entire body shaking with the effort.

  But she would have him her way—hot, sweaty and fast. As her body held his in thrall, he acceded to her demands. A pink flush spread over her breasts. Her climax came quickly—his own a nanosecond later, triggered by the involuntary clutching of her sweet prison. He heaved one last thrust and nearly collapsed over her.

  "Ohmigod,” Gwyneth gasped, overwhelmed by the earthiness of their lovemaking. If she were going to be indiscreet and reckless, she'd definitely picked the right man for the job.

  "Sorry. He has to catch His breath,” Mike rasped, his breath warm. His arms still around her, he nuzzled her neck.

  "I love you,” he breathed.

  "What?” Gwyneth sat up, startled by his words. “B-but—this was just..."

  Mike pulled back and gazed down at her. “Just what, Gwyn? Sport? Is that all it was for you? A piece of strange?"

  Her eyes widened. “No, no. I mean, I just assumed...” she faltered. “I mean, I thought that's all it was to you."

  "I don't say the words unless I mean them. I don't give my heart lightly."

  She blinked furiously, confused and concerned. What the hell was she playing at?

  "It's just—this is so sudden—God! I can't believe I just said that,” she babbled. “I don't know. I've never been so—"

  "Spontaneous?"

  "Reckless."

  "I'm sorry,” he apologized, pulling completely away from her and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I rushed you.” He squared his shoulders. “I take full responsibility."

  Gwyneth watched in disbelief as Mike stood up and started jerking on his clothes. “No, that's not what I meant."

  He sat back down on the bed, looking over his shoulder at her, his body rigid and unyielding. “Then what did you mean?"

  "Hell! I don't know what I meant. I'm not like this. Being with you, it was wonderful. I never experienced anything like it before."

  Tears started falling down her cheeks. She wiped them away, desperate to explain the unexplainable. “It was Fourth of July and New Year's Eve all at the same time."

  Mike felt his mouth curve into a smile. “That good, huh?"

  Gwyn lay her head in his lap. She gazed up at him and pleaded, “Don't go. I just need some time to get used to—"

  "To what?"

  "Being a new woman. Your woman if you still want me.” She worried her bottom lip, uncertain what his next response would be. Would he kiss her or walk out the door?

  "Sit up,” he commanded gently. She sat up. “We won't make love again until you're absolutely certain that it's what you want. I've fallen in love with you—"

  From the living room, the intercom buzzed. The doorman announced, “Mr. Klein to see you, Miss Wells. He's already on his way up."

  "No!” Gwyn hissed and scrambled from the bed. She grabbed her clothes from where they lay all over the bedroom floor.

  Mike leaned back and enjoyed the sight of the naked Gwyn, all flustered and upset, while she jerked on her clothes. “Hold on. Take it easy. The door's locked."

  She glared at him, her face pale and drawn. “He still has a key."

  Mike grinned. “Then I guess you'd better get a move on."

  "Me?” She pointed at him. “You cannot sit there like that. Get dressed."

  Mike stood up, slow and easy, and started drawing on his pants, while a desperate Gwyneth pulled on her blouse wrong-side-out and yanked the white leggings over her slender hips.

  "What's he doing here now, anyway? He should be at his office.” Hurriedly she finger-combed her hair in front of a mirror. “Crap. I look like I've just crawled out of bed."

  "You did."

  "Ugh. I can't believe this is happening,” she cried and darted from the bedroom.

  Raking his fingers through his hair, Mike followed, admiring the charming view of Gwyn's swaying backside as she rushed ahead of him.

  By the time they reached the living room, Mike could hear Klein's key in the lock. Gwyneth rushed to the door and snatched it open. “Richard, what are you doing here?” she gasped.

  "I called your office, and they told me you were mugged last night. I rushed over—why didn't you call me?” he demanded. Klein stopped, caught a breath, then looked from Gwyneth to Mike and back at Gwyneth.

  "I can see what's going on here. Your hair's a mess, and your blouse is wrong-side-out,” he declared. Striding toward Gwyneth, he grabbed her upper arm. “You slut. You couldn't wait to get a new stud—"

  Mike's fist connected with Klein's jaw, the shock of the blow racking back up his arm, jarring his shoulder. “Keep your hands and filthy mouth off her,” Mike ordered and punched him in the gut for good measure.

  Klein went down, knocking over a lamp and vase. They shattered. Mike stood over him. “Now get out of here."

  Klein glared up at Mike, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You'll not give me orders in my fiancée's apartment. Gwyneth, get rid of him now. Now, and I will forgive your indiscretion."

  Mike stared down at him. “Buddy, she's not engaged to you anymore. You keep forgetting that.” He stepped back. “Gwyn, it's up to you."

  Looking at the two men, she sank down on the sofa. “Just leave, Richard. It's over between us."

  Klein got to his feet, all the time keeping a watchful eye in Mike's direction. Giving his Armani suit an indignant brush, he advanced on Gwyneth.

  Mike stepped between Klein and Gwyn. “Hold on,” he warned. “The lady asked you to leave. If I were you, I'd go."

  An expression of pure hatred mixed with disbelief took up residence on Klein's ferret face. “Gwyneth, are you going to let this interloper come between us?"

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “It's over. Just leave."

  Mik
e couldn't resist. “And while you're at it, leave the key."

  Klein's face grew red with rage, his fists clenched. “Gwyneth?"

  "Leave the key, Richard."

  "Fine!” Taking the key off the key ring, he threw it on the floor then spun around and glared at Mike. “I'll see you up on charges for assault.” Klein stormed away, slamming the door behind him.

  Mike turned toward Gwyneth. “Are you all right?"

  Gwyneth shook her head. “No, I-I thought for a minute he was going to hit me, and I just stood there, helpless. Like one of my clients."

  "Has he ever hit you?"

  "No, he's controlling and demanding and—"

  "What?"

  Her face flushed a dark red. “Nothing."

  "It's all right. Don't tell me, if you'd rather not.” No, she didn't have to tell him. Somehow, he could guess what she'd rather not say. He sat down beside her, and she jumped like a frightened animal, avoiding his touch.

  "I meant it. I'll wait."

  Gwyneth gazed into his eyes, while tears formed in hers. “Thank you."

  Anxious to diffuse the tension, he glanced around the room. “Where's your broom and dustpan. I'll clean up this mess."

  Blinking her tears away, she gave him a brave smile. “You're actually housebroken, aren't you?"

  "Yes, counselor,” He kissed the top of her head. “And I almost never whiz on the floor."

  Fourteen

  Torn between laughter and tears, Gwyneth watched Mike sweep up shards of porcelain and leaded glass. Laughter because the unexpected sight of his graceful form bent over a dustpan truly amused her, and tears because she felt like she was hanging on to the last timber of a burning bridge—one she'd set on fire herself. In the space of twenty-four hours, her nice, orderly life had flipped on its backside.

  Mike glanced up from his task. “I hope these weren't irreplaceable, family heirlooms.” He raised one dark eyebrow.

  She shook her head. “No, but it wouldn't matter."

  "I'll replace them."

  "No.” She shrugged. “Honestly, it was worth it to see, once and for all, what Richard's really like."

  Mike shrugged. “No offense, but it's good riddance to bad rubbish. The man's a slime ball."

  "Makes me wonder what I ever saw in him,” she muttered.

  Mike swept the last of the damage into the dustpan, then stood up. “What did you see in him?"

  Needing some time to think about her response, Gwyneth stood up. “Here, give me that."

  After disposing of the broom and dustpan, she returned to the living room and found Mike posed against the fireplace, presenting a very 1940s’ image. All he needed was a cigarette and a gold case to complete the picture.

  "Don't think I haven't noticed you're avoiding answering my question."

  Gwyneth sank down on the ottoman closest to the fireplace. “You're pretty sharp for a P.I.” Stalling for time, she ran her fingers back through her hair. “It was almost an accident—how we met, I mean. One of my classmates from law school introduced us. Richard was successful, and he seemed crazy about me. When I look back at it, I can see he had all the warning signs of an abuser."

  "You said he never..."

  "No, not yet, but he could've—if I'd married him.” Vainly trying to press the wrinkles from her leggings, she continued, “He's controlling and suspicious. I put on blinders, I guess. His biggest client is a Mafia don. You met his wife yesterday in my office."

  "Makes you wonder about his scruples, too."

  "Yeah. Makes me wonder about my intelligence."

  Mike sat down on the ottoman beside her. “It's easy to see how you would be attracted to that greyhound in a three-piece suit."

  The description fit Richard so perfectly, she giggled. “You're so funny."

  "Only one of my many charms, Miss Wells.” His eyes gleamed with good humor.

  "Weren't we driving to Virginia today?” she asked, changing the subject, not quite ready to think about Mike's other considerable charms.

  "Tomorrow."

  "Oh.” The thought of another twenty-four hours with Mike ... Good God, what would they find to do in all that time?

  "I'm going to call my assistant and have him bring over my laptop. I'll need it this weekend. In the meantime, do you have a computer I can use?

  "Of course."

  "And Internet access?"

  Gwyn smiled. “I assure you I am a well-adjusted member of the twenty-first century. Of course, I have Internet access."

  "Spend much time in trashy chat rooms?"

  "None. I don't have time for that."

  "Good.” Mike leaned over and brushed a feather-light kiss across her lips. “At least we don't have to worry about your having a cyber-stalker."

  "Cyber-stalker? I think I have enough trouble without that."

  "True, but we need to check your e-mail for anything that might be questionable."

  "I doubt you'll find much. I don't get a lot, and I learned a long time ago to delete messages from anyone I don't know."

  "Not a bad idea."

  She led him to a classy armoire, then opened it, revealing her computer equipment. Nothing like what he probably had in his office, but sufficient for her needs.

  Mike sat down and let his fingers fly over the keyboard.

  "Anything I can do to help?” she asked, feeling at a loss with nothing to do. She wasn't used to just standing around and wringing her hands.

  Mike looked up and grinned. “It's all pretty straightforward. Are there any files you don't want me to dig in? Tell me now, ‘cause you won't have any secrets after I'm through."

  "I'm pretty straightforward, too. No secrets,” she told him with a smile. “Uh, I think I'll soak in the Jacuzzi for a while. That way I won't distract you."

  "Good idea, because you are a very big distraction,” Mike replied, keeping his eyes on the monitor.

  Unsure whether Mike's words were a compliment or not, she nodded. “Okay, that's what I'll do then. See you in a bit.” Maybe he would join her? No, that was silly. After all, he had a job to do.

  * * * *

  Mike sat hunched over the computer for at least an hour, trying to erase images of Gwyneth in the Jacuzzi with jets and bubbles sporting around the curves of her perfect body.

  Finally he heard the soft tread of her footsteps as she came back into the living room. She approached him and rested her hand on his shoulder. Ignoring his suddenly snug pants proved almost impossible. He took a deep breath. The heady scent of her expensive perfumed soap filled his nostrils and catapulted his imagination into overdrive. Damn. How was he supposed to investigate when he couldn't keep his mind on anything but making love to her all day and all night.

  "Find anything of interest?” Gwyn leaned over his shoulder.

  Mike struggled for control and shook his head. “Not yet."

  The doorman buzzed.

  Gwyneth glided over to the intercom, but Mike could still smell her perfume.

  "Yes?"

  "A Mr. Butts to see you, Miss Wells."

  "Thank you. Send him up please.” She wandered over to where Mike was working. “You have quite a knot there.” She pressed her thumbs into the stubborn knot, kneading away the tension in his broad shoulders.

  "No wonder.” He glanced up at her with a sly smile.

  "So what is this Mr. Butts going to do besides bring you your laptop?” She nibbled at Mike's ear lobe.

  Dammit. Couldn't she see he was working ... and that she was tempting him?

  "I'm going to give him your address book. He'll do an in-depth background search on all your friends and associates. At the same time, you and I will go over your client list and come up with any candidates who might have a reason to stalk you."

  "Okay,” she agreed, but then her face clouded. “You do understand I can't allow you to handle the client files in the office. They're privileged."

  "Yes, counselor, but we can discuss any husbands or boyfriends who've made threats aga
inst your loveliness."

  "Sure.” She tried to hide a smile by chewing on her full, bottom lip. Another little habit she had that simply drove him out of his mind.

  "Have you always defended abused women? What about earlier in your career?"

  "After I graduated from law school, I worked in the D.A.'s office in Boston as a prosecutor. I guess I might have made a few enemies there. I didn't start as a defense attorney until I moved back to New York and joined my uncle's practice."

  Mike gave a sheepish grin. “I really was off the mark when I accused you of defending slime, wasn't I?"

  "Way off."

  "I misjudged you."

  "I did the same, but you were so—"

  The doorbell rang, stopping Gwyneth in mid-sentence. “You're not off the hook for your disreputable behavior, you know.” She gave an emphatic nod in his direction, then headed to the door.

  "Look before you open the door. Can't be too careful,” he warned.

  "All right, Columbo."

  After checking the peephole, she turned to Mike. “Is Sid a young guy with a crew cut and glasses?"

  "Sounds like Sid."

  Gwyn opened the door, admitting Mike's assistant.

  The bespectacled young man looked like a teenager, but in reality was in his mid-twenties, and dressed casually in loose-fitting clothes. He had Mike's laptop under his left arm and extended his right hand to Gwyn. “Hi, I'm Sid. I brought this for Mike."

  "Hello, Sid, I'm Gwyneth. Come in. He's been singing your praises."

  Mike watched in amusement as Sid's gaze did the usual up-and-down survey of their client's figure. “Well, Mike hasn't said much about you at all."

  "You weren't in the office yesterday when she came by."

  "Sorry I missed you.” Sid shuffled over to Mike, who popped a floppy out of Gwyn's computer. “Here's her address book. I want you to do a search on everyone."

  "Come on, Mike. Give me a clue. What am I looking for?"

  "Anything suspicious. Someone with a grudge against our client."

  Sid's gaze slid up and down Gwyneth again. “They must be crazy. Can't say I blame ‘em. She's a fox."

  "And look up anything you can find on Sam Vitullo. He's the punk who tried to bash her lovely head into a pulp. He's currently in the hospital in police custody."