Captured (15 page)

If the funny business happens while both parties are unconscious, does it still count as funny business?

Yikes. Was I so out of it that I actually invited Zack to sleep in my bed when there was a perfectly good couch in the room?

I lift my head off the pillow just enough to check the bedside clock red numbers flash, all zeros. The cable box next to the television seems to accurately display the time four fifty. Our wake-up call will be coming in ten short minutes. A wave of fatigue washes over me…along with memories of the last few days. I need another twelve hours sleep. No wonder my thinking was muddled. I move to slip out of bed when Zack stirs.

“Shit!” His hand moves off me so fast, you might have thought he’d been burned. He quickly puts distance between us. “Sorry.”

I roll over to face him. “It’s okay.”

“Really?” He places his hand on my hip. Gives it a gentle squeeze.

I gently remove it. “Not so fast, hotdog. Can’t help what you did when we were asleep. But we’re awake now. And we’re meeting with the committee in just over an hour. We need to get ready. And sex between you and me? Not a good idea.”

Zack sits up and reaches for the bedside lamp.
Click.

The room is flooded with light.

He looks back at me over his shoulder. “I guess I’m going to have to agree to disagree with you on that point, Agent Monroe. I should probably confess, I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought and happen to believe sex between you and me is a fine idea.” He snatches the key card from the top of the nightstand and climbs to his feet. “You still up for dinner when we’re through? We can both pretend I
didn’t
feel you up. Wouldn’t want the evening to be awkward.”

I shrug. “Girl’s got to eat.”

Zack’s chosen an Italian restaurant two blocks from the hotel. The interior reminds me of a place I used to frequent in Rome. For a moment I feel a pang of longing. Whitewashed walls, linen tablecloths, and flickering candlelight sets a mood I realize I wish I could more frequently indulge in. Zack pulls out my chair.

I hesitate. “You don’t need to do that. This isn’t a date.”

He frowns. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a killjoy, Monroe? Shut up and sit down. Order yourself a drink. Entertain me with witty repartee and allow me the pleasure of basking in your beauty. I promise not to ask you to have my babies. Okay?”

I sit. “Marriage is also off the table. As is any commitment of any kind.”

Zack slides the chair underneath me. “You drive a hard bargain.”

We talk for hours, sharing our impressions about the earlier debriefing, about the case, about the Borosons, Nicolsons, and Andersons. Speculating about how it will all play out. We trade work stories. Share the bust we’re most proud of and the yet-to-be-solved open case that still keeps us up at night. There’s a noticeable lack of mention of family or friends, of relationships, of the past or future. For me it’s a relief. I can be completely present in the now, enjoy the atmosphere, the company, the food, and the wine. We top off the meal with vanilla gelato and a glass of Limoncello.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” Zack asks.

He opens the door and I step outside. It had stopped raining earlier, now it’s misting again and neither of us had the foresight to bring an umbrella.

“Nine,” I tell him. “I have to be at the airport by seven thirty.”

“I’ll drive you.”

The rain starts to come down a bit harder.

Zack removes his jacket and holds it over my head.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

He shrugs. “I know.”

I look up at the jacket. “I mean it. Would you hold a jacket over Lincoln’s head?”

“No.” Grudgingly, he slips it back on. “But we do make out all the time.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, really?”

“Yup.”

We’ve stopped walking.

Zack takes a step toward me.

I take a step back.

This is a dance as old as the ages. One I can do expertly. One I was made for.

The wind is starting to pick up again.

“Tell me, is Agent Lincoln a good kisser?” I ask.

Zack takes another step toward me, then another. I match them until I can’t go any farther. My back is against a wall of red brick. He leans down, his lips a hairsbreadth away from mine. He lifts his hand, touches the side of my face, brushes my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “You afraid you might suffer by comparison?”

I say nothing, instead I stare into his eyes, open my mouth and draw him inside. He steps closer still, his body is flush to mine. I pull and suck gently, gliding my tongue past the knuckle to the base of his thumb and up again, the time for subtlety over.

His breath hitches, his free hand goes to my waist.

I feel his erection growing against the softness of my belly.

Zack searches my eyes. “Christ, I want to kiss you.”

My fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, a nail grazing a nipple. “What would Lincoln say?”

“Fuck Lincoln.” He reaches behind and removes a few of the pins holding my hair in place. It’s raining harder now. His suit is soaked through, so is mine. “You’re killing me here.”

I place a hand on his chest. “It can’t mean anything, Zack. Just sex. Just for tonight. Then we go our separate ways.”

A cloud of confusion passes across Zack’s face. Then it’s replaced by a decision made. He takes my hand in his and we start off again toward the hotel. “You say that now.”

“No!” I stop, digging my heels in, forcing him to turn back and face me. “Those are my terms. I need your word you’ll abide by them. No flowers. No calls. No texts. When I leave tomorrow, we’re done.”

He stares down at me long and hard. “You’re complicated.”

“I know.”

“And strange,” he adds.

“Yeah.”

His mouth comes crashing down on mine in a kiss that’s filled with pent-up passion. His lips are soft, his tongue sure as it curls around mine. A hand rises to my breast, the same one that held it earlier while we slept. No sooner does it reach its destination, he pulls away.

“Your room or mine?”

The kiss has left me wanting, breathless. “Mine.”

Zack’s suit coat hits the floor before the door to my hotel room closes. My jacket follows, then I busy my hands working the buttons of his dress shirt, pulling off his tie. Zack reaches around and grabs the zipper of my skirt. There’s a hiss as it opens. A gentle tug past my hips and it’s puddled on the floor. One hand is tangled in my hair, the other urgently kneading my ass when his lips once again lower to meet mine.

The restraint Zack showed in the street is gone. His hands are everywhere. His mouth is on my neck, my shoulder. I’m pleasantly dizzy, warmed by wine and desire, caught in a whirl of flying clothes and demanding kisses. When we break apart he lifts me up and tosses me, sprawling, onto the bed. He reaches for an ankle and lifts it straight up into the air.

“This is all you should have worn to dinner,” his voice is husky.

I wore a conservative suit to our meeting, then to dinner. Black pencil skirt, matching tailored jacket, understated black poplin blouse. It’s the rest of the outfit that’s managed to grab Zack’s attention. Three-inch patent pumps, black thigh-high stockings, and Chantilly lace panties.

He runs his hand down the length of my silk covered leg, caressing it, ankle to hip.

I reach up and unbutton the top button of my blouse, then the next, and the next. “I wore all of this to dinner,” I remind him, opening my blouse so he can see the lace demi-cup bra, trimmed in silk. “You going to tell me you never fantasized about what might be underneath my prim and proper suits?”

“Every damned day of this case.”

His head and chest begin to drop. Whether he’s intending to go for my breasts, stomach, or delve between my thighs, I don’t know. I plant my free foot square in the middle of his chest and apply a little pressure.

An eyebrow raises.

“Protection?”

I know we don’t need it. Zack’s lycanthropy keeps him free from disease and I can’t conceive. So we’re safe on both counts. But
he
doesn’t know that.

“There are condoms in the red case in the bathroom,” I say, pushing even more with the heel of my shoe. A smart Siren is always packing.

Zack wraps his hand around my ankle and hooks my leg over his shoulder. “We don’t need condoms for this,” he murmurs, lowering his head to the covered mound between my legs.

I’m already wet.

He inhales deeply, then looks up.

My eyes meet his.

“I told you I have a gift for tracking,” he says, a slight smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “Well, hold on, baby. This here is my true talent.”

A quick tug and the delicate lingerie is in shreds. But I don’t care. Because Zack is sucking on my clit, fucking me with his tongue, squeezing the cheeks of my ass with his strong and capable hands. And I am flying.

CHAPTER 14

I’m submerged in the extra-deep bath up to my neck. Zack is a voracious lover, confident and creative. We’re well matched, both in and out of bed. I strain to see if I can hear him breathing in the next room over the drip of the faucet.

I can’t.

My body is blissfully sore. My inner thighs chafe from his stubble. My nipples tight and tender from his mouth. My hands slide up to cup my breasts. I want more. I just can’t help myself. A Siren is a Siren.

“I believe it’s my turn to play with those. Scoot up.” Zack slides in behind me. “Having trouble sleeping?”

I recline back against his well-muscled chest.

“We don’t have much time left. I didn’t want to sleep them away. I can do that on the plane. I wanted to savor what just happened.”

I feel him smile against the back of my shoulder. “Changing your mind? About seeing more of me?”

One hand is snaking down between my legs, separating my folds, finding the evidence of my need.

My head drops back into the crook of his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen every inch of you, Agent Armstrong.”

His fingers are pumping inside me now. His thumb, circling my clit.

I feel his erection growing against my backside.

“I want to make you come,” he says.

And he does.

First with his fingers. Then with his cock. I ride it into oblivion, our arms wrapped around one another. Nothing between us but hot soapy water and a boatload of truths left unsaid. As I break into a million pieces, we cling to one another, sweaty and satisfied. I realize I don’t want to go. I don’t want to say goodbye. Which is exactly why it’s so imperative that I do.

It’s time to do the right thing. The safe thing. The
only
thing.

We’ve had our moment.

Zack’s arms are tight around me. “I could get a couple of days off. Go back to San Diego with you.”

I stiffen. “No. We’ve been through this.”

He pulls me closer. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand you. We fit, Monroe. We’re a great team. This was more than a romp. It means something. I know you feel it, too. ”

Of course I do. I stare ahead, afraid to look at him. There have been a few special men in my long life—the few days we were together made me realize that Zack could easily be another one. But special men in my life come to unhappy ends. The curse of the Siren. The price Demeter requires of me until she deems my punishment complete. I can never risk love. If I do, and it’s returned… Well the object of my affection will meet the worst of fates. And I’m powerless to change it, to do anything but live with the pain, the guilt.

Zack is a good man. I can’t be responsible for his undoing.

“I’m sorry,” to him. Then to myself
, And I wish things could be different
.

I push myself out of the tub and wrap a towel around my body. I feel Zack’s eyes follow me out of the bathroom but I don’t turn around.

It’s time to continue the mission. In a couple hours I’ll be boarding a plane to San Diego. Tomorrow Zack will be a memory. Tomorrow I’ll be home. Tomorrow there will be another case. And I’ll be repeating those same words…

Redemption could be one rescue away
.

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

S. J. Harper
is the pen name for the writing team of
Samantha Sommersby
and
Jeanne C. Stein
, two friends
who met at Comic- Con in San Diego and quickly bonded
over a mutual love of good wine, edgy urban fantasy, and
everything Joss Whedon.

Samantha Sommersby
left what she used to call her
“real- life” day job in the psychiatric !eld to pursue writing
full- time in 2007. She is the author of more than ten
novels and novellas including the critically acclaimed
Forbidden
series. She currently lives with her husband
and terrier pup, Olive, in a century- old Southern California
Craftsman. Sam happily spends her days immersed
in a world where vampires, werewolves, and
demons are real, myths, and legends are revered, magic
is possible, and love still conquers all.

Jeanne Stein
is
the national bestselling author of
The Anna Strong Vampire Chronicles
. She also has numerous
short story credits, including most recently the novella
Blood Debt
from the
New York Times
bestselling anthology
Hexed
. Her series has been picked up in three foreign
countries and her short stories published in
collections here in the U.S. and the U.K. She lives in
Denver, Colorado, where she !nds gardening a challenge
more daunting than navigating the world of mythical
creatures.

Contact or learn more about
S.J. Harper
by visiting the author’s website: SJHarper.me.

CURSED

A Fallen Siren Novel

S. J. Harper

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

CHAPTER 1

You’ve seen one dark, rugged werewolf, you’ve seen them all.

That’s what I told myself the first time I laid eyes on Zack Armstrong. I was wrong. Dead wrong. And now that presumption has come back to bite me in the ass.