Dead Sexy (9 page)

“I don’t want to hurt you, Gemma.” He kept his hands down at his side. His body was perfectly still, but that didn’t stop his gaze from tracing my curves. Drinking in the sight of my heaving breasts and bare belly. His lips twitched into a soft smile when he saw the brightly colored panties that covered my ass.

Mint green wasn’t exactly my favorite color, but the panties were cheerful and fun. The combed cotton was soft against my skin.

His gaze narrowed slightly. “I’ve hurt people, Gemma.”

“You were in the army.” I swallowed, hard. “You’re a Biter. A zombie.”

The word tasted like ash in my mouth. My mother was right. It was mean. Cruel. Politically incorrect.

D.S. didn’t flinch. “I remember it all sometimes, late at night. Not just the scent of wisteria. The pain. The misery. I was a bad man.” He shook his head. “I am a bad man. People who get close to me—people who trust me—they all end up dead. My wife—I had a wife. Years ago. I had a wife and son and…”

I swallowed uneasily. Zombies might not remember much, but they still had feelings. They remembered feelings. Emotions. If something had happened to D.S.’s family… he might not be able to tell me their birthdays or favorite colors, but he could still remember the way they’d made him feel.

A lot of people’s lives had ended when the dead rose. Some of them had come back, others had been ripped to shreds—left in pieces—others had died in car accidents or when the planes failed with undead pilots at their helms and undead air traffic control officers unable to bring them down.

In four days the world had gone from happily ever after to death, decay, and ruin. It was nobody’s fault. Still, the pain of his family’s death must have been unimaginable.

“My father died,” I said quietly. “He had a heart condition. The doctors said it was a shame it happened when it did. After the transplants stopped. Otherwise—” I swallowed hard. “He might have lived. He could have lived. If it wasn’t for the government.”

His death had hurt so damn much. I’d cried for days. My mother was still living with the pain of losing a spouse. It was unimaginable.

“You won’t hurt me,” I promised D.S. “Not unless you stop.”

He kissed me again, so soft that I might have missed it except for the movement of air against my cheek. His lips fluttered softly.

This time things were slower and less desperate. He was taking his time, touching me in all the right places. His hand was on my breast, massaging it over the top of my bra. He tugged at my nipple and bent slowly to lick at it. Once, twice. He sucked hard—making me squirm—then licked the pain away.

My body was tingling in all the right places.

His other hand dropped down to dip inside the waist of my panties. He stroked once, twice.

My body arched against him as I gasped and moaned, pressing myself up on my tiptoes to draw him closer.

He took a step forward, pushing me back against the nearest table. My hips connected with the cold metal and I shivered under the fierce air conditioning. D.S. could kiss me until I lost all sense and control. His hands could scrape my insides until I came screaming his name, but he could never keep me warm.

His hand wrapped around my waist. He lifted me up and set my barely clothed behind on the metal table so I was sitting, facing him. My legs flexed and spread to make room for him between my knees. This new position brought me closer to him. Our faces were only an inch apart. He could kiss me without bending down, without my pushing myself up on my tiptoes.

His kisses became deeper. Our bodies were pressed tight together. He—

There was something hard between my legs. Hard, long, and solid. I sucked in a breath as I recognized his erection. Damn, maybe he was a real boy after all. Not just some kind of sex-crazed mannequin.

My hand moved down to tug at the waist of his jeans. I wanted to hold it in my hands.

To stroke it.

To wonder.

To finally know.

He shifted my panties to the side and flicked his thumb against my clitoris. The move sent a jolt of heat through my body. I gasped as he slid a finger inside my tight core. Not too far. Not too hard.

Just enough to make me cry out.

His thumb kept moving, stroking me back and forth, building heat inside of me, making me gasp and shudder as he stroked my rhythmically. The world was suddenly brighter. I could see everything. Hear everything. Feel everything.

D.S. was everything, and then the sensation crested and broke inside of me. I cried out loud and uncontrollable, screaming as the orgasm burnt me up from the inside. It was everything I’d ever dreamed about and more. I wanted more.

“Please,” I whimpered. “I want you… I need you inside me, I need to feel…”

His finger moved inside me, making me buck and moan.

“Gemma, the things you say.”

“I can’t die like this.” I clutched at his collar. “A virgin. Living with my mother. This can’t be the end. I need to live.”

“And I’m just a means to an end.” His body went still. His hand dropped down lifelessly between us. “Is it me you want, Gemma? Or would any hard body do? What if I wasn’t standing here?” His teeth gleamed in the overhead lights. “Would you be moaning like this for anybody? Spreading your legs for another man? For Hick?”

“What do you want me to say?” I swallowed, hard. “Do you want some declaration of love?” Did I love him? D.S. was smart, funny, and drop dead gorgeous. He listened to what I had to say, and had my back in a fight. I liked him. I more than liked him. Was that love? I swallowed, hard. “It’s not possible. We’ve only just met.”

“You’re right.” He nodded slowly. “We can’t do this. Not tonight. You deserve better than this—better than me—for your first time. You deserve to be in love.”

Not tonight. The night I was going to die. My body shivered at the thought. Maybe I was still going to die a virgin, but I couldn’t die alone. “Please,” I begged. “Don’t leave me. Promise me. You won’t leave.”

There was a moment’s pause.

D.S. stepped back and began to straighten his shirt. His brow was furrowed. His jaw was tight. Lips that had been pressed against my mouth only a moment earlier were curved in displeasure. He nodded slowly. “I won’t leave you. Not tonight.”

13.

The couch in my office wasn’t quite big enough for two, but D.S. wrapped me in his arms and held me all night long. It felt safe and comfortable. Like I belonged there with him.

The next morning dawned bright and early. My eyes flickered open, and I sucked in a deep breath. “How are you feeling?” D.S. asked his voice crackling down my spine. He was so damn close. I could feel every inch of him.

His broad shoulders, carved with muscle, and the strength of his desire.

His rock hard erection had been pressed against me for most of the night.

“Like I got hit by a wrecking ball.” I stretched slowly, feeling every cut and bruise. “I feel hungry.”

“For blood and brains?” he asked.

“For some huevos rancheros with extra guacamole.”

D.S. was staring at me like I’d just said the wrong thing. Did he have something against Mexican food that he’d never told me about? Was avocado secretly Biter Kryptonite?

Biter Kryptonite.

All the pain and rage of the night before came back in a tsunami of emotion as I remembered my date with another man, the Biter in the crowd, the fight in the alley, and coming back to the mortuary afterwards.

Then there’d been the bite.

I sucked in a deep breath.

“I was bitten.” Just three little words, but they might as well have been bombs going off in the quiet of my office. I added three more. “Am I dead?”

No, duh. I bit back a groan. Not only was I dead, I sounded like an idiot. People who got bitten died. Then they came back.

All of them.

“I’m dead.”

“No,” D.S. said, and there was a sense of wonder in his voice. Like he’d looked into the void and seen something unfathomable staring back. “You’re alive. You’re so damn full of life. There have been rumors over the years. Mutterings about—” He sucked in a deep breath. “Never mind. You were right. He got you through a layer of fabric. His mouth must not have connected properly. He was missing most of his teeth anyway. It wasn’t a real bite.”

“Of course.” My fingers drifted up to touch my collarbone, feeling the grooves of a Biter’s teeth in my skin.

How close had I been to death?

I swallowed hard, desperate to think about anything else.

My office was colder than usual. The crisp air made my bare skin tingle. I padded over to the desk and opened the bottom drawer to find something to wear. The denim shorts I’d worn the previous morning were near the top of the pile. I shimmied into them quickly, then continued rummaging through my rag-tag collection of clothes.

Over the last few days, my wardrobe had taken quite a hit.

There wasn’t much to choose from.

I finally found what I was looking for near the bottom of the pile; a forest green shirt with long sleeves and a boat neck collar that almost reached my collarbone.

My arms screamed in agony as I pulled the shirt on over my head and smoothed it down across my full breasts and flat belly. It was practically sedate—compared to what I normally wear—and completely wrong for a humid Detroit summer.

On the plus side, it covered the bite mark on my shoulder.

Perfect.

I was tucking the hem of the shirt into my pants when the door popped open.

Bang. The heavy wood slammed against the wall.

“Gemma Sinclair!” My mother strode in like an ancient Valkyrie, ready to go to war for dead men’s souls… a Valkyrie in a pale blue a-line dress that buttoned up the front. “Have you seen the mess in the preparation room? There’s blood everywhere. It’s a massacre—” Her eyes widened as she took in my bruised and battered body. “What the fuck happened?”

Hearing my mother swear was like seeing the dead rise for the first time all over again.

It was a sure sign of the apocalypse.

My mother’s blonde hair was slicked up in a tidy French twist. A strand of pearls graced her delicate neck. Her gaze swooped up and down across my bare feet and mud splattered legs. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she noted the blood on my skin and the mess on the floor.

Then she turned to assess D.S. Her gaze moved quickly over his broad shoulders, blood covered button down shirt and denim jeans. She took in his handsome face and his dead green eyes.

“What exactly are you supposed to be?”

“D.S. Thomas Conroy from the Department of Undead Americans. I’m here in Detroit looking into an issue in the local undead community.” He stood up and reached into his back pocket, pulling out the leather envelope that held his ID badge. “Your daughter’s been helping me with the investigation.”

It was pretty impressive as far as introductions go. Martina Matthews-Sinclair couldn’t care less. Her jaw tightened into a frown. She didn’t bother looking at the offered badge. “The Department of Undead Americans.” Her breath was shallow. Her gaze flickered over his features a second time, like she’d gone hunting for hidden treasure and found toxic mold instead. Mom tapped her kitten heel against the cracked linoleum floor. “I didn’t know the government was employing Biters these days.”

“The President doesn’t want to upset people.” D.S. slid his badge back into his blue jeans. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “There are still some humans who feel like Biters can’t be trusted.”

“Imagine that.” Mom nodded. “And a DUA agent needs my daughter’s help because?”

“The DUA is a new branch of the government. We are expanding rapidly. However, we don’t have agents everywhere.” He grinned sheepishly. “Don’t tell the FBI, but occasionally we contract with local experts. You daughter has proven herself extremely… useful.”

There was a long pause while my mother considered the available information. “She’s a smart girl. Takes after her father.” There was a short pause. “Want to tell me why the two of you look like you got caught in a meat grinder?”

“Biters.” My mouth was dry.

The walls of my office felt like they were closing in. I swallowed hard and shifted towards my mother.

“There were Biters. An entire gang of them. Last night. They attacked us.” I swallowed hard, thinking about the ambush the night before. All those dead eyes staring in my direction. Flat. Angry. Hungry. The scent of blood had been heavy in the air, and I hadn’t been able to escape. I’m a Hunter. I’m pretty damn good but still.

Being cornered in an alley by a dozen dead men wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time.

I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully. “D.S. saved me.”

“And you came back here? You didn’t go to the hospital?”

Hospitals are nice places, but they lock potential Biters away in padded rooms. Alone. That hadn’t been an option.

I shrugged. “It was late.”

“Honestly, Gemma…” My mother was about to go ballistic. All the signs were there. Her skin was red. Her expression was pinched. Her hand went up idly to toy with the pearls around her neck. Any moment now, and she’d be screaming. Three. Two. One—

“There needs to be a deposit.” Her gaze flicked back to D.S. “Anytime we work for the government, we require a deposit. Several days payment in advances. I’m sure Gemma told you.”

This was the first I’d heard about a deposit.

I held my breath.

D.S. nodded. “I’ll write a check as soon as I get back to my hotel room. We agreed on a hundred and fifty an hour?”

For one brief moment, my mother’s body was perfectly still. Someone who didn’t know better might think she was dead. Or dying. Her pale skin flushed a deep mauve. “One hundred and fifty dollars an hour.” Her smile filled her entire face, reaching all the way to her eyes. “A reasonable amount given the severity of the situation—searching for missing paperwork—I’ll just go and draw up a contact. An estimate for our time—” Her nostrils flared as she gave me one last quick once over. “Expenses.”

Then she was gone, with a swish of her skirt and a swing of her hip, hurrying away before D.S. could change his mind about the money.