Authors: Kendra Little
Snapped
Other Books by Kendra:
Robin Hood and his Immoral Men
Pleasure
and Pain
The Complete Series of the House of O
SNAPPED
CHAPTER 1
The woman was young, blonde, and a little
too plastic to be called pretty. Dressed in a red lace teddy and nothing else,
she leaned forward so that her large breasts spilled onto the man's chest. He
lay on the bed, entirely naked, and caught one of her lace-clad nipples in his
mouth. The woman moaned.
Or so Lucy
imagined. She couldn't actually hear the lovers, but she could see everything
as if it were happening right there in the dark room of the apartment she'd
rented for the week.
Her camera lens
focused on the mole on the left of the man's groin.
Click
. Moles were
good. Just in case the face shots didn't work out, moles or birthmarks always
framed their man beyond doubt. Beyond doubt in the wife's mind, that is.
Lucy zoomed out to get a photo of the
entire scene. John Mollino, forty-five, Bellerae resident with a trophy wife
and a Golden Retriever he walked every morning—just the dog, not the wife—sat
up and plunged his hands into the bra cups of the woman's teddy. Her breasts
were too large even for his broad palms. She arched her back into him and with
one swift movement, he tore the flimsy fabric from her body with a magician's
flair.
Voila
.
The next few
minutes were a blurred frenzy and Lucy doubted she caught anything on film that
the trophy wife would find useful. She packed up her camera and tripod just as
Mollino's rotund body wobbled in climax. Usually she got aftermath shots as
well, but not this time. In fact, not for the last six months on any job. Photographing
cheating husbands as they bonked their latest bimbo never turned her on
anymore.
She didn't know
why. Ever since her best friend, Abbey, had left town to live with her fiancé
in Stanton, she'd felt like she was missing out on something. She had no idea
what. Maybe she just missed Abbey. Whatever the reason, it was getting kind of
irritating. Not to mention boring. If she wasn't careful she'd wind up a dried
old prune with nothing to live on but memories of a misspent but glorious
youth.
Lucy picked up
her camera bag and tripod and left the apartment, locking it behind her. She'd
been lucky to get access to it for such a short time, but since the owners were
having trouble renting it, they were happy to get anything.
She slipped the
keys into the pocket of her short jacket and slung the camera bag over one
shoulder, the tripod over the other, and entered the lift. She traveled down the
twenty-two floors to the ground. When the doors slid open with a ding, she
stepped out.
And slammed into
a brick wall.
Or that's what
the man's body felt like. The tall, dark and hot stranger gripped her shoulders
to steady her, holding her at arm's length.
Then he let go.
Damn.
A man like that
could hold her all night and she wouldn't mind. Especially if his presence
alone could make her nerve endings hum the way they did now.
"Sorry,"
she said, "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"No
kidding." His gaze took in her face then grazed down her body to her spiky
black heels, before lazily skimming back up again. It was a thorough scrutiny
and Lucy felt naked beneath its intensity.
She wouldn't
mind
getting
naked with him. He was one hell of a specimen—just what she
needed to entice her out of her sexual rut.
She drew herself
up to her full height—which brought her eyes level with a chest to die for—and
arched a brow. "I did say sorry."
He grunted. Great,
another Neanderthal. Time for a reality check. Men who look that good rarely had
the brains or personality to maintain her interest. She sighed.
Been there,
done that.
But wow he was
gorgeous. At least six foot three with a set of shoulders and a chest that
strained the stitching on the blue cotton shirt. She took every inch of him in,
the way he'd done to her a moment ago, and liked what she saw. Besides the
shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal solid forearms, he wore black jeans
that hugged lean hips and did nothing to hide an impressive bulge. His jaw
sported a five o'clock shadow and his black hair was cropped short. A thin scar
trickled from the corner of his left eye to the top of his cheekbone. His eyes
were black in the dim light of the foyer and his direct gaze screamed 'mess
with me at your own risk'.
Usually she'd
give it a shot, bait the scary Neanderthal into showing her a good time, but
not anymore. She wasn't in the mood to play a sexual game of cat and mouse. Not
even with this fantasy man. God only knows why but a handsome face and great
body wasn't enough. Not anymore.
She went to step
around him but he moved and blocked her path.
"What the
hell are you doing?"
He ignored her
question and nodded at her equipment. "Photographer?" He had a voice
that vibrated deep within his chest and slid across her skin.
"So
observant! You
must
be a detective." Sarcasm dripped from every
word but she didn't care. Usually it got results, especially with bullies.
He grunted again. Yep, one step away from
his Neanderthal ancestors. At least in manners, if not in body. Hell no, not in
body. Maybe she could try him on for size. It's not like she wanted to
talk
to the guy or anything, just fool around for a while, get out of this funk. Maybe
he was just what her tired libido needed. A big, strong, dumb man with a
package that promised something special. Who better to end her drought than
another brainless hunk?
She licked her lips as she eyed the
muscles straining under his shirt. Oh yeah, the drought was about to end with a
flood.
She gave him an
apologetic smile which she hoped came across as flirty too. She never used to
hope these things, she just used to
do
them. "Sorry. I didn't mean
to call you a detective." She winked for good measure.
He glared down
at her, disdain carved into his hard features. Her smile and wink hadn't
affected him at all. Usually it had them begging. She was rustier than she
thought.
"You're
sorry you called me a detective? Since when is that an insult?" His top
lip curled up into either a snarl or a smile, she couldn't tell which.
"I was a
cop once, briefly. The detectives were my least favorite rank in the force. Too
arrogant."
"Do you
have a reason for this bias or is it just based on the fact that you couldn't
make it as a cop?"
Lucy stiffened. What
an asshole! Where did this guy get off speaking to her as if— "Ahhh. I get
it. You
are
a detective."
The smirk faded and he reached for her. She
stood her ground and gripped the tripod tighter, ready to swing it if he so
much as touched her with those big hands. He did touch her, on the shoulder as
he reached past and pressed the button for the lift. He smelled faintly of a
woody aftershave. His throat was inches from her lips and she wanted to kiss
him in the hollow just above the sprinkle of hair revealed by his open-necked
shirt. He turned his face to look at her and he drew in a breath as if sucking
her into his lungs, then let it out slowly, flipping the hair behind her ear.
The lift dinged
its availability and the moment was gone. He stepped around her, his arm
brushing against her shoulder again, and got in the lift. He held the doors
open.
"What's
your name?" he asked with a tilt of his stubbled chin.
"Lucy."
Her voice sounded breathy and she mentally kicked herself. She was never
breathy. Breathy was better suited to women like the one who'd been giving John
Mollino a private lap dance in his secret apartment. "And yours?"
He gave her
another one of those smirks and let go of the doors. "Nick," he said
as they closed.
Lucy stared at
the lift doors for a long time, still reeling from his powerful presence. He
exuded barely contained energy and she had to admit she'd been taken in by it. She
was definitely a sucker for big men with impressive bulges.
The little light
above the lift doors stopped at the twenty-second floor.
Uh-oh
. She
chewed the inside of her lip and spun on her heel. If he really was a cop, the
quicker she got out of there the better. Photographing people without their
consent was grounds for harassment.
Nick. He must be
a cop. It would explain his attitude. Cops, especially detectives, thought they
were God's gift to society and women, when usually they were just a rogue
menace to both.
She walked
quickly out of the building in case he realized what she'd been up to and
returned to question her. She piled her equipment into her battered old Honda
and jumped into the driver's seat. With a last glance back at the glass and
steel Southbank apartment building, she zoomed through the back streets to her
Richmond home.
An hour later, she
sat in front of her electric heater on her living room floor and studied the
photos spread out on the rug. Even before she finished flipping through them
her heart sank. They were useless. Too dark or too blurry. A few came out okay
but didn't show the girlfriend's face—not enough to satisfy Janet Mollino. The
society queen would want absolute proof before she threw away the profitable
investment that was her marriage to the building magnate.
Lucy swore. She
used to be good at her job. Now she'd have to do it all over again the
following night, if Mollino decided to get his rocks off again. It would be a
risk. If Detective Nick were checking out a complaint involving her, she might
find herself in a sticky situation.
Then again, if
he were like all the other cops she knew, it wouldn't take much to persuade him
that she was innocent. She might actually enjoy persuading him. In fact, she
was sure she would. Persuading Detective Nick to let her off without a mark
against her file could be exactly what her flagging libido needed.
Too bad he was
an arrogant jerk, but she could make the sacrifice in the name of justice and
her sex life. She smiled. And if that bulge in his pants were any indication, she'd
have a damn fine time in the process.
***
Nick Dante
couldn't believe how unlucky he was. He'd expected Lucy Hudson to remain in the
apartment for at least another half hour, but she'd left before the encore. According
to his partner, Dave O'Connor, and the other guys in his unit, that wasn't like
her. She liked to watch. He'd heard she also liked to participate but not when
she was working. That usually came later.
He'd caught the
lift to the twenty-second floor because he might as well check out the
apartment she'd used while he was there and because he couldn't just leave
while she was in the vicinity. He didn't want to give anything away, not until
after he'd caught her in the act of spying on his prime suspect.
He'd enjoyed
their little dance in the foyer just now. Lucy definitely lived up to her
reputation as a vixen in a cute little package. Jagged wisps of blonde hair
flipped out at the ends as if caught by a breeze, framing a fine-boned face
with sky-blue eyes and kissable lips. And that body. Tight black pants
stretched over the curve of her thigh and butt, leaving nothing to the
imagination. Every muscle was visible beneath the fabric as she moved with
feline grace. He'd wanted to press his fingers to her hip and feel her
strength, her heat.
When he'd leaned
close to press the lift button, the luscious scent of jasmine and woman sucked
him in. He wanted to taste her, lick every inch of skin and swim in that scent.
He'd never be able to smell jasmine again without thinking of her body. He couldn't
taste her, but he could touch her. When he reached past her, skin brushed skin
and a ball of fire ignited at the point of connection.