Page 28 of Only the Wicked

Alena’s soft smile comes to mind. A Russian living in Paris, she had dreams. She might have been a member of the embassy cleaning crew, but she’d been a valuable asset. She reported on schedules, meeting attendees, and the kind of inner politics one can only glean from tone of voice and respect. She’d been found on a street, an apparent OD. But no one believed that, not really.

Rhodes MacMillan didn’t take part in her death. He might not have even sold the asset list that ended lives and terminated my CIA career. But intelligence suggests someone in his company did.

I unzip my cosmetics bag and catch his heated gaze, glued to my naked form.

He’s fully dressed. I wiggle a finger at him.

“Take that shirt off. I don’t like being the only one barely dressed.”

He grins as he unbuttons his shirt, but it’s the way he’s looking at me like he’s a wolf and I’m a lamb he’s about to devour that’s almost enough to make me call off the charade and locate a condom. The need to take control is a strong one. And in this situation, if I give in to my desire, it only puts me closer to finding answers.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting sex. Enjoying sex. We’re both consenting adults. It’s not like I have to share intimate details with my new boss or the team. We’re looking to understand who he’s cutting deals with. Which countries or individuals are benefitting from his AI surveillance system.

The man undressing is a brilliant engineer. An unscrupulous truth finder. Wildly successful, brilliant, and possibly morally gray.

And far too gorgeous for his own good.

This man could have anyone, but right now, he’s in my hotel room, staring at me like I’m a worthy centerfold. Of all the women in the world, at this moment, he wants me. I have the power.

My thumb presses on the flat end of the lavender device, checking the charge. Vibrations emanate through my thumb to my wrist, and as the pressure continues, the low hum increases in decibels exponentially.

He tweaks his finger in a slow, come-hither command.

The gravitational pull to those molten eyes is so intense my knees weaken, yet my legs deliver me to him.

He holds his palm out, asking for the vibrator.

Obediently, I place it on his palm. The pads of my finger brush his skin, and in return, every inch of my skin awakens—a live wire.

“This is what you use?”

He holds it up and inspects the simple design. The circumference is about that of a lipstick case, the length slightly longer.

“It’s good for travel.” Feeling braver, I add, “Minimal embarrassment through TSA.”

He smirks.

“Lie down.”

My gaze tracks his broad shoulders, down to his pectoral muscles, and lower to his firm abdomen. I itch to run my fingers over every divot and curve, to press against the firm muscle beneath his unblemished skin, to tease the smattering of black hair over his chest and the thickening trail that leads lower.

I crawl back on the bed to assume my prior position, stomach down.

“On your back. If you like, place your head on a pillow.”

As if in a trance, I do exactly as he says. I shouldn’t. No, I should feign cramps, ask to see him in the morning, tease him along. He’s not going to share anything with me tonight.

I captured his phone information and sent it on to Quinn earlier tonight when I went to the ladies’ room. They could have everything they need. My mission might be accomplished. Done. Over.

Yet here I am. If my mission is completed, if I’m doing this solely because it’s what I want to do, does that make what I’m doing less reproachable? Less wicked?

“Gorgeous.” Rhodes’ appreciation, in his guttural, deep breath, pools between my legs and I literally feel my clit pulse.

Just touch me.

The mattress dips with his weight, sinking as each balled fist and knee crawls closer. He hovers over me, biceps straining, the hum of the vibrator intense thanks to the proximity to my ear and the physical tremor through the rumpled comforter.

He lowers, consuming the oxygen between us and slowing time. His lips are soft, his tongue’s exploration slow, and his thigh, the one between my legs, presses down, hard and firm over my core. My hips instinctually roll against him, seeking pressure my body craves.