The Naked Detective: Karmic Consultants, Book 4 Page 8

  “I don’t appreciate lies,” Lubov said. “After the display you put on downstairs on the dance floor, you can’t expect me to believe you are strangers.” He waved his gun toward Ciara, beckoning. “Come out of there, my dear. We mustn’t hold the elevator too long. It’s rude.”

  Nate tipped his head down in a slight nod—either that or he was trying to stem the blood flowing from the scalp wound at the back of his head. Ciara stepped out of the elevator, followed by the bitch skank who’d lured them into this. So much for feminine solidarity.

  Lubov and his merry men led them down the hall and into the suite from her vision. They shoved Nate down onto one of the white couches near the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the marina. He was still bleeding, but Lubov apparently had no appreciation for the difficulty of getting blood out of white upholstery. He directed Ciara toward a nearby chair. She plunked down onto it.

  What would Charlie’s Angels do? Besides never get themselves into this situation in the first place.

  She was unarmed, surrounded by a Russian Mafioso and his henchmen, Nate was bleeding, and they didn’t even have the necklace to use for leverage. The necklace… A spark of an idea flickered to life in Ciara’s mind.

  “You can’t shoot us,” Nate said, swaying a little from blood loss. “The FBI knows where I am. You would never get away with it. No matter how loyal the staff is to you.”

  “Oh? Are you sure about that? Would the FBI really care about the death of a burn-out who blew his cover? Oh yes, we know all about you, Agent Smith. Maybe you put a bullet in your own brain, yes? Maybe you go a little crazy and put a bullet in this pretty girl’s head before you eat your gun. Which would you prefer? Shall we keep your pretty friend or put her down?”

  Lubov approached Nate, the business end of his gun getting closer and closer to his face. Lubov’s henchmen watched, as blasé as if their boss threatened the life of a federal agent every day of the week and twice on Sundays. Ciara couldn’t be blasé.

  “If you kill us, you’ll never get the necklace back.”

  Lubov paused, his head turning slowly to look at her. “What did you say?”

  “The Heart of Monaco. You think it’s locked up in the closet safe, but while you were distracted earlier the third member of our team came in here and snatched it. If you want it back, you’ll have to let us go. Unharmed.”

  He hesitated. “I think you are lying,” he said, but he sounded far from certain.

  “Then how would I know exactly where the Heart of Monaco is? All of the FBI is out looking for it, but I know it’s right here, in a silver safe about this big on the floor of your closet.” Ciara measured the safe with her hands. “Or at least, it was.”

  “Tatiana,” Lubov snapped. “Check the necklace.”

  The go-go dancer scurried to the bedroom—which at least got one gun out of the room. Three to go. And they didn’t have long before the lovely Tatiana discovered Ciara was lying through her teeth. How long did it take to open a safe?

  Nate was slumping down farther and farther on the couch, losing more blood every second. He looked like he would pass out at any moment. Lubov turned his back on the wounded agent, studying Ciara.

  “How did you know the Heart of Monaco was here?”

  Ciara opted for the truth. No one ever believed her anyway. “I’m psychic.”

  Lubov’s face lit. Just her luck he would be the one man on the planet who believed her, no questions asked. “So you’re the FBI’s secret weapon, are you? You’re the reason we’ve been losing shipments for the last three years. We’ve been trying to figure out how they do it. Agent Smith, I am in your debt. You brought her right to us.”

  Nate fainted, his upper body slumping down over his legs.

  “Nate!” Ciara cried.

  Nate surged to his feet suddenly, catching Lubov unawares. His arm locked around Lubov’s throat. He had the Russian’s body pressed like a human shield in front of his own and a gun pressed against his temple, all before Ciara could do more than gasp. She recovered quickly, leaping out of her chair and darting behind the couch for cover, just in case Lubov’s bodyguards were smart enough to aim at her for leverage.

  Huddled behind the couch, she saw the scene play out in the reflection off the window.

  “Drop your guns,” Nate ordered.

  “Do it,” Lubov squeaked, and then said something panicked in Russian.

  The guards tossed down their guns, but Nate didn’t ease his grip on Lubov in the slightest. “Call Tatiana out. Have her throw down her gun.”

  Nate took no chances. When Tatiana appeared, he had the guards strip down to their underwear and made the go-go dancer tie them to chairs. He didn’t call Ciara out from her hiding place until he needed her to check the knots to make sure Tatiana hadn’t gone too easy on her friends. That done, Ciara and Nate quickly tied up Lubov and Tatiana, and Nate put in a call to the proper authorities.

  Only then did he collapse back onto the couch, slumping down on himself. Ciara had a feeling this time his exhaustion wasn’t feigned. She knelt at his side, cradling his face in her hands.

  “Are you all right?”

  He met her eyes, flashing her that All-American grin. “I’m great,” he assured her. “Not bad for a cripple, eh?” There was no bitterness in his voice, just a quiet pride.

  He deserved that pride. He had proven, beyond anyone’s doubts, that he was not limited by his disability. He’d saved them both, bum leg and all. Movie stars were overrated. Nate was her hero.

  She returned his smile. “You were amazing.” The man deserved a reward. Preferably one that involved lots of skin-on-skin touching. But since they had to wait for the white hats to get there and take away the bad guys, they’d have to settle for something less gratifying for now. “Ever wondered what a fifty-carat ruby feels like in your hands?”

  Chapter Twelve—Frankenstein Booty Call

  Three hours later, after they’d both been bludgeoned by reports and procedure, Ciara and Nate staggered back to their own hotel room, leaving the Heart of Monaco in good hands and the bad guys behind bars.

  Ciara sighed and flopped onto her back on the bed. “This was fun.”

  “Fun? That was your idea of fun?”

  “Well…yeah. We make a good team.”

  “I guess we do.” Nate dropped down beside her and groaned. “I’ve created a monster.”

  “That’s me. The Frankenstein of jewel finders. Rawr.”

  “You’re no Frankenstein.”

  Ciara kept her eyes on the ceiling. The intensity in his voice was overwhelming enough. She didn’t think she could handle seeing it in his eyes. She needed to keep things light. She already felt so caught up in him, so close to letting the “L” word trip out of her mouth. She needed the ceiling tiles to keep perspective.

  “You know what’s funny?” she murmured. “I don’t feel like a freak anymore. I don’t even think it’s because I can touch people now. I think I stopped being a freak the second I stopped living like one. As soon as you bullied me out of my house, I was free.”

  “I live to serve.”

  Ciara grinned, reminding herself to keep it light. “Serve and protect, right? Isn’t that the motto? You’re sure good at it.”

  “Serve and protect is the cops. We’re fidelity, bravery and integrity.”

  “Oh wow, I like that.” She was tempted to put it in their wedding vows. Not that she was getting ahead of herself or anything. But it was hard not to get carried away with a man who lived his life by that motto. Faithful, brave and honorable. That was Nate all over.

  Ciara rolled onto her side and studied his profile. He looked like the high school quarterback who’d been seasoned by fifteen years of life. Utterly gorgeous. She couldn’t even resent the fact that men got sexier as they aged when she was benefiting from that sexiness.

  “We have some unfinished business, you and I,” she purred.

  “You still threatening to have me thrown off your detail?”<
br />
  “I might be able to tolerate you.” He’d taken off his suit jacket. She trailed her finger down one firm forearm. “I was talking about a reward.”

  He turned his head to meet her eyes. “Your reward for recovering the Heart of Monaco?”

  She smiled a slow, sensual smile. “I was thinking of a slightly more personal reward. For the man who saved me tonight.”

  “Ah.” He rolled onto his side, facing her. He brushed her hair back over her ear, his eyes locked on her lips. “Don’t I get to reward the woman who stayed calm under pressure and distracted Lubov so I could get the upper hand?”

  Ciara licked her lips and leaned closer to him, magnetically drawn. “I think we both deserve to get what we want tonight,” she murmured.

  He closed the short distance between them and kissed her. The contact was a symphony inside her mind. The fireworks his touch set off weren’t the painful ones she used to brace herself for, but the sparks of undiluted chemistry.

  Nate angled his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss, but he was still moving too slowly for her. Ciara had waited for this for too long. She’d been afraid of never having this closeness, the intimacy of his body tight against hers, his lips warm and sure on hers. She couldn’t be patient now.

  She thrust her tongue into his mouth and grabbed his shoulders, pulling his weight over on top of her. Nate pressed her down into the soft mattress, hard and firm against her softness. She grasped two fistfuls of his shirt and yanked, untucking it from his pants and drawing it up so she could slide her hands along the warm, muscular expanse of his lower back.

  Nate levered himself up and pulled the shirt off over his head with one swift tug, falling back into the kiss without missing a beat. You had to respect a man with that kind of focus.

  Ciara ran her hands up the plane of his back. Each touch was a revelation. His skin burned warm against her fingers, sending waves of heat shooting from her fingertips to her toes. But she wanted more than just to touch him. She wanted him touching her.

  Reading her mind, Nate slipped his hands beneath the hem of her dress. He guided the skirt up, his hands skating along the outside of her thighs, over her hips and against the curve of her waist. She reveled in the newness of the touch, but even more in the fact that it was Nate touching her, Nate kissing his way down the line of her throat and the low neckline of her dress.

  “More, Nate. I need more.” She kicked off her Ferragamos and hooked one leg over his hip, rocking her pelvis to rub against his erection.

  “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” he grumbled against her breast.

  Ciara rolled her head against the soft mattress. She may not ever have a fifty-carat ruby necklace, but she felt like Grace Kelly in this moment. Nate was her blond Cary Grant, smooth and sexy and giving her banter right along with passion. What more could she ask for?

  Except for him to get on with it already.

  She snuck her hands between them to slowly work down the zipper on his pants.

  “Lift your arms,” Nate demanded.

  Ciara didn’t want to give up on her noble goal of getting the Fed out of his pants, but the command in his voice sent a tingle down her spine so she obeyed. As soon as her arms were above her head, Nate whipped her dress off. She wasn’t wearing a bra and his eyes locked on her breasts, his hands quickly following his gaze.

  She wasn’t big. With her frame, she would have fallen over if she was stacked like a Baywatch babe, but Nate didn’t seem to mind her all-too-proportional curves. He cupped her breasts, raising them to his mouth. The touch felt exquisite, but it wasn’t enough.

  She tilted her hips up against his again, rubbing his erection. “Come on, Nate. No more Mr. Nice Guy.”

  He groaned. “I thought women wanted the nice guy.”

  “Nuh-uh. Bad boys all the way. Be bad, Nate.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He stripped off his pants and her panties and slipped on a condom at light speed, falling back onto her, finally nothing but skin against skin. Ciara closed her eyes as the “Ode to Joy” exploded inside her head, a symphonic eruption of bliss. Nate settled himself between her legs, notching his erection to her entrance.

  This is it.

  She caught his mouth in a kiss and clutched his shoulders, holding on too tightly. She felt some discomfort as he started working himself inside her, but it didn’t merit tears or hysterics. What was the big deal? The latex of the condom felt more foreign than anything, an oddly clinical static friction.

  Nate froze, pushing up on his forearms and breaking the kiss. He must have noticed the way she’d stiffened up. Ciara could have kicked herself for not playing it cool.

  “Are you—?”

  “Don’t say it. I hate the V word.” She wasn’t a virgin. She was just a girl who’d never had sex. There was a difference. She frowned up at him. “Was I required to tell you or something?”

  “No, I should have… It makes sense.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good. Can we get on with it?”

  Nate gave a startled laugh. “Always the romantic. C’mere.” He caught her mouth and drew her into a drugging kiss. Her body quickly adjusted to his presence…in fact, it started to feel pretty damn good. By the time he began flexing his hips, withdrawing and pressing back again, she was squirming beneath him, chasing the heat of his touch. Ciara caught his rhythm, learning when to tighten, when to push against him and how to tilt her hips so he hit that sweet spot high inside her.

  “Is your…leg…okay?” she asked between panting breaths.

  “Uhn.” He continued to pound into her, faster and harder, so Ciara decided that must be a yes. Which was a good thing because she didn’t know what she would have done if he’d said no. She was so close. Sensation seemed to be flowing both in and out of her, touch pressing in, and desire pressing out. They left nowhere for her to go.

  She came in a dizzying rush, pleasure pounding through her in a decadent explosion. Nate groaned and stiffened over her, his muscles locking as he followed her into oblivion.

  Epilogue—How to Steal a Heart

  Special Agent Nathan Smith banged on the door of 1134 Honeydew Circle, and Ciara ran to throw it open. She greeted him at the door, wearing nothing but a towel and a smile.

  Ciara waved as one of the neighborhood kids wheeled past on a tricycle, his mother in hot pursuit.

  Nate bent to drop a quick kiss onto her mouth and stepped past her into the house. “Kids in this neighborhood are going to grow up with a warped sense of reality, thinking every cul-de-sac has a sexy Asian chick who answers her door half-naked.”

  Ciara flipped the door closed and dropped the towel, striking a flirty pose. “Is this better?”

  Forty-five minutes later Nate gently rolled Ciara off his chest and reached for his pants. “One of these days I will last more than five minutes in your house without jumping you.”

  “And what a sad day that will be.” Ciara rose to her feet and collected her towel.

  Their Atlantic City adventure was over two months in the past, but life had certainly not returned to the old status quo. She still found treasures in her pool for the FBI or the other clients Karma lined up, but she wasn’t housebound. She made sure she got out of the house every day, and recently Nate had begun making noises about taking her to his hometown of San Francisco. Every day was a new adventure now that the door she’d shut on her life was open again.

  Nate was still her primary liaison with the FBI, but he wasn’t limited to babysitting her. He assisted on other cases, though he would always need the cane. Ciara had to admit she was relieved he wouldn’t be doing any more dangerous undercover work. She had plans for his studly body. She didn’t want any more bullet holes in it.

  “I brought you a movie.” Nate collected the bag he’d dropped at the door. “I noticed you didn’t have How to Steal a Million. Figured that one would be right up your alley.”

  Ciara planted her hands on her hips. “Are you questioning
my moral fiber, Agent Smith?”

  “It’s all about a gorgeous, reckless, free-spirited woman bumbling around in a major burglary and the man who tries to keep her out of trouble. Sound familiar?”

  She laughed and draped her arms around his shoulders. “Is that what you do, Nate? Keep me out of trouble?”

  “Someone has to. Might as well be me. At least then I get to share the Barcalounger.”

  “You only love me for my furniture.”

  “But I do love you.”

  Her breath caught, something sweet and warm unfurling in her chest. It was the first time either of them had said it. Ciara took a deep breath. “I love you back.” She felt like she was leaping off a cliff as she said the words, free-falling without a parachute.

  Luckily, she was the kind of girl who lived for adventure. Love was the biggest one yet.

  About the Author

  Vivi Andrews lives in Alaska when she isn’t indulging her travel addiction. She’s currently hard at work on her next paranormal romance. For more about her books or the exploits of a nomadic author, please visit her website at www.viviandrews.com or stop by her blog at viviandrews.blogspot.com. Vivi also loves to hear from readers and invites you to email her at vivi@viviandrews.com.

  Look for these titles by Vivi Andrews

  Now Available:

  Karmic Consultants

  The Ghost Shrink, the Accidental Gigolo & the Poltergeist Accountant

  The Ghost Exterminator: A Love Story

  The Sexorcist

  The Naked Detective

  Serengeti Shifters

  Serengeti Heat

  Serengeti Storm

  Serengeti Lightning

  Love can be a force of nature.

  Serengeti Lightning

  © 2010 Vivi Andrews

  Serengeti Shifters, Book 3

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