Читать книгу: «The Business of Pleasure», страница 2
CHAPTER THREE
THE STORAGE ROOM was dark and smelled faintly of chemicals. After a moment, Aidan found a light switch, and a single yellow bulb buzzed to life, revealing a small room filled with cleaning supplies and paper products lined up on four shelving units.
Kaylee didn’t have time to notice anything else, though, because Aidan grabbed her hips and pushed her back against the door, and then finally, he was kissing her. His lips crashed down on hers, his tongue driving into her mouth with a hungry urgency that shocked and delighted her. He tasted a little bit like beer and a lot like sex, and she couldn’t help a groan of satisfied pleasure at the culmination of her longest-held fantasy. Kissing Aidan Beckett.
Take that, Natasha Campbell.
Kaylee buried her fingers in his thick hair, raking her nails over his scalp, running her fingertips along his neck and across his shoulders before she pushed his jacket down his arms and he let go of her long enough for it to fall to the floor with a satisfying thump.
Then his hands were back on her hips, and he’d spun around, walking her backward until she collided with a shelving unit.
He stared down at her, and Kaylee shivered at his hungry look. He shifted closer, cradling her jaw as he lifted her face to resume their kiss. His fingers flirted with the edge of her hair, and some part of her recognized the danger even as his mouth tried to drag her into an abyss of pleasure.
Kaylee had to distract him, keep him away from the wig. She covered his hands with hers, pulled them down her neck and over her collarbone to the top of her corset. Aidan pulled back, but the moment of worry that he’d figured out this wasn’t her hair dissipated as he stared down at her, ran a finger over the swell of her cleavage, the look on his face almost reverent. Kaylee watched as he set about unhooking the closures of her bustier, his long, blunt fingers surprisingly deft on the tiny fasteners. She was mesmerized by the look of concentration on his face as he worked diligently on his task. Just him and her, and an understanding born of heavy breathing and no words.
Her corset joined his jacket on the concrete floor, and she bit her lip to keep from mewling with frustrated pleasure as he cupped her breast, running his thumb across the sparkly black pasty that kept her nipple from basking in the attention it craved.
He was so goddamn gorgeous. The years had been kind to him, darkening his golden hair, turning his features more rugged, widening his shoulders and sculpting his body. He was all man now, and proving her younger self wrong, for teenage Kaylee hadn’t believed there was a way to improve on the perfection of him.
And now he was hers to kiss, to touch, and she didn’t want to miss anything.
She reached for the hem of his T-shirt, pushed it up his chest. Aidan was quick on the uptake, pulling it the rest of the way off. Kaylee couldn’t help her sigh. His chest was a masterpiece, all ridges and planes, a smattering of hair across well-defined pecs, and abs that deserved to be immortalized on the cover of a fitness magazine. And then, just for good measure, there was a six-inch scar along his ribs to mar all that perfection and make him look even sexier. Even more dangerous.
She couldn’t remember wanting anyone so badly.
Leaning forward, she kissed her way along the ridges of his stomach as she tugged her ruffled panties down her thighs. They fell to the ground, and she licked her way back up to his clavicle.
The rough sound of his voice as he swore raised goose bumps across her chest.
She reached for the button on his jeans, undid it, and then gave his zipper a firm tug, reveling in the inadvertent brushes of her fingers against the evidence of his desire.
At some point he’d retrieved a condom from somewhere, and she tugged her borrowed skirt up her legs in preparation as he pulled himself free of his underwear. Jesus, he was beautiful. Long and thick. Kaylee watched in fascination as he fisted his cock, stroking the length of it twice before rolling on the condom with his other hand.
She was so turned on, desperate for him to ease the ache he’d built inside her. Everything went still for a moment, and then they were all over each other, and he was hoisting her up, the edge of the cold metal shelf pressing into her bare ass. Kaylee grabbed the shelf above her head as an anchor.
The thrill of wanting to touch him but not being able to heightened her pleasure as he buried his lips against her neck and pushed deep inside her. She was so wet, so primed for this, the culmination of this incredible night, and the hot, sweet friction didn’t disappoint. He growled with pleasure, nipping the sensitive skin of her neck before laving it with his tongue.
Oh God. This illicit tryst made her feel so damn sexy, like being onstage but more potent. More visceral. To be lusted after by this man she’d wanted for so long was everything. She locked her ankles together at the small of his back, glorying in his panting thrusts, loving everything about the moment. The clean, spicy smell of him, the rasp of his beard abrading her skin, the sound of his ragged breathing.
Aidan was fucking her in a dive-bar supply closet.
Aidan was fucking her like he meant it.
Aidan.
It was too much. Too much sensation. Too many feelings.
The tingling in her abdomen said she was close, even though it was way too soon.
Desperate to touch him, she let go of the shelf above her head and grabbed his face. His beard prickled the palms of her hands as she buried her fingers in his hair and dragged his lips to hers, gasping against his mouth as she came.
The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, gathering force as it rolled through her before crashing in a burst of pleasure that put everything she’d ever accomplished with her showerhead to shame.
This was not what she was used to—staid, missionary sex with a long-term partner.
This was passion unleashed. Elemental.
This was a decade of wanting made real.
When he’d grabbed her hand and tugged her into a supply closet, Aidan had been expecting a quick, utilitarian fuck against the wall. He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to melt all over him after a couple of strokes, but she’d definitely come, gasping against his mouth before she’d kissed him into oblivion.
Sexy as fuck.
And yeah, it had been a while for him, sure, but that didn’t explain the way she was blowing his mind right now. There was something about this woman, something different that he didn’t understand at all.
He slid his hands up her torso until his thumbs made contact with the soft, sweat-slick undersides of her breasts, and he wondered what shade of pink her nipples might be under the sparkly pasties. Not knowing just made him want her more. He flexed the fingers of his left hand on her rib cage as though he might be able to feel the butterfly etched into her skin.
He was so goddamn close, but he wasn’t ready to lose this mindless pleasure quite yet, wasn’t ready for this to be over. And then, to his surprise, she tightened her legs around his waist and started undulating her hips. The way she was grinding and twisting herself against him and the sudden restlessness of her body, the soft noises she made in her throat, signaled she was going for round two.
Jesus. She was going to come again, and the realization made him so hot that it took everything in him to hold off the heat and desperation that was building in his balls, the unstoppable rocking of his hips.
He focused on the bite of her nails on his skin, doing his best to read the rhythm of her movements, granting her wordless requests as she brought herself to the brink again, falling over the edge with a sweet cry, and this time, he couldn’t help but follow.
His thighs shook as he twisted his hips as high inside her as he could get before he gave in to the inevitable, riding the contractions of her muscles to a climax that rocked through him with such force he had to grab the shelving unit to steady himself.
She was kissing him as she unlocked her ankles and slid down his body, a decadent, satiated kiss that felt like thank you and you’re welcome at the same time. When Aidan had recovered enough to open his eyes, it was to find her staring up at him, sexy and triumphant.
Which he understood. He felt like a fucking conqueror just then.
Aidan leaned down and kissed her again, lingering over her mouth before he pulled away. She smiled to herself as she tugged the skirt back down her thighs and reached for her discarded clothing. Aidan took care of the condom and zipped himself back into place before donning his T-shirt.
On a whim, he grabbed his leather jacket from the ground, pulling his phone and gloves from the pocket before he draped it over her bare shoulders. Startled, she looked up from fastening her corset, and something...familiar flashed through his chest, but he couldn’t quite place it. There’d been a flash of vulnerability, a glimpse of the woman behind the vixen, but he couldn’t get the pieces to fit.
“Take the jacket,” he told her, his voice sounding gruff, even to his own ears. It was too big on her, obviously, and there was no reason he should like seeing her in it, but he did. The realization made him uneasy.
He didn’t like the sudden shift in his chest. Meaning being assigned to what was nothing more than some great fucking in a supply closet. A momentary and mutual escape into pleasure. It was just a jacket, he assured himself as he turned away from her and pulled the door open a crack to check if the coast was clear.
It was, and he let her duck under his arm and slip through, awareness prickling all over his skin as she pressed into him more than necessary on her way out. Those electric-blue eyes snagged with his for a split second, a final farewell, and then she was gone.
Aidan closed the door behind her and wrestled his body, so recently sated, back under control before he, too, ducked out of the supply closet. He didn’t look for her again, just pushed out the side door, revved up his motorcycle, and took the long way home.
CHAPTER FOUR
AIDAN WONDERED IF Lola performed on Saturday nights.
Which was a pretty fucked up thing to wonder.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much else to distract him from thoughts of her as he sat alone in a booth in a shitty pub, waiting for a smug prick. Classic rock and the crack of pool being played in the back corner had nothing on his X-rated memories. He tried to blame his single-mindedness on the fact that he’d broken his sex fast, reminded himself how good it could be and that this...infatuation was just the result of being horny.
Except he wasn’t just looking for a willing partner, because if he had been, any number of the flirtatious glances he’d received when he’d walked in would have enticed him.
He wasn’t thinking about sex.
He was thinking about sex with her.
His abs knotted at the memory, drawing tight beneath his T-shirt. Sure, some of it could be chalked up to newness, to the risk of being caught, but that wasn’t the part that still had him by the balls. There was something deeper, something so...trusting about the way she’d looked at him, taken his hand, followed him.
It was almost as though—
“Christ. Remind me not to let you pick future meeting locations. This place isn’t ‘under the radar.’ It’s ‘waiting to be condemned.’”
Aidan’s head shot up at the verbal attack. Liam Kearney, Cybercore’s CEO, had managed to surprise him. And that wasn’t good. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by a hot body and a butterfly tattoo right now. He stood and shook the man’s hand once, quick and hard, and if he’d gripped too tightly, it was only because his adversary had done the same.
Kearney ran an assessing gaze down Aidan’s brown leather jacket and jeans. “So nice of you to dress up for the occasion.”
The two of them slid into the booth across from one another.
“Yeah, I’m the one who looks like a fucking moron here.” Aidan rested an arm along the top of the beat-up pleather bench. Like he was going to take shit from some prick who wore a three-piece suit to a dive bar. He pulled an envelope containing their agreed-upon price out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of Kearney. “Funny how your distaste for my clothes never keeps you from taking my money.”
Liam bared his teeth. It wasn’t quite a smile. “Of course I’ll take your money. You think Tom Ford suits come cheap? Besides, one of us should look good.”
Aidan caught the waitress’s eye, and with a tip of his chin she started toward them.
By the time he turned back to Kearney, the envelope was tucked away. Discreet. The prick had style; that was for damn sure. “You want a drink?”
Liam glanced at their surroundings and gave a disdainful shake of his head. “I’ve got a date with a supermodel in a couple of hours, so it’s in my best interest to avoid contracting hantavirus between now and then.”
Their server sidled up to the table. “What can I get you, hot stuff?”
“Scotch. Neat.”
“And for your handsome friend?”
“He’s not my friend. And he’s not staying.”
She sent Kearney a flirty once-over. “Too bad.”
The man placed a hand over his pocket square, which he probably wore to remind himself where his heart would be if he had one. “Sadly, I have a previous engagement.”
“Sucks to be me.” She cocked her hip, bracing the edge of her tray on the curve of her waist. “So, if you’re not friends and this one’s got ‘brooding bad boy’ on lock,” she said, thumbing in Aidan’s direction, “what’s that make you? His flashy, high-paid lawyer?”
Liam reached into his suit jacket and extracted his wallet. “If you’re asking if I think I can get you off, the answer is yes.”
She giggled as he tugged a couple of bills free and held them up between his fingers.
“Why don’t you bring my client here a double in a clean glass? And keep the change.”
She plucked the money from his hand with a wink. “You got it, counselor.”
When she was gone, Liam exchanged his wallet for a shiny silver cell phone, which he slid across the scarred wood of the table.
“This is a prototype version, but we’ve had good success in the first round of testing. You’ll have complete control of the target’s phone—location, microphone, camera, texts, whatever you want. Just open the program and get within a foot of your target’s phone to install it. Once you’re in, download at will. You can remove it remotely.”
Aidan whistled long and low. “You’ve outdone yourself, Kearney.”
“What can I say? As the enemy of my enemy, you’re practically my friend. That’s why I took the liberty of preloading this bad boy with all your stuff. Contacts, photos, apps. It’s all there.”
Son of a bitch.
“Is this where I thank you for hacking my phone?”
Liam’s smile was smug. “This is where you thank me for using my powers for good. I left your passwords the same.”
“Nobody likes a show-off.”
Which was precisely why Aidan was keeping it to himself that during a recent trip to Asia, he’d acquired a knockoff version of The Shield, Cybercore’s upcoming entry into the digital-cryptocurrency ring. At least until he proved both SecurePay and The Shield were based on his father’s code. He doubted Liam Kearney would be quite so arrogant when Aidan shut down both products with one fell swoop. But for now, Kearney was still useful to him.
As if on cue, the waitress sent a flirty little finger wave in their direction while she waited for the bartender to pour Aidan’s scotch. Kearney returned it. “Funny. That hasn’t been my experience.”
Aidan squelched the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Liam nodded but made no move to leave. “I don’t suppose I need to make clear to you that this tech is not intended for tracking private citizens without their knowledge. Cybercore cannot condone such usage. And if said activity is discovered by law-enforcement agencies, the company will disavow any knowledge of top-secret tech under development for government use being employed in such a manner. We will then prosecute any perpetrator thereof for the theft and misuse of our intellectual property to the fullest extent of the law.”
Aidan pointed to his chest and raised his eyebrows in a Who, me? gesture. “Don’t see any reason that you’d need to.”
“I didn’t think so.” Liam got to his feet. “Pleasure doing business with you, Aidan. We appreciate you choosing Cybercore for all your tech-related needs.”
Aidan waited until Kearney had left the bar before he hit the button on the side of the phone and watched the starting graphics flash across the high-res screen.
Although he didn’t know precisely what had Cybercore and Whitfield Industries at loggerheads—the feud seemed deeper and more personal than your typical business rivalry—using Max Whitfield’s biggest competitor for this scheme was a surprisingly satisfying fuck you to the man he’d once considered his closest friend. The man he’d trusted. The man who’d let him down.
Once again, Aidan was pulled out of a recollection, this time by the thunk of a glass on the table in front of him. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and pay attention.
“So how about you, hot stuff?”
He ran a hand over his close-cropped beard as he shifted his attention to the waitress.
She smiled invitingly. “You got plans?”
Aidan lifted his drink in response. “Just a quiet night with my date here.”
She shot him a practiced pout. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am.”
Aidan took a swallow of subpar scotch and watched her walk away.
He’d known something was off with his dad. John Beckett loved technology—tinkering, solving problems, cracking code. A high-paying tech job with Whitfield Industries should have been a dream come true for his father, but instead, with each passing year, John had seemed less excited to go to work. Their phone calls and visits had become punctuated with disillusionment, references to how John felt trapped. Words like coercion and blackmail started to pepper rants about how his genius wasn’t appreciated, and in the next moment, John was stoic, resigned, saying it was no more than he deserved.
At first, the episodes were few and far between. By the end, his father had grown moodier, more taciturn. Like he’d been after Aidan’s mother had died...right before he’d started drinking heavily.
Aidan had known it was getting worse, but instead of flying home from his latest adventure and taking care of things himself, he’d called Max. The one person in the world he’d trusted. The guy who’d always had his back. He’d told his friend all his suspicions, that Charles Whitfield had blackmailed his father somehow, that something was wrong.
Max had assured him he’d take care of things.
Two weeks later, Charles had taken early retirement, Max was the new CEO of Whitfield Industries, and John Beckett was dead.
Aidan had been in Spain when he got the news.
Single car accident. Driving under the influence. Dead on impact.
He hadn’t even known his father was back on the bottle.
He should have known. Should have cut his time in Pamplona short. A good son would have.
Regaining control of his father’s code and keeping it out of the hands of the family who’d ruined John’s life was the least he could do. Too little too late, maybe, but an apology to his father all the same.
Aidan finished his drink in two long swallows and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was time to get to the bottom of what had happened to his father.
He set down the glass and picked up the phone, tucking it away in his pocket as he got to his feet.
