Temptation and Danger Read online

  It’s Mr. X calling.

  Yeah, seriously. The asshole calls himself Mr. X.

  He doesn’t know how many people he has under him or behind him. He did his best digging and all he came up with was that Mr. X doesn’t exist. He’s part of some powerful organized crime ring.

  Well, whatever. He’d do his part and become a rich man. Maybe he would even warn Kylie back into hiding before the FBI pick her up. Or not. He still hasn’t made his mind up about her. He is both more attracted and repelled by her now that he’s met her in person.

  He swipes his screen. “What’s up?”

  “Looks like your threat wasn’t convincing enough.”

  Not a surprise. She is Catgirl, after all.

  “How do you know?”

  “Her bags are packed. We picked up the old lady she lives with, though. We’ll take it from here.”

  His breath stalls in his chest, and he feels sick to his stomach. Well, duh. Of course these guys wouldn’t be above kidnapping. Jesus, they probably aren’t above murder, either. A chill runs through his limbs. What will they do with the old lady? What will they do with Kylie?

  Fuck.

  He doesn’t want to be a part of all this. But he does want the fifty million dollars and safe passage out of the country promised to him. And this is why he’s partnered with men like Mr. X. They are willing to do the hard stuff. All he had to do was write the code.

  And it’s too damn late to back out. Yeah, he has a feeling the only way out of this now will be through a bullet in the head.

  ~.~

  Kylie

  My legs wobble as I step into the shower. I may still be wet, but I’m sure as hell not cold anymore. Holy finger fucking, Batman. And now I see the advantage of a real live sexual partner. They do things to you you didn’t know are possible.

  All this time I’d been perfectly content with watching porn and using my battery operated boyfriend. I shimmy out of my wet jeans and take off my bra and panties.

  Who has seen you in these cute-as-hell panties?

  Did he really turn agro over some imaginary other man? A shiver runs through me, and I step under the spray of water. Is that a total red flag? Maybe he is as creepy as I’d portrayed him in the elevator. Would he keep me locked in a closet for whipping?

  Oh God. Just the thought of confinement in a small space makes my solar plexus twist. I erase the thought, focusing instead on the whipping part.

  He spanked me.

  A grin splits my face and I reach back to palm my ass, which burns a little under the spray of warm water.

  Yummy.

  Seriously, that was the hottest thing that ever happened to me.

  Okay, yes, it’s the only hot thing that’s ever happened to me.

  My V-card has never been punched. I’ve lived such a strange existence, never able to trust anyone. I started college at age sixteen, had a few unsatisfying hook ups in which I abandoned my goal of punching the card and gave blowjobs instead. So, yeah. That’s my sex life in a nutshell.

  Total virgin, finger fucked by Jackson King in his bathroom after confessing to hacking him as a teen.

  The fact he satisfied me and not himself is an argument against the creep factor. But who or what stopped him when I was ready to suck him off? He heard something in the house.

  Does he have a roommate? Secret girlfriend? Housekeeper? Pool boy?

  Even though I didn’t enjoy either of my early experiences with men, I was so ready to blow Jackson’s mind. My mouth watered to taste his cock, to pleasure him like a porn star.

  Hopefully there will be another chance. I run my hands over my ass again, replaying the spanking. Leaning my forehead against the tile, I bring my fingers between my legs.

  Ohhh. I’ve never been so slick and swollen. I imagine Jackson stepping into the shower with me, his huge frame crowding me back against the wall. He’d order me to place my hands on the wall and slap my ass until I beg him to stop, then he’d grip my hips and plow into me from behind. I pull up on my fingers, undulating them between my legs.

  A second climax rips through me, and my head swims from the heat. I breathe deeply until the stars clear then I shut off the spray.

  When I step out, my wet clothes are gone, and a towel and a neatly folded MIT sweatshirt sit on the counter.

  A flush of embarrassment washes through me. Did he come in while I was masturbating? I grab the towel and dry off then pull on the warm sweatshirt. It’s huge on me, falling to mid-thigh like a sweater dress, which is good, since he didn’t leave me any panties. I love wearing something that belongs to him. I pull it to my nose, breathing in his faint scent.

  I can’t stop thinking about his thick fingers moving inside me, and I’m suddenly dying for the full package. Getting my V-card punched by Jackson King would be the ultimate hacker girl fantasy fulfillment. But no, this isn’t about checking a box, or having a famous person.

  It’s about the sheer animal attraction between Jackson and I. I felt it in the elevator before I even knew who he was. I loved the take-charge way he handled me there as much as I loved being bent over his bathroom countertop for a spanking.

  I search for a brush, but this seems to be a guest bathroom. There are no personal items anywhere, just cleaning supplies and toilet paper. I tear my fingers through my wet hair and head out.

  The house—mansion, really—is enormous. I follow the curved staircase downstairs and follow sounds of movement to a huge, open kitchen.

  The man standing behind the enormous granite-topped island eating cold cuts from the container with his fingers isn’t Jackson, though.

  “Oh, hey,” I say inanely, giving a small wrist wave.

  He’s young—my age or younger—with blond hair that is straggly and wet like mine. The lean muscles of his arms are covered with tattoos, and both his ears are stretched with rings. He has the still bearing of a predator, and he watches me approach without moving.

  I tug down the hem of Jackson’s sweatshirt. “I’m, uh, Kylie,” I offer, hoping to get an introduction back.

  “Sam.” Somehow I get the feeling he doesn’t like me.

  Fuck. Is Jackson gay? “Are you and Jackson…?”

  His cold demeanor cracks with a flicker of a smile. “He’s my brother.”

  I gape. Clearly not a blood brother. They look nothing alike. “Looks like you were, um, out in the rain, too.”

  The young man doesn’t answer.

  “I see you’ve met Sam.” Jackson’s deep voice sends tremors through my body, like after-quakes from my climax. Climaxes. Plural. Because he was certainly responsible for both.

  I look from Jackson’s huge mountain man frame and dark hair to the lean muscled fair man, and I’m not convinced they’re not lovers. Especially because Sam shoots Jackson a What the fuck? look.

  Why does that make me desperate to stake my claim on Jackson? But it’s not my right. I am in big trouble with my employer and my blackmailers, and we need to make a game plan.

  “Do you want to see what’s on that thumb drive?” I ask. The envelope with the threat and thumb drive disappeared from the bathroom while I was showering. Even though nothing terrible has happened yet, I’m still not sure I made the right choice coming here. Trusting someone other than family. I remember how badly that turned out for my father.

  Jackson gives me a cool nod. “Yeah. I’ll take a look at it,” he says dismissively.

  I hate getting the dis on this. I mean, I’m a hacker through and through. I need to see the code, know what they were planning. Especially because it involves me. “May I see it?”

  Jackson considers me for a moment. “You didn’t look before you brought it over here?” Despite the fact we just shared the hottest and most intimate moment of my life upstairs, he’s returned to Mr. All Business. His face could be carved out of granite.

  I shake my head. “Want to look at it now?” I don’t add the together that’s on my lips.

  “I want to look at it first,” he says.
“Alone.”

  Alarm bells go off. Did I make a mistake bringing this here? Not handling things on my own? Now my fate is in his hands, and I still don’t know how he’s going to play things. “I’m pretty good with hacks, too.”

  His eyes narrow. “So I recall.” He looks at Sam. “My new employee turns out to be the only hacker who ever busted my code.”

  I can’t figure out if he’s still pissed or if I detect a note of admiration there.

  “And she allegedly just received a blackmail letter asking her to install malware into our system in exchange for silence about her hacker identity.”

  Allegedly. The blow hits me like a hand grenade in the solar plexus. He doesn’t believe me? Of course not. Why would he? Just because we both would like to get each other naked doesn’t mean we should trust each other.

  Except I do want to trust him. And it’s probably just my misguided teen crush, but I desperately want Jackson to trust me back.

  But hell, maybe his plan is to turn me over to the cops just as soon as he knows what he’s dealing with.

  ~.~

  Jackson

  Kylie pales when I say she allegedly has been blackmailed. If not for the hurt I read on her face, I might have stayed on the fence about her. But it’s so palpable, I swear I can scent it.

  And then this new mate-driven part of me has to step closer and make up for wounding her. She’s standing on opposite side of the island from Sam, who’s eaten three packages of cold cuts since we’ve been standing here. I sidle next to her and give Sam a warning look about the meat. He immediately sweeps away the empty packages, dumping them in the trash, which, of course, only draws more attention to his carnivorous appetite.

  “You were hungry,” Kylie observes.

  My wolf hearing detects the sound of her stomach grumbling. I don’t want to feed her. Well, that’s a lie, but I need to get her out of my house before I do something unforgivable to that hot little body of hers. She’s standing in nothing but my sweatshirt, which looks incredibly hot, slipping off one shoulder. Knowing her bare pussy is just a hand-reach away has me balling my fists on the countertop.

  “Are you hungry, Catgirl?”

  She hesitates for a moment then shakes her head.

  I cock my head, annoyed that she lied. If Sam wasn’t standing there, I’d give her a second spanking for it. “Say it out loud,” I say softly.

  “What?”

  “You’re lying. I want to hear you say it out loud so I know how it sounds when you lie.”

  She flushes to her ears and, this time, I enjoy making her squirm. I’ve watched hundreds of employees or other wolves fidget under my dominance, but it’s never turned me on like this. I want to strip her, tie her up, and interrogate her with a riding crop.

  And that image is not helping me stay disengaged. At all.

  But she rallies, lifting her chin. “I didn’t come here to eat.”

  “Sam, get her something,” I command. As soon as I say it, I realize it will sound off to her. Without the lens of pack dynamics, she’ll see him exactly as the whipping boy she described in the elevator.

  To make it worse, Sam flicks me a condemning look before he obeys. He pulls out a package of cold cuts, bread, and condiments and starts making a sandwich without asking what she likes.

  It annoys me more than it should, but Kylie’s stomach complains again, and she looks appreciatively at the food, so I figure it’s okay.

  “I’m going to take you home. You’re going to come to work tomorrow, like nothing happened. Let me know if they make contact again,” I tell her as Sam makes the sandwich.

  She lets out an impatient puff of air, but lowers her chin. “Yes, sir.”

  My cock goes rock hard. Hearing those words, the same ones that normally annoy the hell out of me coming from kiss-ass employees, feels like a total win. This time I picture her on her knees at my feet, gazing up with those beautiful, gold-flecked eyes, waiting for my command.

  Sam slides the plate across the counter to Kylie.

  “Thank you, Sam.” She picks it up and eats with enough gusto to satisfy the itchy part of me driven to tend to her comfort.

  “You need me to do anything?” Sam asks.

  “Bring her bicycle in from outside the gate and put it in the back of the Range Rover.”

  He nods and leaves, and I turn on Kylie. “If you say one goddamn word about him being my whipping boy, I’ll bend you over and spank you again.”

  Her lips stretch into a wide smile, and she flicks the last crumb of sandwich from the corner of her mouth with her tongue. The flash of pink makes my cock surge again. I’m barely keeping it together with this girl.

  “He’s an adopted brother. I took him in as a homeless teen.”

  “Hmm.” She takes another bite. “That’s a fact that has never been reported about you.”

  “I don’t owe the public any part of my private life.”

  “I’m good at keeping secrets—usually.” She flushes again.

  I arch a brow, trying to figure out what made her blush.

  “For some reason, being around you is like drinking truth serum.” She can’t quite look me in the eye, and I find it so damn appealing, I reach for her, pulling her body up against mine with one arm around her waist and one hand behind her head.

  “You’d better never lie to me, babygirl, or I’ll make you very sorry.”

  Her breath catches, full lips part. The heady scent of her arousal wafts up and sets my wolf howling. Heat prickles my skin. “You like to punish.” She sounds breathless. “I got that much right.”

  “You did.”

  Before tonight, I would have denied it, but I sure as hell enjoyed spanking her perfect ass. I nip her lips, tasting the sweetness there. With great effort, I pull away and cup her chin. “So, the truth. Who do you think left you the envelope?”

  A line creases between her brows. “I don’t know. That’s why I want to see the code. I might recognize the style.”

  I nod. “Okay. Maybe tomorrow. After I take a look.” I still don’t trust her fully, and I need to look at the malware when I’m not distracted by her intoxicating presence. “Let’s go.”

  I have to get this female back in her clothes and out of my house. Before I lose my mind completely.

  ~.~

  Kylie

  I don’t want to ride home with Jackson, but I’m too exhausted for another long bike ride in the rain. The thing is—I don’t like riding in other people’s cars. I’m fine in my own. I know the exits and can control the vehicle. I can roll the windows down if I get itchy.

  I’m relieved to see it’s a Range Rover and not some tiny sports car. I climb in the passenger side and give him my address. I keep my hand on the door handle.

  Jackson turns into Mr. Silent again, nearly giving me whiplash with the hot and cold thing. I know he’s into me. Even as inexperienced as I am, I’m sure of it. But it’s like he doesn’t want to be. And it’s not about trust, because he was like that even before he knew I’m Catgirl.

  He pulls out of the gated driveway and onto the road. “What happened to you?” he asks softly.

  I swivel my gaze to him, and he lifts his chin toward my white knuckles on the handle. “The confined spaces. Something happened.” Without my asking, he cracks my window an inch, even though it’s raining.

  My throat closes. I’ve never talked about it, not even with Mémé. I’m not even sure I can. But Jackson is my truth serum.

  “Yeah,” I mumble. “Something happened.” I close my eyes against the memory of the panic. The walls closing in on me, my shoulders compressed, head unable to lift, darkness all around.

  He says nothing, and the space between us stretches like an invitation, a pool of real I could jump into if I only dared.

  Can I? Be real with someone who isn’t a family member?

  No. My father’s death proved you can’t trust anyone but family. But my lips move anyway. “I got stuck in a tight space once. There was no one around
to help, and it took me hours to get out.” I’m gripping the door handle so hard I might tear it off.

  Jackson reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You’re safe now, baby. You have your own exit. I’ll pull over at a moment’s notice if you needed to bail. Okay?”

  Something tightens in my solar plexus as the torment of that particular trauma tries to come out. I suck in deep breaths. No fucking way I’m going to start bawling in Jackson King’s car. Damn him for dragging this out of me.

  “Hey.” He releases my hand and contorts his arm to push on my solar plexus, the way he did in the elevator. “You’re okay.” He starts to pull over, and I shake my head.

  “No. Keep driving. It isn’t the car,” I choke.

  “Tell me the rest,” he demands. His voice is hard, like he’s suddenly furious. At what, I can’t fathom.

  I shake my head. “Drop it.”

  “Not going to happen. Tell me, or I’ll pull over and help you, baby.”

  I had no idea what help you meant, but I didn’t want this to be a big deal. “Something bad happened. Right before,” I blurt.

  His hand tightens on the steering wheel.

  “Not what you’re thinking.” I realize he might be going with some sex abuse or child molestation thing because his face turned absolutely murderous.

  “Not sexual.” My throat works. “I saw a murder.”

  Murder. The word has a jagged edge to it that charges the confined space of the vehicle with danger. The danger I’ve been in ever since that night. “I had to stay hidden. And then, afterward, I couldn’t find my way out. I guess shock confused me.”

  Jackson curses. “How old were you?”

  “Sixteen.” A year after I hacked SeCure and thought I was the smartest girl in the universe.

  He eases the pressure off my sternum and slides his hand behind my head. “Thank you for telling me.”

  I roll the window all the way down and let the rain pelt my face, hiding the rogue tear that slipped out. Actually, unbelievably, I feel lighter. Like speaking the words freed the lock on the darkness I trapped in my chest eight years ago. It lifts from me, still hanging in the car, still sobering and depressing but less intense. I imagine it getting sucked out the window, back to the ether. Whatever ether is.