When he guards, p.3
When He Guards, page 3
Agnes swung one leg over the seat. She angled her body so that she faced him as she continued to sit—sideways now—on his bike. That skirt was about to give up the battle because it could not rise much higher. “Is that what you were doing?” She put one hand to her chest. Against those pert breasts that had been pushing into his back as he drove them through the night. “How incredibly chivalrous of you, but…I don’t really remember asking for protection.” Her hand fell. “In fact, what I remember was me, protecting you. After all, that broad back of yours was incredibly vulnerable. Had it not been for my amazing throwing skills, you could have found a blade shoved deep into you, and wouldn’t that have sucked for your night?”
He tossed aside the helmet. “What do you want? A medal?” Cass surged back toward her.
She sucked in her lower lip. A sexy lip. Dammit.
“You flash warm and cold, don’t you?” Agnes suddenly challenged. “Promising to fuck me one moment and then offering me a medal the next. I think—” Her words abruptly ended.
He’d just leaned in close to her as Agnes carefully perched on the motorcycle. Cass knew his expression had to be helluva hard. His hands went to either side of her body, pushing down onto the seat, and maybe his thumbs brushed against the outside of her thighs. That stupid, short skirt might be the death of him. “What is it that you think? Don’t leave me in suspense.”
Her hand rose and pressed to his chest. “I think…” She tilted her head back a bit. “I think you want to kiss me right now.” Surprise tinged her words.
She was right. He did want to kiss her. But… “I want to know what the hell kind of con you think you’re running.”
“I want to kiss you, too. That’s not a con. It’s the truth.” Then she rolled her eyes. “Fine, you want some deep, dark confession from me? I did come after you tonight because I was hoping to team up.”
This could not be happening. The woman was just spinning and spinning him with her words and confusing the hell out of him.
“I kinda threw out the line about fucking you because I knew other people were listening at the bar, and I didn’t think you’d appreciate me just loudly saying something like, ‘Hi, Cass. Do you remember me? I’m FBI Agent Agnes Quinn. We met when you were working a secret deal with the Feds not too long ago.’”
He could feel another growl building in his throat. Cass choked it down.
“You do remember our first, exciting meeting, don’t you?”
It had not been exciting. But, yes, he remembered it. She was pretty hard to forget.
“I introduced myself back then, tried to shake your hand but you…” She tut-tut-tutted. “You left me hanging. Hardly the appropriate thing to do with a lady.”
He made a mental note to never leave this woman hanging. “How did you know I was in that bar tonight?”
“Because The Bottomless Pit is a known hangout for the Strikers?” Her hand kept pressing to his chest.
“If I hadn’t been there, you would have walked into a world of trouble.”
“This may shock you to the heels of those bad-ass, black boots that you are wearing, but I know how to handle trouble.”
“Do you?” A dare.
“Try me and find out.”
He should not but…
“Kiss me,” she breathed. “You know that you want to do it.”
He did want to do it. He should not. He should send her on her merry way, but… “I am not partnering with you. I’m done working with the Feds.”
“Really?”
“I kiss you, and it will mean nothing.”
“Wow. Rip my heart out, why don’t you? You haven’t even put your lips against mine. Could be that when you do that, it will mean everything.” A pause. “Why don’t we find out?” Her hand suddenly fisted around his shirt as she yanked him closer.
And his mouth locked onto hers. Her mouth locked onto his.
It should have been just a kiss. He’d had plenty of good kisses in his life. Plenty of hot, passionate kisses. He knew kissing was great foreplay. Kissing was great for pleasure. Kissing was great for—
A fucking eruption of need and wild lust. A torrent that drove through his whole body.
Because her taste was insane. Sweet and heady and it hit him harder than four shots of tequila. Yeah, four. It blew through his entire body, electrifying his bloodstream and sending lust surging in every pore of his body. His dick went rock hard. His hands grabbed for her waist and curled possessively around her, and he yanked her up and off that motorcycle. Off the motorcycle and into his arms even as her tongue met his.
She moaned into his mouth. Kissed him even harder, more passionately. Agnes wrapped her legs around his hips. Her body rocked against his, and he had a flash of how easy it would be to rip away her panties. To yank open his jeans and drive his dick into her right then and there. He could take her. Take and take and take and if kissing her was this phenomenal, then fucking her had to be absolutely mind-blowing.
She tore her mouth from his. Her hands were on his shoulders. Clinging on for dear life. “Wow.” Her eyes were wide and stunned as they searched his. “Did you feel that?”
Uh, did she feel the giant dick shoving against her?
“It’s like my whole body just caught on fire.” She laughed, delighted. “That has never, ever happened to me before.” A decisive nod. “I want to do it again.”
So did he.
Their mouths collided. Open. Hot. Fierce. Her tongue slid against his. Her moans urged him on. She was rubbing her body against his. Those round, lush breasts pushed against his chest as he held her in a tight grip.
There wasn’t anything controlled or muted about their kiss. It was pure fire. An explosion. And he’d never, ever had a reaction so intense to a kiss in his entire life.
She broke away a second time. “Wow.” A heaving breath.
She’d said that before.
Her bright blue gaze pinned him. “Please tell me that you feel the same way. Because if I’m the only one feeling like the whole world is realigning, then that is just going to be awkward.”
Her honesty floored him. The woman was staring straight into his eyes.
The whole world is realigning…
No, no, he could not afford for his world to realign. He had plans. Schemes. Hell to wreck on his enemies. One kiss—two kisses would not change anything for him.
Would not.
Her legs slowly lowered. Her gaze stayed on his. Cass wasn’t sure he’d ever seen blue eyes quite her shade before. Those blue eyes of hers were currently filled with stark need and lust as her hands continued to grip his shoulders.
Her lips were plump and red from his mouth. She licked her lips, and whispered, “Is it about to get awkward? Am I the only one who just ignited?”
Like his giant dick wasn’t answer enough for him. “You do not know me, Agnes.”
Her breath caught. A delighted smile curled her lips. “I love the way you say my name.”
He’d basically growled her name. Snarled it. How could she love that?
“And I do know you.” Her feet were on the floor of his garage again. Those high heels had touched down. Her hands remained on him.
He liked for them to be there.
“You’re Cassius Striker. Big, bad, infamous. You strike fear into the hearts of your enemies. And, ah, you did see what I did there, yes? Striker striking fear.”
Yes, he’d seen it. Her delighted grin made his chest ache.
“Anyway…” She rolled her shoulders. And kept right on touching him. “You lead the Strikers MC. Pretty sure that either your father or your uncle led the motorcycle club before you. But you didn’t just inherit the leader title. You had to work your ass off for it.” Her hands fell away.
He wanted them back on him. Because he wanted it so much, Cass backed up a step.
“I suspect you work your ass off for everything that you want in life.” She reached out and took his right hand in hers.
His brows snapped together.
She lifted his hand up. “Your knuckles are callused and hard.”
Every part of him was hard. But, yeah, he had calluses on his knuckles. The calluses came from pounding the hell out of a heavy punching bag each day.
“Despite the calluses, you might still bruise a bit from all that hitting you were doing to your attacker tonight.” Her fingertips were soft, not callused at all, as they skimmed over his knuckles in the most careful of caresses. “But it’s not like that will be anything new for you, am I right? You did street fighting when you were a teen, then moved your way up to some underground cage fighting. That’s where your reputation for being such a fierce and dangerous predator began. No losses. Ever.”
“I like violence.” Gritted. “That probably means you should keep the hell away from me.”
Another soft caress. “I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think it’s about liking anything. I think it’s just about you needing to win.” She let go of his hand. “You’re working undercover right now.”
The fuck?
“Did I tell you that I studied art in college? Well, it was my minor.”
What in the hell did that have to do with anything? Had he asked what she’d studied in college?
Agnes waved toward him. “Sometimes, you get really quiet and this super intense look comes on your face. I guess you always have to be careful with what you say and do, huh? Makes sense that you’d slip into silence so you didn’t trip yourself up with the wrong person.” She bit her lower lip.
He could totally bite that lip for her.
A sigh eased from her as Agnes let her lip go. “But I’m not the wrong person. I’m the person you need. I can help you.”
No one could help him. No, scratch that. He didn’t need help. “Sweetheart…” He used the endearment deliberately and made it mocking. “I’m the leader of the most feared MC on the East Coast.” Maybe in the entire US. “I don’t need help. Not from you. Not from anyone.”
“Sweetheart…” Agnes returned without even a single hesitation. “You need my help. You’re walking a tightrope, and you will fall soon.”
The hell he would. But he needed to get the woman to back up and focus on something she’d said a few moments before. “What does you taking art have to do with any damn thing?” Why the hell was he so curious about her? He needed to stop asking her questions. “And how in the world did an artist become an FBI agent?” Shit. Another question. No more. Dammit.
He needed to figure out a way to get her sweet ass out of there and permanently away from him.
Why did I even bring her here?
Oh, but he knew. Deep down, he knew exactly why he’d brought Agnes to his home.
Her words from the bar replayed n his head… “What do I have to do in order to fuck…”
“Being an artist means I notice things that others might miss,” Agnes informed him.
He waited.
She smiled at him. No dimples. Just a wide, slow smile that made her eyes even brighter.
She looked cute, harmless, sexy.
How in the world was this woman an FBI agent? Why did she want to track down killers when it looked like she should be playing with puppies somewhere? Baking cookies or some shit like that?
His gaze dropped to the short skirt.
Okay, fine, not like she looked sweet. Definitely sexy, and instead of puppies, she could play with him all night if she wanted.
“Grayson Stone is my supervisor at the FBI.”
Ah, finally, she’d added more info that was actually relevant. Though she’d just said something he already knew. Grayson—or Gray to his friends and his enemies—Stone was hard as nails. A real bastard who never stopped. A whiz when it came to mind games and general mind fuckery. The man lived to profile, and he was one of those annoying do-gooder types who wanted to make the world a better, safer place.
Cass enjoyed watching the world burn. Or, starting the fires.
“You worked with Agent Stone not too long ago,” Agnes added.
He shook his head. “I used Agent Stone not too long ago. He had connections that I wanted.” Because I needed to catch a killer.
“Uh, huh. Right. You used him, and he used you. Sure. But you did all of that because you’re family.”
The beating of Cass’s heart suddenly echoed in his ears. She needs to watch what the hell she says.
Agnes tapped one high heel. “Like I said, I notice small details that others might miss. Like bone structure. You and Gray have the same cheekbones.”
He suddenly wanted to yank a hand over one cheekbone.
“You’re the same height, share the same build, too, yes, but it’s the similar facial structure that really caught my attention.” Her head cocked to the right as she studied him. “Same hair texture, but the color is a bit different. Yours is a little darker. I definitely can see the family connection when I look at you both.”
Nope. Not happening. He laughed.
She sighed. “Really? Gonna lie to my face and tell me that I’m wrong?”
He lied to people’s faces all the time. Why should she be special?
But his laughter slowly faded. “You said Gray didn’t send you.”
“I came on my own. Because I think we can help each other.”
Screw that. “I only help myself in this world.”
But Agnes shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”
And why the hell not? “Lady, you don’t know me. You think my cheekbones have told you some bullshit about me. You have no clue who I am, deep inside.” He needed to scare her. Get her to run away and never come back. “I’m a dangerous man.”
“I have no doubt about that.” Agnes nodded. “If it makes you feel better, I’m a dangerous woman.”
He blinked. Shook his head. Refused to be derailed. “You have to know about all of the crimes that have been linked to my MC.”
“Oh, yes. Murders. Robberies. Thefts. Drug-running. So many stories circulate. I’m pretty sure if you believe all the tales, your MC is responsible for every single crime that happens every single day in the United States.” A roll of one shoulder. “But I’m not one to believe the hype.”
He did not speak. She was as cool and casual as you please, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with the little Fed. Except, well, maybe fuck her. He really, really wanted to fuck her. Talking to her wasn’t making his dick settle down any. In fact, hell, he was finding himself more and more curious about her with every single word that she spoke.
“You spend too much time in the darkness,” Agnes suddenly told him.
Yes, he did.
“Gray has profiled you, you know. I mean, Agent Stone has.”
“Of course, he has. Because the guy lives for mind fuckery.” Maybe he should have a drink. Not like he’d even gotten to finish his beer at the bar. Not before she’d started throwing it at his attacker. “Guessing you do, too, huh?” Cass challenged. “What are you, like a Junior Mind Fucker? A Mind Fucker in Training?”
Her nose scrunched again. Damn cute freckles. “I don’t know if that is the professional term…”
He had to fight a smile.
“But I did decide to make my own profile on you after our paths crossed at the FBI office.”
His muscles tightened. “You made a profile on me…after a one-minute meeting?”
“I studied you for more than just one minute.” No humor. No scrunched nose. Just all seriousness.
“And what did you discover in your studies?” He wanted to kiss her again.
He’d been so deep in the darkness with the MC. Agnes was right on that count, he spent far too much time in the dark. So much that he sometimes forgot what the light even was.
Darkness. Pain. Betrayal. Violence. Over and over again.
The adrenaline from the fight tonight still churned in his blood. He’d beat the hell out of a man, and Agnes wasn’t so much as batting an eye about the events of the night.
Maybe she does understand me.
No, no, impossible. No one understood him. He wasn’t looking for understanding. But maybe he was looking for two bodies slamming together in the dark. Her soft skin. Her moans. Her body opening for him as he drove in deep. And made all the demons that tormented him go silent for just a little while.
“You’re a highly protective individual,” Agnes noted. “If someone belongs to you—if you consider them yours—then you will do anything necessary in order to defend the individual. Or to get justice for them.” A decisive nod of her head. “You’ll even work with the Feds if that is what it takes to get vengeance. You’re old school like that. The eye-for-an-eye type straight to your marrow. Someone fucks with you, then you fuck with them harder. You wreck them harder.”
Okay, she was not wrong.
“I can relate to that,” the cute, delicate FBI agent told him. “I enjoy wrecking my enemies.”
“Be still my heart,” he muttered.
She plowed right on, telling him, “You’re a dirty fighter. Skilled but dirty. You don’t follow rules.”
Ah, but now he had to clarify a point for her. Cass cleared his throat. “I just prefer to make my own rules. I’m not a good little FBI agent who has to toe the line all the time.”
She smiled. Not a sweet smile. A bit wicked.
Seriously, be still my damn heart.
“If I were a good little FBI agent, I wouldn’t be here with you tonight.”
Yeah, okay, done. He was fucking her. “You have five minutes,” he said.
“Five minutes?” A little furrow appeared between her brows. “To do what?”
“To get out. To call for a ride.” Nah, that wasn’t wise. Not like he wanted a trail that tied her to his place. “To get me to take you home.” He’d make sure he wasn’t spotted dropping her off. “To get some sense and get the hell away from me.” There, better. “Otherwise…”
She crept toward him. “Otherwise, what?”
“I’m not in the mood to be mind fucked all night, but I am in the mood to fuck.” To fuck her, specifically. Heavy tension poured through him. “So…” A dare. A challenge.
Her eyes narrowed. He could practically see the wheels churning in her head.
Ah, she was trying to manipulate him. As if he didn’t realize she’d been attempting to do that all night long. Fun side story, he was rather skilled at mind fuckery, too. Not like Gray was the only one in the family with that talent.
