Lover Undercover

chapter Nine


Before Kylie could catch her breath, Trevor swept her into his arms and started walking. Rich earth tones, wood trim, and old leather swirled in her vision like a merry-go-round of colors and textures. Then he lowered her onto a continent of a bed, switched on the bedside lamp, and stepped back to look at her. Even in the dim glow from the lamp, she couldn’t miss the hunger in his eyes.

She also couldn’t miss the fact that their clothing situation remained as uneven as ever. There he stood, fully clothed, while she wore not a stitch.

The realization brought her to her knees, still weak from the soul-rattling experience of her first non-self-administered orgasm. She planted a hand in the middle of his chest. “Wait.”

He drew back. “Don’t you want to come again—with me inside you?”

Oh boy, did she. Caution had officially fled the building, leaving reckless desire in charge. “Yes. Absolutely yes. But first…” Her shaking fingers scrambled over the buttons of his shirt. The feel of his muscular chest frayed her patience and in the end she simply tore the shirt open. His startled, aroused growl nearly drowned out the clatter of buttons on polished hardwood.

She shoved the shirt down his shoulders, drinking in the sight of his broad chest, striated abs, and firm, flat stomach. “You’ve seen me naked, or nearly naked, plenty of times, but I never get to see you. I never get to touch your skin.” Determined to rectify the inequity, she indulged herself now, running her hands over his warm, hard body. It wasn’t enough. Somehow he sensed this, because he leaned in, knelt on the bed, and took her lips. Kissing him back, she leaned in, too, until her tight, aching nipples brushed his chest. Their moans mingled in the quiet room.

“You feel so good,” she whispered.

He choked out a laugh, even as his arm came around her back to support her. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I want to,” she said against his chest, while her impatient fingers tugged his belt. “I want to know all of it.” Desperately. If wanting him, surrendering to the want, was wrong, so be it. Stacy, her mom, heck, everyone she shared DNA with, gave in to these cravings whenever they struck. For once in her life, she would take the same freedom.

Hands tangled as he helped her unhook his belt and open his fly. Reaching in, she found him straining toward her invading fingers with an enthusiasm that matched her own. Shoving his clothing away, she closed her hand around him. Dear heaven…all of him.

Slowly, she let her eyes slide down. Her hand looked slim and delicate around his enormous erection. She’d felt it before, through his clothes. Those furtive explorations really hadn’t prepared her for how big he was. Huge, thick, and hard as granite. Excitement and trepidation fizzed in her chest.

“Trevor—”

He wrapped his hand over hers. “Jesus, it’s insane what you do to me with just a touch.”

Overwhelmed, she rested her forehead against his chest and gave in to the impulse to stroke him. Breath burst from his lungs in a tortured whoosh. His scent, a heady mix of soap and pure, elemental male, invaded her nostrils at the same time his low groan invaded her ears.

The next moment, her world twirled as Trevor flipped her flat on her back. She popped up on her elbows and stared at him. His face was dark with concentration as he opened a foil packet. Something quickened inside her at the sight of his hands on his penis, deftly rolling on the condom. Heat intensified between her thighs. She clenched them together to try to ease the sensation, but it didn’t help. Seeking relief, she opened her legs, offered herself.

He crawled forward until he knelt in the vee. “How do you like it?” he whispered.

She didn’t know. She only knew she wanted it. Urgently. “I don’t care. Please,” she begged, and fluttered her legs in a restless motion.

He slid his hands along the insides of her thighs, parting her legs even more, exposing her aching center and leaving her utterly vulnerable. She bit her lip, but an edgy moan escaped.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” And he did. One hand resting on her thigh, the other wrapped around the base of his erection, he ran the tip over her throbbing sex, and then pushed gently into her.

Pleasure swelled at the point of penetration, coiling and contracting with every shallow thrust of his hips until, stretched to her limit, the sensations sharpened to an almost painful intensity. Another moan tore from her throat, this one half ecstasy, half plea for mercy.

“Christ, you’re tight,” he ground out. She writhed under him, straining to find relief, but his big hand clasped her hip, holding her still. “Let me—” Hooking an arm behind her knee, he hitched her leg up high until her calf rode his shoulder. He sank a little deeper. His beautiful, intense face receded as her vision grayed along the edges. One more second and she’d break into a million pieces from the sharp, thrilling combination of pain and pleasure.

Oh, God, help me, she prayed. Maybe she prayed out loud, because Trevor reached down between their joined bodies and strummed his thumb over her unbearably sensitive center. At the same time, he angled deep and drove into her.

For one suspended moment, their eyes met. His lips moved and she heard his rough, shocked, “Jesus, Stacy.” Then sensations blasted through her like a shock wave. Eyes closed, head thrown back, she spasmed helplessly, endlessly. With a low, tortured sound, he plunged again, and she shattered in his arms.

…

Trevor stared at the woman asleep in his bed, and because he couldn’t help himself, brushed his fingertip lightly over her soft, slightly kiss-swollen lips. She was a beautiful contradiction, this provocative yet alluringly innocent stripper.

The innocence hadn’t been an act—or not completely. The last time he’d taken someone’s virginity he’d been a sweaty-palmed teenager, but it wasn’t the kind of experience a man forgot. Until tonight, the woman nestled beside him had been a virgin. Not the sex-for-sport man-eater Vern had described to Ian. That left only two options. Either the people at Deuces didn’t know her at all, or the woman beside him wasn’t Stacy Roberts.

A detail shook loose from the stack of facts stored in his brain. Just a small piece of information Ian had offered when he first ran their almost-witness. No brothers. One sister. He’d barely heard it at the time because they were looking at male relatives. They weren’t interested in her sister.

He was now. Careful not to wake his exhausted bedmate, he slid out of bed and made his way to the dining room he’d converted into a home office. He sat at the small desk with his laptop, spotted his Yukon parked in the driveway through the curtains, and sent out a silent thanks to Ian. After entering the security codes, he accessed the online file for the Carlton Long murder. He scrolled through the file directories to witnesses, opened the folder, and scrolled again until he located the subfile for Stacy Roberts. Clicking the file, he paged through the scanned reports and homed in on the immediate family. He perused the information, reacquainting himself with her date of birth. Then he came to the sister: Kylie Roberts. Exact same birthday.

Twins. He banged his fist against the desk before he could stop himself. How could they have missed this? He’d bet his left nut they were identical twins. He’d ante up the right one on the hunch the woman asleep in his bed was none other than Kylie Roberts.

The deduction explained a lot. Like why, for him, the dry facts about Stacy never reconciled with the living, breathing woman. Why a seasoned stripper came across as an enticing but inexperienced novice, and turned out to be a virgin. It explained why she hadn’t recognized Carlton Long or Alex Montenegro during the first interviews, but later remembered exactly which routines she’d used with each of them. He’d interviewed Kylie. Then she’d run to Stacy and learned what she needed to know so she’d be prepared the next time they spoke. And she had been prepared, impressively so.

The pieces continued falling into place in his mind as he shut down the computer and walked back to the bedroom. The woman tucked under his covers made a small, distressed sound in her sleep.

He sighed. No wonder her dreams troubled her. On top of finding herself at the center of a murder investigation, she’d been living a lie, posing as Stacy. The bigger question—why—demanded an answer. Thinking back on their conversation earlier in the evening, he realized she’d been absolutely right about one thing. This was going to be ugly.