Protect and Serve: Fox and Feral Page 4

  He glared at us, his hazel eyes snapping in his round, nondescript face. “Well, the good news is that George Kristov survived the beating you gave him -- so far. He’s in critical condition, but they think he’ll make it. Probably.”

  “How’s the hostage?” I asked sweetly. “The one they didn’t shoot because Agent Feral and I saved her life.”

  “Well, that’s one thing you did right.” He tossed the vid controller on his desk with a plastic clatter. “Count it. One.”

  “Nobody died,” Feral snapped. “No cop. No hostage. Not even one of those murdering bastards. Do you know how many people died the last time Kristov hit a bank? I do. Five. Three customers, a teller, and a cop.”

  “So you get a gold star,” Corley snapped, snatching up the control again and clicking it to pause the vid. “But what the hell is this?”

  The screen showed yet another view of Feral sweeping me into his arms and leaping into the sky. “Who the fuck are you, Rhett Butler? And then you vanished for a goddamn hour before a police chopper found you. Standing in a rooftop garden, like you were shooting a perfume commercial. The vidheads are having a field day speculating about your sex life with your superior officer. You’ve answered the prayers of every late-night comedian hungry for material. And you’ve made the Bureau look like the next location for Passion Island.”

  “He’d just come out of the berserker state,” I managed through dry lips. Somehow I managed not to stammer. “There’s a great deal of adrenaline flowing after…”

  “That ain’t adrenaline!” Corley interrupted, pointing at the screen. “That’s testosterone. You two are done, Agent Fox. You’ve been reassigned to the Los Angeles Riot Unit. Agent Feral’s staying here where I can watch his ass. We’ll find somebody else to keep him from killing people.”

  At least he didn’t fire me, I thought frantically. I can recover from this. All I have to do is keep my nose clean for a couple of years, win a few more commendations to go with the others, and…

  From the corner of one eye, I could see Feral standing at attention, shoulders squared, like a man in front of a firing squad. I remembered him down on one knee, offering me that beautiful ring.

  I could keep my career. Or I could keep Feral. In the end, it didn’t require any more thought than that. “No,” I told the SAC. “No, sir, that’s not acceptable.”

  He stared at me in astonishment. “What’s not acceptable?”

  “I will not accept reassignment.” I plucked my badge out of my pocket and dropped it on his desk. “I’m resigning from the FBI, effective immediately.” Ignoring the SAC’s incredulous gape, I drew my service weapon, checked the safety and put it down on the desk with my credentials.

  Feral dropped his badge and gun on top of the little pile with a metallic clatter. “You had it right, Terry. We’re both done.”

  “But… But what about…” Corley sputtered. Neither of us bothered to hear him out.

  As we left the office, I looked at Jim. “Is that ring still available?”

  He grinned at me like a man who’d just had the weight of a planet lifted off his shoulders. “You bet your pretty little ass.”

  * * *

  Feral’s place was bigger, so we decided it was going to be home until we figured out what to do. I could sublet my place in the meantime.

  I took the subway back to my spartan little apartment to pack a few things I’d need until we got a chance to move the rest of my stuff. An hour later, I unlocked Feral’s front door with the key he’d given me when we’d moved to New York. In a mood of lunatic good humor, I stepped inside and caroled, “Honey, I’m home!”

  “Good,” he rumbled from somewhere inside, sounding remarkably like a very big predator. “I’m waiting.”

  Which was when I saw the trail of red rose petals on the parquet floor. Smoky jazz filled the air from Feral’s impressive sound system, and the smell of sandalwood floated from the bedroom.

  Oooooh. Jim’s feeling romantic.

  Anticipation sizzling through me, I followed the rose petal path, shedding my snug black dress as I went. By the time I got to his bedroom, I was down to the black lace bustier and panties I’d put on before leaving my apartment. I’d completed the look with thigh-high lace nylons and a pair of black stiletto heels.

  Hey, Jim wasn’t the only one feeling romantic.

  When I pushed open the bedroom door, I found him lying across his huge king-sized bed, gloriously naked. His tanned skin gleamed in the golden light of the forest of candles that stood burning on his massive cherry bureau and chest of drawers.

  A dozen roses bloomed in glorious profusion in a vase on the nightstand, and more petals covered the bed around him. A bottle of champagne stood beside the roses in a silver ice bucket, along with a couple of glasses, a crystal bowl of strawberries as red as the roses, and a second, smaller bowl of what smelled like chocolate. Examining the setup, I realized he had the chocolate bowl sitting in a second, larger bowl full of hot water to keep the candy liquid.

  “Wow,” I said, blinking in surprise as I gazed around the room at all his preparations. “You’ve been planning this a while.”

  “I’d intended to propose tonight.” Jim’s eyes darkened as he took in my clothing -- what there was of it, anyway. “That’s one reason I was so pissed when we got the hostage call. Blew the entire plan.”

  He sat up to open the champagne. The cork popped and sailed across the room. I caught it neatly out of the air and sauntered over to join him while he poured the wine.

  As I moved, I tugged the ribbon ties at the top of my bustier to liberate a bit more cleavage. Feral’s impressive cock, already hard, jerked and lengthened still more as he eyed the white mounds of my breasts.

  I slid a hip onto the bed beside him and raised an eyebrow at the slick, cool texture of the cream sheets. “That chocolate’s going to stain the hell out of all this silk.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about the sheets,” he growled, and dipped a finger in the chocolate. He smeared sticky sweetness across my lips and leaned in for a kiss. “All I care about is giving you a night you’ll never forget.”

  I smiled into his eyes. “I’d say you’ve already got that part nailed.”

  When Feral kissed me, my senses seemed to detonate. His lips burned hot against mine, and his tongue swept inside my mouth, tasting of expensive chocolate and that rich, dark tang that was uniquely his.

  As I melted into the hard strength of his body, I slid my hands up over his brawny shoulders. A red flash from my hand caught my attention -- the ring’s ruby catching the candlelight, surrounded by the bright glitter of diamonds. Smiling, I closed my eyes.

  I was going to marry James Feral. He was mine at last, after all the fear and frustration. “It’s strange,” I said, when we finally drew apart. “I should be worried about what the hell we’re going to do, but I feel so free, it’s almost like being weightless. I loved that job, but…” I stopped mid-word as a new thought occurred to me. Had it really been the job I loved, or was it being with Feral?

  “I wouldn’t worry about money. We’ve already had a job offer,” he told me, handing me one of the glasses filled with bubbling gold.

  My brows flew up. “Oh?”

  “Remember Colonel Ross?” Peter Ross had been our Marine C.O. back in the ’Stans. “He opened that private security firm after the war. I gave him a call. He wants to hire us. Bad.”

  “How bad?” I took a thoughtful sip of my champagne. It tasted just slightly sweet and fruity, precisely the way I liked it.

  Feral named a sum that made me choke on my wine. “Yeah,” I gasped, “he wants us bad, all right.”

  “He’s interested in branching off into hostage rescues for international clients. Kidnapping’s big business in some countries.”

  “And half the time rescue attempts end up with the hostages dead in the crossfire.”

  “Exactly. Pete figures we’d have a hell of a lot better success rate, given our talents.”
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br />   I considered the idea. “Ross was a good C.O. -- smart and committed, and he knew how to put together missions that got everybody in and out with a minimum of shit and bloodshed. I think we should take him up on it.”

  “I’ll give him a call,” Jim said, and reached for the laces of my bustier. “Tomorrow.”

  I grinned. “Oh, yeah. It can definitely wait.”

  He went to work on the crossed ribbons that laced the bustier from my cleavage to my waist. Apparently the process called for more patience than he had, because he finally cursed, slid both big hands in the top of the bustier, and ripped. It tore like paper in his superhuman grip. “Hey!” I protested as he tossed the scraps of lace aside. “That was Victoria’s Secret. Expensive Victoria’s Secret.” I’d had him in mind when I’d bought it, too.

  “I’ll buy you another one.” Feral eyed my bare breasts with wolfish hunger. “Though I like you better naked.” He reached for one of the bowls. “And covered in chocolate.”

  Five minutes later, I lay across the bed wearing nothing but nylons and heels -- which apparently appealed to Feral’s kinky streak -- while he used a strawberry to paint dark, rich swirls across my skin.

  Lazy as a queen, I enjoyed the absorbed passion on his face as he covered me in chocolate. The candles poured honeyed golden light across his body, hard muscle casting intriguing shadows that rippled and shifted as he moved. His shoulders looked impossibly wide as they narrowed to his tight waist, and his cock bobbed, a length of rosy velvet shaft adorned with a single glistening tear of arousal. His balls had drawn tight with lust, and I knew I could tip him over into orgasm with one stroke of my hand and a few hard, sucking pulls.

  But I didn’t want this to be over that soon. Especially since he was bending that dark head toward my chocolate-covered nipples.

  The warm candy was thick and sticky, and he had to use his tongue in long laps to clean it off, stopping every little bit to suckle this or that.

  God, it felt so good. His mouth was hot and wet, and I loved the way he raked his teeth over my skin with such exquisite tenderness.

  He flicked a look up at me. “I’m hogging the chocolate. Want some?”

  I grinned, knowing what he meant. “Oh, yeah.”

  And met his mouth. His kiss tasted dark and sweet, and I recognized the flavor. “Godiva’s?” I smiled against his lips. “You melted Godiva’s?”

  “I know what you love.” As if to prove it, he slid his hands over my body in slow, sweet caresses, without the hungry hurry of our rooftop loving. Cupping my breasts so my nipples rose fat and hard for his mouth, he went back to licking them until I squirmed in panting need.

  “Getting a little hot?” Feral’s blue eyes appraised my no-doubt-dazed expression.

  “Yeah,” I moaned. “You make me burn.”

  “Then I’d better cool you off.” He sat up, gave me a pirate’s smile, and reached for the champagne bottle.

  “Feral!” I yelped. I tried to roll off the bed, but he pinned me down with one big hand, smirking like a naughty boy. “Don’t you dare!”

  Which was exactly the wrong thing to say to Jim Feral. He poured a cold golden stream the length of my torso from breasts to pussy, laughing as I gasped and swore.

  Then he licked up every last drop of the champagne. By the time he finished, I was halfway out of my mind.

  When he flipped me onto my stomach in the damp sheets, I rose to my hands and knees and spread my thighs. I don’t think I’ve been hotter in my life.

  I watched in the bureau mirror as Jim took his cock in hand and aimed it for my pussy. He took his time getting it all inside me, too, though I was slick and more than ready.

  God, the way he felt. So broad and long he made me quiver, thigh muscles jerking, helpless with pleasure.

  Which didn’t stop me from watching him in the mirror. Feral rolled his powerful ass in slow thrusts, each stroke a shuddering delight edged with the faintest trace of pain.

  The intensity of the sensation was maddening. I cried out, not giving a damn if all New York heard me yowling like a cat. I loved being filled by him, with him, having him inside me as deep as he could get. He was my partner, my lover, my dream man, my hero.

  The man I loved.

  I screamed when I came. He stiffened and roared a heartbeat later, his head thrown back as he shot and shot and shot.

  * * *

  The silk sheets were a total loss. We had to strip the bed and flip the damp mattress over, then make it up all over again with clean linens. Then, of course, we had to blow out something like two dozen candles and clean up puddles of champagne and soggy rose petals from the hardwood floor.

  Just before I finally drifted off in Feral’s powerful arms, I murmured sleepily, “I love you.”

  In the moonlit darkness, I saw the flash of his smile. “And I love you too.”

  Smiling in contentment, I cuddled closer to my partner, and went to sleep.

  Angela Knight

  Angela Knight is the New York Times best-selling author of books for Berkley, Red Sage, Changeling Press, and Loose Id. Her first book was written in pencil and illustrated in crayon; she was nine years old at the time. A few years later, she read The Wolf and the Dove and fell in love with romance. Besides her fiction work, Angela’s publishing career includes a stint as a comic book writer and ten years as a newspaper reporter. Several of her stories won South Carolina Press Association awards under her real name.

  In 1996, she discovered the small press publisher Red Sage, and realized her dream of romance publication in the company’s Secrets 2 anthology. She went on to publish several more novellas in Secrets before editor Cindy Hwang discovered her work there and asked her if she’d be interested in writing for Berkley. Not being an idiot, Angela said yes.

  Angela lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a polygraph examiner and hostage negotiator for the county Sheriff’s Office. The couple have a grown son, Anthony.