Troublemaker Read online

  “Tell me if you like this,” she murmured, bracing her hands on the bed on each side of him and rising to a crouch so their only point of contact was his penis inside her. Slowly she rose and sank back down, watching his face.

  He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “God almighty.”

  She did it again, slow rising, slow falling. “Does that mean yes?”

  His fists clenched on the mattress beneath them. “It feels like you’re going down on me.” His voice was restricted, as if he could barely talk.

  “I am,” she purred. “Just not with my mouth.”

  Then she concentrated on the task at hand. At some point the phone did ring, but she and Morgan barely noticed. He wasn’t the only one getting pleasure from the position; every time she sank down on him, her nerve endings erupted in small explosions of pleasure. Her climax edged closer with every downstroke, and she slowed to draw it out, to wring out every ounce of sensation.

  It was torture, but the most pleasurable kind imaginable. Her nipples tightened and stood out, chills of ecstasy running over her skin. Such mutual pleasure sent her mental walls tumbling; the words “I love you” trembled on the edge of her consciousness, thought but left unsaid because such words were either a gift or a burden and she wasn’t certain which they would be to him. Rather than take the chance she said them silently, acknowledging how much he meant to her, letting herself savor the moment, just this moment, of loving.

  But no matter how much she slowed, eventually the pleasure built to such a point that she was almost paralyzed, trembling on the edge of climax. Morgan was a taut, muscular arch beneath her, his teeth clenched as he fought not to come before she did. Her inner muscles were clenched so tightly around him that moving either up or down would likely end it for both of them. She moaned, deep and shaky.

  He broke, clamping his big hands on her hips and driving her down to the hilt on his thick penis. She gave a quick, gasping cry as her orgasm gathered and then surged, swamping her entire body with sensations so intense she was lost to everything else. His hips bucked beneath her, intensifying the spasms. She thought he was swearing through his clenched teeth but the words were muted by her fast, heavy heartbeats pounding in her chest, her ears, throbbing in her throat.

  The spasms began to subside, coming slower and slower, her body jerking with each one. Gradually she folded over, wilting on him, until she was lying draped on top of him as limp as a ragdoll kitten. His breathing was fast and heavy but so was hers, and within seconds their bodies had synchronized, breaths and hearts.

  After a minute he managed to move his hand, stroking it over her back and ass.

  “Damn, woman,” he muttered. That was all, but she felt those two words down to her bones.

  Getting enough strength built up to get out of bed took another few minutes, then they did a quick cleanup and headed downstairs to her desktop for Morgan to view the photos. At least she assumed they were on the desktop because looking at photos on a phone wasn’t the best way to make an identification.

  She took Tricks out and returned to find Morgan with a cup of coffee in his hand and one ready for her. He was waiting for her before he began looking at the photographs. Hurriedly she fed Tricks, then they went to the computer.

  He’d turned on the burner phone and slipped it into his pocket, because there wasn’t any way to anticipate which phone Axel would call: her home phone, her cell, or Morgan’s cell. “Be my guest,” she said, gesturing to the desktop. He sat down, pulled up her email, and clicked on the one with an attachment. She leaned over and looked at the address of the sender: it was a woman’s name, using a Gmail account.

  “Is that Axel?” she asked.

  “I assume so. I’m guessing he set up a separate account from some hole in the wall he has, or some phone registered to God only knows who.” He clicked to open the attachment, and the little wheel started spinning to show the command was processing. Then photos started opening up on the screen, and Morgan began scrolling down.

  The photos had been taken in a variety of environments: on the street, in restaurants, in a courtyard of what she suspected was an embassy, going by the flags. She didn’t ask how the photographs had been attained. Another man had been Photoshopped into each photo, a dark-haired man in a suit. The Photoshop was obvious because the image was the same in every instance.

  “Who’s that?” she asked, leaning over his shoulder to tap the screen.

  “Dexter Kingsley. This way I can compare heights, going by what I remember from the man in the blue shirt going below on the boat, and Kingsley coming up. I have good spatial memory.”

  She just bet he did. “These are the foreign agents whose whereabouts can’t be accounted for that day?”

  “Mostly. I’d guess there are a few domestic troublemakers in here, knowing Axel; he’d throw in anyone he found suspicious.”

  He took his time looking at each photo, comparing the two men’s heights and, she supposed, such things as shape of head, whatever he could have noticed at such a distance. She didn’t see how he could make a definitive ID under such circumstances, but this was about narrowing down the possibilities.

  Each image was numbered, twenty-three in all. There was no identification of the people in any of the photographs; he wasn’t concerned with that. Axel would know who they were. Morgan paused at image number eight, scrolled down through nine, ten, eleven, twelve, paused at thirteen, then scrolled through the remaining nine. He went back to thirteen, then back to eight. Thirteen again. Eight. He went back and forth a couple of times, then tapped the screen. “Eight.”

  She had no idea what parameters he was using. To her none of the men resembled each other, though they did all have gray hair. Number eight’s hair was kind of iron gray, neatly cut and shaped to his head.

  “That’s the most likely prospect, huh? What made you decide?” Eight and thirteen looked nothing alike facially, so there had to be something else that had made him go back and forth between the two.

  “The shape of the head, and the way his ears are set.”

  “Damn, what kind of eyesight do you have?” she said, both startled and amazed. From the distance he’d said he was at, detail had to be at a minimum—at least for her, and she had twenty-twenty eyesight.

  “Twenty-fifteen in my right eye, a little better than that in my left eye. Comes in handy.”

  “Wow. I can see that. I can also see I need to put on makeup every morning before you get up.”

  He slipped his hand around her right thigh. “No, you don’t. You look great. Besides, if you’re naked, I’d never notice if you have on makeup or not.” He didn’t look up at her, but she could see a grin tugging at his mouth.

  She rolled her eyes and gave him a light slap on the shoulder, though inwardly she was pleased that he liked her naked. “Thanks a lot. Anyway, back to business. Do you know who this guy is?”

  “Not a clue. I’m not in the information-gathering side of the business.” He reached for his cell, and it rang right on cue. He hit the button and put the call on speaker.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you answer the phone?” Axel barked.

  “Couldn’t get to it,” Morgan said neutrally.

  There was a pause, then Axel erupted in a yell: “You son of a bitch, are you screwing my sister?”

  The surge of rage made Bo feel as if her eyes were popping out of her head. He’d always had that instant effect on her. She leaned over, slammed her fist down on the desk and yelled back, “I’m not your damn sister! And, no, he isn’t screwing me! I’m screwing him! I’ve worn him down to a dried-up husk of his former self! I—”

  “Did you put this call on speaker?” Axel interrupted, his tone aghast.

  “She’s the woman you trusted to save my life,” Morgan retorted. “Damn right I did. Plus she’s in it now, so she deserves to know what’s going on.” Annoyance and laughter were fighting in his expression, though Bo was at a loss to guess exactly what was triggering what. She’d called him a