Their Summer Heat, page 14
Her zipper echoed in the room, and then the gown flowed like water down her beautiful body. Max steadied her as she stepped out of the blue fluff.
He couldn’t get enough of the vision before him. The blue diamonds sparkled against her creamy skin. A lacy strapless bra cupped her luscious breasts. A matching garter belt held silk stockings. Blue heels begged him to fuck her.
Max stepped back from her. “Walk.”
A small smile played on her lips. She sashayed away from him, and his eyes were instantly drawn to the blue lace covering her ass. She spun and strutted back, but she bypassed him and stopped in front of his brother. She released Logan’s belt and slid down the zipper of his pants. He liked this bold attitude, this take what she wanted, naughty girl.
Instead of dropping to her knees, she spread her legs wide, bent over and took his brother’s cock into her mouth. Max stripped, his gaze never leaving the erotic scene. Logan unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop to the floor.
Her delectable ass was an engraved invitation, one he couldn’t resist. He moved behind her, pressed his cock against her lower back, loved the way it lay dark against her creamy skin. Then he kissed each bump down her spine, felt the chills rush over her skin.
“You’re a naughty girl,” said Max.
Smack!
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Slap!
The need to immerse himself balls deep consumed him. Hungrily, he pushed two fingers into her channel, finding it hot and soaking wet—just the way he liked it.
Summer stood, spun and plastered herself against him. “I want you in the front. Logan can take the back.”
Hell, that suited him fine.
She lifted her leg and wrapped it around his ass, her clit pressed along his raging erection. The smell of her perfumed skin mixed with her feminine musk made him harder. After snaking her arms around his neck, she kissed him and rocked on his cock.
“I can’t wait to sink my dick into you balls deep.”
“And I can’t wait for you to do that either,” she replied.
When Logan moved behind her with the lube, Max hauled her up, settled her over his cock. She sank all the way down, and he struggled to control himself, to keep from plowing into her.
God, he loved fucking her without a latex barrier, feeling those sensual tissues of hers suck him in. Max grabbed the cheeks of her ass and spread them. Her gaze locked with his as he brother pressed inside. She hissed as his brother eased inside her rear.
“You okay?” asked Logan.
“Yes.” She squeezed her inner muscles.
Logan grabbed her hips and held her away from Max to give him some room to move. When Logan retreated, Max pushed in. The slide of his cock against her tight pussy was heaven.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “It’s so…so…amazin’.”
“I agree,” said Logan.
Max’s balls drew up tight as her slick pussy caressed him. He pumped hard, his thighs slapping into her soft body. When Summer threw back her head as her orgasm swamped her, Max shoved in, welcomed her muscles clamping down on his cock. He came in a powerful rush of pure pleasure and Logan’s followed next.
As his body recovered, one thing became crystal clear.
Max would never let her go.
Summer yawned as she headed to find something to eat. She didn’t like waking to an empty bed and it pissed her off. Max and Logan were warm, strong…safe.
In the empty kitchen, she snagged an apple and made a beeline to the war room, where there was always someone prowling or sleeping. Pushing the door open, she barged in. Silence descended on the space like a funeral. Men stiffly sat on every available surface.
Logan and Max were both dressed in jeans and t-shirts. The grim lines on their faces tugged on her heartstrings. As striking as they were, they looked frazzled.
All because of her.
Special Agent Carver Benson stood at the bulletin board, and Summer noticed two more pictures added on the end. Dread filled her belly as she advanced on the wall of horror. Julie Hanks was number nine. Who was victim ten?
As she reached the last picture, the single bite of apple rose in her throat. The name under the photo read “Christy Miller.”
Nobody calls you a whore
Summer swept her hand through her hair. “How is this possible?”
“He already had Miss Miller,” said the agent. “Carried her out the back door after he sprayed the camera lens with black paint.”
She turned to Max. “You knew they couldn’t find her, and you didn’t tell me.” She looked at Logan. “And neither did you.”
“Yes,” said Max. “No need to worry about something you can’t change.”
“You two…” She pointed her finger at them as her whole body shook. “You two are too big for your britches. You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t know or what I can and can’t worry about. It’s not your fuckin’ choice.”
Her hands fisted and she resisted charging them and wringing their lousy necks. “I refuse to be sheltered like a child.” She spun back to the murder board and tapped on Julie and then Christy’s faces so hard, the whole display threatened to topple. “This is my fault. I did this. I…did…this.” A lone tear escaped.
Logan was there, pulling her into his embrace, but she pushed him away. Soothed was the last thing she wanted.
“Miss Heat,” said Dan. “You are not responsible for this maniac and how he chooses his victims. If he hadn’t chosen these two, someone else would have been on his radar. Don’t forget, Miss Heat, this is a game to him. If he weren’t obsessed with you, he’d be tormenting another woman.”
A fucking game. How does one play this game? In the recesses of her mind, she knew Dan was correct. Her gaze darted around to the lethal men. They must think I’m an incompetent, blubbing idiot.
“Miss Heat,” said Benson. “What you did was brave. You were right. Bait is the FBI’s dream. The problem wasn’t you, it was me—I failed us. I didn’t have enough agents in place. I knew his desperation to see you, but I underestimated his means and brains, not only to carry out one kill, but two. Every profiler in the bureau is working this case and none of us saw this coming.”
She wanted to blurt out that his statement didn’t make her feel better, but he probably already knew it. “So how do we catch him?” she asked.
“I don’t have the answer, ma’am.”
Summer walked back to the photos of the last victims. Did he kill the first one because he couldn’t handle two? Was there one or two or a team of them? Last night, she had spent some time going over the scene in the bathroom and at the Prestons’ table. “Has anyone figured out how he knew these two had approached me? Why these two and not someone else? The bathroom was empty except for us three.”
“We swept the whole damn place and found nothing, so we have no clue.”
“This guy’s IQ must be off the fuckin’ charts,” she said.
The agent only nodded. Summer wanted to question this killer, figure out how he did all these things without even coming close to getting caught, but on the other hand, she hoped he died—soon.
Her eye settled on the ninth victim’s message.
“We’ll soon be together,” she read. She tapped the words with her manicured nail. “Why not take me? What’s he waitin’ for?”
“We all agree, he loves the challenge,” offered Wallace.
Summer knew in her heart of hearts there was only one way to end this—to give herself over to this murderer—but she was petrified.
Logan grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her toward the door. “C’mon, I need to change into some smaller britches.”
The men snickered.
When they reached the kitchen, she plopped down on a stool. “I’m sorry.”
Both Max and Logan stopped and stared at her.
“But you can’t protect me. I won’t allow it.”
Max pulled some bacon from the fridge. “Doesn’t sound like you’re sorry to me.”
Summer couldn’t hide her grin. “You sound like a lawyer.”
He shrugged.
“I’m sorry I chastised you in a room full of alpha males. I’m not sorry that I’m pissed.”
Logan pulled a mug from the cupboard and poured her some coffee. Her belly wasn’t ready for something so high-octane, but she wouldn’t complain. No arguing, at least for a little while. How had her life gotten so fucked up?
“If you’re up to it, they want you to view the cellphone pics and vids to see if you can recognize anything. They’ve worked their magic and only gave us pictures taken at the gala and the video from the TV stations.”
“Okay.”
“The FBI has some fancy-damn program to catalog the faces and spit out a report for us to look over. They are also reviewing all the call logs of every person at the gala,” said Max. “I think we have the better job.”
“Like a virtual mug shot book. Sounds tedious,” she replied.
“Yeah,” said Logan. “I can think of a ton of better things to do.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
She grinned at his playfulness. “If I wasn’t here, and we weren’t all in hell, what would you two be doin’ on a Sunday morning?” she asked.
“Office,” replied Max.
“Paperwork,” said Logan. “And you?”
“Catching up on sleep and hitting the books.” God, seemed as if a hundred years had passed since she’d last done any studying. Her life was shit. Well, not total shit…she did enjoy the brothers.
Maybe a little too much.
Her mind immediately replayed images of herself in the man-sandwich, and her womb clenched, remembering the intense pleasure that almost made her faint. She liked them, loved their looks, their intensity, their caring of her.
One thing was for sure; walking away would be damn hard.
Pushing the thought out of her head, she focused on figuring out a trigger to get the madman to stop—not that he would, because this was fun to him. Outwitting the FBI had to be sugar on top of the thrill of the kill. So many ladies’ lives cut short. Such a waste. And if the guy decided to launch a rocket into this penthouse, more people would die. No, he wouldn’t kill her yet. He’d want to see her fear.
But the brothers? He’d destroy them to get them out of the way. “You know when you asked me not to do anythin’ stupid?”
Concern flooded their eyes, but they both nodded.
“I think you need to take a bodyguard platoon with you to work.”
“We’ll be fine,” said Max as he cracked eggs.
“I highly doubt any of us will be fine until this is over and done with. But if he wants to draw me out, he may use you two to do it.”
“Are you saying we’re your weakness?” Logan grinned.
“A woman does not confess certain things, but if this lunatic somehow takes either one of you, I will offer myself to him in return for your safety.” They opened their mouths to protest, and she held up her hand. “I know that would be crazy because he will surely kill you, but I’d still do it.”
Max turned and pointed a fork at her. “That would be stupid, so don’t do it.”
“And if he captures me and asks you to go somewhere or do somethin’, you’re not gonna be stupid and do it…are you?”
“That’s different,” said Logan.
“Why?”
“We can take care of ourselves.”
“Both of you look at me. This is me rollin’ my eyes at such an asinine statement.” And to prove her point, she rolled them for a solid ten seconds. “I don’t doubt your abilities, but I do doubt that any man can take him down because he won’t play fair. He’s probably an average-sized man, maybe five ten to six one. This is a brain-game.”
“I think we’ve been insulted,” said Logan with a laugh.
“Twice,” grumbled Max.
Logan was probably joking, but Max seemed offended.
“I know that if you don’t want to chance me giving up myself to this maniac because he’s managed to snatch one of you, then you need to take some guards with you to work.”
Hell, she’d certainly feel better, knowing big brutes with big guns were with the Prestons. Probably not good for business, but she didn’t give a flying flip.
“I’ll ask Wallace to pull in more men,” said Max.
“And some extra protection for your parents, too.” It was a statement, not a question. Etched into her mind was the look on their mom’s face, one Summer would never forget.
“Yes,” answered Max. “Anything else?”
She loved the way he cocked his eyebrow in agitation. Hopping down from the stool, she rounded the bar and stopped before him. Taking his warm face between her hands, she pulled him close for a sweet kiss. “Thank you for easin’ my mind.”
He crushed her to him and deepened the kiss. When he broke free, he said, “We can’t lose you.” His voice sounded strained.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere unless I have to rescue you.” She moved to Logan, stepped between his legs, and repeated the kiss. She knew she should run, leave them now and maybe, just maybe, she could remove them from the threat. But at this moment, there was nowhere else she wanted to be.
After breakfast, they piled on the plush couch in the living room. With the press of a few buttons, images slowly rolled on the massive TV screen. The brothers added commentary about the person on the screen or whose phone it was, but she wasn’t concerned with the faces in the forefront.
No, she purposely studied people in the background. There had to be at least one snapshot of the bastard. Dodging security cameras was one thing, but a room full of cellphones, well, that was an entirely different matter.
Three hours later, Summer had nothing but bloodshot eyes and a headache the size of Texas. She’d recognized absolutely nobody in the parade of faces. No person who’d ordered a Ruben or ham on rye. No janitor or administrator or classmate. One thing had dawned on her. She had to know the bastard; otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of disguising his voice.
The brothers were snoozing, so she snuggled against Logan and closed her eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
Summer watched Dan haul in a new bulletin board from the hallway. Before Logan and Max left for work this morning, Agent Benson had informed them that another woman had died last night, and had said he would be over later with the details.
She wanted to comprehend how the bastard managed to outsmart them again. If she were one of the ladies on this guy’s hit list, she’d start walking and disappear. Maybe that’s what she should do anyway. Getting mugged was a better option than being stalked and killed by a deranged, insane serial killer.
Grabbing her laptop, she took her coffee and moved to the living room. A feeling of dread and apprehension floated around her. Part of it was the separation from Max and Logan, a fear that something awful would happen to them. She needed them in the nice little cocoon they had here, guarded by burly men with honking bazookas. Hiding was such a comforting plan.
After turning on the TV and setting the volume on low, she opened her laptop and typed in the words ménage a trois. Somebody besides her had to know more about this relationship.
Merriam-Webster: an arrangement in which three persons (as a married pair and the lover of one of the pair) share sexual relations especially while living together. Origin: French, literally, household for three. First Known Use: 1856.
That old, huh?
When it dawned on her their relationship could indeed be defined as a family, although an unconventional one, her heart fluttered with longing, which she immediately dismissed. She would not let her feelings trek there.
Wikipedia listed fifteen or so historic threesomes, which included a duchess, a duke, a baron, an admiral, a philosopher, a violinist, a poet, a writer, a painter, an actress, a psychoanalyst, and a king and queen as far back as 1775.
Wow. The dates don’t match.
No mention of a country girl from North Carolina and two of the most eligible bachelors in New York City, either.
Most of relationships listed two males and one female, which would make sense, since a woman can orgasm multiple times and males are limited in that capacity.
Of course, one had to wonder why a man would want two wives, since women tended to be the neediest of the species, emotionally speaking. Then there was the bitchiness women were branded with—what guy would subject himself to two?
She typed in the words “adult spanking” and hit enter. Lots of information about submission, extreme pain and humiliation, but that didn’t represent her. Some people enjoyed punishment, a sort of cleansing of the soul—definitely not her. Twenty minutes later, she found something that made sense. The buttocks contained a high concentration of nerve endings, which led directly to sexual nerve centers, and the pain from the spanking caused a flood of endorphins. So it’s physiological. That, her logical mind could process.
Next on her list of search terms were the words “BDSM clubs.” Several sites offered something called spanking benches and crosses and showed pictures of ladies with extremely red behinds. Ow, that’s got to hurt. Summer shifted in her seat when her mouse-clicking fingers found more erotic situations. Damn, she was getting hot n’ bothered. If Max and Logan were here, she’d jump their bones.
When the research had sexually overstimulated her, she logged into her school email account. Several messages popped up from an unknown sender. She knew she shouldn’t open them but couldn’t help herself.
Little tremors rolled through her body as horror filled the screen. A woman was restrained in a bed, wearing nothing but terror on her face. The next picture showed mutilated breasts and the victim sobbing. The next displayed a dark stain on the insides of her legs and her eyes devoid of life.
All the emails contained the same horror but a different victim. Oh, my God. The man took pictures. She stood quickly on wobbly legs and stumbled to the war room.
The second she was inside, Wallace moved to her. “What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t answer, just shoved her laptop toward him. Wallace peered at the screen, then put the machine down and grabbed her arm. He said something, but she had cotton in her ears. He maneuvered her to the chair, and shoved a water bottle into her hand, but she shook so hard, water sloshed onto her pants.
