Книга - Naked Sushi

Naked Sushi
Jina Bacarr


One day I’m getting canned from my job as a computer programmer for having wild copy-room sex with a guy I thought was the new game designer.The next, I’m crashing my ex-boss’s business lunch in a creative attempt to get my job back and men are eating sushi off my naked body! That’s when I realize a) My ex-boss is a hiding corporate secrets b) Hot copy-room guy is an undercover FBI agent c) I would make a kick-ass spy! Then Special Agent Hottie brings out his cuffs, and things get really interesting… – Other Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon & Cosmo include: Afterburn by Sylvia Day (August 2013), Fearless by Tawny Weber (September 2013), Cake by Lauren Dane (September 2013), Everything You Need to Know by HelenKay Dimon (October 2013), Aftershock by Sylvia Day (November 2013)







A Delicious Mistake

One day I’m getting canned from my job as a computer programmer for having wild copy-room sex with a guy I thought was the new game designer. The next, I’m crashing my ex-boss’s business lunch in a creative attempt to get my job back, and men are eating sushi off my naked body!

That’s when I realize

a) My ex-boss is hiding corporate secrets

b) Hot copy-room guy is an undercover FBI agent

c) I would make a kick-ass spy!

Then Special Agent Hottie brings out his cuffs, and things get really interesting....






Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women.

Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon

www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo)


Dedication

To Roberta Brown, who has always been there for me.


Dear Reader,

I love James Bond, with his gadgets and his wild, sexy adventures. As a kid, I spent many afternoons in a dark movie theater, riding shotgun with the handsome spy in his Aston Martin. And the women in his life, oh, my! I’d never be Honey Ryder, but I had this fantasy about filling her bikini.

So I created Pepper O’Malley. She doesn’t want to be a Bond girl; she wants to be James Bond. Agent 007 in high heels. Why not? Pepper is a crack computer programmer who just happens to wear glasses, but she can beat the boys at their own game. Like so many girls who work in male-dominated fields, she has to work twice as hard and be twice as smart.

I know what Pepper is up against. I wrote a column called Sweet Savage Byte for a computer magazine, where I looked at the world of technology from a female point of view. I also worked for a video game company, wrote code and created audio/video. These experiences paved the way for me to write Pepper’s adventures.

I had a blast writing the story of this girl-spy wannabe who ends up sporting not a bikini, but yellow pom-pom chrysanthemums and a banana leaf when she becomes a naked sushi model to get her job back. She finds herself caught up in the world of corporate espionage with a sexy FBI agent and his hot chopsticks.

My story is sexy and fun but also explores the real-life challenges women face in the workplace. I love hearing from my readers. Follow me on Twitter, @JinaBacarr (https://twitter.com/JinaBacarr), www.facebook.com/JinaBacarr.author (http://www.facebook.com/JinaBacarr.author) and my website, www.jinabacarr.com (http://www.jinabacarr.com).

Bon appétit!

Jina Bacarr


Naked Sushi

Jina Bacarr








Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women.



Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon

www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/cosmo)


Contents

Chapter One (#u621c1107-d9ce-5f62-baf9-352b9c1f08ec)

Chapter Two (#u8ec9ec97-1ff6-59b2-8211-918cff72d9f4)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Naked and as helpless as a beached mermaid, I held my breath. I was about to get eaten by the sexiest man alive.

I knew taking off my clothes was not a smart career move. But did I listen?

Did I?

Out of work and desperate, I had no choice but to take this gig if I wanted to survive. So here I was, lying on a table nude except for a shiny pink thong, banana leaf and yellow pom-pom chrysanthemums, which covered my breasts.

A live sushi plate.

Rose petals lay scattered around me, and was that pickled ginger I smelled?

What if I sneezed?

It got worse when I saw the gorgeous man who got me fired from my computer job grabbing a sliver of red tuna off my belly, pinching me.

Ouch, that hurt.

He gave me the “sorry, babe” look that got me into trouble in the first place. Those smoldering dark eyes of his had led me into temptation. Self-assured and no doubt used to getting his own way, he oozed danger from every pore. I would have followed him to hell if he’d asked me.

He didn’t. Instead, he seduced me on top of the copy machine at midnight. His tall, athletic body crushing mine against the glass, his hands everywhere. And every dark fantasy I ever had came true. An orgasm that kept coming. And coming...

I groaned.

God, look at that grin. He knew what I was thinking. He knew I wanted him even if I was majorly pissed at him.

Then he had the nerve to wipe his chopsticks across my midriff, leaving a trail of sticky white rice. His tongue flickered out as if he intended to lick the gummy rice off my bare skin.

Oh, yes, please!

I dared not move a muscle.

I couldn’t believe I was lying here naked, belly up, with raw fish spread out all over my body, even around my pubic area. Waiting for this guy to make his move. He appeared unconcerned by the fact I was at his mercy. I would have died if his sexy lips nibbled on me, lips that I imagined were both soft and rough, tender yet insistent in finding out what was underneath that crisp, brown banana leaf glued to my mound.

As if I was going to let that happen.

Phew. I smelled like raw fish, tasted like raw fish, and I had raw fish, cold and slimy, sliding down between my thighs, much to the delight of the salivating man breathing on me. I felt so vulnerable lying here, unable to move, as I watched him licking his chops.

I stifled a groan in the back of my throat, imagining him pushing his probing finger into me, testing the moistness inside me, his touch arousing me before his mouth found the pleasure of my pinkness. Sucking on me, giving my swollen clit so much attention I could hardly stand it.

In my mind, he stroked me faster and harder, delicious sensations building inside me and the ache turning into an unrelenting agony when he went down on me and—

Dream on. I’ll never let my defenses down again. How can I?

It was because of him I got fired from my job. I allowed my overripe female hormones to be seduced by this man with a slow, irresistible smile.

And a great butt.

He looked amused, which annoyed the hell out of me. Because of my indiscretion, I wasn’t getting unemployment checks, my savings were almost gone, and my rent was due.

Naked sushi, indeed.

I wasn’t just pissed. I was going to get even.

* * *

It all started weeks ago when I was working late, preparing to copy the cue sheets for a commercial spot due in the morning. No big deal. Five minutes of slaving over a hot copy machine, and I’d be heading home to my studio apartment with Chinese takeout.

A single girl’s best friend, next to her rabbit vibrator.

The office manager had gone home, so I decided to do the job myself, though I wasn’t familiar with how the new machine worked. I was a computer research analyst programmer for a video game company, better known in the world of corporate acronyms as CRAP.

It was a private joke among programmers. No corporation could run without our snappy codes and erratic symbols splashed across pages of files that looked like Jackson Pollock got stuck inside a computer.

I liked my job.

I analyzed and edited clips of our company’s ads and video games and then recoded the video and audio files and converted them for various media. I also did postproduction, including sweetening the videos with music. When I got bored, I’d get creative and do fun things, like embed hidden erotic poems into corporate microdots in PowerPoint presentations. Easy as texting if you knew how.

All you had to do was create a new text box on a slide and type in sexy stuff like, “Did your last date speak French without an interpreter?” Then change the font color to the background color to make it invisible before shrinking it down to a small, dot-sized box. Add a grid, note the box’s location, and then send that to all the programmers. The clued-in ones without computer anxiety knew how to read the sexy message. Made Tuesday morning meetings a lot more fun.

I also added sexy French words to the background tracks on test video games. I was good at picking up languages. And I loved messing around with spy stuff, which was why I’d applied to the CIA, FBI, DEA and ATF.

I never got past the written exams.

I found out sporting anchor-girl glasses didn’t place me high on their list of qualified applicants. I was saving up to get Lasik surgery before I got canned, but I could never get the cash together.

Then there was the matter of my questionable background. I was a security risk because I didn’t know who my parents were. How could I? Officer O’Malley found me when someone dumped me at the 16th Street Mission BART Station while I was still in diapers. He gave me his surname and called me Mary Dolores after the mission nearby, but the guys knew me as “Pepper.” I started calling myself that in the eighth grade to rev up my sex quotient.

Since it was doubtful I’d make it as a covert operative, I was determined to be the best at my job. I was really comfy at my last place of employment. You could call me an arty techie, which was why things like outdated office furniture and dirty bathrooms, leaky ceilings and vermin of the four-legged kind bugged me.

I found out you can’t escape the two-legged ones no matter how cool the decor was. I worked at one company with a gang of programmers who thought using soap was for girly men. Worse yet, I could hear rats scurrying above me. When a ceiling tile came loose and I saw a tail and two little feet dangling over my head, I bailed.

At my last job we had airy working spaces, bathrooms with cut flowers and a lunchroom with a junk food menu to die for. Unlike a lot of software companies who dip their sticks in Silicon Valley, my ex-boss took over a restored Victorian house in San Francisco and turned it into a first-class company facility.

I loved discovering the secrets of the old house, including hidden cabinets, desks with locked drawers, even a concealed entrance.

And I had my own office. No backseat surfers peering over my shoulder and trying to tell me how to write code. Add to that a steaming-hot mocha latte on my desk every morning and I was stylin’.

Damn, I wanted my job back. That place was cool.

It was the why I got fired that had me pissed.

I had sex in the copy machine room. My cheap surrender over the copier, buttocks thumping, my rear end overexposed.

I admit it took two to fandango, but it wasn’t all my fault. I was hungry—and not just for Chinese takeout. I spent way too much time alone. It wasn’t easy keeping a man interested when you get excited by new software programs and he had a hard-on. My last boyfriend dumped me because I worked late nights stressing over things like audio warping.

I noticed guys didn’t dig chicks who knew more about their computers than they did. Consequently, my dating life consisted of hanging out at a virtual world website and having an orgasm while I watched my flashy avatar have all the fun.

So who could blame me for taking advantage of the situation when I cornered a stud in the copy room?

Not just any stud, but my dream guy.

For years, I’d pined over the bad-boy type. Bare chest ripped to please and tease. Cute butt. And a lazy swirl of black hair that covered one eye at just the right angle. Daring a girl to go further into the dark with him...

And not look back.

Maybe it was because I was tired of Chinese takeout or because I forgot to buy new batteries for my bunny vibe. Or maybe my new underwear was too tight in the crotch. Whatever the reason, I was feeling extra horny that night.

It all seemed surreal.

Midnight. Quiet offices. Dark shadows everywhere. Beckoning me like black holes you could fall through and land in an alternative universe.

I could almost hear the creepy Rocky Horror Picture Show music guiding my every step as I tramped down the empty hallway.

Then I noticed a light coming from under the copy room door.

I stopped. I wasn’t alone. Who else was here, then?

I should have minded my own business, gone home and copied the damn thing in the morning. But the snoopy part of my personality that was convinced I had the makings of a spy wasn’t about to walk away.

As soon as I opened the door, I discovered a guy I’d never seen before, making copies. I didn’t think it totally strange since Mr. Briggs, the owner of the company, recently hired an up-and-coming video game designer to boost sales in new media. I figured he was copying the Playmate of the Month to hang up in his locker. All the guys did that.

It never occurred to me to slam the door and run for help. I was too involved in eyeing his hard butt.

And those shoulders. Yum.

He was wearing a black baseball cap and black sweats, which should have alerted me that something was wrong, but it added to my fantasy of getting locked in here with him after hours.

I burst out with a cocky, “Copying corporate secrets?”

He spun around and my breath quickened. My eyes fixed on the bulge in his sweatpants with both apprehension and desire. Spiky black hair covered his dark eyes like the mane of a wild animal; his mouth curled into a snarl that relaxed when he saw me.

“Who are you?” he asked, with a teasing smile. The dark shadow of a two-day beard heightened the cut of his angular jaw. “Security?”

His hand edged toward his pocket, a movement that didn’t escape my eye. What was he reaching for? His smartphone?

I laughed in a casual manner, trying to keep the conversation light. “Who needs security with you around?”

He grinned and then took his hand away from his pocket and cupped my chin. When he stared into my eyes, my knees turned to honey, all warm and melty. A shiver went through me.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Pepper.”

“Are you as hot as your name?” he wanted to know, bumping his hip into mine, his hot breath steaming up my glasses. His tough, sexy talk took me to a place I’d only dreamed of going. His voice gripped me, making me squeeze my pubic muscles in a delicious manner and then release them.

“How’d you like to find out?” I said, tossing him a wicked grin.

I loved saying that, figuring he’d laugh like the other programmers and then slap me on the back and ask me to go have a beer.

Imagine my surprise when he didn’t.

* * *

His mouth claimed mine, his lips moist and hot rubbing on my dry, cracked skin. He extended his curious journey to my bottom lip, nibbling on it until I surrendered to him like a hungry guppy. As if I had any choice. Before I could take a breath, his tongue darted into my mouth, sucking the air from me. That delicious moment stirred the fires in me left unattended for too long.

I couldn’t get enough of him.

Tasting, probing, exploring me in a long, uninterrupted kiss. I was acutely aware of his intentions, that he was demanding something I wasn’t ready to give. Sex with an improper stranger. Something new for me, seeing how I’d always skated through life on the sidelines.

Not tonight.

We were alone in here. Kissing like two teenagers, making loud noises and tearing at each other’s clothes. Nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing and the steady hum of the copy machine to keep us company. Drumming through my head like a vibrator on cruise control. I purred like a kitten, listening to my inner rhythm and loving it. I gave in willingly, my hormones flowing in harmony with his need, my need.

“Silly, dumb, stupid” were adjectives I’d use to describe my actions, but what girl stopped to think when a kiss was this good? I didn’t. My body became the prey of this corporate raider Casanova. His hands were all over me, toying with my heavy red-plaid flannel shirt, yanking at the buttons hanging on for dear life. With one small tug, he popped off the top two.

Oh, Lord, what next?

I did nothing to stop him when he cupped my breasts, wondering how far he’d go. He trailed his fingers along the flimsy black lace edging of my bra.

“Mmm...” he moaned. Was he enjoying the kiss? Or surprised that a geek like me was into sexy underwear?

Just wait until you see my new French-cut black satin panties, I wanted tell him. But I was so conscious of his devouring mouth on mine, my entire being trembling with suppressed emotion, I didn’t dare break the lip-lock.

Besides, I wasn’t going to let him get that far.

Was I?

Pressed up against the copy machine, I began to have my doubts. I couldn’t move, as surely as if I were tied down, my legs spread wide apart, his groin pressed into my mound. His hands wandered. Oh, boy, did they wander, searching up and down my body, his fingers pulling apart my shirt and letting it flap in the cool breeze blowing through the overhead AC vent.

“Oh, yes,” I barely breathed when he broke the kiss and then placed his hands on each side of my waist and squeezed it. I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through me when he touched my bare skin. I wanted him to go back to eyeing the cute black lace edging of my bra with a front hook.

A front hook, I wanted to shout.

No fancy maneuvering needed to prove to me how much of a stud he was by reaching around and undoing my bra with one hand.

My nipples ached for his touch, but he seemed fixated on stroking and then pressing the flesh on my hips. His hands roamed over my buttocks and then up and down my legs, gripping and squeezing them with a cavalier vigor that did me in. I arched my back toward him to give him greater access to me.

He grabbed my crotch.

I moaned. Damn, did it get any better than this?

Who would have thought I’d get caught in the copy room with a sexy guy when I had to work late? Not me. Had the geek fairy godmother heard my prayers and brought me a man of my own?

A little voice crept into my head, telling me to grow up and quit believing in fairy tales like my best friend, Cindy, but I couldn’t turn back now. I pretended I was a bucking bronco and this cowboy was taking me for a long, sexy ride. I writhed, humped and nearly assaulted him. I grabbed his black T-shirt and raked my nails up and down his chest. Wanting to touch him, feel him.

I breathed desire in his ear, not wanting to let him go. Still, I walked a delicate tightrope with this man. My ego was on the line. On one hand, I yearned to break boldly out of my shell. To act upon this chance encounter without guilt, no regret. Let him touch me, fondle me.

On the other, I was scared shitless.

What if I disappointed him?

This was a common problem with me. Analyzing the hell out of everything I did, even sex. I was no sleek avenger with all the right moves. I was more like the sassy-mouthed brainiac in the spy flicks who sat at her computer, tapping out answers on her fancy keyboard. Not that I’m bad looking, but I came off as an easy mark when I tried to flirt. I was too eager to please without thinking about the consequences.

Not tonight.

Sexually charged up, incredibly intense, I decided to go for it. I stepped out of my ordinary world and relished this escape from reality. My blue-rimmed spectacles slid all the way down my perspiration-slick nose. I didn’t push them back up.

How could I?

I was completely helpless in his arms when his hand dropped down between my legs, his fingers pressing against me. I wiggled my ass. I wished my jeans were off and he was pushing through my pubic hair until he found my throbbing clit.

Just thinking about it made me moan again; the steady pressure of his fingers rubbing against the rough denim stressed me out. I sensed this man possessed an enjoyment of sex that went way beyond a casual cop-a-feel.

A buzzing excitement slithered through me when I rubbed up against him, primal-like, daring him to tame me. I imagined him pulling down my jeans and panties and then probing me with his tongue, massaging all around my clitoris with his mouth. I growled, the low sound coming from the back of my throat.

That aroused him more.

I wiggled my hips, hoping he’d get the message. Something about the methodical yet sensual way he touched me set off a slow burn between my legs I couldn’t ignore.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, pulling on the drawstring of his sweats, but I couldn’t untie the knot. “It feels so good.”

“You tempt me, babe,” he said, kissing the nape of my neck. “Are there cameras in here?”

I shake my head. “Mr. Briggs is too cheap for that.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands holding me tighter. Pulling at my jeans and searching for the zipper hidden beneath the button-down flap in front.

“Allow me.” I unbuttoned the flap, nearly ripping it off.

“I’m curious,” he said, drawing down the zipper on my jeans with an alacrity that set me on edge. “How did you know I was in here?”

“I didn’t. I thought everyone had gone home.”

“You’re sure no one’s around?” He nibbled on my earlobe and then licked all around my ear until I shivered with pleasure.

“Yes. It’s Super Tuesday.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Poker night. The guys meet at Sam’s Bar after work and memorize cards.” A lightbulb moment flickered in my brain, making me ask, “How come they didn’t invite you?”

“I prefer strip poker.” He ran his fingers over my bare midriff, digging them down into the elastic waistband of my panties. I moaned and instinctively pushed against him. From the grin on his face, I could see he was turned-on.

“How about a game of Five-Card Stud?” I mumbled no louder than a whisper. Could he smell my need, moistening my panties with droplets of desire?

I could, which meant I couldn’t wait much longer.

“I’ve got a winning hand right here,” he said, grabbing my ass.

What would happen next, I could only guess. Anticipation, I found out, could be as good as or better than the sex.

I didn’t have long to wait to find out.

He turned me around and faced me toward the copier and then slid my jeans down below my thighs. Next, he pulled down my black silky panties and then ran his finger up and down the crack in my rear, eliciting a moan from me. I wiggled my butt as his fingers moved up and down in an intimate manner so close to my anal hole I couldn’t stop panting.

The naughty girl in me was overly excited by what was happening to me in the chilly copy room. I felt daring with my pants down in this high-tech room in an old Victorian mansion, once the seat of respectability.

And, boy, was I turned-on.

In spite of the air-cooled temp, I seethed with heated anticipation when he positioned himself behind me and then eased forward to push the bulge in his pants against my bare butt. I heard the snap of a condom.

“Is that a new one?” I asked him, hopeful.

That surprised him. “Don’t worry,” he said, laughing. “The expiration date is years away.”

I sighed, relieved. If I were thinking straight, that would have alerted me that something was wrong. Most programmers I knew carry subprime, expired condoms. But I wasn’t thinking straight. Instead, I twisted my head around and saw him pull out his dick and slip a raincoat over it.

Jeez.

“Big” didn’t begin to describe him.

I licked my lips.

I arched my back in total surrender when I felt his erect cock push against the cheeks of my backside. He found me wet and ready for him when he inserted one finger and then two inside me. Without a word, he slid into me with ease. I rode him without fear, his cock moving in and out of me, my passion building, his breathing becoming more erratic with each thrust. I squeezed my eyes, and I swear tears escaped onto my cheeks. My feelings became so intense I couldn’t help myself.

I moaned and moaned and moaned.

I didn’t care about anything else then. All I could do was let go. I couldn’t believe my luck. This was me, Pepper, desired by a sexy man. Instead of always being on the outside looking at the cool people, I was having a booty call at midnight, and it was sublime.

His hips smacked into my butt, pushing his cock into me, his breathing coming loud and fast. I could barely utter a word. My throat was hoarse from letting go of my emotions and the pent-up feelings buried so deep inside me. I couldn’t wait for release. I swear he sensed my desperation. He nuzzled his face in my hair, muttering sexy endearments in my ear, his musky, intoxicating smell overwhelming me. Then he fucked me harder, his thrusts stronger, his rhythm unchanging as his cock filled me until it was almost painful. I didn’t care.

“Harder,” I yelled.

The stirrings of a powerful orgasm built inside me. That delicious spiral of something intangible swirling around inside you. Promising you a taste of pleasure beyond what you’ve experienced; pleasure you will do anything for.

I couldn’t hold back much longer.

I leaned forward over the copy machine, pushing my buttocks up against him, urging him on. His body stiffened against me and he yelled out, his voice ragged, vibrating off the walls.

The room swayed in front of my eyes, the steady rhythm of sex, sex, sex beating in my brain like frenetic drummers with ceaseless energy. A surge much like an electrical charge gripped us both, racing through his body and into mine.

Then he came.

His explosive climax set off an out-of-control response in me. I went wild, crying out, thrashing about and slamming my hands down on the platen glass of the copy machine. Crazed, frantic, lost in whirling abandon, I slid my sweaty palms all over the machine. Wild, pawing, and scratching like a wolf in heat.

Oh, my God, it was good.

It didn’t last.

In a wild moment, I pushed the copy button by mistake. A powerful white light flooded into my face as the light bar moved back and forth, blinding me.

I hit another button and a blaring alarm went off.

Oh, shit.

I was a goner.


Chapter Two

Damn. I couldn’t see.

Groping helplessly, I fumbled around, trying to turn off the alarm, my panic mounting. Screeching, raw sounds grated on my ears, sending my passion into a nosedive.

No. No.

I pushed the button again, but the noise wouldn’t stop. I pushed another button, then another, but the damn thing kept shrieking like a video game villain gone berserk.

“What the fuck—” yelled the stud in black sweats, slipping out of me and then pulling up his pants.

“I can’t turn it off,” I cried out, frantic.

He pulled his baseball cap down lower. “Sorry I can’t help you, babe. Gotta go.”

Before I could pull up my jeans, he grabbed the file along with the copies from the exit tray and started for the door.

“Wait!” I yelled. “I didn’t come yet.”

“I owe you one,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. Tender-like. That surprised me. Then he saluted me with the tip of his cock—I mean, cap—before he raced out the door. I noticed then his hair looked weird, askew. It didn’t hit me until later he was wearing a dark wig under that cap.

“You can’t leave me like this,” I moaned, sinking down to my knees with my jeans squashed around my ankles. “You can’t.”

I squeezed my pubes together, but the unbearable ache in my groin wouldn’t go away. And that noise. I couldn’t stand it. I hit the machine with my fist, expecting it to blow up in my face. I didn’t care if it did.

To my surprise, the noise stopped.

The room went deadly quiet. Like a tomb.

I let out my breath and wiped off the sweat running down my cheeks, my neck. The silence was worse. My passion refusing to die, my ego suffering, my mind telling me I must withdraw, retreat. Forget him.

I couldn’t.

I wanted to cry.

I was caught up in a web of fantasy that had crossed over into my real world, and I didn’t want to escape its spell. I wanted to remain in this sexual wonderland like I was Alice.

Still groggy, frustrated, I noticed the stud had dropped the original file on his way out but taken the copies with him. Curious, I reached over to grab the sheets of paper spread out on the floor.

No sooner did I wrap my fingers around the official-looking documents than Ms. Sims, Mr. Briggs’s office manager, burst through the door, yelling, “What the hell are you doing in here?”

The Wicked Witch of the West.

In person.

She glared at me through her glued-on lashes. You’d think she’d never seen nude buttocks before when she saw me scrambling to pick up the papers scattered everywhere. My bare ass was up in the air, my thighs still wet with excitement.

I didn’t get along with the tall, skinny woman with the perennial Vogue smirk on her lips. Ms. Sims—no one knew her first name—always wore black, including black jet earrings that dangled to her shoulders. I swore under the gaudy fluorescents her skin had a green-gray tinge. She’d never liked me from the day I was hired. I was the only programmer the agency had in their job bank who could write the code they needed, so she was stuck with me. And she knew it.

“I was working late on that commercial spot—” I began, pulling up my jeans.

She ignored my explanation. “How long have you been using the copy room for your trysts?”

“Pardon me?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were sleeping with the whole department,” she said, twitching her nose at me like a squirrel. “On company time.”

“That is so not true, Ms. Sims,” I protested, waving the papers around in a circle. “The guy flirted with me and then kissed me. It went downhill from there.” I didn’t tell her that I came on to him, never dreaming where it would lead: straight to paradise until the machine went wonky.

“I warned Mr. Briggs this would happen if he hired a female programmer.” “That has nothing to do with it, Ms. Sims,” I said. “I’m a good employee. I’m always here on time, and I work late. I even put the toilet paper on the spool in the girls’ bathroom the way you like it.” Over, not under. Ms. Sims liked to be in control of everything, even where you took a pee.

She pushed her dangly earrings off her shoulders and then motioned for me to hand her the documents. “Let me see what you were working on.”

“These papers aren’t mine—” I insisted, handing her the wrinkled sheets of paper.

“Then whose are they?” She grabbed them out of my hand, nearly tearing them in half.

“The new video game designer,” I insisted. “I found him in here making copies.”

“You’re lying. He doesn’t start until next week.” She held the papers flush against her flat chest so I couldn’t see them.

“What?” I blurted out, disbelieving. My thighs quivered and not in a good way. I’d been played, but by whom?

“No more excuses, Pepper. I want answers. Now!” she screeched.

“I—I...” Nothing came out. I swallowed hard and squeezed my butt cheeks together until they burned. Of all the low-down, dirty tricks, this was the worst. The geeky types I work with must have sent the stud here to punk me. Oh, my God, what if they’d set up a hidden camera in here? What if my big moment had already gone viral on the internet? Oh, shit, I was had.

“Admit it,” Ms. Sims said, prodding me. “You sneaked a man in here and had sex with him while you copied confidential documents.”

“I did not copy any docs,” I said, trying to convince myself it was just a practical joke. It couldn’t be anything else, could it?

“Then what were you doing with Mr. Briggs’s—” she cleared her throat “—tax returns. They’re not for your eyes or anyone else’s.”

I shook my head, not getting it. Why would this prankster make copies of my boss’s classified information? Unless—

Red and blue lights flashed on and off in my brain like a squad car was chasing me. It all made sense. How the stud was surprised to see me, asking me if I was security, and reaching in his sweats for what I bet was a gun. Then sweet-talking me into letting him kiss me while he felt me up. Checking me for a weapon, I bet. And I unbuttoned my jeans flap to help him. Talk about dumb chick moves. That was the dumbest.

“That guy was a thief,” I said under my breath. That statement knocked the wind out of me.

That was only the beginning of my downfall.

I leaned against the copier and tried to zip up my jeans but couldn’t. Wetness greeted my fingers along with a pungent smell both sweet and musky. Panic filled me.

What if the condom had broken?

With that disturbing thought racing through my brain, I vaguely heard Ms. Sims babbling on about how she’d come back to the office to get her cell phone. When she heard the alarm go off, she ran to the copy room. A tall man wearing a baseball cap and black sweats knocked her down and rushed past her. When she opened the door and found me with my jeans down, she assumed I had invited him in.

I tried to explain to her what happened, but she wouldn’t listen to me. That didn’t surprise me. She had this thing against hiring girls who wrote code.

That was just the excuse she needed.

She fired me.

The bitch.

* * *

FBI Special Agent Steve Raines had a plan for this evening’s mission—pick the old-fashioned lock on the back door of the Victorian mansion with the skills he’d learned as a kid from his older brother and then sneak upstairs and copy the documents he’d been angling to get his hands on for months.

After he got what he came for, he’d scram out of there before the spiders knew he’d disturbed their sticky webs.

It should have been routine.

It wasn’t.

He never expected to meet up with a sexy redhead who had a come-hither look about her that steamed up her glasses and made him hard. At first, he wasn’t bothered by her intrusion. If anything, he was turned-on by her unexpected appearance. In his line of business he spent many lonely nights camped out in the wet and the cold, doing surveillance. Strip-searching her was an entirely pleasant experience and one he’d enjoy doing again.

He doubted he’d ever have the chance.

Things got sticky when she came on to him like gangbusters. She’d given him no choice but to have sex with her or blow his cover.

The question was, how was he going to explain his indiscretion to his boss?

“Did you get the docs from Briggs’s office?” Jordan asked him, her fingers tapping on the phone at the other end. Patience was not her virtue. Never had been, though she knew how to hold ’em when the target was in sight but not close enough for a sure kill.

This was not one of those times.

She wanted answers. Now.

Steve had stopped at the drive-through for coffee and then pulled into a dark alley and parked his old Buick behind a large trash Dumpster. For several long minutes, he studied the copies he’d made with a pen flashlight before dialing her on his cell. Special Agent in Charge Jordan Parks played hardball with her agents the same way other women picked out shoes: she liked the ones that dazzled her eye.

Still, she was tough and ran her operations lean and mean. She got the job done or she never would have lasted in this business. He admired her for that, but he wouldn’t let her tell him how to run his mission. As long as he came through with the intel, he knew she’d let him play ball his way.

Except that tonight he’d scored in one way and fouled out in another.

“Well, Steven, I’m waiting,” she purred. Or was it more of a growl? “Did you get the documents?”

“Not exactly—”

“Exactly what do you mean?”

“I had them in my hand, when she showed up.”

“Who?”

“This redhead. She works there and caught me copying the docs.”

“Night crew?”

“You could say that,” Steve said evasively. He wasn’t sure who she was, but he’d sure as hell find out.

“You’re losing your touch, old boy.” He heard her smirk. “What happened? Did she suck you up with her vacuum cleaner?”

She emphasized suck. Steve said nothing. He was used to her bad jokes.

“No. She’s funny and very pretty—”

She cut him off. “Did you get rid of her?”

“I...well, you see...” He stalled, remembering how surprised he was to find black lace covering her bra when the buttons popped off her shirt. His hands ached to unhook her bra and cup her big breasts, but he was a man in a hurry. He’d frisked her to make sure she wasn’t private security packing heat. “I made love to her.”

“I imagine she couldn’t resist your charm,” she snarled.

“It works on you every time.”

“Can it, Steven. You’re the best-looking field agent I have, but the FBI didn’t hire you for your looks.”

He let that pass.

“Believe me, Jordan, you haven’t seen this girl.” He whistled under his breath. “She’s sensational.”

He’d never forget how she’d ground her butt into his groin, teasing him, making him crazy. Dry humping him until he couldn’t take it any longer. To knock him off balance? He had to find out. He’d slid her jeans down over her smooth skin and grabbed her ass. A more perfect ass he’d never seen. And one that gave a guy all kinds of sinful thoughts. Damn, he was going ballistic over this chick.

Why? Because she’d touched a nerve in him.

For all her brave talk, he swore she wasn’t as easy a lay as she made out.

Maybe it was the glasses, which he found sexy, that gave her the innocent air. In the end it was his job to make sure she wasn’t a threat to him.

“Listen up, Steven,” Jordan was saying, “we’ve been trying to bring in this corporate sleazeball for months and get him to talk.” She paused, no doubt to gulp down her coffee. Black. Always. “And now you’re telling me when you get the chance to get the goods on him, you let your dick do the talking.”

“You’ll have my full report in the morning, Jordan,” Steve promised, knowing he faced another sleepless night. He hadn’t copied the whole file, but what he had seen didn’t advance the investigation. Frustrated, he downed the last of his coffee. This case was keeping them both up late. Briggs had drawn the attention of the FBI when his bank reported that he split up large financial transactions into smaller ones and then tried unsuccessfully to take his name off them. They needed evidence to prove he was structuring the transfers to evade reporting them. It didn’t stop there. It was the why that had them baffled. According to their sources, Briggs had made several unexplained overseas trips. Not to mention extravagant dinners at posh hotels, yet Pepper said her boss was cheap.

Steve’s gut told him something bigger was at stake than tax evasion. He’d put out feelers on the street and had a few nibbles. What he’d learned so far wasn’t pretty. He suspected Briggs was involved in money laundering. All he needed was proof.

“I want to see you in my office first thing in the morning,” Jordan finished with a yawn. “Is that clear?”

“Anything you say, ma’am,” Steve said, signing off, knowing she hated him calling her ma’am.

“Seven o’clock sharp,” she insisted. “Before breakfast.”

“I’ll bring the beer,” he said, grinning. “You bring the doughnuts.”

Then he hung up.

He pulled the baseball cap down low over his eyes to take a quick snooze, planning his next move. His balls tightened. Damn, he couldn’t concentrate. How could he even think? He couldn’t forget his encounter in the copy room with the redhead. There was something about that girl that got under his skin.

He intended to find out more about this Pepper. Who she was, where she came from. And why she was working late. That made her suspect in his eyes. She knew something, but what?

He intended to get a full report on her.

Pepper. Smooth, round ass. Sweet, sexy bod.

A perfect fit for his dick.

Are you as hot as your name? he’d asked her.

You bet she was.

This case just got a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

This was one goddamn screwed-up night.

I’d barely zipped up my jeans when the Wicked Witch of the West made me pack up my things and give her back the key to the girls’ daisy-wallpapered bathroom. We were the only two who used it since the company wasn’t big on hiring females unless forced to do so. All the other employees were guys. No receptionist up front. Nobody answered the phone when customers needed tech support since all the calls were routed overseas.





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