Code Name: Genesis Page 7

  “You heard me.” She advances, pokes a delicate finger in my chest. “You were screwing someone else while you were proclaiming to love me. You were a cheating, dirty bastard, and you should count yourself lucky I gave you the courtesy of a goodbye.”

  My ears start buzzing, my blood boiling with rage. “You are bloody fucking mental. I never cheated on you.”

  “You did,” she proclaims bitterly, tears welling in her eyes. “I saw the pictures.”

  “That’s a fucking lie,” I growl, a dangerous sound that should cause her to be cautious because I’ve had about enough of this shit.

  She doesn’t know me anymore, though, so she doesn’t appreciate the peril she’s in. A tear slips down her cheek, and she dashes it away. “My mom showed me a picture of you hugging another woman outside of her hotel room. And I saw the report from the investigator she hired. He had receipts and copies of text messages and emails between you and that woman.”

  “What?” I whisper, feeling my blood pressure climbing.

  “My mom hired an investigator,” she blabs, but I can only focus on one word.

  Mom.

  Her mom.

  The woman who couldn’t stand me and thought I was a distraction to her daughter.

  “You were followed. Your phone was hacked, and there were messages and emails. I saw the printouts. There was a huge report. And like I said… I saw a photo of you hugging a woman outside—”

  “Where is it?” I interrupt.

  “What?”

  My words come out harsh and clipped. “Where is the photo? The report? I know damn well you probably saved it all. After all, you put a lot of damn stock in something I was never shown so I could defend myself.”

  Joslyn opens her mouth, perhaps to deny, then snaps it shut just as fast. She pivots and stalks stiffly off the patio without a word. I follow behind her.

  She leads me into the house, through the great room, and then to her study. It’s the only room in her house I found to be messy and lived in. Scattered sheets of paper are all over her desk with song lyrics scribbled out in messy handwriting. Shelves stocked full of books—fiction and non-fiction alike. A stack of unread magazines on the floor. A heap of unread mail on the credenza behind her desk. A recipe book on the windowsill with yellow post-it notes flagging certain pages of interest.

  Yeah… she spends a lot of time in here.

  Joslyn sets her wine down on her desk before moving to a set of built-ins. She pulls open a drawer that holds hanging files, then rifles through to one near the back. With an audible sigh, she pulls it free, turning to face me.

  Slowly stretching an arm out, she hands me the file. I set my beer down, then take the folder from her.

  It’s blue with an expanding, reinforced spine, yet the contents inside are so thin they’d have fit in an envelope. I glance up to see Joslyn watching me with her arms crossed protectively around her midsection.

  I open the file, letting my eyes fall to the documentation that caused this woman to drop me like a hot potato without an explanation.

  On the top is a printed four-by-six photo, clearly taken at a distance as evidenced by the grainy resolution. But there I am, facing the camera and hugging a redhead in front of a hotel door. I instantly know who it is.

  “That’s Rachel,” I say as I hold the photo out so it faces Joslyn. She jolts, her eyes widening with surprise. Leaning in, she stares hard at the picture. In disbelief, she murmurs, “No.”

  “Yes,” I reply firmly. I easily recall back to twelve years ago when Joslyn and I were together. Jerico had just started up The Jameson Group. Rachel and I were just friends, and she had come to Vegas for a visit. I picked her up, and I took her to lunch.

  We most certainly didn’t fuck.

  I toss the photo on Joslyn’s desk and go through the folder in my hand. There’s a document entitled Investigative Report by some hack detective agency—if the crummy quality of the letterhead is any indication. I skim the contents, note it’s nothing more than typed entries by someone—dated and time stamped—indicating places I’d been with the pictured “woman,” including times at my apartment as well as a hotel over a four-day period. Behind that, there’s a list—again, just typed by this “investigator”—of made-up text messages and emails.

  All lies.

  I drop the folder on her desk with disgust. “I can’t believe you fucking fell for that.”

  “Excuse me?” she replies defensively, her arms uncrossing and her hands going to her hips.

  “That’s all bullshit.” I point to the folder. “Except the photo. That’s legit. Rachel came to town and visited. We had lunch. We were going to go rock climbing one day, but I couldn’t break away from work. Then she left. She wasn’t working at Jameson then.”

  “I—I—” Joslyn stammers, but then grits her teeth. “The text messages and emails.”

  “Fake,” I reply blandly.

  “No.” She shakes her head in adamant denial.

  “You were fucking gamed, Joslyn. By your own goddamn mother.”

  “She wouldn’t—”

  “She fucking did,” I snarl. But then I lose my shit, twelve years of hurt and frustration bubbling over. “And you were stupid enough to fucking fall for it. Christ, how could you have been so sodden stupid? How could you have just accepted that bloody crock of shit and not trusted in me, huh?”

  “I didn’t—”

  I hold my hand up, cutting her words off. “But seriously… I was the stupid one for even falling for you in the first place.”

  Tears spring into her blue eyes. I whip away from the sight of them, stomping out of her office. God, I was a fucking fool and apparently still am, because even though I’m beyond pissed right now, my greatest instinct is to pull her into my arms and tell her all is forgiven.

  But I don’t because that’s not who I am anymore.

  I stalk through the entire house, making sure all doors are locked and secure. I double-check the alarm and make sure my gun is loaded. I don’t expect any trouble tonight, but anything is possible. I’ll be ready just in case.

  CHAPTER 10

  Joslyn

  The glide of something along my neck causes me to awaken. For a moment, I’m confused. I don’t feel hands tightening around my throat, and I’m not being pinned down. Caught somewhere between a dream and reality, I feel the rough fingertips move to my jaw, which causes a tremor to shoot up my spine.

  His voice feathers over me in a low whisper, recognizable and safe. “Shouldn’t have shown me that file, Jos.”

  Not my stalker.

  Kynan.

  My eyes pop open. There’s enough moonlight I can see him bending over me. His fingers grip my jaw, and his words are harsh, “I was better off not knowing the truth.”

  I bring my hand to his, not to try to pull away, but to press him to me. “I swear I didn’t know that stuff was fake. You’re right… I was so stupid.”

  “Not stupid,” he chastises me gruffly. “Young and easily misled.”

  “Why would she do that?” I cry out in frustration. “I hate—”

  He responds by moving his hand to cover my mouth, cutting my rage against my mother off. “Don’t want to talk about her.”

  I tilt my head, wondering if he can see the question in my eyes through the gloom of the night. Why wouldn’t he want to talk about her? She screwed us both over. Took something that was magical and true, and ripped it all apart.

  “Would rather see if you’re wearing the same outfit you had on in Pittsburgh,” Kynan murmurs, and it takes me a moment to process. His hand stays over my mouth, but the other moves to the sheet and comforter I’d pulled up to my shoulders.

  The air hits my bare skin, but it’s the knowledge he wants to see my body that has my nipples puckering tight. The blankets moving over them actually irritates—in the best of ways—and they’re popping against the soft cotton of my camisole top. Not the same one as Pittsburgh, but similar. It’s actually a nightie rather than a sh
irt and shorts set. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and there’s just enough moonlight to see Kynan watching the trail of the sheet as it reveals my body to him.

  When I start to pant, Kynan twists to see me, his lips set in a hard line. “Going to fuck you tonight, Jos. And don’t even think to deny me the pleasure.”

  My breath comes out in a heavy rush through my nose, and Kynan slides his hand free from my mouth. He leans over, his lips hovering just over mine as he warns me, “In fact, your next words had better be ‘Kiss me, Kynan’ or there’s going to be hell to pay.”

  I can’t help it. A strange giggle of relief and yearning bubbles out of me, and I’m smiling when I say, “Kiss me, Kynan.”

  His teeth flash white, his eyes feral and hot. I expect his mouth to crash down on mine. Instead, it goes to my neck where his teeth graze over my skin.

  Immediately, I know things are different. Twelve years ago… just a mere nineteen years old…I really didn’t know much about sex. Kynan was only my second, and he taught me so much. But he was sweet and gentle with me, patiently guiding and urging and whispering lovely words.

  I know instantly the Kynan McGrath I’d known is gone. That whatever has happened to him in the last twelve years has changed him. He is not a sweet and gentle lover anymore. That knowledge excites me like nothing ever has, and I can feel wetness seeping into my panties.

  Kynan scrapes his teeth along my throat, all the way to the center of my chest where he presses a kiss. His hands press into the mattress by my ribs, then he’s biting my nipple through my cotton nightie.

  Crying out, I clamp my hands onto his head—not to push him away, but to pull him tighter. Definitely tighter. He sucks hard, wetting the hard nub through the fabric and causing my hips to buck upward.

  I try to pull him up, make him kiss me on the mouth, but then his body is on top of mine. Heavy and safe. My legs part, wanting him to settle his hard, thick length right up against my core.

  Kynan tugs at my nipple with his teeth one more time before he presses his face into my belly. My hands are still at the sides of his head, and I drive my fingers into his thick hair. He inhales so sharply I know he’s seeking something past the scent of my fabric softener. A low growl rumbles from deep within him before he slides lower down my body.

  My legs spread further.

  He pushes my nightie up and then his mouth is at my core, hot breath seeping in through my silk panties.

  I bolt upright, my hands once again finding his head, which he lifts ever so slightly. We stare at each other through the dark, but there’s enough moonlight hitting his brown eyes to recognize the desire sizzling there.

  “Tell me to kiss you again,” he orders gruffly.

  It’s an effort to breathe, and my chest heaves under the pressure of it all. My entire body is trembling and tight all at the same time, and I feel like I might splinter from the slightest touch from Kynan.

  Still, I take the risk and murmur, “Kiss me.”

  It’s not my mouth I expect his lips to find, and he doesn’t disappoint. His fingers are between my legs, sliding into my panties and pulling the crotch to the side. Lowering his head, Kynan finally gives me my kiss, and it’s hot and wet as he covers me.

  I can’t control the long groan of relief from the attention of his mouth and tongue between my legs. He attacks me ferociously, and it’s obvious he’s seeking one thing and one thing only.

  For me to come for him hard and fast.

  It happens mere moments after he presses a long finger inside of me while sucking on my clit. My back arches deeply off the bed as a powerful orgasm sweeps through me. It’s so intense my mind actually goes blissfully blank for a moment, and all I can do is tumble along with the sensations racking my body.

  I’m floating, light as a feather and barely aware, as my panties are stripped down my legs. Of Kynan going to his knees so he can work at his belt. Once he slides it off, I blink slowly while watching him undo his jeans. He reaches inside, then take himself in hand.

  I’m still floating on the minor tremors of the previous orgasm as he strokes himself a few times.

  Kynan covers me, putting an elbow to the mattress, and I raise my legs. Then he’s thick and hot, pressing inside of me. I glide my hands into the back of his opened jeans, grasp at the hard muscles of his ass, and try to pull him inside of me.

  He slides in inch by glorious inch.

  Stretching me. Filling me so deeply.

  Kynan groans when he bottoms out, bending his neck so our foreheads touch ever so slightly. His breath flutters over my face before his lips finally find mine.

  A sigh of happiness floats from my mouth to his, and he starts to move. Kynan kisses me deeply as his hips drive into me. I remember this feeling… of being with him—him inside of me—and it’s one of pure completeness. I’ve never felt it since in the relationships I’ve had, and I’m surprised I feel it now given the time and distance between us.

  For so long, I hadn’t thought I was good enough for him. I thought he’d lied to me when he said he loved me. I’d felt a million times the fool over falling for him.

  But that’s all gone now. Every bit of the anger and betrayal had disappeared. I don’t know if he feels it, but the connection I feel to him right now is far beyond just the way our bodies are joined.

  I can feel my body quickening again, then tightening. When I groan into Kynan’s mouth, he pumps into me harder. Lifting his head slightly, he takes me in. I try to read something in his eyes, but they’re completely glazed with lust and primal need.

  My second orgasm hits me by surprise. I call out his name when it does, bucking under him.

  “Christ,” Kynan groans as he pounds into me. Suddenly, he goes still, his face moving to press into my neck and his arms banding tightly around me. His hips buck hard one more time, sending his cock into me deeper than ever, and I know he’s coming. It’s done silently, but I yearn to hear my name from his lips.

  But I only get a groan of relief as his body shudders slightly while he unloads.

  We’re both still for a few moments. I let my fingers drift over his lower back in a soft caress. Sighing against my neck, Kynan lifts his head.

  He gazes at me, a contemplative look I think might spell the beginning of a deep conversation. God, do we have stuff to talk about.

  But then he’s gone.

  Slipping easily out of me. Rolling right off me.

  Walking right out of my room as he zips up his pants, and he’s just… gone.

  CHAPTER 11

  Kynan

  I pour another cup of coffee, glancing at the digital clock above the double oven unit. Joslyn’s manager, Lynn, and her publicist, Harry Hnatkovich, should be here soon.

  Bebe is tapping away on her laptop, checking the security cameras I’d ordered to be installed around the property. Rachel had flown down here to work on securing Joslyn’s home while I’d gone to Pittsburgh to interview Cruce. I’d had her upgrade the alarm system, put in high-tech, ultra-resolution cameras with motion-sensor spotlights, and do a sweep of the entire house to ensure it had not been bugged somehow by the stalker. It thankfully came out clean.

  Rachel holds out her cup as she watches over Bebe’s shoulder, a silent plea for a refill. I cap her off, glancing through the kitchen to the great room and the hall beyond that leads to the master suite. I expect Joslyn to come wandering out at any moment. She knows our meeting with Lynn and Harry is set to start at nine, and I expect her to show long before that. Joslyn’s always been an early riser.

  But let’s face it… I’m sure she’s doing her best to avoid me after last night. I pulled the ultimate dick move—one of the worst a man can do to a woman—and that was leaving her bed without any post-fucking cuddles or explanation for the abrupt end to the evening.

  It was hard disentangling myself from Joslyn, our relationship having become suddenly complicated beyond understanding. Within a matter of moments, everything I thought I’d known about her changed. Wh
en she showed me the folder her mom had deceitfully put together, I was faced with the realization my life had been manipulated and something had been taken away from me. My anger was mainly for Madeline Meyers, the mastermind who’d succeeded in tearing Joslyn and me apart.

  That initial anger subsided enough to drive me to do something stupid. After stewing in anger, regret, and twelve years of not having the best fucking sex of my life, I’d reasoned I could have it again. It was there for the taking, and I was sure Joslyn would feel the same. She’d been cheated as severely as I had.

  At face value, it was a good plan. Joslyn had opened her arms and spread her legs willingly for me. It was like a homecoming when I sank inside her, and I had the best bloody orgasm of my entire life.

  Hands down… the absolute fucking best.

  So goddamn good that when the last tremor faded away, I immediately got angry I’d been denied her for twelve years. Madeline wasn’t here for me to take my anger out on, but Joslyn was. As she’d gazed up with soft eyes, her pussy still clenching hard around my spent cock, it had pissed me off because part of it was on her, too. Joslyn should have questioned that shit. She should have given me the benefit of the doubt, and she should have pushed back at her mother to see the truth. At the very bloody least, she should have fucking showed me the folder twelve years ago so I would have had a chance to defend myself.

  Yeah… it pissed me off so bad I’d had to get away from Joslyn. So I left her without a word, returned to my room, and grabbed my gun. I stayed up most of the night. Sitting out on the couch, I’d hoped that fuckwad of a stalker had the balls to try to come after her, which would give me a chance to blow him away.

  Sadly, that hadn’t happened.

  “…copies of the letters and I’ll get them analyzed, but Kitchner doesn’t put any stock into this being a serial type thing.”

  Blinking, I try to focus on Rachel. “I’m sorry… what?”

  She rolls her eyes, and she’s the only employee I’d let get away with doing that. “You clearly weren’t listening to me. I was telling you that I met with Detective Kitchner yesterday. He let me go through the evidence they’ve collected, which is pitifully little. Mostly just the gifts he’d left Joslyn, which included one eviscerated cat he’d hung on her gate and they have in freezer storage.”