Viva Los Regalos: Kat and Mouse Read online

  Katrina blinked again, the strange compulsion fading from her being. “I’m sorry, but you are?”

  The man smiled, and an unexpected wave of wet warmth pooled in her pussy. “I am Abaddon.” He tilted forward slightly at the hip, an archaic action of respectful greeting, intense blue stare holding hers through the artful tumble of midnight-ink hair. “I must apologize for missing you at the airport. Unfortunately I was detained elsewhere when your jet touched down.”

  She frowned, incapable of missing how gorgeous the man -- Abaddon -- was, despite how little sense he was making. “Missing me?” She shook her head, hitching her tote a little higher on her shoulder. “I think you must be --”

  He cut her off with a soft chuckle, and again wild flutters of heat pulsed through her sex. “I am with The Wicked Lynx.”

  Katrina raised her eyebrows. The Wicked Lynx was the casino the agent from Hot Spot Destination in Sydney had booked her into. A sinfully exquisite place to stay, with a unique theme unlike any you will experience elsewhere in the world. Very suited to your needs, I must say, his email had stated. Katrina remembered wondering how he knew what the bloody hell her needs were. Maybe she should have called before taking off.

  Gee. Ya think?

  She bit back a curse, glaring at the mysterious man before her. “I wasn’t aware my travel agent had organized shuttle transfer.”

  A grin played on his lips. “I am not shuttle transfer, Ms. O’Brien. I -- how shall I put it? -- take care of The Lynx’s more special guests.”

  Katrina’s eyebrows shot up. Again. “Special? I think you have me mixed up with someone else. I’m just --”

  Abaddon shook his head, those blue eyes of his glinting with… what? Mirth? “I assure you, I have not, as you say, mixed you up with anyone. I am here for you, Ms. O’Brien. No one else.”

  She studied the man, her cop’s instincts itching. Something felt wrong here. Or maybe it was jet lag. Letting out a short sigh, she dragged her fingers through her hair and gave Abaddon a smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Abaddon. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m bugg --” She stopped, remembering the word “buggered” had entirely different connotations in the States. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Please.” He returned her smile, whiter-than-white teeth gleaming in the blazing sun. “There is no need to apologize.” He studied her, and once more her nipples felt brushed by hidden fingers. “Your suite is waiting for you, a warm bath is already prepared -- scented with irises, your favorite, yes? -- a chilled bottle of Fosters sits on ice, and a current copy of the Sydney Morning Herald is laid out on the bed.” He turned and extended his hand toward a long, black limo hovering by the curb, its back door open, cool air wafting from within, beckoning her inside.

  Katrina looked into the shadowy interior, feeling its pull. A bath sounded good. Very good. But why the hell did a man who knew what her favorite flower was, as well as her preferred Australian newspaper, not know Australians didn’t drink Fosters!

  Bloody hell, O’Brien! Does it matter? Get in the car, get out of the heat and get on the job!

  She climbed into the back seat, sinking into the luxurious leather. She had no idea where The Mouse was, but a bath would at least clear her head. And wash away the bizarre and disturbing feeling of sultry heat tingling her flesh since meeting the man from The Wicked Lynx.

  Don’t you mean, since your dream on the jet?

  Katrina huffed at the strands of hair hanging over her forehead. She did not need this now. Damn, she wished she had her gun.

  * * *

  The suite was beautiful. Not just beautiful. Divine. Thick, pure-white shag carpet from wall to wall, mahogany furniture polished so lovingly it almost looked like a deep, cherry-red pool of liquid, gilded mirrors devouring the richly papered walls. Through one marble archway she could see the corner of a bed, so wide an entire cricket team could stretch out and still have room for the tea-lady.

  Images and statues of wild cats were everywhere -- tigers, panthers, leopards, lionesses and cheetahs. Above the bed, like a royal portrait, hung a massive oil-painting of the casino’s titular feline -- a lynx -- its beautiful structure captured so realistically Katrina felt sure if she touched the painting her fingers would sink into the cat’s glossy fur.

  “It is the perfect suite for you, is it not? A beautiful homage to felines for a beautiful feline.”

  She turned to Abaddon, ready to ask him to drop the corny charm, and found him looking at her. Blue eyes seemed to glow in the muted lighting of the room, a liquid cerulean that threaded into her body and made her pussy clench. God, she’d never wanted to fuck so badly.

  “I must leave you now, Ms. O’Brien. But before I do, I direct your attention to the bed. You will find something very important, very… inviting awaits you there. Something that will change everything.” A weighted pause followed, and once more Katrina was overwhelmed with the urge to wrap her body around his. There, and then gone in an instant. He stared at her before -- with a speed so fast it made her reach for her gun -- the one back in her safe in Australia -- he lifted his arm, cupped her jaw in his hand and placed a kiss on her lips.

  The feather-light contact was like a scalding brand. Rapacious wet heat flooded her pussy and suddenly her head filled with…

  …the wall. He threw her against the wall, his hands tearing at her shirt before she could push him away, his mouth closing over her right nipple as his hands mauled her breasts. She cried out, jerking into him and away from him, molten heat surging through her. Her cunt constricted. Wet heat flooded through her. She cried out again, ramming her hips to his, the solid length of his erection grinding to her mons, a rod of demanding lust and forceful hunger. His teeth sank into her nipple, his claws into her flesh. She bucked against him, wanting to push him away, wanting to wrap her legs around his hips and impale herself on his colossal cock. Oh, God, what was she doing, what was she…

  Katrina gasped and jerked away, pressing her fingers to her mouth.

  Abaddon’s smile stretched wider -- “Until next time, Ms. O’Brien.” -- and then he was gone from the suite in a silent stride, leaving nothing but a heady cloud of musky cologne and a wet pair of knickers in his wake.

  Katrina stared at the spot he’d just been. What the hell had just happened?

  Disgust and apprehension wormed into her gut. Did her mind just explode with a vivid image of being fucked by the man against the very wall behind her? Jesus, did she imagine him with claws?

  Hitching her tote higher up her shoulder, more than a little unsettled, she crossed the luxurious suite, heading for the bedroom. The bath -- and the beer, no matter the brand -- beckoned. She would scour away the uncharacteristic and unnerving jitters and begin --

  She saw the bed. Or more to the point, what lay on the bed. Spread out so she couldn’t miss it.

  The black latex corset seemed to shine with a slick gloss. Black metal eyehooks traveled down the front from the plunging v-neckline, emphasizing the cinching lines of its bone structure and outrageously skimpy breast cups. Katrina swallowed. Her boobs would practically overspill in those things!

  A wet heat pooled between her thighs at the thought, followed by an eager pulse when she realized anyone seeing her in such a garment would most likely get to see the faint dusky hint of the top of her nipples as well.

  She dropped her gaze from the way-too-erotic corset, taking in everything else on the bed. A black latex thong was positioned in the appropriate place, a long length of what appeared to be suede attached to its back crossbar. A tail? A cat’s tail?

  Ignoring the increasing beat of her heart, Katrina moved her inspection to the elbow-length, fingerless, black latex gloves, the thigh-high, black latex stiletto boots and the black suede pussycat ears attached to a wide black Alice band. Her mouth turned dry. A sex-kitten’s costume.

  Palms prickling, she moved closer to the massive bed. Beside the corset sat a golden box, roughly the size of a shoebox. Something about it made her heart quicken. She stared at
it, bath, beer and pussycat ears forgotten. With surprisingly steady hands, she reached for the lid. Removed it.

  Inside, cradled in gold silk, was a glossy black mask, beside which was a folded sheet of black cardstock with the word “Invitation” embossed in elaborate gold leaf. Without touching the mask, Katrina pulled the card from the box, unfolded it and skimmed over what was printed in gold on its black surface.

  A lump filled her throat. A big lump. About the size of Ayres Rock. “You’ve got to be kidding!” She read the invitation again, and it took all of her training not to give in to the weakness suddenly attacking her knees.

  You Are Cordially And Personally Invited To Da Boss’s Summer-Fling Masquerade Ball Sunday Night In The Wicked Lynx’s Dominate Play Room. Please Find Your Personally Selected Costume And Mask With This Invitation.

  And below that, in an arrogant scrawl Katrina knew all too well: I look forward to seeing you there, Kat. XXX. The Mouse. PS. Bring your cuffs.

  The lump in Katrina’s throat grew. The Mouse. The bastard knew she was here. Knew and gloated about it.

  The eager fluttering between her thighs roared into a wild, constricting beat. Katrina ground her teeth, anger twisting into the traitorous excitement wanting to consume her. She glared at the cat costume on the bed, her skin on fire and her heart going mad.

  Fuck.

  Frustration rolled through her. As always, The Mouse seemed to know her every move. Her every single bloody move! She turned and plonked down on the edge of the bed, wanting her gun more than ever.

  Every move.

  Then show him moves he’s never seen before.

  The thought sent a dark stab of vice into Katrina’s already turbulent core, and her gaze slid -- as if of its own accord -- to the erotically sinful costume beside her. She lifted her hand, tracing the cool, slick surface of the corset with the tips of her fingers. The deliciously immoral response of her body to the garment made her mouth dry.

  You have the moves. You know you do. Deep inside where you’ve locked them away. Let them out to play. Show the arrogant, smug bastard what a Kat can do to a Mouse.

  Katrina sucked in a sharp breath, and her pussy clenched tight. She’d promised herself before leaving Australia she would do whatever it took to bring The Mouse down. Throat tight, heart rapid, she looked at the costume again. Felt its sensual intent threading through her veins, pooling in her cunt.

  Whatever it takes, O’Brien. Whatever it takes.

  She just hoped to God she already had the arrogant bastard in cuffs and back in Australia before she needed to do “whatever” it took.

  Really?

  Katrina scowled. Yes. Really.

  * * *

  Standing on the busy sidewalk, ignoring the crowds of people walking past, some wearing Hawaiian-print shirts, some wearing Prada, some collared and chained, he stared at The Wicked Lynx. Inside was his client. The man who’d brought him halfway around the world. The man willing to pay him over three million credits for the Australis Night.

  Pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans, he studied the casino’s exterior. It looked like a crystal fortress yet it seemed to have no security devices whatsoever. His gut twisted. No security made no sense. Not at a city like this.

  And what type of city is this? A city of paranormal beings. A city where cell phones, cameras or recording devices aren’t allowed. A city where everything your grandparents thought fiction is reality. So why would that type of city require any type of security you’re familiar with? Try and break into a vault or safe here and you’d probably end up burnt to a crisp thanks to some demon’s bad breath!

  His gut twisted again and he narrowed his gaze on The Wicked Lynx.

  At precisely 11:05 p.m. tomorrow night he was meeting Abaddon in the Dominate Play Room. At precisely 11:06 p.m. he would be three million credits richer. And about to start his life all over again.

  Everything would change once he stepped foot inside the casino’s ballroom, regardless of how sensuously surreal Los Regalos was. Everything.

  Chapter Three

  Katrina walked through the corridor, heading away from her suite and its decadent bath and sinfully heavenly bed, toward the elevator. Her head felt like a turbulent mess of conflict and confusion, a sensation she didn’t like. The last time she’d felt like this, she’d had the best sex of her life in a forbidden room on the outskirts of Sydney. Feeling like this reminded her of the man she’d spent so much of the last ten years trying to erase-slash-shoot-slash-tae kwon do out of her system.

  Damn it, she did not need this at the moment. She needed to be focused. Controlled. She needed to find a map of Los Regalos, get her bearings and find The Mouse. Not dwell on a past relationship which shouldn’t have been.

  Oh, but what a relationship. The way he knew exactly what you wanted, your deepest fantasy. The way he knew exactly how to make you…

  Stomping out of the elevator, feeling more unsettled than ever, she made a beeline for the concierge’s desk.

  “A map and today’s edition of The Los Regalos Times for you, Ms. O’Brien,” the man said before she opened her mouth, smiling at her as she approached the steel and glass desk.

  “How did you --” Katrina shook her head. It didn’t matter. On task, O’Brien. On task. “Thank you.” She took the two folded items held out to her, a familiar and eager thump in her chest. The hunt. The job. Already she was feeling more focused.

  She turned, ready to begin her search, and then swung back to the man behind the desk. “Mr. Abaddon picked me up this morning. Just after I touched down. Is this a normal service of The Wicked Lynx or will I be…” She trailed off, unable to miss the uneasy tension suddenly forming in the man’s face.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. O’Brien. I am not at liberty to discuss Mr. Abaddon’s comings and goings.”

  Katrina felt an intrigued twitch in her gut. “Exactly what is Mr. Abaddon’s position here, may I ask?”

  An unreadable expression fell over the concierge’s utterly handsome face. “Mr. Abaddon does what Mr. Abaddon does.”

  Katrina frowned. Mr. Abaddon does what Mr. Abaddon does? What the hell did that mean?

  With an abrupt warm smile, the concierge handed her a folded pamphlet, once again the consummate hospitality professional. “May I recommend Tartarus. I guarantee you’ll be satisfied.”

  Fully aware the man was trying to redirect her focus, she dropped her attention to the pamphlet in her hand. Tartarus. Where Pain and Pleasure Become One, it read, over a woman in black latex caressing a studded flogger.

  A hot wave rolled through the pit of Katrina’s stomach and in a blur of colors, smells and sounds, she was suddenly assaulted by images: a bed; a hotel room; intense eyes the color of moss and rich soil; strong hands on her wrists, pinning her down; sweat-slicked limbs entwined; a demand; a command; her orgasm; his…

  Mouth dry, pulse pounding, Katrina returned her stare to the concierge. “Thank you,” she said. Or maybe she murmured it. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was her body didn’t feel like her own anymore. It felt like the teenage girl she’d been ten years ago. The teenage girl foolish -- no, stupid -- enough to fall for someone she shouldn’t.

  Two words whispered through her tumultuous mind. Two words. Dangerous. Love.

  Irritation shot through her. She curled her fist. What was going on here? She’d come to arrest a jewel thief and instead she was having arousing and downright disturbing flashbacks?

  Giving the concierge a smile, not wanting him to see just how shaken she was, she moved away from his desk, heading toward the glass exit doors. Fresh air. She needed fresh air. And sleep, but the latter would have to wait. She didn’t have time for jet --

  A tall man with dark, honey-brown hair crossed the foyer to her far left, broad shoulders and wide back snugged by a spotless white T-shirt; low, lean hips, tight ass and long, muscled legs encased in faded denim. He moved like smoke, effortlessly yet determined at the same time. It was sensual. It was confiden
t. It was…

  “Familiar,” Katrina whispered, her heart leaping into wild life.

  The Mouse.

  Are you sure?

  She narrowed her eyes, tracking the man as he moved deeper into the Lynx’s foyer, heading toward the line of elevators she’d only just walked away from. She wasn’t sure. Not one hundred percent. But she would be. After following him for a bit. Apart from a vague identikit description, she didn’t know exactly what The Mouse looked like, but she knew -- knew -- her gut would tell her when she found him. All she needed to do was… touch him?… stand before him.

  Stuffing the Tartarus pamphlet into her back pocket, she touched her cuffs tucked in her waistband and started toward the elevators.

  Okay, O’Brien, how are you going to do this? You can’t follow him into the elevator without him seeing you, you sure as hell can’t let him get out of your sight and you don’t have a phase-shifter to mask your presence. If it is The Mouse he knows exactly what you look like. Shit, he knows you’re in Los Regalos, so how are you…

  The man headed to the left, disappearing around a corner marked with a sign reading “Stairs.”

  “Shit.” Katrina quickened her pace, slipping large, amber-tinted sunglasses on her face. The Mouse knew what she looked like, but with any luck she’d pass for just another tourist if he quickly glanced her way.

  The wide, carpeted staircase was empty when she reached it, but she could hear, over the sounds of the hotel, the very faint thud-thud of footfalls farther up. Curling her fingers around the cool, golden rail beside her, she took the stairs two at a time, her heart in her throat. Damn, she wished she had her gun. The Mouse had never displayed violent behavior -- no one had ever come close enough to him for him to display any type of behavior. Well, except smug arrogance at never having been caught, but that was more a personal jab at her.

  You don’t need your gun, O’Brien. Just use your head, and if the worst happens, your fists and your feet. You’re not a black belt for nothing, remember.