His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(10)
Author: Shayla Black

Through the thin, stretchy fabric, Joaquin witnessed every bunch of her thighs as she leapt, every ripple of her shoulders as she waved her arms in graceful expression. And her face . . . He had no doubt that she was never happier than when she was moving with the music to express the beauty of the dance and song together. Simply stunning.

He wasn’t a dance sort of guy, but watching her made him fucking ache to touch her.

Time seemed without meaning, almost endless. When she pirouetted out of his vision, it frustrated him . . . but then she came back, and the sight of her was like something that soothed the savage beast inside him. The control she had over her body astounded him. Bailey lifted her leg, cradling her foot in her hand and hoisting it above her head, turning as she did, head flung back, eyes closed, as if in ecstasy.

Damn it, he was about to bust out his zipper.

One song bled into the next, then another. Even her graceful fingers turned him on, and he imagined his big dark hands all over her fair skin, enveloping her slight form as he drove into her sweet, tight cunt.

He drew in a deep breath. Mission objective: Save the girl from being horrifically murdered. He had no business thinking about sex with her. She had a boyfriend. He was a foot taller and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. The grooves on his face revealed the harsh danger in his life she would never understand. Bailey would probably take one look at him and scream.

As she raised her leg behind her, arched her back, and made some graceful sweep with her arms, the phone in his pocket buzzed. Thanking fuck that the music covered the sound, he pulled it from his pocket. Jack Cole. Caitlyn Wells’s body had been discovered about four that afternoon. He’d thoughtfully included a picture. As he saw it, Joaquin hissed in a breath. She’d received the same treatment as the others—broken, sawed into pieces, mutilated almost beyond recognition. If Logan and Hunter’s theory about who was behind all this was right, these separatists were working faster. Or maybe they were just losing patience. Either way, it wasn’t good. They’d be done with the girl in Oklahoma soon. And they’d be heading down to Houston—if they weren’t on their way already. Then they’d abduct Bailey and— Fuck no. He couldn’t even think about that. It wouldn’t happen on his watch.

He tapped out a quick curse to Jack and added that he’d call later.

About that time, Bailey turned off the music. Perspiration dripped down her neck, disappeared between her breasts. Patches of moisture discolored the back of her leotard. Her hairline was soaking wet. Joaquin found himself just as fascinated. Did she work that hard in bed with a lover, chasing pleasure with him to create an unforgettable experience?

She disappeared, and he saw the shoes fly across the room, back into the corner. The patter of footsteps over the hardwood floors grew quieter, fainter, until they disappeared. The creak of the old house’s water pipes sounded in the walls next. Bailey had probably gone to shower.

Easing the armoire door open, he peeked out. All the lights were on and the coast was clear. Excellent.

First order of business: Secure the location.

Joaquin unfolded himself from the cramped space and backtracked to the front door. He wanted to throttle her when he found it unlocked. Was she insane? Even if she didn’t know about the danger breathing down her neck, any run-of-the-mill rapist or killer looking for an easy thrill could just walk right in while she was in a tile box with her eyes closed and so damn vulnerable.

Shit. He’d never quite understood the urge to spank a woman, but he was starting to get a clue.

After locking them in tight once more, he swiped her phone and schlepped back to her bedroom. Sweat-damp clothes littered the floor. Running water pelted the walls and floor of the shower. She sang in a high, lilting soprano. He didn’t recognize the song. Something about eternal love—vomit—but she could carry a tune. That shouldn’t surprise him. She was both musical and talented.

Tucking himself behind a plush chair in a corner of the room, he prowled through her phone, just waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom. She didn’t password protect the device, so he could see the name of her last caller. Blane looked young, fit, and boyishly handsome. They’d exchanged a series of texts with lots of flirting and hearts.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Joaquin wondered if her boyfriend would pose a problem by doing something inconvenient like dropping by unexpectedly tonight. Joaquin would almost wonder what she saw in a guy like Blane, except it was both obvious and irrelevant.

The phone in Joaquin’s pocket buzzed again. He pulled it free to see a message from Hunter. The girl in Arizona was in Africa on a mission trip for the next six weeks. They exchanged a few texts, agreeing that she was safe for now and that if the case was still up in the air when Alicia Allen returned, they’d deal with her then. Hunter said he was catching a return flight home tonight. Giving him the thumbs-up, Joaquin had shoved his phone in his pocket again when he heard the bathroom door open.