Killer Secrets by Lora Leigh Read Free Book Online

out of
his hands. He'd warned her.
    "Good night, Ms. Porter." He moved across the
room and headed for the door. "I trust you'll take ample
    care of yourself while you're here."
    "I always do, lover."
    He jerked the door open then slammed it behind him as he
stepped into the hall. Deke straightened from
    the wall, his gaze narrowing, his eyes flickering with
interest as he glanced at the suite door.
    "Let's move." Ian stalked down the hallway
without explanations. He'd be damned if there was any way
    to explain Kira, even if Deke was aware of exactly who and
what she was.
    Oh yeah, she was the niece to Jason Maclane all right. And
one of the most clever damned contract
    agents Homeland Security had on its payroll.
    The Chameleon, that was her code name. And why was that her
code name? Because she was as
    changeable in her appearance as she was in her moods.
Because her job wasn't to confront a damned
    thing, it was to watch and listen and flit around the elite
little parties that catered to the rich and notorious,
    and the dirty little deal makers. To shift and change
according to her location, to become seductive or
    dangerous, to fit in with the diseased, disgusting
parasites of the world.
    And he should remember that one, he told himself as he
followed Deke into the elevator. Kira knew the
    rules of the game. She didn't need him to protect her.
    Four
    IAN'S MOOD THE NEXT MORNINGwas less than cheerful. He
always awoke quickly, but opened
    his eyes slowly. He felt his surroundings out, let his
senses hone in to detect any shifts or dangers before
    he allowed himself to move from the bed.
    This morning, he awoke in a mood designed to piss even
himself off. His skin felt stretched, irritation
    tightened his guts, and damn if he didn't still have the
hard-on from hell throbbing between his thighs.
    He took care of the hard-on in the shower, masturbating as
he closed his eyes and imagined Kira, on her
    knees, her lips surrounding him, her tongue licking and
stroking as she sucked him to her throat and made
    his teeth clench with the need to hold back.
    Not that his hand came anywhere close to the imagined feel
of her mouth, but the thought succeeded in
    spilling his semen to the shower floor and taking the
bitter edge off his lust.
    Hell, he could have gone to Astra's room and awakened her
last night. He could have fucked her all
    night long, and rather than giving him grief, she would
have smiled and licked her lips in anticipation.
    She was one of many women that Diego seemed to delight in
filling the villa with. He liked pretty
    women, and he liked having them near. Women who liked rough
sex. Hell, they went beyond a little
    rough sex. They were women who enjoyed the pain Diego could
mete out.
     
    Ian grimaced at the thought of that. He had seen one of the
maids, Eleanor's, back beaded with blood
    from the stroke of Diego's whip, and still she had begged
for more. Not more sex. Not more fucking or a
    deeper penetration, because Diego rarely fucked one of his
toys. No, it was the pain that got both of
    them off. Diego got off giving it, and Eleanor could climax
from it. Ecstasy would wash over her face and
    her body would tremble with it.
    It was enough to make a jaded man wonder what the hell had
gone wrong with the world. For all his
    cynicism and experience, he still couldn't understand that
one. But it wasn't Astra he wanted, it was Kira.
    Stalking into the breakfast room nearly an hour later, he
found Diego at the breakfast table. Just what he
    needed that morning, a healthy dose of dear old pop.
    "Ah, good morning, Ian." A smile creased Diego's
swarthy face as he laid his forearms on the table and
    regarded him with something resembling pride. "I trust
you slept well?"
    Could his morning get any worse?
    "Morning, pop." It was the most disrespectful
title Ian could come up with. It was the one thing that had
    earned him his stepfather's ire when he used it.
    John Richards wasn't a man to stand on ceremony, but he