Chapter One

 

Above the blare of horns, wisecracking truck drivers and low flying aircraft he heard the sweet music of her voice, as she came. Ahhh .... brown-skinned Maria didn't move as much as she undulated, half covered by the damp sheets, half exposed to the sunlight streaming into the apartment, which was already steamy by ten in the morning. She did her best fucking then, when it was hot. Perhaps because she was reminded of Tijuana where she was born. The best things came out of the heat. Her body glistened sweaty, as his mouth moved from one brown nipple to the next and then to her navel where a little pool of liquid collected as he dripped his frosty beer can over her belly. She'd squealed and jerked like a madwoman. But she wasn't going anywhere. He had her hands tied overhead, her feet below, just the way she liked her sex. He'd made her lie there from first light until he decided he wanted to have her, until she was stimulated to a peak, until she might have spontaneously orgasmed from the air itself. But then, she would never do that, she liked to get fucked.

He made her take his prick in her mouth first while she remained unable to move. He knelt above her and watched it slide slowly down her throat. In and out of her, the thick erection was bathed inside her wet mouth, made larger by her lips sucking. About to ejaculate, but not quite, he pulled away and took her between her thighs. She struggled with the ropes at her wrists and ankles, wanting to pull up her thighs, wrap her legs around his ass and use her hands to scratch his back so it would look like he'd been flailed with a whip.

He couldn't hold back when she orgasmed a second time. Then she squeezed him with her inner muscles and he shot off, while each hand held a full breast in its grip. The hard rhythmic beating of groin to groin raised the sound of her voice like a new melody into a day already filled with sound. He liked the music of her voice above the other noises in the air.

"You piss me off!" Maria shouted throwing a pillow at a naked Tad Stone. She was seconds away from cussing him out in Spanish - a really bad sign for a sweet tempered senorita.

"Hey! Cut that out!" he barked back. "You got what you wanted."

"I never get what I want," she shouted.

"I told you, babe, I don't do well with romance."

"You ass! Get out!"

"Yeah, well after I shower."

"Now!"

He laughed, ignoring her, then showered and left the apartment, dropping a few bills on the table by the door. It wasn't that he had to pay her, but she needed the money, and instead of romance, it softened her bite.

 

***

 

The newsroom buzzed with activity, with the sounds of computer keys, telephones and laughter. Inside the office on the far wall, behind the glass windows, the willowy blonde sitting at her desk peered over her glasses that were poised at the tip of her nose. She was missing one quarter of her staff and she didn't like it, even though she expected nothing less on Tad Stone's first day. She'd argued for two hours with Sam, her editor. But no argument was good enough to keep Tad Stone off the City Desk and out of the domain she considered hers.

He was the most reckless investigative reporter in the city, the most ambitious, and the best. But he was more than Kelly London needed. She had a hard enough time keeping the other three members of her team under control. The trouble was, they were all too much alike: free thinkers, mavericks, itinerant gamblers who thrived on action and very little common sense. Tad Stone was undoubtedly the worst of the best - as bad as his reputation.

He was on his way up in the news world with a fluke Pulitzer, due primarily to luck and good timing. That landed him the plum job on The Mirror, the one that Kelly thought she'd handed to a good-natured but moldable young reporter from Sioux City. But then, the decision was taken away from her, an event no news director should have to put up with.

The Mirror needed readers, they needed results and they needed stories that no one else in the City could get. Tad Stone would get what Sam Ross and the Publisher, Teddy Jones, wanted.

"The meeting was at ten, Mr. Stone," Kelly said, as the errant reporter finally sauntered into her cramped office at half past eleven. A few papers fluttered from her hands and they both stooped to pick them up.

"I guess I overslept," he replied with a smile.

"Or other things?"

"Hey, when you have it, you've got to take advantage of it," he snickered.

"Is that how you refer to your relationships with women?" Kelly asked.

"Who said I was referring to women?"

"I assumed you were referring to sex," she said. "Unless of course you like men better."

"No, ma'am, I'm strictly a pussy man," he answered.

Kelly took a deep breath. "Well, this is quite a first conversation," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake. "I'm Kelly London, and I am the director of the City Desk, and when I schedule a meeting I expect my staff to be on time, including you, Mr. Stone. Pull yourself out of bed next time."

"Your point is taken," he acknowledged with a nod, though the steady smirk remained on his face. It was intended to intimidate her, and they both knew that. Kelly tried ignoring it. Sitting back down at her desk, she watched as Tad took a chair across from her.

"You don't like me much, do you?" he said as he carefully observed the expression on her face.

"Why would you think that?" she said, with sarcasm dripping.

"Because all the women who haven't been to bed with me have a hard time."

Kelly sat up straight and took a deep breath. "If you're going to make sexually harassing comments, Mr. Stone, we will part ways immediately. I don't care what it takes for Sam Ross to get the message. I won't have it."

"Hey, I'm sorry," he shrugged.

He did sincere really well, brown eyes twinkling, his broad grin flashing. Tad Stone looked like a rogue in a handsome sort of way, with his feathered-back brown hair just beginning to show a hint of gray, and a good old All American tan that she noticed on his exposed forearms and hands. With his broad shoulders and tight waist, he probably worked out.

She liked men's hands, could tell a lot from them. Spent some time studying them on the subway and in restaurants. She thought of how they'd feel on her skin, whether it would be a gentle touch or something more harsh. She didn't mind either kind of touch, both had their purpose. It took just a second to figure Tad's. His were skilled, easily changeable. And that was a dangerous sign. Already fantasizing about what they'd do to her body, she felt the first unwanted jolt of sexual attraction.

"Get this real clear, Mr. Stone. You're right, I don't like you. I didn't choose you. I didn't want you on my team. I think you're dangerous, in spite of your Pulitzer. You're arrogant, cocky and you take too many risks. I think, ultimately, you'll be a liability for the paper, cause you'll fuck up, and we'll all pay." She stopped.

"Gee," Tad said grinning. "Terrific welcome."

"Well, my opinions aside, you're here, and I'm obliged to work with you. I just want things to be right on the table from the beginning."

"Well, I guess you did a real good job of that." There was a bite in his voice, but still a smile on his face. "So, what's my assignment?"

Getting on to business, Kelly leafed through the papers on her desk for a file. Finding it, she handed it to Tad.

"We're working on Mick Hagan, the drug dealer. You have any leads?"

His smiled turned warm again.

"I've got more than leads," Tad replied. "Just got to pump my informants."

"You want to tell me about that?" she asked, curious.

"No. But I'll have your story," he said, rising from his chair. "Better not waste any more time."

"Mr. Stone, I haven't ended this meeting," Kelly called him back.

"Oh?" he stopped his lazy saunter towards the door.

"We need to get a few things straight around here. I can't ask you your sources, but I do want to know what you're working on and what I can expect from you. I want daily reports."

"Hey, I just told you what I'd be doing." Just the tiniest bit of annoyance was appearing on the surface of his cool attitude.

"I need more details," she said, matching his cool with her own.

"Is that so?" he said.

"Yes, that's so. You work for me and you will remember that."

"Oh, I'm sure I won't forget."

Moseying back towards the desk he sat on the edge and leaned in, peering at her with his typical jaunty expression: though it suddenly faded. "I know you don't like me, Ms. London," he said, turning serious. "But I'm the best goddam reporter in this town. You know it, I know it, and everyone else knows it. So if you want to make a stink about me, you go right ahead. But I'm not above kicking a bitchy dame out of her job to get what I want, and you're right up there with the best of the bitches." He stood up. "And don't call me Mr. Stone, because I won't answer you again. I'm Tad, just Tad."

Without his signature smile he retraced his steps to the door.

"Now, if you don't mind, there's a little Spanish filly with warm firm thighs and a succulent pussy waiting for me. That's where I plan to spend my afternoon. Is that enough detail for you?"