His Every Fantasy

by Delilah Devlin

  She’d found it.

  “She’s clever,” Alejandro murmured.

  Sergei didn’t respond; his attention was on the woman as she glanced away and closed her eyes for a brief moment. But then she returned the cloth to the top of the dresser, in the same position so his view of her inside the room was unimpeded.

  He sat back, wondering why she hadn’t crushed it, or at the very least, turned it to face the wall. Perhaps she figured there were other cameras and destroying one wouldn’t matter.

  As she ambled slowly back to the bed, her shoulders weren’t as straight. When she turned and edged back onto the mattress, her expression was bleak, her mouth a narrow, downturned frown.

  Sergei’s chest tightened as he watched her. He recognized that expression. Defeat. Fatigue too great to sustain anger. And his own anger flared. A woman that young and courageous should never be pushed to a moment like this. She deserved better.

  Beside him, Alejandro cleared his throat. “No match for her prints popped up in the IAFIS database.”

  Sergei nodded, his gaze never leaving the screen. They’d removed prints from her wineglass, hoping to identify her so they might learn exactly what sort of trouble she might be in.

  “We don’t have high hopes there will be a familial match in the DNA database either.”

  Sergei understood what wasn’t being said. The way she spoke, her manners at dinner, despite the fact she’d been starving, had indicated she’d been raised well and was educated. “This may take longer than I’d first thought.”

  Alejandro clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t sound so disappointed,” he said, humor in his voice.

  Sergei shrugged. “Am I so transparent?”

  “Amigo, you’re fucking Casper.”

  Sergei grunted. It was true. He wouldn’t mind spending more time with her. But now that she knew they were watching, how could he earn her trust? They were obligated to keep watch, in order to keep her safe. And yet, he doubted she’d see it that way.

  He was about to turn from the screen when she glanced over at the camera. Her lips curved in a pretty snarl, and she lifted the hem of her tee, pulling it over her head and baring her small round breasts.

  She stood, wincing only slightly, and pushed down her leggings and her socks. Nude, she stood still for a long moment, her chin rising as her brows drew together into a ferocious frown. Slowly, she raised her hand, her fingers curling downward—all but the middle one.

  Alejandro chuckled softly from behind. “She has claws.”

  “Why would she challenge me?” His thoughts whirled through his training of prisoner behavior.

  “Maybe she’s flirting?”

  Sergei shook his head. “She was held prisoner in an Omega camp. Found dressed in skimpy clothing. Kept barefoot. Held for someone.”

  “Think she might be connected? A girlfriend to one of the lieutenants who maybe stepped out of line?”

  “I don’t know. But make sure the men know not to share too much about what we’re doing here, or who we are.”

  “Sí, I’ll see to it. She’s all yours.” He waved a hand toward the monitors. “But what do you think Boone will have to say about this? About not turning her over to the authorities?”

  “He’ll understand,” Sergei murmured then was distracted when Kara tossed back the covers and lay down on the bed, on her side, facing the camera, her slender curves accentuated. His gaze roamed from her shoulders, down the narrow curve of her waist, and upward again over surprisingly lush hips.

  Blood surged southward. No doubt this act was her revenge. She’d figured out he would maintain a distance, treat her gently, although likely she didn’t trust his motives. This was a rebellion. One that proved she wasn’t without pride, but that she was also not extremely modest. Surprising really, since he’d pegged her for being inexperienced. Something in her gaze when he’d said he wasn’t going to rape her had begged him to be telling the truth. Eyes so wide and deep, he’d imagined her thinking, No, don’t let this be my first time.

  But then, maybe he was thinking she was an innocent because he’d been looking at her through the tarnished lens of his own past misdeeds. What was it about Kara that brought all that old guilt bubbling to the surface? Was it simply the defiant glint in her eyes? The rebellious tilt of her jaw? Both hinted at a strength of character which refused to be subdued despite her situation.

  He drank in the sight of her one last time, not daring to stare overlong at the scant ruff of dark hair at the apex of her thighs. She was in his care. What kind of bastard would he be to pursue her when she was vulnerable? Someone had to be looking for her—family, a boyfriend? Something inside him shied away from that last thought, because thinking of her in the arms of another man made his teeth grind.

  “You should rest,” Alejandro said. “You’ve been up nearly forty hours. I’ll keep watch.”

  Sergei turned from the screen, and was reassured by Alejandro’s expression that his desire for Sergei to leave didn’t have a thing to do with the beautiful woman lying willfully naked in the room down the hall. From the moment he’d carried her from the table to her bedroom, Sergei had already marked her as his. None of his inner circle of friends would trespass.

  He gave a nod, and rose. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until Alejandro mentioned how long he’d been awake, but then, they were all accustomed to pushing themselves. From the moment they’d set the plan to take back the hostages, all their energy had been channeled to that purpose. “See you in the morning. Make sure she doesn’t harm herself trying to escape.”

  Shaking his head, Alejandro smirked. “What’s she going to do? Scale a twelve-foot wall? Go.”

  As he exited the room and headed down the hallway to the bedroom next to Kara’s, he couldn’t get the picture of her lying there out of his mind. Truthfully, she was nothing like Afya. At least not physically. And yet, the same feelings he’d felt for the Afghan woman all those years ago were there. Boone said he was too soft. That he wanted to save all women from their bad choices. The statement was true to a point. Even playing at The Platform, their club back in New Orleans, he was the one who personally saw to the gentle aftercare of the women he and Boone had enjoyed, even though staff was available to see to their playmates’ needs. Not that Boone would ever include him in another session now that he’d married Tilly. She was his to care for. His to love.

  Watching his friend fall in love with the feisty bayou beauty had amused everyone inside the circle. Boone was their leader, the CEO of Black Spear, Limited, and at one time, the lieutenant in charge of their SEAL team, before he’d talked them into joining him and building the company. Now they all shared in its success. All of them were wealthy beyond their wildest dreams. As he’d told Kara, security services, especially when provided by men with their credentials, weren’t cheap.

  Letting himself into his room, he began to strip, dropping his clothes as he padded to the bed. Their mission the night before had gone off without a hitch. Tex-Oil and their insurance company couldn’t be happier with the result. Their men had been freed, and Tex-Oil officials were content to leave Kara’s disposition to Black Spear.

  He supposed he’d have to call Boone in the morning to warn him of his intentions. Especially since he intended to bring the mysterious woman back to Maison Plaisir. The plantation nestled in the bayou was even more secure than this safe house.

  There, he’d have time, away from the threat of retaliation from the cartel, to show her that he could be trusted. With that last thought, he lay back, a hand wrapping around the erection the sight of her nude body had built. For now, he let his imagination fly, dreaming of a woman with slate-gray eyes and a lush, stubborn mouth. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and hopefully, the mystery surrounding her would be shredded. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel this obsessive need to hover. Maybe once he knew her past, he wouldn’t feel this overwhelming desire.

  He hoped to discover flaws, cracks that he could widen to make her less
attractive, because from the first moment he’d gotten a good look at this woman—her hair wild, her eyes wilder still—as she’d sat in the backseat of the Hummer, he’d been struck with a powerful attraction. For more than just her beauty. Beauty was transient. What had drawn him was that hint of fierce spirit blazing in her large eyes. Despite the danger she’d been in, and not knowing his intentions, she’d held still, keen intelligence in her shadowed eyes, maintaining a breathtaking poise that kept her from crying. Instead, she’d kept her chin tilted high. She’d taken his breath away.

  And damn him for being a jackass, but here he was now, fisting his cock because he wanted her, wanted that passion he’d glimpsed in her eyes for his own. Years had passed since he’d allowed himself to dream of a different future. One that he might share with an intimate partner. A wife.

  Closing his eyes, he reminded himself of all the reasons why a relationship would never work. Foremost being, he didn’t know who the hell she was. For now, he concentrated on the image of her lying on her bed, her stubborn eyes staring at the camera. She’d known he’d be watching, he’d bet anything on that fact.

  As his arousal built, one strong pull after another, he made himself a promise. One he could live with. For her sake, he’d handle whatever danger faced her, and then he’d let her go.

  Chapter Four

  Kara awoke early the next morning, disoriented, her heartbeat quickening because for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. A glance around the most luxurious bedroom she’d ever slept in brought everything back in a flash and her muscles tensed.

  The pale violet wallpaper with little white flowers and green leaves was pretty and feminine, so different from what she remembered of the rest of the very masculine house. She lay beneath a sage-green duvet in a dark mahogany bed with tall slender posts. More gleaming mahogany—a highboy, a vanity—plus the gray-and-green high-backed armchair near the doors leading outside completed the furnishings. Still nude and mindful of the camera, she tugged the sheet free of the bed and stood on a soft, looped wool area rug, the same soft green as her comforter. The bedroom’s color scheme was soothing to her senses, perhaps purposefully so, something she needed to keep in mind.

  Swathed in the sheet, she walked toward the window overlooking the alcove. The sun was still beneath the horizon, but light gleamed behind the mountain ridge in the distance, gilding the edges of the rugged peaks.

  She opened the French doors a crack. The morning air was warm, but not yet unbearable. Birdsong trilled and the scent of roses and some other sweet flower wafted on the air. Her prison was lovely, but she might as well still be in the rough camp. She was no closer to freedom, and so many questions whirled in her mind. Too many. She shrugged them away. Better to concentrate on her present predicament.

  Leaving the door open for now to enjoy the fresh air, she turned from the window, and ambled slowly to the closet. Her feet were still tender, but no longer felt puffy. Perhaps she could manage a pair of flip-flops today. She hunted inside the walk-in and found olive-green shorts with an elastic waist and another pretty tee, this one shorter and fitted, with olive, cream, and black stripes. Dark enough to hide the shadows of her nipples, because there wasn’t a bra she could wear without resorting to stuffing it with tissue—and the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to attributes she didn’t have. With quick moves, she pulled on the clothes. Besides, Sergei was now well aware of her meager curves. She’d seen to that during her little rebellion the night before.

  Thinking about what she’d done brought heat to her cheeks. She didn’t understand the urge, but she’d been quietly furious, wanting to rage, to break something when she’d discovered her suspicion, that she was being spied upon, was true. Realizing she’d already been naked in front of that camera, she’d wanted him to feel shame, if he could feel a human emotion, and she’d stripped. She’d been shaking with rage. Until the moment she’d lain down on the bed. The cool sheets had caressed her naked skin, and she’d remembered the feel of his thick muscles against that same side, the scent of his hair and skin—a sagey musk that she’d liked instantly. And she’d wondered what lying with him—naked, skin to skin—might be like. Anger had been replaced with anguish, because once again, she was pinning her hopes for an end to her loneliness on a man.

  A splash sounded in the distance. Curious, she approached the doors, stepped outside onto the flagstone patio, and skirted the bronze-tone furniture. At the far wall, she noted an iron gate and stood to the side of it to peer onto a larger courtyard. At its center was a pool with natural, chiseled rock overlapping the water. Boulders at the far side formed a small waterfall. Other boulders, seemingly naturally formed, served as places to sun or sit.

  But the figure cutting through the water was what drew her attention. Although he glided beneath the surface, as graceful as a seal, his frame blurred by the depth and speed at which he swam, she knew the swimmer was Sergei. His dark hair and broad frame were instantly recognizable. And he was nude.

  Her breath caught, and she drew behind one of the small trees shading the edge of the pool. For a moment, she felt guilty spying on him like this, but then she remembered the camera in her room and figured turnabout was fair play. Besides, she couldn’t pull away. She was fascinated, wondering how long he could hold his breath, whether he would turn to swim on his back because now that she’d seen his well-muscled backside, she was curious about his front.

  She remembered the one man in college she’d seen in the nude. The one she’d considered losing her virginity to. His soft, lean frame hadn’t made her heart race like this. In fact, after viewing his long, skinny penis and the thick fur that surrounded it, she’d been abruptly put off. She seriously doubted she would have been as squeamish if Jerrod had looked anything like this toned man.

  Sergei surfaced, dragging in air, his feet touching down in the bottom of the pool. He faced away, water streaming from his shoulder-length hair.

  Her gaze trailed down his wide shoulders to his back, and again, she gasped, quickly covering her mouth and freezing in place. But he must not have heard her, because he didn’t glance her way. So she leaned nearer, visually tracing the scars on his skin: a puckered hole and thin jagged lines. Even to her unschooled gaze, she knew he’d suffered a gunshot wound and been gouged with a knife.

  Sergei scraped a hand over his face, wiping away water, and turned at an angle. Now, she viewed his profile unimpeded. His brow line was heavy, brooding, his nose on the large side with a bump at the center, as though it had been broken in the past. His jaw was square, his chin blunt and strong. A very masculine face. Not pretty, but rugged and handsome.

  Her gaze fell to his chest. His pectoral muscles were curved bulges over distinct, rippled abdominals. His arms were equally as beautiful, biceps flexing as again he swiped his face to rid it of water.

  And then his head swung toward her, his dark eyes narrowing as he frowned. “You don’t have to hide. I know you’re there.”

  Kara swallowed, but then tilted up her chin and stepped from behind the tree. She didn’t approach the pool; instead, she leaned against the trunk, attempting a casual pose while her heartbeat thudded. “Do you always swim in the nude when you have strange women staying with you?” Oh, why had she led with that?

  A dark brow rose. “I swim in the nude because I enjoy it. You’re welcome to do the same, seeing as I doubt there’s a swimsuit among Tilly’s things that will fit you.”

  The mention of another woman didn’t sit well. “No, thank you. This Tilly, is she around? I’d like to thank her for the loan,” she said, a hand sweeping over her clothing.

  “She’s not here, but she won’t mind. You look better today. Did you sleep well?”

  “Do you mean after I found the camera?”

  His eyes narrowed again. “It’s there for your safety. Yours isn’t the only room wired.”

  “Is yours?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you don’t find that intrusive?
”

  “When I’m jerking off, I know my friends do me the courtesy of looking away.”

  Heat seeped into her cheeks and she averted her gaze.

  “I’m sorry, was I too crass?”

  “What do you think?” she asked huskily.

  “I think you’re only embarrassed because that’s exactly what you were wondering.” He turned to face her and strode toward the steps.

  She straightened because she knew what he was doing: challenging her to the point she’d flee. But she held her ground, her gaze glued to his face, fighting the urge to glance downward, because then he’d win this encounter.

  But as he ascended, she caught sight of the part of him she was most curious about. And her breath caught. She’d hoped the water had only amplified his size, because he was longer and thicker than the boy in college, and she was beginning to tremble. This was more than she could handle and hope to fool him into believing that she wasn’t shocked… or attracted.

  His height towered over her, making her feel petite and dainty. Swamping her with feelings that she didn’t want. Kara didn’t want to feel small or intimidated. Didn’t want to be swept beneath a wave of attraction so powerful her belly already tightened.

  He drew nearer, his expression set, and lifted a hand, leaning it on the tree above her head, water running in rivulets down his thick, muscled frame to pool beside her feet. “I’ve seen you. Now you’ve seen me. Turnabout was only fair, I think.”

  His voice was a deep rumbling murmur and the timbre vibrated through her. Despite her better intentions, she let her gaze dip, scanning his chest… Good Lord, his chest was beautiful. Broad with a light fur coating his skin from one flat brown nipple to the next. Her gaze moved downward… to a washboard belly that made her fingers tingle with the need to test whether it was as hard as it looked. And then at last, to the cock springing from his naked groin. Her gaze clung there.

  He shaved. Why? That was a disingenuous question to even be asking herself in her own mind, because she knew the lack of hair was for the comfort and enjoyment of his sexual partners. And he must have many, because he was endowed with a cock that wasn’t the least off-putting. It was straight, thick. Erect. The skin stretched around the shaft gleamed like satin; the blunt round head was indeed shaped like a large mushroom, a reddish purple, the eyelet hole filling with a bead of pearlescent pre-ejaculate.