GhostWalkers 4 - Conspiracy Game

by Christine Feehan

  He let go of her as if she had burned him, muttering the local word for “witch.” He grabbed his gun from his companion and spun away from her, hurrying out, snapping a command to the others. They followed him out, slamming the door hard.

  Briony sagged with relief, covering her face with shaking hands. Jack slid down the rope and strode toward her, his features hard and set, eyes glittering dangerously.

  CHAPTER 5

  Jack locked the deadbolt on the door with a resounding thud and just kept coming, walking right up to her, hands gripping her arms hard. He gave her a little shake. “What the hell were you trying to do? He was going to rape you. If I felt it, you had to be swamped with his intentions. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Everyone underestimates me because I’m so small. I knew I was stronger than he was. I wouldn’t have let him touch me.”

  “He did touch you. He fucking hit you, while I hid like a dog up on that platform. He wanted to hurt you. He reeked of it. You had to have smelled him. He was excited by the idea of hurting a woman like you.” His palm covered her red cheek.

  “And I handled it,” Briony snapped, her own temper beginning to rise and mix with the nearly mind-numbing fear. She jerked her head away from him because his touch affected her way too much. “I handled it. I’m capable of taking care of myself. I wouldn’t just let a man rape me.”

  “Hence the word rape.” His eyes narrowed. “You weren’t safe, Briony. Not then and you aren’t now either. You should be screaming your head off.”

  “I wouldn’t bring the soldiers in here. They’re trigger happy. And I’m not afraid of you. You want me to be, but I’m not.”

  “You should be. Do you have any idea what I want to do right now?” His hand slid back up to her face, cupping her cheek and pressing his palm to her burning skin as if he could take the sting away.

  “Yes. You aren’t even trying to keep me out.” The intensity of his emotions swamped her and robbed her of her anger and fear. He needed to touch her—to feel her close to him. He couldn’t think with wanting her. Briony had never had anyone look at her the way he did, or be so fierce in his protection of her.

  “I want you to see me for what I am, Briony. I’m hard and can be cruel and I don’t have those gentle feelings you deserve in a man.” All the while he spoke, his hands belied what he said, thumbs sweeping soothing caresses over her swollen cheek.

  “I can’t touch you. You have too many stitches, Jack. We can’t possibly… ”

  She broke off when he caught her hands, fingers weaving through hers, pushing her against the wall and pinning her arms there while he leaned in to continue kissing her. Hot, needy kisses. Urgent and hungry. Each kiss deepened, roughened, became more demanding than the last.

  On some level he knew he was too experienced and rough for an innocent, but he couldn’t stop. Every bit of discipline and control seemed far away, out of reach, no matter how hard he tried to find it. The roaring in his head drowned out all sense of honor and became a pounding desire so intense he couldn’t think beyond burying his body into hers.

  It was her scent, the soft skin, the heat of her mouth, and the taste of her. She offered herself up to him and he wasn’t strong enough to resist. The offer had been there in the dark chocolate of her eyes. Shy maybe, hesitant even, but he recognized the hunger growing in her. The moment he slid his hands under her shirt and absorbed the feel of satin and silk, knew the lure of her scent was on every square inch of her body, he had to have more.

  “Jack.” Briony whispered his name, fear rising in direct proportion to her need of him. She’d never felt so edgy, so desperate for relief. She wanted his hands on her, wanted his body in hers, yet she knew little of what to expect between a man and a woman. He was too big—too strong—and in his present state she doubted if she could control the situation. She wanted the rush to slow down, to give her time to think.

  Jack felt a tremor run through Briony, and he tilted her face to force her to look up at him. “I’ll be careful with you, baby. Trust me.” He hoped he was telling the truth. He’d never felt such an overwhelming desire to be with a woman. He trailed kisses from her temple to her cheek, down to the corner of her mouth. All the while his hands moved over her skin, tracing her ribs, the small, tucked-in waist, gliding up to cup the soft weight of her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples into hard peaks right through her lace bra.

  A soft sound escaped her throat, a breathy, urgent plea that made him nearly crazy with wanting to strip the clothes from her body. It wouldn’t be enough to take her like that, fast and hard and without thought. He felt. It was unexpected and even unsettling, but he needed to savor the feel of her skin, the sound of her soft, breathy moan, the dark richness of desire building in her eyes for him. Her body fit his, every curve, the flare of her hips and soft swelling breasts.

  Jack had never expected to want her the way he did, or to feel her inside of him the way he did, but he wasn’t going to waste his opportunity. He didn’t give a damn that his body was a mess. He had never experienced belonging. She belonged with him—and he with her. She didn’t look at him the way the rest of the world did. She didn’t see his sins. She didn’t know his heart had died a long time ago. She looked at him and saw a man—not a monster. He couldn’t even look in the mirror and do that, but he could through her eyes.

  He leaned in to kiss her again, hands tunneling deep in her thick, silky hair. Her mouth opened for him, responded with hot passion. He took his time this time, refusing to be rough, savoring her taste, the feel of her. He slowed his wandering hands, dwelling on her curves and soft valleys, mapping her body in his mind—storing the images there. This would have to last him a lifetime, and he wasn’t going to rush it.

  Briony couldn’t believe how gentle he was—how tender. His mind was a haze of need—of hunger—desire so intense he could barely think or breathe, but instead of stripping the clothes from her body, he unwrapped her as if she were priceless and fragile—with a tender care bordering on reverence. Her breath caught in her throat when he removed his clothes, tossing them aside carelessly, revealing the terrible cuts and burns on his body.

  “Jack,” she whispered his name in an agony of need. “We can’t. We should wait until you’re healed.”

  “I won’t feel anything but you,” he answered, knowing it was true. He lifted her to set her bottom on the edge of the railing and stood between her legs to give him better access to her body without further damaging his own. He couldn’t afford to pull the stitches loose and risk more infection, but damn it all, he wasn’t about to lose this opportunity.

  He kissed her again, long, slow, drugging kisses until her eyes were glazed and her body trembled beneath his touch. He trailed kisses down her neck, over the curve of her breasts to her nipples. He felt ravaged with hunger for her, his mouth suckling a little too wildly, teeth teasing and tugging and dragging her into a much more experienced foreplay than her innocent eyes told him she should have, but he couldn’t stop from taking the gift she was giving him.

  “I’ve never felt like this, Briony.” He couldn’t wait, couldn’t make love to her as he wanted, and it was frustrating to him. He needed a bed and about twenty-four hours instead of a practice room where someone might attempt to come in at any time.

  He pressed a finger into her tight channel. She made a soft sound of need, her slick cream making it easy to stretch her a bit with two fingers. He couldn’t wait. Her scent was teasing him, his body swelling to painful proportions. She was hot and wet and so tempting—looking part sexy temptress and part innocent.

  He caught her hips and held her to him, pressing into her slick, welcoming entrance. She was too tight, too hot, too everything, the feeling so intense his body shook with the need to slam into her and bury himself to the hilt. Her dark eyes widened and she shook her head. Before she could protest, he pushed deeper. “Relax, let me do the work, baby. It’s uncomfortable the first time, but once we’re past that, I’ll make it good for you.”


  Briony couldn’t touch him. She needed to hold on to him, but there wasn’t a place on his body without cuts. The urgent need to have him inside her was slipping away, to be replaced by fear. He was too big. It was that simple. Her body couldn’t possibly be designed for a man his size. Briony moistened her lips and edged backward away from the stretched, burning feeling.

  Jack tightened his grip on her. “You have to relax, Briony. You’re tensing up on me.” He leaned forward, a little frantic, unable to prevent himself from kissing her, again and again, coaxing her passion, cupping one breast and teasing her nipple until she was flooding him with her need and gasping for breath.

  He slipped farther in, pushing through her tight folds until he felt her resistance. “Look at me, baby. Look only at me.” He wasn’t a man to be with a virgin. He was rough and dominant and didn’t know the first thing about innocents. Hell, he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had been innocent.

  Jack reached deep to find gentleness, to be patient. He wanted her first time to be something more than a man sweating and heaving, taking her fast and without care. He wanted to hold her close and make her feel the beautiful, extraordinary woman she was. “Tell me this is what you want, Briony. Tell me you want me.” She had to want him. He wasn’t certain he was enough of a man to pull back if she was too afraid, but he’d try—for her—he’d try. Sweat beaded his brow. Her scent drove him insane. Her body, so hot and tight, a perfect haven for him, tested the limits of his control. “Son of a bitch, baby, I’m not going to be able to hold back much longer. Tell me. Say it so I know I’m not a complete bastard and you want this too.”

  Her fingers slid in a caress over his face. “I want you more than anything, Jack. I’m absolutely sure.”

  In spite of the fact that there was fear in her eyes, and in her mind, he caught her hands, tipping her back, as he leaned over her, his fingers tight around hers to give her an anchor, pressing her wrists into the wood by her head. One hard thrust and he was through the barrier, burying his rock-hard flesh deep into her. She gave a strangled cry, and he made the supreme effort to stop moving, to let her adjust to his size. It was difficult when his body wanted to rage out of control. He gritted his teeth, feeling his pulse pound and his cock jerk with the strain of waiting.

  Briony caught her breath. He still felt too big, stretching her to a burning point, but somehow the feeling faded and the urgent need to feel him moving deep inside took over. Careful of his torn body, she couldn’t participate other than to lift her hips to meet his thrust, but she wanted to touch his skin, to take him in through her pores, to hold him close to her. He thrust deeper and lightning zigzagged through her body, sizzling and crackling and spreading heat to every cell.

  A single sound escaped her throat. He held her down, his hands on her wrists like shackles, holding her in place while his body began a pulse-pounding rhythm. Restraint. Restraint. Restraint. The chant was a desperate refrain in his head. She was so tight it was nearly painful, and her scent was ripe, calling to the male in him, thundering in his head and heart and hammering in his groin until he could barely think with wanting to bury himself deeper and deeper, harder and harder.

  He breathed deep to maintain control, when he felt like a man long starved for this one woman, this perfect body, a perfect fit. The taste of her—the feel of her—was almost more than he could bear. In his wildest, most erotic fantasy, he had never had a partner he wanted the way he wanted Briony—and she had to be a virgin.

  There wasn’t a square inch of his skin that wasn’t sliced to pieces; he couldn’t hold her against him, couldn’t make contact the way he wanted. He needed to hold her close, crush her body beneath his, yet he breathed. Restraint. Restraint. Restraint. He was not going to scare her by demanding too much, by taking too much. So okay, there was something deep and primitive and satisfying about knowing he was the only man who had ever touched her this way. He was a selfish bastard—a groan escaped, his mind hazing over. He couldn’t think anymore, the pleasure wiping out every coherent thought.

  Piercing pleasure washed over Briony, rushing through her body with far more force than she’d ever imagined. Every stroke sent streaks of lightning racing over her skin, sizzling through her veins, and contracting her womb. Her muscles tightened and tightened, an unrelenting pressure that continued to build past any expectation she’d ever had. It was frightening to be held down, to look up at his face, the savage lines cut deep, the intensity in his turbulent eyes, yet at the same time it heightened her sexual pleasure, pushing her beyond any limits she might have had.

  He surged into her again and again, stretching her impossibly, filling her so full she wanted to scream with pleasure, yet it was almost too much. The scent of him nearly drove her crazy, the building inferno she couldn’t stop. She needed to catch her breath, to pause, just for a second. Her muscles shuddered, clamped down as he slammed the full length of his shaft deep into her, driving into her over and over like a man possessed.

  There was pleasure and pain, fear and joy. Sweat broke out on his body, several of his stitches across his buttocks and hips burst as he surged deeper, harder, the friction from her velvet, tight sheath nearly spiraling him out of control. She began to struggle for freedom the moment she realized cuts were opening on his body, but he couldn’t stop. No, baby, don’t. Don’t fight me. We’re there. I need this. You need this. Let yourself go. Come with me.

  The words brushed intimately against her mind. Perhaps if he’d spoken them aloud she would have found the strength to stop him for his own sake, but his plea was too caressing, too needy. She lifted her hips to meet his invasion, rising with every stroke, tightening her muscles around him to heighten their pleasure, feeling it crash over her—through her—building to such an intensity she could barely keep from screaming. Her inner muscles spasmed, and Jack’s body jerked as she clamped down. His voice, a hoarse whisper, sounded sexy, even erotic, as he emptied himself deep inside of her. She felt the thick hot jets filling her, mixing with her own cream, their combined musky scent triggering another wild spasm.

  Jack’s hands slowly slid away from her wrists, down her arms to tunnel in her hair. He closed his eyes, just feeling her, savoring her hot body tight around his, her skin unbelievably soft, her hair thick and beautiful through the pads of his fingers. He kissed her again, needing the taste of her in his mouth. Pain began to creep into his sensitized nerve endings, but he held it at bay just a few moments longer, giving him enough time to trail kisses down her throat to her breast, just to feel her skin. He opened his eyes to take in the sight of her stretched out like a sacrifice—a gift.

  “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Briony reached up to touch his face, her touch so gentle it nearly was his undoing. He pulled away from her, feeling the burn of tears. Hell. He hadn’t cried since he was a toddler. The woman was killing him.

  “Get dressed,” he said gruffly, looking around for his clothes. He dressed in silence, a small part of him ashamed of himself that he’d taken her offering, but the bigger part wanting her again and again.

  “Jack, I have to go,” Briony said. “We don’t have much time. If my brothers come and the door is locked… ”

  “Jeb knows I’m with you; he’ll assume you were trying to protect me.” He wished to hell he hadn’t used that particular word. He should have been protecting her. He held her close, stroking caresses through her hair. “I should have waited until we were in your bedroom. Tonight, after you do your thing, I promise to do a better job.”

  “It was my first time, Jack. For a first time, with me not knowing what I was doing, rockets went off.” She lifted her face so he could kiss her. “I have to go to the dressing room. We’ll have my brothers looking for me soon if we wait much longer, and you need to get out of sight.”

  “Sometimes out of sight is in plain sight. I’m watching you tonight.”

  She kissed him again, suddenly hungry for him. “St
ay safe.” She hurried off, turning to wave twice, her smile melting the hard knots in his belly.

  From his position in the shadows near the entrance for performers, Jack found his heart in his throat, watching her body flying through the air, her sequined costume glittering like a star speeding across the sky. The stunts were fast-paced and dangerous, a blend of fire, rope, and swing, with everyone in constant motion. Jack watched Briony, hardly noticing her brothers. Mostly he felt her.

  The stunts required her full attention and there was no way for her to hide the pain wracking her body. He was a trained soldier, had extensive combat experience, and knew torture on a much more intimate basis than he would like. He knew how to separate his body and mind and block pain. She didn’t block it exactly. She felt it, but refused to acknowledge it. She endured.

  He felt every hammer blow as if someone was driving a sharp stake through her skull. The blows fell with rhythmic force as the anxiety level in the audience grew with each succeeding stunt. He pressed a hand to his cramping stomach. Bile rose, but he fought it down. He willed himself not to get a nosebleed, felt the blood trickle to the corner of his mouth, and narrowed his eyes when he saw her hand move with blurring speed to wipe her face.

  He detested watching the performance, his fingers curling into fists at the certain knowledge that she was suffering—and she did this several times a day—nearly every day. He turned away, swearing under his breath. Why would her family allow such a thing? What the hell was wrong with them? And what was wrong with her that she deliberately tortured her body every single day?

  He wanted to snatch her up and run, take her somewhere he could protect her and keep her safe from the constant bombardment of everyday emotions. If he stayed there a moment longer, he was going to climb the rope and pull her out of there right in front of all of the soldiers and whatever rebels were scattered in the audience.