Briony completed a full twist and felt the satisfying smack as Jebediah caught her wrists and sent her flying back toward Tyrel. The high wire under her feet, she ran across, counting the beats of music to get to her cue. As she did so, she saw Jack slip out. At once pain flooded her body, so hard, so fast she nearly missed as she dove through the ring of fire. Jebediah’s alarm at her missed timing felt like a blow to her brain.
She took a breath and forced her body under control for the rest of the show. Jebediah waited until they were alone in the makeshift dressing room, silently handing her a cloth to wipe the blood from her nose and mouth. “You almost missed, Briony. There isn’t a safety net.”
Ruben, Tyrel, and Seth fell silent, their laughter fading as they turned to her. Their concern only heightened the pain stabbing through her.
“I know. It was worse this time. It won’t happen again. I’ll be prepared.”
Jebediah frowned as he watched her wipe at the blood. “Get some sleep tonight. It’s almost over, a couple more days.” Jebediah waved his brothers out and waited until they closed the door. “Give this to Jack. I was able to get a message to his brother at the hospital and Ken’s arranged transport. There’s a ship that will be waiting off the coast. A helicopter will extract him.” He slipped a satellite phone into her hand. “He shouldn’t leave the room until necessary. We’re going to act like we always do every night and hit the clubs. You stay in your room with that door locked, and I mean it this time, Bri. This is dangerous. If someone betrayed Jack and delivered him to the rebels, they might intercept what we’re doing and we’ll all be in serious trouble.”
“I’ll stay in, Jeb,” Briony promised. He was leaving. She knew he had to go and he would at least have medical care, but the thought of being separated from him was mind-numbing. She turned away from her brother, covering her face again with the cloth so he couldn’t see her expression.
Jebediah walked with her in silence to the hotel and left her as she went up the stairs to the hallway. “It’s just me,” she called out before using her key.
Jack crossed the room and pulled her into his arms, holding her close, nearly crushing her with his strength. “You scare the hell out of me, Briony.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, careful to try to keep her weight off of his chest, although he was pulling her hard against him. “That’s funny coming from a man who runs around alone in a jungle with a crazed army after him.” She kissed his lower lip, teased at the corner of his mouth. “Jeb sent a satellite phone. I have no idea where he got it, but you’re supposed to call Ken. They’re coming for you tonight. I’ll go take my shower while you make the call.”
Briony pushed the phone into his hands and moved away, not wanting him to see or feel how much it was going to hurt when he left. Their relationship had blossomed to intense too fast—yet for the first time in her life she felt as if she belonged. She let the hot water pour over her face, washing away tears. Of course he had to go. He had no other choice—it was far too dangerous for him to stay. She took her time drying her hair, needing the extra minutes to compose herself.
Jack was already in bed when Briony came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. He held up one corner of the sheet and patted the mattress invitingly. “Don’t bother with clothes. I’ll just have to take them off of you.”
Briony laughed. “You sound like such a tough guy.” She lit a single candle before turning off the light and sliding into bed beside him.
“I am a tough guy. You’re the only one who doesn’t notice.” He framed her face and bent to kiss her, long, lingering kisses that helped to soothe the pounding of his heart from watching her perform under such duress.
Briony’s lips were soft and welcoming, her mouth innocent and passionate, hot and spicy, the mixture intoxicating. He breathed deep, laid his brow against hers. He wanted to kiss her forever, hold her close. Keep her. Because he was Frankenstein with more stitches than skin, she hadn’t been able to touch him, and he wanted to feel her hands on his body. He needed to feel her hands on him. How was he ever going to give her up?
Jack propped himself up on one elbow, resting on his side, one of the few positions he could lie in without extreme discomfort. He brushed silky strands of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her skin. “Tell me about your life.”
“My life?” She raised an eyebrow. “My parents were wonderful people. Circus people. They loved the life. So do my brothers. My mom was born in Italy and my father was from the United States. I have four brothers, all of whom think they need to boss me around.”
His hands tunneled in her hair, rubbing the strands back and forth between his fingers. “They probably do.”
She laughed. “I should have known you’d side with them. It’s some sort of male bonding thing to think women aren’t capable of running their own lives.”
He nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. “It’s ego and sheer desperation. We have to keep you thinking we’re the superior species.”
“News flash, Jack—no woman on the face of the earth believes that anymore.”
He trailed kisses down her cheek. “But men don’t know women know that. We still live in our little fantasy world, so don’t muck it up for us.”
“I’ll try to be good about it.”
“You were telling me about your life.”
She shrugged. “There really isn’t all that much to tell. I’m adopted. My birth father insisted on designing my education as well as being responsible for any medical problems, mostly, I think, because I’m so different. He was aware of my differences and had a special doctor flown out whenever I had so much as a stubbed toe. He also insisted on developing my physical training. Running, gymnastics, martial arts, under water, that sort of thing. I liked it most of the time. I could use the skills for our performances, and it just felt good to use the speed and endurance I actually have, instead of hiding it all the time. Mom didn’t want our friends to know I was different.”
“Why did you all stay with the circus?”
She gave a little shrug. “They love the circus life, the camaraderie, the traveling—especially the traveling and, of course, performing in front of thousands. I think that’s as big a thrill as the actual aerial act. Jeb loved it so much he didn’t stay in the SEALs and you know he loved that. The money Whitney gave my parents when they adopted me and agreed to his terms enabled them to buy in as full partners of the circus. Performing and the circus are in their blood. We’ve been offered so much money to perform in Vegas, but it isn’t the lifestyle any of them want. The circus has their hearts.”
“But not yours.”
Briony turned over to stare up at the ceiling, a small smile curving her mouth. “They have my heart, so of course I perform with them. We’re family and it’s what we do.”
“And you know their act wouldn’t be quite the success without you. It’s your stunts that set them apart from other top aerialists.”
“I contribute, but the boys are awesome flyers. They invent tricks most of the other performers copy. I’ve always been stronger and faster, and obviously it gives me an edge. I do a quadruple somersault, but truthfully, I could rotate five or six times before Jebediah catches me. I just wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It would be too dangerous for others to try—and it would set me apart. I don’t want the spotlight shining too heavily on me.” She reached up and touched his face. She loved touching him, but there were few places on his body she could do so without hurting him. “What about you?”
He caught her hand and carried it to his mouth, nibbling on her fingers. “What about me?”
“What do you do when you aren’t being sent into jungles to rescue people?”
“My brother and I own a piece of property up in the mountains. It’s wild and suits me just fine. If he’d ever stop with his plans, we might be able to sit on the porch and enjoy it.”
Briony heard the affection in his gruff res
ponse. “His plans?”
“Ken always has plans. He designed the house, and every time I think we’re finished and I can just sit and enjoy the mountains, he comes up with a new idea for me to work.”
Briony laughed softly. “He makes you work, does he? Somehow I’m having trouble believing that.”
Embarrassment flickered in his eyes and was gone. He shrugged. “The man whines. I don’t know. He wants it done and he just keeps at me, so it’s easier just to give him what he wants so he’ll shut up.”
Briony’s smile widened. “You pushover you. Who would have guessed?”
He found himself fascinated by the shape of her mouth and the laughter in her eyes when she smiled. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone. Ken loves to design, but he doesn’t necessarily like to do the carpentry work.”
“And you do?”
“I like working with my hands.” He shrugged. “Of course, it might be out of necessity. Ken brings me all kinds of ideas and someone has to keep him quiet.”
“Ideas?” She tilted her head, one eyebrow raised. “What kinds of ideas?”
“Furniture. New rooms. Buildings. All kinds of things.” He sighed as if greatly put upon, but there was too much admiration and affection in his voice to believe he was annoyed with his brother.
“You make furniture?”
“I made all of our furniture. And the cabinets.” He shrugged. “Just about everything in the house. I told you, I like working with my hands. There’s something satisfying in taking wood and making something long-lasting out of it.”
She took his hand, running her fingertips over the calloused skin. “I love your hands.” Briony smiled up at him. “If you do all the building, what does he do?”
“The ideas are his. And he talks to people, does all the ordering. Handles details. I’m not good at any of that. Ken thinks if someone screws up an order I might shoot them.” He bent to brush a kiss along her temple. “There might be a little truth to that. I can’t take incompetence.”
She burst out laughing again, the sound playing through his body like a musical instrument. He could feel the vibration of every note running through his veins, heating his blood.
“I’ve always wanted to do stained glass,” she confided. “I sketch. I’m not that good, but they’re all original designs.”
Jack caught the wistful note in her voice. “Have you tried making stained glass?”
“I took a few classes and made small pieces. I have a lot of books. It isn’t practical when we travel so much, but someday, I’m going to have my own studio. I see differently. More bird than human, I think, and sometimes, especially in the evening, I sense people through heat and have no idea why. I actually see images in colors. When I look at things in nature, I see it all differently and want to use the colors in glass.” She traced his tattoos, her fingers stroking caresses down his arm.
He was silent for a moment, savoring her touch. “I see the same way. Heat imaging. And I have a highly developed sense of smell.” He bent to bury his face in her neck, inhaling her fragrance. “You always smell so good.”
“Probably not when I finish performing. I’m hot and sweaty.”
“You’re beautiful, Briony.” He kissed her throat, lingered for a long foray over her neck, sending shivers through her body. “I like you hot and sweaty.” He pushed the sheet down to her hips, exposing her bare breasts and flat belly.
“You would.” Briony relaxed under his wandering mouth. She could feel the urgency in his mind, but it never dictated to his hands. He might kiss her with fierce hunger and ravenous possession, but he stroked tender caresses over her body, slow and easy, as if memorizing every detail. His mind might be in chaos, howling for her, demanding he take her as if she were nothing to him but a female body he craved, but his hands were gentle—reverent—his hands spoke of deep emotion.
Briony traced his weathered features, her fingers lingering over the stubborn set to his jaw. He trembled beneath her touch, turning his head to draw her finger into his mouth. He looked at her with eyes filled with raw desire. Her breath caught in her throat. She could see that look forever and never get enough.
“Lie back, baby. We’re a little hampered by my stitched together body, but we can try a few things that might make you feel good.”
“Might? Looking at you makes me feel good.”
He pushed her gently back onto the bed so she was lying down. Jack ripped back the top sheet and shoved it aside, kneeling between her legs. His hands massaged her calves, moved up to her thighs. He bent to kiss her inner thighs, using small circles with his thumbs to heighten her awareness of him. He leaned forward to press kisses over her ribs, to trace each indentation with his tongue and nibble at the underside of her breasts. He closed his eyes to better savor the feel and texture of her, to memorize every square inch of her. He didn’t want the memory of her to ever fade, and this night was all he had to give her—to take for himself.
She relaxed into him the way she had earlier; once making up her mind to give herself to him, she did it wholeheartedly. She reached back with her hands to grip the bars of the headboard, to keep from accidentally forgetting, in the heat of the moment, not to grab and hold on to him.
Her bare body lay out before him like a feast, and Jack took his time, tasting every inch of her, suckling her breasts, teasing and biting, deliberately heightening her pleasure. He waited for every gasp, every arc of her body, the movement of restless hips to tell him exactly what she liked—what drove her mad—what pushed her over the edge.
She gripped the bars tighter as he made his way down her body. He could feel the building tension in her spiraling out of control. His fingers caressed the slick heat between her legs, dipped deep to push her higher and higher until she cried out. He wanted more. He wanted to hear his name on her lips, hear her cry out with pleasure. He bent his head and feathered kisses along her inner thigh, feeling her body jerk in response. His tongue teased and caressed, drawing gasps of pleasure, plunged deep to dance, to stroke, to draw the honey out of her. Her womb contracted, stomach clenching, and her hips rose off the bed as she gave a little sob—somewhere between utter ecstasy and fear of losing her mind.
Jack took a firmer grip on her hips, drawing her even tighter into him, needing to hear her cries, to know that he was the man giving her such pleasure. His hands began a slow exploration of her body, deliberately seductive while his teeth and tongue sent her nearly spiraling out of control. Hot licks and teasing bites, he drove her higher and higher. Her hips thrashed and bucked under his assault, the searing heat setting off a series of small explosions. Instead of relieving the terrible ache, it only built it into a stronger tidal wave of pulsing heat.
Briony pulsed with fierce need, arousal so strong she thought she might not survive. Her mind was a haze of need, so that she began to plead with him, afraid of the nearly savage intensity of pleasure. Jack knelt between her legs and drew her to him, his eyes glittering with raw possession—with stark craving. He thrust hard, burying himself deep, driving through her tight folds, taking her over the edge. She exploded—imploded—strong currents of electricity dazzling her while her body simply fragmented and wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her.
And then Jack began to move. Every movement of his hips sent a shiver of pain through his body, but it mixed with the building heat, the building pleasure. She surrounded him with hot friction, her slick folds tight, her muscles strong, gripping him as he surged deeper and deeper, and all the while she stared up at him with dark chocolate eyes, dazed with heat and passion.
He shifted her slightly to get the angle that would press him hot and hard over her most sensitive bud, and he picked a faster, rougher rhythm that had her crying out his name. Jack. Not aloud. Whispered in his mind. Aching. Stunned pleasure consuming her mind. He wanted to pound into her with a frenzied need, but the innocence in her eyes, the emotion on her face, forced him to keep some semblance of control. He wanted her to remember this moment foreve
r, because it would be forever etched in his mind. He watched her face, saw the intensity increase, felt her body grip his. She gave a soft cry, the sound mingling with his harsh yell, and he emptied himself into her, pouring everything he was into her, body and soul.
“Again,” he growled.
Jack sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her face. She looked so young—not a line on her face. Her eyes, when she looked at him, held so much innocence. She saw him as the man he could have been—not the man he was. He killed without remorse. Demons sat on his shoulder every minute of the day and drove him hard. He wanted her—but if he kept her, there was every possibility of becoming the man his father had been. His father had looked at his sons with cold, empty eyes, eyes filled with hatred for being near their mother. It was time stolen from him and he wouldn’t put up with it—not from them—not from anyone. No one could touch her, speak to her—she was his possession.
Jack and Ken had made a pact together, a sacred oath, that neither would ever risk destroying a woman the way their father had their mother. His father had loathed them, twin boys who took up their mother’s time, received her smiles—and her love. There were beatings that became more and more vicious as his obsession grew.
God help him, Jack felt that way about Briony—that terrible need to keep her to himself, to hold on too tight. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking he wasn’t already a little obsessed. He was capable of killing—had done so before he was in his teens—and now, faced with looking at the monster he’d become—he had to give her up. She deserved a normal man—one capable of loving without possession and jealousy and fear. It was the only gift he could give her. He knew, when he walked away, that no other woman would ever do, but he couldn’t take her and watch her innocence and light slowly fade, to be replaced by fear the way it had been in his mother.
GhostWalkers 4 - Conspiracy Game Page 10