Sweet Seduction Stripped (Sweet Seduction, Book 7)

by Nicola Claire

  Because when the front door of the club crashed open and light spilled across the floor, I was two feet from his supine body. At the threat that approached, I used my last strength to hurl myself over his chest, covering his torso with mine. Protecting him from whatever had come barging through that door, thinking if it was Sala, we were all severely screwed.

  My heart was beating so fast I couldn't hear what they were saying, but when they tried to lift me off Eric I fought.

  I screamed and bucked and scratched and yelled, using the last of my energy in a futile but undeniable attempt to stop them getting to Ric.

  And as the light from the opened doorway dimmed and a dark, tanned face swam in front of my eyes, I knew it had failed.

  Skin the colour of Sala's. A tribal tattoo on his bare arm that I swore the big Samoan wore.

  Yeah. We were definitely screwed.

  Chapter 16

  I Knew All About Possession

  Ben

  Fuck, she fought like a wildcat. Or a mama protectin' her young. Both of them out cold within seconds of arriving. I pulled my torch and used it to check the corners of the room, making sure we weren't about to be ambushed. Nothing. Just shattered glass and broken bottles, an enormous as fuck chandelier, and a dented wooden bar.

  Where the fuck was Harding? Or Lauofo?

  I returned my attention to the two unconscious bodies before me. Fuck me, but did Eric screw us big on this one.

  "Red," I said aloud.

  "Yeah, babe?" came her cool and calm reply through the earpiece.

  "Two dead weights, I need extra muscle. How's it lookin' out there?"

  "Boys in blue are just arriving. Harding's men all slinking into the crowd. You want me?"

  "Always want you, babe. But I'll need Adam for this."

  "On my way," came Adam's immediate response. "What's up with Eric? He OK?"

  "Out cold, big as fuck egg on the side of his head. His girl's damn well exhausted herself. Both breathin'." That was perhaps the first thing I should have said.

  "Good," came the grunted reply, and then a minute or so later Savill crept in the room. Gun raised, body ready, a fierce type of focus in his eyes.

  "Where's Harding?" he demanded, sweeping the corners with his own torch.

  "Not the fuck here," I growled, just wanting out of this fucked up shit-hole now.

  "What's our instructions?" Adam asked, moving to where I still crouched beside Eric and the woman. "Announce our presence to the cops, or make an escape while we still can?"

  "Illegally broke in," I growled. "Let's roll."

  "Got the car on the south-east corner, can you make it?" Abs called down the line.

  "What about the cops?" I asked, as I hauled Eric over my shoulder in a modified fireman's lift. If his head banged down too hard on my back, so be it. The prick shouldn't have been outta ASI control.

  Savill lifted the woman in a more gentle manner. Pussy. Not that I wouldn't have done the fuckin' same, but still. This shit was because of her, and I hated fuckin' shit.

  "Ryan's here," Abs advised. "I'm sending him a text."

  "What the fuck you gonna say, red?" I demanded as we crouch-ran towards the front door.

  "Need assistance on the north-west corner. Shots fired," she flung back smoothly.

  That's my woman. Adam and I waited just inside the doorway for the all clear.

  "They're on the move," Abs finally announced. "Exit now, boys."

  We rounded the corner and slunk along the side of the wall, keeping a good portion of the chaos between us and the cops. Abs had the car running, the back door open. I jumped in with Eric, Adam plonked the chick by Eric's side and took the front passenger seat, and then we were off. Abi pulling away as though on a Sunday drive, but immediately slammin' the pedal as soon as we turned the corner of the next street.

  "Coming in hot," she said into an open line on her blue-tooth device, the light on the dash indicating she had someone listening in.

  "Two casualties?" Nick asked her back over the speaker.

  "Affirmative," she responded, passing a granny in her Toyota on Quay Street. Smooth in and out manoeuvre. A smile spread my lips as I started to grow hard in my pants. The woman was a fuckin' turn on when she worked.

  "Sweet Seduction's clear," he replied, and thank fuck for that. "I'll have Brook meet you back here, we're still in lockdown. Harding, I gather, escaped?"

  Adam glanced at me, I shrugged. No way was I talking to Nick and gettin' my head chewed fuckin' off. We both looked at Abs, who was glaring at me in the rear vision mirror and throwing laser beams at Adam to her side. I guess a quickie in one of the safe rooms was gonna be out.

  "Vanished," she snapped. Yep, I could feel my hard on deflating as she spoke. "And it's not like we had a plan. We did go in cold," she reminded him. If anyone could challenge Nick and get away with it, Abs could.

  "I'm not debating that, Abi. Just get your arses in here and we'll debrief."

  The line clicked dead and Adam whistled.

  "Thanks, Abs. Took a bullet," he said, rubbing both hands over his face in relief.

  She grunted.

  "Red," I murmured. Her eyes shot up to the mirror and for a second remained narrowed, then slowly softened. "Fuckin' hot." I smirked and she rolled those beautiful pale blues.

  Yep. I was so getting some. I shifted in my seat, readjusted my position and pushed Eric a little further away. Dude was way too fuckin' close when I was havin' thoughts like this.

  "Pervert," he muttered, eyes still closed, pained scowl on his face.

  "No more than you, e hoa," I shot back, fuckin' pleased as shit the bastard had come to. "What is she? Eighteen?" I added, hiding my relief and winding him up in one hit.

  "Fuck you," he snarled, only half-heartedly. Then on a sigh of defeat, "Twenty-two."

  Adam started laughing in the front seat, as Eric moved to wrap an arm around his still out cold girl.

  "She all right?" I asked, quietly, as Abi and Adam started mouthin' off about age differences and shit in the front.

  "She's gonna be," Eric replied, as though he'd stake his life on that fact.

  "Yeah, e hoa," I agreed, turning to look out the window and give him some privacy. "She is."

  I knew all about possession. That need to protect what you knew was yours. Once you've tasted that bliss, there ain't no way you don't see it in another. Eric had laid claim to this woman, despite her age or background or whatever the fuck. She was his.

  And from the looks of it, the lioness had claimed him too.

  I smirked at my reflection, then couldn't help it and lifted my gaze to the rear vision mirror, finding Abi's pale blue eyes watching me. She smiled. My smirk became a grin.

  Yeah. I was so gettin' laid back at base. Another fuckin' awesome day in the sunlight. Not a fuckin' shadow to be seen.

  Chapter 17

  God Help Me

  Amber

  I woke up in someone's arms. For a second all I felt was surprise. Strangely, not the surprise of being in someone's arms and not remembering how I got there. The surprise was all for the fact I hadn't panicked and thought I was lying beside Jaxon.

  No. I knew the instant I became conscious that I was lying in Ric's arms. Not my ex's. And that was firmly where Jaxon was staying; in the "ex" category. If he hadn't received the memo on that front, well too bad. Throwing Whisky tumblers at his head and running away with another man should have clued him in on that front.

  Like a stupid cliché I pretended to still be asleep, in the desperate need to remain ensconced in Ric's embrace. If he knew I'd woken, he'd feel obliged to shift; give me space. We might have known each other for three years, but we didn't really know each other yet.

  And lying there, in his arms, feeling his chest rise and fall softly, the heat of his body down the length of mine, the strength in his forearms as they tenderly wrapped around my waist, I felt like I was getting to know him. I could hear his heartbeat. Steady, strong, unflappable. I could smel
l his scent. Not an expensive cologne like Jaxon's, but soap and man and him. I could feel his clothes. Track pants and cotton t-shirt, nothing flash. Relaxing wear.

  Eric Shaw was a steady, practical, protective, caring and down-to-earth man. Lying there in his arms I got to know him. Such a simple thing. I knew I could trust him. I knew I could depend on him. I just knew.

  And it felt... unbelievable. Like nothing I had ever experienced before.

  No. I didn't want him to know I was awake. I wanted to sleep in his arms for eternity. To pretend the rest of the world didn't exist. To forget.

  But my mind, that picture perfect recall, wouldn't let me forget. I ached, how bad would Ric be? He'd taken so many punches to his body, enough to knock him out in the end. He'd been in acute agony when he'd tried to get up and go check on Jaxon. How was he now?

  I lasted another five minutes, I think, before I opened my eyes where I lay and tried to determine without moving if he was OK. I could see the length of his body, the size difference between him and me. I'm not short, nor thin, but I'm fit and supple and nowhere near as big as Ric. His feet ended somewhere near the bottom of the bed we were on. His thighs seemed huge in the sweats he was wearing, almost twice the size of mine. He wasn't Sala big, but this close I realised that Ric may not have worn fatigues for a while, traded that look for a computer desk and jeans, but he still must have worked out, because the guy, even clothed, was buff.

  Oh, holy tingling fingertips. I was desperate to stroke his stomach and see if it matched the beauty of his legs. I was sure it would and the desire to check was almost too hard to ignore. But as his arms were wrapped around me and not the other way 'round, touching him anywhere would have given my current wakeful state away.

  Now I'd taken in the bottom half of him I'd have to shift my head to see any more. I listened to his breathing, decided he was still sleeping, and took the chance. My eyes roamed over the muscles in his bare arms, the short black hairs that coated them, a vein that stood out over the top of one of his hands. His skin was pale, not sickly pale, just don't-spend-time-in-the-sun pale. His nails were short and cleanly cut, his fingers thick but long. Where his arm lay, across his chest and over my waist, the upper muscles bulged; even at rest.

  Oh yeah. Eric Shaw worked out.

  I was lying on my side, facing him, which was handy. My cheek on his shoulder, but my head had been tucked in and eyes down towards the end of the bed. Now I'd shifted the angle of my neck, I was more on his chest than shoulder, and tucked under his chin. I could feel his breath wash over my hair. It tickled. For a moment I just enjoyed the sensation, but like anything, if you concentrate too much on it, it becomes a fixation. And the tickling soon became too intense.

  I shifted my head and stared up into green so bright and vivid it stole my breath.

  "Hello," he whispered. Why did that sound so... sexy?

  Swallowing, I very unoriginally replied, "Hello." His lips tipped up in a smile.

  "How're you feeling?" he asked, still whispering, maybe thinking talking louder would break a spell.

  I felt like I might have been under a spell. Trapped by the power of glittering emerald eyes. I blinked a few times, then realised he was waiting for an answer. This man didn't just steal breaths, he stole all reason.

  "A little sore," I managed eventually.

  "Where," he said with a frown, his hand moving to my cheek, the side not bruised, but with his touch he moved my face and studied the mark. His movement, much like the green of his eyes, left me frozen and unable to think. "Amber?" he urged. "Where does it hurt, sweetheart?"

  "My cheek. My hand. My head." I think that covered it.

  "Your hand has been bandaged," he said, bringing my distracted attention to the wrapping on my left side. I stared at it as he went on. "You were out for a while, so Brook suspects a concussion, but Ben argues exhaustion. Apparently you fought like a wildcat. The debate's still raging."

  I blinked again and looked back at his face, seeing the small amount of humour dancing in those beautiful eyes.

  "Who's Brook and Ben?" I asked, saving myself from further embarrassment.

  "Brook Osborne and Ben Tamati. Both work with me at ASI. Brook's also a medic."

  OK. I flicked my eyes around the room for the first time, noting two closed doors, a small table with a TV, and a telephone beside the bed. Otherwise that was it. No paintings on the cream walls and no window. It was a box. I was guessing, a locked box.

  "Where are we?" I asked, feeling the first stirrings of appropriate curiosity, tinged with a little anxiety.

  "In one of ASI's safe rooms, inside ASI HQ."

  "Newmarket?" I guessed.

  He nodded, making me feel marginally better having a location in my mind. My heart rate started to settle again, and I realised through the entire mini panic attack, Ric had stayed very still. Not moved away, not moved an inch actually. Waiting for me to work it all out inside my head. A solid presence keeping me close and remarkably safe in his arms. But not pressuring. Just there. Steadily. Constantly. Unflappably.

  "How're you feeling?" I finally asked.

  His smile was blinding, taking away the attention from his eyes for a moment, and reeling me in. The grin wide, wrinkles appearing beside his eyes, colour suffusing his stubbled cheeks.

  "I'm on top of the world right now," he admitted, his arms tightening just fractionally, enough to let me know what exactly was making him so chipper. "Couldn't be better," he added.

  "You were unconscious," I pointed out.

  "Not for long," he argued. "Besides, been in worse states before. This makes up for it."

  Another minute tightening of his arms.

  I didn't quite know what to say to that. So I remained silent, and after a second or two, relaxed my frame and sunk into his embrace. Stuff it. He didn't want to let me go, I didn't want to leave. Might as well enjoy it while I can.

  A long slow release of air escaped his lips, his cheek coming down and resting on top of my head. For several bliss filled moments we stayed like that. Neither of us talking, just accepting the warmth and comfort each of us willingly gave. It might have been strange, if I had really thought about it. But for some reason it felt extremely right.

  After a while Ric broke the silence, from the tone of his voice it was with reluctance.

  "You can't go back," he whispered. We'd returned to talking quietly so as not to break the spell.

  "I don't ever want to go back," I replied steadily. "It's over."

  "Dancer," Ric said, voice low and slightly roughened. "It won't be over until he's behind bars."

  It was a thought I'd been fervently trying to ignore, but now Eric had voiced it, I could no longer pretend that this here was all that mattered. I didn't want to have to go back to feeling afraid, but to forget who Jaxon was, what he was capable of, would be a mistake. My life had changed. I'd gained Ric. But I had lost my world as I knew it.

  I felt a little adrift and unsure, which unfortunately seeped into my current emotional state, making me move away from Ric's body. He released me immediately. The second I started to pull back he let go. The look on his face told me it had been against his better judgement. But still he'd done it. For me.

  In that instant, I knew. Ric would never make me do a thing I didn't want to.

  When I sat up, so did he. He watched me warily, half expecting, I think, that I was about to melt down. I could have. Easily. But his presence alone left me feeling even keeled. Calm.

  "What now?" I asked the silence.

  If he was relieved I wasn't crying or hysterical, he didn't show it. Just answered my question with one of his own.

  "Are you hungry?"

  I hadn't eaten properly, without puking it up afterwards, for quite some time. And despite the uncertainty of my future and the threat that Jaxon still posed, I was surprised to find my stomach grumbling; eager for food.

  "I could eat," I admitted and watched as Eric slowly smiled.

  "Shower first, or st
raight into ASI's staffroom and the inquisitive busy-bodies that make up this firm?"

  I glanced down at what I was wearing, frowning as I noticed the state of my dress. My jeans were stained, probably with the spilled alcohol from Champagne & Chandeliers. My shirt was ripped in places and smeared with God knows what. I must have looked a sight.

  My eyes came up to Eric's patient gaze.

  "How bad do I look?" I embarrassingly asked before I could think better.

  "Sweetheart," he husked, actually husked. I felt a thrill zip right through my body at his tone. "To me you look perfect," he said. "Utterly perfect."

  "I need to change," I announced, feeling suddenly vulnerable for some reason.

  "OK," he said easily, but the smile had disappeared and in its place was concern.

  I wanted to tell him I'd be fine, but truthfully reality was knocking on my door. And any moment now I'd be so weakened that I'd let it in.

  "Katie brought some clothes with her when we went into lockdown," Eric said, not bothering to explain who exactly Katie was. "That woman is always well prepared. Or it might be Jason who makes sure she's always well prepared. A more organised and controlled guy you'll never meet. But that's the army in him."

  I realised he was talking non-stop to calm me. Level but warm tone, nonsense that seemed to make me feel at ease. The names meant nothing, but the normality of what Eric described seemed so damn sane.

  "Gen always says," he went on, standing up from the bed and lifting up a bag from the floor I hadn't noticed until then, "that you can take Jason out of the army, but you can never take the army out of the man. She'd know. He's her brother. Can't say we're all like that." His voice had lowered, hardened slightly. "Some of us just want to forget." That last was almost a whisper.

  My hand landed on his arm. I hadn't even realised I'd gotten up and walked around the bed to reach him. But there I was, next to him, as he paused in opening up the bag, eyes downcast, chest rising and falling too quickly. He shifted. Surprised, I think, that I was there, or maybe that I was touching him. The movement reflexive and not thought out.