His Devil's Heat

by Linzi Basset

  “Good lord, young man, what happened?”

  “Accident on the bridge over the Bull Run river. May I use your phone?”

  “Of course. Of course.” The gray haired man waved him inside. “Suzie, bring some of my clothes and towels. We have an injured man here,” he shouted up the stairs as he pointed Adam to the room next to the staircase.

  Adam didn’t pay attention to the couple who hesitated in the doorway when he made the phone call.

  His instructions were brusque and to the point. “Lock into this location and come and fetch me. Take the chopper and bring Doc Smithie with you.” He glanced at the old couple waiting with their hands filled with clothes, bandages and towels. “And . . . I need an assistance award.”

  “Are you in trouble, sonny?” Suzie asked when he replaced the receiver.

  He noticed the wariness in their gazes as they glanced at each other. He sank into a chair, his legs suddenly rubbery. He fished out his wallet and flashed his badge.

  “No trouble, madam. I’m CIA and it’s my team I just phoned to fetch me. Needless to say, you will be rewarded for your kindness.”

  “Ogh, now, that won’t be necessary, sonny,” she beamed, satisfied once he’d identified himself. She rushed to him and peered into his face. “I’m afraid there’s nuthin’ I can do for your face. I’d cause more damage than good. But I can clean and dress the cuts in your shoulders and throat.”

  Adam slumped in the chair, getting weaker by the moment due to loss of blood, and fatigue. He didn’t protest when Suzie removed his shirt and with a lot of tsk’s and ‘oh, deary me’, set out to clean the smaller wounds and gently pry loose the pieces of glass still embedded in his skin.

  By the time his team arrived, he was cleaned up and woozy from the pain tablets she’d forced down his throat.

  Ten minutes later he looked back at the house in the distance. It appeared serene and inviting.

  “Now, Barry,” Adam instructed coldly. The glimmer in his eyes held the reflection of the house in the dark, exploding in an inferno of flames, trapping the innocent and helpful couple inside. Their assistance award.

  “One should be careful who they open their door to,” he said matter-of-fact, before he closed his eyes and allowed the tentacles of unconsciousness to finally pull him under. The mantra still running through his mind.

  Vengeance is sweet. She will suffer.

  * * * * * * * *

  The dawn came with a musical silence, the soul hearing the melody that the ears couldn’t. The sky glowed like a summer peach and the sun was pure gold in the sky. The colors of the foliage returned to green and the air warmed to an ambient temperature.

  Lauren sighed longingly as she gazed through the large kitchen window framing an immaculate back garden, filled with color.

  “Where did those days go?” She wondered aloud, hearing the sadness in her own voice. Dawn, had been her mother’s favorite time of day and there were times when Lauren woke up early to walk with her on the hill behind their house; to become one with nature, as her mom used to say.

  Today was one of those perfect dawns, one to be savored, instead of squandered. Lauren yearned for an uncluttered path ahead—one devoid of all the ugliness she’d had to face over the past six years.

  “Remember, my darling, with every new day arrives new possibilities, a fresh page yet to be written in your journey of life.” It had been her mother’s words that had been her savior many times since her family’s death.

  Only, Sandra had survived, or Samantha, as she was now called. Lauren’s mouth pulled down at the thought of the cruel hand the two of them had been dealt over the years. And from what Sandra had said when they’d came to fetch them, Adam Baxter, had been the puppeteer in their lives—as well as Keon and Beckie’s.

  Concern for Samantha had kept Lauren awake throughout the night. She’d seen how the bullet had impacted and for the second time, had witnessed her sister’s body splattered with blood.

  “God, how did she survive all those years ago? I wish, how I wish it was possible to turn back the clock,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Wishing upon the faeries? This early in the morning?”

  Lauren gasped and had to cling to the counter to not topple off the high kitchen stool as Keon spoke in his deep guttural voice behind her. She looked at him over her shoulder.

  “A little warning next time, please. My heart nearly stopped with fright.”

  Oh god! The man has muscles where there shouldn’t be . . . oh . . . damn, he looks scrumptious.

  Lauren forced herself to look forward. He was dressed in a pair of boxer shorts. Nothing else. And he was barefoot. She could feel the drool form in her mouth and swallowed it subtly. She wasn’t used to being this close to a near naked man. Not one that invited a woman to touch and feel. She wondered if the skin covering those bulging muscles was as soft as it appeared in the soft sunlight shining through the window. She wanted follow the hills and valleys of his chest and trace his six pack, washboard stomach.

  She licked her lips when a wayward thought slipped into her mind.

  I wonder what he’s hiding under those boxers?

  “Wanna see?”

  Lauren gulped. Oh, hell, did I say it aloud?

  Keon had walked around and stood watching her from the other side of the counter. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks.

  “S-see what?”

  “I read expressions very well, Lauren, so, be warned. Never lie to me or pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  She flashed a quick glance at him and wondered about the attraction she felt toward him; especially in light of the fact that he obviously detested her.

  But who can resist such a hulk of a man?

  He wasn’t ‘in your face’ kind of attractive but he had a set of features that were unforgettable once you’ve laid eyes on him. There was strength in every line of his face—a kindness that was hidden beneath the harshness when he was in her presence.

  Then Lauren realized that what made him so attractive, came from deep within; it made her want to feel how his lips would move in a kiss, how his hands would follow the curves of her body.

  The suffering of the past years was visible in the deep lines on his face but somehow, it made him more handsome, like his soul was shining through his skin.

  He shook his head and she watched his long hair that resembled a lion’s flowing mane, settle around his broad shoulders and thick neck.

  Damn it. He has no right to look so damn sexy, so early in the morning.

  His walnut brown hair had a sprinkle of salt ‘n pepper on the sides, which against his deeply tanned skin, was better than catnip to her.

  People often speak of the color of eyes, like they were of importance, yet his were beautiful. She’d seen them change from emerald green, to mossy green and lighten to a fern green according to his moods. But more than that, his eyes had intensity, honesty, and gentleness.

  “Jesus, woman! Are you begging to be fucked?”

  His angry growl shook her from the intense perusal of his body and she lowered her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat up again.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she mumbled, more irritated with herself than him; for being so enraptured by his gorgeous body, she was gawking at him like a teenager.

  “I’m not,” the hesitation was brief, “because being eye fucked by the woman who’s had that fucktard, Adam Baxter’s cock drilling her pussy, is anything but flattering.”

  Lauren couldn’t stop the loud gasp that was also a testament of the disgust she’d felt for herself over the years.

  Oh god. Now, I will forever be branded as a whore because of him. Of what he forced me to do.

  “Fuck you, Keon LeLuc,” she choked bitterly. “Who made you the fucking judge and jury over my actions? You don’t know shit of what my life had been like. Do you hear me? Fuckall!”

  She jumped down and rushed toward the hallway, silently trying to hold back the tears burning
behind her eyelids.

  “Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere,” Keon growled. His arm locked around her waist and lifted her against him.

  “Lemme go! Fucking asshole. I said . . . let . . . me . . .” she kicked back her heels and connected with his knee. She enjoyed the painful grunt that he let loose against her ear. “Go,” she ended breathlessly as he plonked her back in the chair.

  He pressed his face into hers and barked, “Do not move from here. Is that clear?”

  Her lips scrunched up in a tight pout that inadvertently drew his eyes to them. He was hard pressed not to laugh. She looked like a little girl who had just been told Santa was a myth. He’d seen the same look on Samantha’s face a couple of times and realized why Rhone had been bowled over by her. Not that he’d admitted to that fact just yet, although his actions had.

  Lauren oozed natural sensuality and passion which couldn’t be practiced.

  There was an innocence in her heart-shaped face that belied the scene he had witnessed with Adam Baxter the day before. His eyes hardened as he recalled how she had fallen at his feet.

  Her emotions were like a roadmap to her soul, which she was unable to hide from him. Her inner pain was evident in the crease of her lovely brow and the down-curve of her full lips.

  But her eyes, they showed everything. They were a restless sea of hopelessness.

  His jaw turned rigid as he looked into them. He didn’t appreciate the attraction he felt for her, the unwanted tightening in his groin.

  He realized that all the beauty of the universe couldn’t compete with one simple thing: her passion. Passion turned her eyes into bright cerulean orbs, raging to fight for what she believed in. She wouldn’t let the world break her. He could see the scars in their depths, how difficult it had been to stay true to herself. She’d fed her passion. Passion that made her beautiful. Her flawless skin glowed in the awakening light of the sun, softening her features beautifully.

  Fuck! I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to feel empathy for this woman. Not. Her.

  She blinked with unpracticed allure that left him staring at her, spellbound. Her long eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. The telltale blush he’d noticed come and go, bloomed over her cheeks again.

  “Stop staring.”

  He reached out and ran his fingers through the luxurious thickness of her hair. He watched the auburn strands falling in mesmerizing waves over the honeyed skin of her shoulders.

  “Tit for tat. You had your turn. Now it’s mine.”

  Lauren felt her skin tingle and then gooseflesh followed the brief caress of his fingers against her shoulder.

  Watching her, he traced the slope of her shoulder to find the pulsing vein in her throat. Her breath caught in the back of her throat and her eyes widened.

  “What are you doing?” She managed to croak.

  “I’ll be damned if I know,” his growled, sounding confused with his spontaneous actions. “Maybe I’m trying to apologize for my crudeness earlier.”

  Lauren was enthralled by the sudden roughness in his voice and a puzzled look on his face. She had witnessed Adam’s arousal often enough to identify Keon’s in his taut muscled frame. It was hard to miss, with all his bare flesh within touching distance in front of her. Her palms itched to reach out and caress his chest.

  She pressed her thighs together, desperate to subdue the sexual excitement that immersed her loins. Adam had kept her secluded from other men with devious threats, therefore, she’d never experienced such an expeditious attraction to any man. Especially as it incited a reckless impulsiveness in her to jump Keon’s bones and fuck his brains out.

  It unnerved her and caused a ripple of exhilaration to tremble through her body.

  She scrambled for some semblance of sanity before she made an utter idiot of herself.

  “Sandra . . . I mean, Samantha,” she stammered. “How is she? Please tell me she survived the shot.”

  The question yanked Keon out of his trance. He cleared his throat and set a kettle on the burner.

  “I spoke to Rhone late last night. The operation went well. The surgeon believes he managed to clear the wound of all gunshot residue. The next 72 hours are crucial. Infection and fever usually kick in before then, but they assured Rhone she was going to be fine.”

  “I can’t believe it. I saw her flying back. I thought she was dead. . .” Lauren swallowed down the lump in her throat.

  Don’t cry! Do not cry. Not in front of him.

  Lauren didn’t want Keon to think she was playing for sympathy. So after a couple more swallows and furious eye blinking, she got her emotions under control. But only just.

  “Adam Baxter is an excellent shot. He intended to hurt her but not kill. It wasn’t a high-velocity bullet but because she’s so small, the impact was excessive.”

  “Why? I don’t understand. What did he aim to achieve with all of this? Samantha, me . . . and Beckie? Tell me, Keon because I’ve been battling for years to understand what drives him.”

  “We didn’t even know about him until two days ago, Lauren, so your guess is as good as mine.” He looked at her searchingly. “Why did you stay with him for so long?”

  Her cheeks went from rosy to pasty white. Her eyelids flickered as she lowered her lashes. She rubbed the edge of the bandage covering her hand.

  “I . . .” Lauren bit into her bottom lip.

  How could she explain the choices she’d made over the past fifteen years to this man? He would never understand. She didn’t know him but one thing she did realize the previous night, was that Keon LeLuc saw life in black and white. He didn’t allow for any gray areas. Some of her decisions fell smack in the middle gray.

  “Do you love him? Is that why?”

  Her eyes sprang up to meet his but this time, her emotions were shrouded under a misty cloud of reproach.

  “Does it matter, Keon? Is the past really of any significance? It can’t be changed, no matter how badly we want to. You said it yourself, wishing upon the faeries isn’t going to help.”

  He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. He appeared even more imposing and intimidating as he speared her with a sharp look.

  “It does matter, Lauren because if I find out that you’re here under his orders, your life will be as worthless as his.”

  Lauren jumped down and glared at him. Her fists hooked onto her waist.

  He stared at her, fascinated with the blazing hot intensity in her cerulean eyes.

  “I almost died in an effort to get away from him and you dare stand there and accuse me of being a spy? A fucking spy! You really are an asshole, Keon LeLuc. A complete asshole!”

  “Am I? Or are you the liar, Cynthia Marsh? Do you, for one moment, think I forgot your tantrum at the house when we came to get you? You, miss high and mighty, fought to stay, because of him. You made that abundantly clear. And—” he held up his hand when she opened her mouth, “don’t forget that I saw the devoted look on your face when you gazed up at him, crawling around his legs. It made me want to puke.”

  Keon couldn’t have deflated her spirit quicker with any other words. Her shoulders sagged forward and she lowered her arms.

  “Whatever you saw . . .” she shook her head and forced back the tears that once again pressed against her eyelids. “Always remember, looks are deceiving. You don’t know . . . you have NO fucking idea . . .” She turned and dashed toward the door. “You just don’t know!”

  Keon stared after her. He was stumped at the anger that had risen inside him when the vision of her at Adam’s feet had flashed in his mind. It was a foreign feeling and he found it difficult to shake it off. It slowly burned higher and mingled with an unwanted feeling of possessiveness, until it became a shimmering rage just below the surface.

  “No!” His voice boomed to the high ceiling. “No fucking way in hell!”

  He had only ever experienced this kind of feeling with Amelia. But he had loved, cherished and doted on her. She had been the
love of his life. He’d sworn to always protect and care for her. And with that, the possessive streak in his nature had been born.

  But it had never felt anything like what he was experiencing now. This was stronger—almost a wild, uncontrolled possessiveness, to protect her, to care for her . . . and love her. And the most shattering realization of all, he wanted to make her his. She, Lauren Francis, who has been the mother to his child.

  And no matter how many times he told himself it was unwarranted, he hated her for that.

  “And I’ll be damned if I betray the memory of Beckie’s mother with her, of all people.”

  His voice sounded raw and vibrated with the loneliness he’d been drowning under for the past six years.

  The shrill sound of the boiling kettle yanked him from his reminiscing. He forced the confusing thoughts to the back of his mind, knowing it would seep to the foreground and demand to be reexamined again.

  He had to get on with the here and now, make better choices this time. And that didn’t include losing his wits around a siren who had no idea about the affect she had on his testosterone.

  “What’s done is done, Keon. You know that better than anyone and now, you have your daughter back. Your sweet Rebecca,” he reminded himself.

  It was time to focus on the next thing; the task that would guarantee a future. For all of them. Rhone, Samantha, Lauren, Beckie, and him.

  “Killing Adam Baxter.” Mark my words, you fucking useless, bastard. You are going to suffer.

  Chapter Three

  “Come on, luv, open your gorgeous golden eyes. Let me see the fire.”

  Rhone’s voice sounded forlorn to his own ears. He’d been around death most of his adult life. It was part of the life path he had embarked on. Pain and misery weren’t foreign to him. But it had never affected him like this before.

  It was the first time he was experiencing fear. Real fear for another person but, if he had to be honest, for himself too. Somehow Samantha was the key to his future and the one to lock away his past demons. He’d learned in those months of torture during the Gulf War that fear existed in one’s imagination; even the memory of it was imagined. During the harrowing whippings, electrocutions and waterboarding, if allowed, the fear could turn into madness. He’d learned to face fear with courage, understood the root of it, and then let it go. There were times that it caused more suffering but mostly, it showed him the way to his true self; that bravery and strength came from within.