Spider Game

by Christine Feehan

  He used the pads of his fingers to whisper over her skin. Soft. Totally soft. Like silk. Like the silk of her hair. The silk of the webs surrounding their beds. Her lashes fluttered and then covered her eyes.

  "Baby, is your skin made up of silk as well?" He couldn't imagine how that would occur in her body, but he knew how strong woven spiderwebs could be--they could stop a bullet better than Kevlar--and he didn't have any other explanation.

  I'm so tired, Trap. Really, really tired. Can we talk later? Please?

  He wasn't certain she'd get the chance to say much of anything later. He didn't intend to talk with his voice. Still, she'd killed a couple of men. She needed to retreat, to let herself grieve in her own way. Whatever she had to do to process that two human beings had lost their lives.

  "You know you had no choice, Cayenne," he offered softly, as he positioned her in the middle of the bed and slid in next to her.

  She was on her side, facing away from him, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her body was cold. When he turned on his side and curled his body protectively around hers, she made no protest. He tucked her closer, his arm sliding around her waist, dragging her body almost beneath his. Close. So close the silk of her skin melted into the heat of his. He slid one knee in between her legs, and buried his face in her hair.

  She felt . . . like heaven. In his wildest imagination--and granted he didn't have much of one, he was all about science--he never once thought a woman could feel like her. He inhaled and took the scent of her into his lungs. Deep. Loving the way her fragrance was exotic, something wild. He knew she had wild in her. Her wild called to him, to the dominant in him.

  He knew he wasn't a prize, not unless money, fame or prestige mattered. If she was all about him, she would have to put up with his public image. She had already indicated she detested the way he was.

  Trap. Why are you upset?

  He should have known she was as tuned to him as he was to her. He sighed into the hourglass of red nestled in the middle of her thick black hair. "I can't change, baby, not even for you. I had to train myself to be a cold and unfeeling bastard, which, quite frankly, wasn't all that difficult. I never had many social skills. I never wanted anything or anyone to matter, to make me vulnerable. Out there, outside the walls of my home or my teammates' homes, I have to be that person in order to survive."

  He waited a heartbeat. Two. She didn't say anything, but she pressed closer to him, the smooth rounded buttocks sliding against his heavy erection. She didn't seem to mind that he was as hard as a rock. He knew that later, much later, when she was used to his ways, he would have her take care of that before they went to sleep together. He resisted the urge to slide his hand between her legs to see if she was wet for him. He hoped that just their closeness would do that to her in the way it did for him. He craved her taste. It was there on his tongue. His cock jerked at the memory of the feast he'd had, devouring her sweetness. All that exotic honey his.

  I didn't ask you to change.

  He forced himself to continue his explanation. He needed her to understand, even though he didn't hold out much hope that she would. "But you didn't like who I was when we went to town, and that's part of who I am. My icy demeanor isn't a facade. My friends say I have ice water in my veins, and maybe I do. I disconnect. I learned not to feel anything when I'm in public. When I'm talking with reporters or making an appearance I don't want to make but is necessary."

  Why do reporters want to talk to you?

  He hesitated. This was a tough subject. He knew her now. She wanted to stay in the shadows. Once her face was in a photograph, no shadow would hide her for long. It would be a media frenzy trying to get more.

  Why don't you want to tell me?

  "Fuck." The word exploded from him. He was going to have to tell her the truth. "Baby, I need more time."

  For what?

  "To hook you." His arm, the one around her waist, dragged her so close she was nearly pinned beneath him. His hand splayed out, fingers wide, taking in her entire rib cage. His fingertips brushed the underside of her breasts. "I want you so into me that you won't run. I told you, for a woman like you I'm no prize."

  There was a small silence. She didn't pull away or grow tense. She lay half under him, his body curved around hers and leaning over top of her, almost, but not quite pinning her down. She stayed relaxed, her eyes closed, her body in no way resistant. That shocked the hell out of him.

  A woman like me? What about other women?

  "You don't give a damn about money or what I do, Cayenne. Other women aren't necessarily like you. Some want to marry a man for his money. And baby, I have a lot of it. A fuck of a lot of it. Makes me a target for women looking to have what I can give them. It isn't about me. It's about the money." He hesitated. "Or the fame. Some women get off on that shit. Cameras all the time. Photos in magazines. Invited to every event possible. My worst nightmare, and that's what they want. They could care less whether or not I want it."

  What do you do that makes people want your picture and, I assume, write articles about you?

  "I own several companies and I do a lot of research, mostly medical now, although I've come up with some ideas that made everyday things easier for people and those things made me money as well. Medical research has paid off big-time. I have money, but still, research is expensive. I need grants and allies. So my public face is important at times." He hesitated again. "I've won a few major awards and that makes me noticeable sometimes. To the press."

  That man with the camera. He wanted your picture for magazines and newspapers because you're famous?

  He sighed. Pushed his cock deeper into her, finding a soft, heated spot between her rounded cheeks. She didn't pull away. If anything, she gave him more, pushing back against him so he was nestled deep in that warm cleft. His heart jerked in his chest. Blood pounded in his cock.

  There was nothing else for it. "Yeah, baby, I'm famous. Since Wyatt became my full partner in most projects, I've begun shifting some of the promotional work to him. Wyatt's good with people. I'm not. I never will be. I'm not comfortable in the presence of too many people. I lack social skills. That's never mattered until I found you. I deliberately bury myself in work. I need my work. My brain just doesn't let it go. I understand work. I don't understand people."

  Why do you think you need to hook me before you tell me this?

  He nuzzled the nape of her neck, using his nose to burrow through the mass of hair until he found skin. He licked along the smooth, sweet line and then nipped with his teeth. He felt the answering shiver in her body.

  "Because out there, in public, the cameras will never stop going after you once they find out you're my woman. I want to make that legal. We needed to create legal documents for you. A history. Everything has to stand up to any scrutiny, so we needed to go to Flame, Wyatt's sister-in-law. She's amazing with computers. She has a counterpart, another woman who is a GhostWalker, Jaimie Fielding. Between the two of them, you'll be so legit no one will ever suspect where you came from. The point being, Cayenne, that you'll be in the public eye every time you go anywhere. You'll have bodyguards with you every minute."

  She moved then, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder. In the darkness, he could see her easily with his acute night vision. She looked so beautiful, her green eyes moving over his face, surrounded by those long, feathery lashes.

  Bodyguards? Me? Seriously, Trap, do you even know me? Did you not see me in the swamp? I can take care of myself.

  He couldn't stop his hand from moving up to cup her breast. She fit into his palm easily and he surrounded the soft, warm mound with his fingers, his thumb sliding over her nipple gently. Experimenting. She was tired. He could see the drowsiness in her eyes, but still, that small thumb brush got him another full-body shiver. A little press back into his groin. Her buttocks tightened around his cock, sending more hot blood rushing through his veins.

  "Bodyguards will deal with any public threat, Cayenne, so you won't ha
ve to. In public, we can't ever use our skills. You certainly can't paralyze or wrap someone in silk because they annoy you, as much as I'd like to see you take down a reporter or two."

  Her features stilled. Something in her eyes shifted, and he knew instantly his playful banter had hurt. She started to turn her head away from him but he cupped the entire side of her face in his palm, preventing movement.

  "Baby," he said softly, gently, shocked at the strange fluttering of his heart and the need to erase that look. "I was teasing you. I know you wouldn't do that. If you were going to bite someone and wrap them in silk it would have been the shoe salesman. He was definitely slimy."

  Her gaze moved over his face and he waited for her to read the honesty in his eyes. His thumb slid along her delicate jaw in a little caress. "I know you're smart, Cayenne. I knew it the moment you admitted to using a spatial model for estimating the husks on the floor of the Huracan Club. In order to survive these past few months, you've had to adapt and observe and you've done it at an extraordinary speed. I couldn't admire or respect you more."

  He took a breath and then gave it to her. The stark truth. "To say the least, that shocks me. I don't respect or admire very many women. Or men for that matter. Just listening to their inane chatter sets my teeth on edge. Sitting in that bar for days on end, waiting for you to show, nearly drove me right out of my skull."

  He was arrogant. She might as well know that about him as well. He was rude in public for a reason--being there made him feel like he was going a little crazy. Sometimes, if he was with Wyatt, or one of his teammates, he could find humor in the situation, but mostly, he just wanted to get away from everyone.

  Her eyes went a vibrant green, gleaming at him. Her lips curved into a small smile. Sometimes, Trap, for a man who doesn't think he can talk well to others, you can be quite brilliant.

  He dipped his head low to brush a kiss across her perfect bow of a mouth. He really loved her mouth. He was gentle, coaxing a response from her, trying not to devour her when her taste exploded on his tongue, igniting every single cell in his body. There were bruises on her face and throat and more around the stab wound. Exhaustion had settled into the depths of her eyes. He wanted to kiss her because--well--he needed to, but he was a man of extraordinary discipline and restraint.

  He lifted his head, his gaze moving over her face. "I love looking at you," he admitted. "Every single tiny detail of your face and body is etched into my brain for all time. I want to wake up every morning looking at you and go to sleep at night with you right beside me. When I die, Cayenne, I want you holding me and looking at me, right in my eyes, so I take that last sight of you with me."

  He let her go, placing her head gently back on the pillow, so that she faced away from him. He settled around her, his arm once more around her waist, fingers splaying wide over her soft belly. He contented himself with using his thumb to slide over the silk of her skin.

  "You really mean the things you say to me, don't you?" Her voice was just above a whisper, husky and hoarse. There was a wonder in it. Wonder and something else that alerted him instantly.

  "Are you crying, Cayenne?" He shifted subtly, thinking to turn her face back to his, but she pushed deeper into the pillow. "Baby, why? And don't answer out loud. Save your vocal cords."

  There was no sound, but he knew tears trickled down her face. There wasn't even a change in her breathing. Still. She was crying, he knew it.

  You make me feel things I've never felt before, Trap, she confessed. Good things. You make me feel as if I really do belong with you. That you really want me with you.

  "And that makes you cry?"

  In a good way, I think, although it also scares me. I never thought I'd have that.

  He used his fingers to sift through the dark cloud of hair, rubbing strands between them. "Neither did I, Cayenne. Not ever. I wanted a woman of my own, a family of my own, but I never believed I'd find one who could put up with my shit." He sighed. "About this afternoon, baby. I know you were upset . . ."

  You explained that to me, Trap. I get it. I just needed to understand. If we're really going to try this, we have to be able to talk things out. I really would like it if you would tell me what to expect ahead of time. I felt alone. Cut off from you. It wasn't a good feeling. I get it now, but I needed to get it then.

  She understood and it was over for her. She didn't need a long, drawn-out apology and he knew she wasn't going to be throwing it in his face every time he acted cold in public. He had panicked. She wasn't going to make him admit that. That terror that still was too close for comfort, now tucked away beneath the glacier in his gut.

  "I'll work on my communication skills," he said, knowing that would take some doing, especially in public. He had zero skills and knew even for the people mattering the most to him--like Wyatt and Draden--he hadn't overcome the part of him that cut himself off from everything. It was too ingrained. He knew ice had become his defense mechanism from the time he was very young. Ice and detachment. He was good at both.

  "And baby, just so you know, we aren't 'trying' this. There is no 'if.' This is it for both of us. We are doing this. The only thing we haven't confirmed is whether or not you can meet my demands in bed, and after last night, I am more than certain you will."

  She made a small sound of distress. "Trap."

  She went back to whisper and he caught the huskiness that told him her throat hurt like hell. Before she could speak he interrupted her. "Use telepathy, Cayenne. Your throat needs rest."

  I don't know the first thing about sex. Only the things I read. Only what you taught me last night.

  "Did you enjoy what I did to you?"

  Yes. No hesitation.

  "Did you enjoy what you did to me?" Just the thought of it, the hot haven of her mouth, the silken glide of her lips, the tight suction and dancing tongue, sent more blood coursing through his cock so that it swelled all over again from a semihard state to an iron spike.

  Very much. Again no hesitation. I thought about it for most of the rest of the night, the way having you in my mouth and watching your face was so exciting. Knowing I could give you that. I dreamt about you. I have nightmares, so it was nice to have something different. When I woke up I felt hot and achy. I knew I needed you and I craved the taste of you. I just don't know what to do about it. She made her confession in a little rush.

  He tugged on her long hair and then took several strands in his mouth to slide through his lips. "Your man knows what to do and I'll be more than happy to help you learn. There's no bullshit with you. Either you like something or you don't. Talking to me, telling me what you're feeling and if it works for you is everything. And you have to trust me. You gave yourself to me, Cayenne. That means you know I'm going to take care of you in all ways, including your body."

  He felt her tense and knew immediately her independent streak was as strong as his was. "I trust that you'll do the same for me." He meant that. He was giving himself into her keeping and he didn't plan on holding back. He was doing this one time. With one woman. Going all in. He needed her to do the same.

  "Sex isn't all about the body, not when it's between two people who care. It starts in your heart, Cayenne, and in your mind. It's about giving and taking."

  Like last night.

  "Yes. With that, you have to have trust that anything I do to you will end up rocking your world."

  I couldn't let you have your hands, Trap, she admitted. I was too afraid.

  He heard the shame in her voice.

  I don't like feeling fear. I especially am uncomfortable when I don't know something. I'm used to having knowledge because anything I read, I retain. Since living outside my cell, I've found that practical experience and book knowledge are two different things. Sex is still an unknown.

  "We'll take care of that."

  Knowing that doesn't alleviate the fear of the unknown, Trap, she pointed out. I studied you over the last four months. I've been in your bedroom countless times. You don't slee
p with clothes. I knew your body before I ever actually touched you. I wanted you even without ever really talking to you.

  He knew that feeling. It had been the same for him. She'd intrigued him, and few things intrigued him. Fewer women did. The obsession had grown over the weeks until the scent of her in his room and the knowledge that she was close drove him to seek her out. He stayed quiet, willing her to continue. The more he understood, the faster he could make their life together work smoothly.

  I don't trust anything I don't understand.

  He didn't either. He knew about Whitney's pairing of two enhanced individuals. He wanted to create the perfect soldier. Cayenne matched him intellectually. She didn't have an ounce of bullshit games in her, something very necessary in a woman for him. It was most likely the same for her. Whitney had a knack for finding the right partner, but he obviously felt he couldn't control Cayenne. He didn't like wild cards. He'd demonstrated that over and over, especially with the women. He seemed to easily terminate the women.

  Every time I looked at you, my body suddenly wasn't my own. I felt hot and needy and burned inside. I knew what the chemistry was because I'd read about it, but you hadn't even touched me. It didn't make sense.

  "And you distrusted it."

  Of course I did. I fought your pull, but I couldn't stay away. I was kind of upset that you fought it better than I did. I knew you felt it too.

  There was a small silence. He waited. He had known she was there in his bedroom many nights, he just hadn't been able to spot her or prove it. But he'd known and he'd jacked off to the scent of her, wanting her to watch, groaning her name when he came in a white-hot fountain of brutal need.

  When you did that, when I watched, it was literally the hottest thing I'd ever seen. I'd watched a few films on the Internet, but they didn't in any way make me feel anything. When I saw and heard you, I wanted to crawl all over you, to put my mouth on your cock and to taste you. I needed to lick you clean. I burned. I burned every night I saw you do that and didn't really know how to make it go away.