by Kylie Brant
* * * *
“Three of you.” Anthony closed his eyes briefly. Struggled to harness the seething rage bubbling inside him. “And you couldn’t manage to subdue one man?”
Sully’s beat up face looked uneasy. He’d changed clothes and now wore his hotel security uniform. “He’s got some skills. Donaldson’s not much of a fighter, so that only left two…” His words trailed off when Anthony stared at him. The man took a cautious step backwards. “We can try again. Grab him up the next time he leaves the hotel.”
He was a man used to being surrounded by the finer things in life. Unfortunately that didn’t extend to the intellect of those around him. “You already failed at that, remember?”
“Here.” With visible eagerness Sully pulled some folded pictures from his pocket, smoothed them out and handed one to him. “I pulled some still images off the security feed. He came in with two others.” He held the second picture out. Anthony made no move to take it. “This is a shot of the second man with him. He went out later this afternoon, after the…after we were gone. Wherever he went, he was back in half an hour. We have no visual of the woman ever leaving the hotel, though.”
The words were little more than meaningless buzzing in his ears. Anthony smoothed his finger over one of the faces in the first photo, the gesture as light as a caress.
Eleven. A wave of exultation crashed through him. She was here. In his town. In his hotel. Oh dear lord, did it get any more delicious? Any more fitting than this? He’d wondered if Bishop would have information about her whereabouts when the whole time she’d been with him.
Anthony had long known that he was special. Some men rose to a level above others, their rightful place because of their own smarts and the blessing of a benevolent god. Never had that seemed more evident than this minute.
He didn’t speak until certain he could suppress the emotion in his voice. “I believe in second chances. If you can manage to complete one other task successfully, you’ll be rewarded appropriately. I’ll need some input with the actual planning, as well as the execution.”
The gleam of avarice in Sully’s eyes was unmistakable. “I can guarantee I won’t let you down again.”
His gaze drifting down to the image of Eleven, Anthony said, “See that you don’t. You won’t get a third opportunity.”
13
Mia stood shrouded in darkness, her arms wrapped around her waist. The tumult that had racked her earlier had calmed, leaving her empty. Aching. She’d heard a low murmur of voices in the sitting room, indicating that Hunter had returned. But there’d been no sound now for a couple hours.
The door opened nearly silently and she turned to see Jude enter the bedroom. She hadn’t expected him. Had thought instead that he’d give in to a male’s natural reluctance to face a woman’s ire. She should have known better. When had he ever shirked difficult situations?
“You’re awake.” He paused in the doorway for a moment before swinging the door shut behind him.
“There’s a flight leaving Dulles for Lincoln at eight tomorrow morning.” Mia had her phone in the room with her. She’d looked up the information. “I’ll agree to leave tomorrow night, or the next day if that works better. As long as you have at least two agents join you here before Hunter and I leave.”
He didn’t seize on the offer as quickly as she thought he would. A long minute stretched. “Okay.”
Something about his tone, his acquiescence had intuition stirring. “You were going to suggest the same thing.”
“Not tonight.” He crossed to sit down on his bed. “And probably not the part about the two operatives instead of one, but yeah. It’s time.” Despite the shadows she could feel his gaze on her. “Weale may not be the man who held you captive, but he’s a crucial link. I said earlier that I got into the server for the ISP service provider to determine the exact origin of the emails to Munson.”
She remembered. “You said it came from his employer’s business.”
“Davis Fine Antiquities.” He stretched out on the bed, flat on his back. “But when I went inside I talked to a saleswoman first. She tried to find Weale and couldn’t. That’s when she summoned the owner who said the man was gone indefinitely. “After leaving there I did another dive into the ISP server.”
“What happens if one of these places ever realizes you’re breaching them at will?” she wondered.
His teeth flashed in the darkness. “Discretion is key. My point is, less than forty minutes after I was in there, a message was sent to Munson in Colorado, wanting to know if anyone had been around to ask about the mail drops. The only person I mentioned that to was Anthony Davis, the owner.”
Intrigued in spite of herself, Mia moved across the room to sit on the edge of her bed facing him. “So either they lied about Weale not being at work…”
“…or someone else at the business sent the email. And maybe the same person has been sending them all along.”
Her flesh prickled. The news muddied the waters instead of clearing them. Were they looking for one person or two? During her long years in captivity she’d begun to think of her kidnapper as omnipotent. Certainly he’d done everything he could to encourage that belief. But now they were discovering that he didn’t act in isolation. Couldn’t. Others assisted, even from afar with threads of the operation. Someone to provide drugs. Computer expertise to track her.
She rubbed her arms briskly at the thought. The threads were tenuous perhaps, but each tied directly to the monster. What other links might there be? Did someone else prepare the food he brought them, buy the cases of water or supply the props he used during the sexual torture? So much could be attained through the anonymity of the Web. But not everything.
Weale’s importance suddenly crystalized for her. He was a thread, too, and sometimes when a string was pulled, everything unraveled. “How many work at this place? Which employees were there yesterday? Who had access to the computer?” She was thinking aloud, but she knew he would have already considered the questions.
“A Chamber of Commerce blurb about businesses in town lists Davis’ with a dozen employees.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “I had a feeling that the saleslady was surprised when her boss told me Weale would be gone for a few days. I’ll take a run at her tomorrow, see if she reveals more in private.”
And by doing so he’d invite more violence. Her muscles tightened. By now he had a target on his back. Whoever was behind his attack would only be more determined the next time.
“I hate that you’re putting yourself in danger.” Her voice was a near whisper. “I hate that it’s because of me. It’s selfish, really. I’d rather go back to feeling little at all than to experience this crippling fear on your behalf.” Perhaps the newfound emotion seemed sharper, because it was so fresh. She’d prefer that to the other explanation—that the cause was the man sitting across from her.
Because for a woman who’d spent the last several years avoiding weakness, Jude Bishop represented the most powerful vulnerability she’d ever imagined.
He rose and crossed to her, reaching for her hand to tug her toward him. She was very much afraid that leaning against his strength would sap her own. But her arms lifted of their own volition, her palm going unerringly to his face. And when his mouth found hers, she returned his kiss with just a hint of the wildness that was suddenly chugging through her.
The softness of his lips was an intriguing contrast to his muscled strength. It would have been easy to suspect he was all hard angles and steely resolve. Certainly she would have believed it in Da Nang. Unfortunately she’d learned he was far more than he’d seemed. The realization had led to the first tiny chink in her emotional armor.
Too late she remembered his injuries. The pressure of her mouth against his softened, and the tip of her tongue soothed his lip where it was split and swollen. But Jude clearly wasn’t seeking tenderness from her. He pulled her closer, his mouth eating at hers with thinly veiled hunger. She gave a little sigh and sank i
nto the kiss.
Last time only their lips had touched. She could appreciate now what that must have cost him. A long inert need was rising, whipping her pulse with demand. Giving into it she pressed nearer. Felt her heart give a bump of pleasure at the contact. He was shirtless, and her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her blouse were flattened against the muscled wall of his torso. She brought a hand down to trace the spot where his pecs bisected his chest. Stayed to explore the angles and hollows where bone met sinew.
Jude nipped at the corner of her mouth before strewing a line of stinging kisses down the cord of her neck. He found the pulse that beat madly at the base of her throat and bathed the area with his tongue. She understood hunger, but not the type a woman felt for a man. The longing to immerse herself in the taste and feel of him was foreign, but deliciously tempting.
He slid a hand under her shirt, trailed it down her spine. Heat bloomed in its wake. Mia had the tantalizing mental image of bare flesh against bare flesh. His hair roughened chest against her smooth skin. And the vision lingered. Beckoned. Until she reached down and dragged the hem of her shirt over her head. Let it drop forgotten to pool around her feet.
His hand went to her back and released the clasp of her bra in one smooth motion. His fingers spread across her skin, each an individual brand. Dragging the garment down her arms, he tossed it aside. Then held her a little away so he could visually feast on the flesh he’d bared.
Despite the bruises blooming on his face, the scrapes and lacerations, she could still recognize the stamp of desire in his expression. It ignited an answering fever in her blood.
Mia swayed toward him, brushing her nipples against his skin in the lightest of touches. His hands settled on her hips, fingers clenching at the exquisite contact. The air sizzled with sexual tension, the energy humming and sparking between them. Every sensation seemed new. Exhilarating. But when his arm banded around her back to bring her closer, the evidence of his impatience was even headier.
Her hands mapped his chest, skirting the areas she knew would be tender. When her fingers moved lower to brush across his belly, she felt his muscles jump, a signal that he was as affected as she. Her touch slowed. Grew teasing. His reaction stoked hers. And summoned a long slumbering sensual power that could be utilized to heighten pleasure for both of them.
He drew a crooked knuckle over the curve of her breast and her breath hitched once, before holding in bated anticipation. She released it in a delighted gasp when he caught one nipple in his fingers, rolled it gently. Her back arched in an invitation as old as time. It was one he didn’t refuse.
Cupping his hands beneath her breasts, he leaned in to take a nipple in his mouth, batting at it lazily with his tongue. His fingers stroked its twin as he teased and tempted before giving in to his appetite for flesh and sucking strongly from her. Sensation arrowed a path straight to her womb. Reason receded. The world abruptly spiraled away until there was only this man. This moment.
Her fingers clung to his shoulders, battered by sensation. The effect was alien. He made her feel too deeply. The danger there would be wanting too much. Mia had learned to live without expectations. Life seemed less cruel that way. But somehow she knew missing this night with Jude would have left a nagging void she never would have been able to fill.
When he lifted his head she stared at him with heavy eyes. The intensity in his gaze should have brought an answering skitter of nerves. They were absent. The frankly carnal passion between them wasn’t so much frightening as it was intoxicating. One hand slid to his biceps, flexing as she moved closer, pressing her mouth to his chest before testing a hard muscle lightly with her teeth. She brushed her fingers over his back, feeling the skin punctuated by vertebrae. The muscles beneath her touch quivered like an impatient stallion’s.
The pleasure he brought her was addicting, igniting a craving in her blood. But knowing she could bring him pleasure in return, could make him shake and want, held a tantalizing allure.
They were wrapped in a cocoon of shadows, which heightened the sense of intimacy. Her hands went on a quest of discovery of all the places that made him shudder. The soft velvety skin beneath his arm. A light scrape of a fingernail across his nipple. Her fingers meandered lower to trace the silky line of hair that descended from his navel.
His hands were still on her breasts, his thumbs making lazy circles designed to draw the nipples into taut sensitive buds. She trailed a finger along the skin of his belly where it met denim, and smiled when she felt the muscles bunch beneath her touch. As if realizing something between them had shifted, he stilled in what Mia recognized as tacit male approval.
Her hands went to the button of her pants, lingered. His gaze narrowed. Heated. She slipped the button out of its hole, and moved with excruciating slowness to the tab of her zipper. Released it a fraction at a time, revealing a wedge of flesh above a scrap of lace. She would have denied choosing them with him in mind. It had been a very long time since she’d given consideration to lingerie. But right now, with his gaze fixed on her movements, she could believe that ever-constant thoughts of him had guided the selection.
Hooking her thumbs in her waistband she shimmied out of her pants, peeling them down her legs an inch at a time. She balanced herself with a hand on his arm as she pulled first one leg and then another over her ankle. Was pleased to feel the rigid muscle beneath her fingers, signaling better than words the effect she was having on him. Kicking the slacks aside, Mia felt a sudden sliver of unease. She banished it by closing the distance between them, and pressing her lips to his.
At first he was still. Doubt bloomed, and there was a moment when she almost pulled away. Then a violent shudder quaked through him and his arms snaked around her waist to bring her tightly against him. His mouth moved over hers. Hot. Wet. Rawly carnal. The tight leash on his control had slipped. One hand explored the curve of her butt, the dip of her waist, before sliding lower.
The taste of him whispered of promised pleasure, a devastating dive into sensation. His finger traced the crease of her thigh before cupping her where she was damp and heated.
Heat, a quick stabbing spear of it, arrowed up her spine. Her bones went to water. She clutched his muscled shoulders in a sudden need for balance. And when he parted her folds and slipped one finger inside her, her senses fragmented. Colors wheeled beneath her eyelids. A tight fist of need knotted in her belly.
She tore her mouth away, her breath coming in short ragged little pants. She wasn’t used to this rollicking in her pulse. The fierce compulsion to strip him bare and explore every inch of him. Mia jerked in his arms when his thumb circled her clitoris, rubbing it rhythmically. Her hand slipped between them, fighting to unzip his jeans and release his heavy penis. She had time to encircle him with her fingers. Stroke once before she felt herself being lifted.
Disoriented, it took a moment to realize he’d bypassed the bed. Her feet touched the floor and she was grateful to have the wall at her back for support. He was yanking the denim down his legs with a violent movement that spoke of fraying restraint. Then he was against her and the kiss of flesh to flesh had her head lolling.
He lifted her with both hands beneath her butt, urging her legs around his hips. Fitting his straining erection to her moist heat, he gave a surge that had them both groaning. He buried his face in her neck and began to thrust. Mia opened her eyes. Tried to focus. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Sensation layered over sensation. Every surge brought her a little bit closer to a release just out of her reach.
A hazy snippet from the past rose from the recesses of her mind. The shadows in the room began to form then reshape in sly mental images that were usually locked tightly away. Wings of panic fluttered. “I need to see you. Your face.” The words were edged in desperation.
Jude lifted his head, looked into her eyes as he rocked his pelvis against hers. “I’m here, Mia. Look at me. See me.”
She shivered at the sound of his voice, raw and guttural. And felt herse
lf being sucked into that vortex of desire again. Nerve endings spiraled to concentrate where they were fused so intimately. The rhythm quickened. Her blood began to pulse, molten rivers of pleasure beneath her skin.
And when the climax shattered her, it was Jude she saw. Jude she clung to as she was swept into a pool of tumultuous pleasure.
Somehow they’d made it to his bed. She didn’t remember getting there. Mia stared at the ceiling, waiting for her breathing to recover, with him pressed against her side. Even as her body still quivered and her senses remained steeped in him, whispers of unease were creeping along nerve endings recently satiated.
Wanting something was a stepping-stone to wanting more. That truth hammered inside her. To pretend otherwise was a lie and Mia made it a point not to lie to herself.
He turned toward her, seeming half asleep, the picture of a lazy satisfied male and hooked one leg over both of hers.
She froze. Her reaction wasn’t logical. They’d just been shatteringly intimate. But nothing about her most visceral responses was rational. The unease bloomed to distress, and it took every ounce of strength she had to battle it back, shove it aside, her muscles tense with the struggle.
As if he recognized her sudden agitation, he moved away, leaving several inches between them on the bed. Only their hands touched. A silent breath of relief streamed out of her.
“Just so you know.” His voice was a husky rumble in the darkness. “When we’re back in DC…when this is all ended…you and I will just be beginning.”
His words elicited a tiny quiver of joy that was quickly doused by a bitter dose of realism. “That can’t work.”
“I know why you don’t think so. You’re wrong.”
She turned her head to face him. That calm certainty, so reassuring at times now had nerves scampering up her spine. “I’m not like other people.” Acceptance of that fact followed her every day since her escape. “My thinking, my responses. I’m broken. And that isn’t going to change.”