Finding Trust (Centre Games)

by Natalie Gayle

  Mmmm, relaxing was nice. But she couldn’t help feeling incredibly guilty and worried about her father and the virus. The thought of what the virus could do or what might be happening sent her gut into further spasms of fear. “Breathe, Rihanna, breathe,” the sensible medical part of her brain told herself over and over, the chanting helping prevent an anxiety attack.

  She had her eyes closed and had almost tricked herself into dozing when she felt him slide into the spa next to her. She didn’t open her eyes but felt his fingers wander up her thigh to rest on her hip and start lazy strokes around the junction of her hip and thigh. He settled back against the edge of the tub, making himself more comfortable but never changing the speed of his caresses.

  “Mmmm, you’re back,” she half murmured, half groaned in the best sort of way, never opening her eyes.

  He leant over her and brushed his lips across hers. It was a light, teasing touch of his lips against hers. It wasn’t enough. She opened her mouth and his greedy tongue licked across her lips and slipped into her mouth, taking control of the kiss. She looped an arm around his neck and pulled him closer. The hand at her hip moved slowly up her stomach and stopped teasingly below her breast. She let out a strong groan this time, trying to encourage his hand higher to cup her breast.

  He resisted her obvious but unspoken request, waiting to see what she would do. She slithered closer to him, encouraging more of his exploration. Her hand moved tentatively to his forearm and she rested it there, not brave enough or forward enough to direct his hand to her breast just yet.

  She let out another groan against his mouth. Her body was trying to encourage him without words.

  He quietly laughed against her mouth, not breaking contact. His large hand cupped the fullness of her breast as he began to familiarise himself with her gorgeous curves. He brushed his thumb over her nipple a couple of times and to his surprise, it pebbled even firmer than when he first found the enticing nub.

  She moved into him, slanting her body against his, trying to get closer to his gorgeous physique. Mmmm, he was the stuff male models were made of—only warmer, realer, more engaging, and far less aloof. Her hands skimmed his powerful shoulders, running over the hard muscles; she couldn’t resist increasing the pressure to knead at the strong planes. It was his turn to groan a response.

  “You like that?” she asked with a smirk in her voice.

  “Hell yes,” he replied instantaneously. Her hands were strong but sensuous at the same time. He couldn’t take much more of this. His erection was becoming increasingly painful in the front of his board shorts. It was the most pleasant of tortures. And just to add some more to it, he knew it was time to stop for now.

  He gently pulled away from her grasp, letting his hand slide down her toned arms to finally enclose her wrists. She was clearly aroused to a high level and her breathing was uneven. Rihanna looked him directly in the eye. Her question was written all over her face.

  “Why did you stop?”

  “We have plenty of time. I want you to be sure.”

  She let out a long, frustrated breath but only nodded. She looked as if she wanted to say something in protest but stopped before the words formed. He knew beyond a doubt that she was being driven by the same restless need that he felt whenever he was near her or thinking about her. For his own peace of mind, he needed to be close, oh so close. He couldn’t remember anyone ever having this effect on him before.

  “It’s a very stressful and traumatic situation you’re in. It would be wrong of me on so many levels to take advantage of your vulnerability. “He stopped, taking a rasping breath as if struggling for control. “But I just can’t seem to stop thinking about having my hands on you or having your beautiful body wrapped around me.”

  His words brought her crashing back to reality. She hit the tarmac with a thud. Her inner voice asked the obvious question, “What the hell was she doing making out with Bray?” Her father was God knows where and she was busy scratching an itch. Where was her sense of responsibility?

  She started to clamber from the tub, disgusted with her lack of control or assessment of the situation. Thankfully, he obviously had more control.

  He reached for her and pulled her back to him; she lost her balance and landed awkwardly in his lap with a slight splash. The round curves of her backside had no trouble identifying his very real erection.

  He sighed. “Rihanna, I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. There is definite chemistry between us on so many levels. Yes, I want to know…” He paused and then went on. “Actually, it’s more than that. I have to know exactly how good it can be between us…but I don’t want to press an emotional advantage.”

  He turned slightly under her, his obvious erection rubbing against the curve of her bikini-covered bottom. “I want whatever is between us to be real and have a chance. It has to be because we both want it and are thinking clearly.”

  She didn’t say anything for the longest while and he didn’t press her for a comment. After what seemed an eternity as she considered his words, she raised her head and met his eyes.

  “I need to know how my father is,” she said quietly. “As much as I’d like to lose myself in whatever is between us, my father and this ‘thing’ has to come first. I have responsibilities to people.”

  And with that sentence, she said so much. Rihanna was very big on doing the right thing. Even if it meant doing something she didn’t want to or depriving herself of some pleasure, her sense of responsibility would override any other needs or wants for herself. He could respect this about her. He had a feeling he may not always like this quality but he could certainly respect it.

  Rihanna watched his face for any sign that gave away him telling less than the truth.

  “One of the calls I made earlier was to my team. Your father is currently being held by the militants.” Her shock and anguish rocked her face; her mouth fell open in a horrified gasp. He raced on. “The word I got was that two of my team members are on the ground and confident that they can make an extraction. We should know if they have been successful or not within the hour.”

  A million emotions ran through her in a matter of a heartbeat. Was it good news or was it bad news? Her muddled brain struggled to process the information he gave her. He didn’t push or prod, just gave her the distance to process the information at her own pace, come to her own conclusions. She could tell he was looking at her, expecting further questions but he refrained from prompting.

  Finally, she raised her head and asked, “That’s good, isn’t it?” She was looking for confirmation and support, but at least she was tending to think of things in the positive rather than the negative.

  “I won’t lie to you, Rihanna. These people are very dangerous. Human life means very little to them. The advantage that your father has is that he is an essential source of information on the virus. Therefore, they will be reluctant to hurt him further than they have to. They will do what is necessary to ensure his co-operation.”

  “You mean they will torture him?” The horror filled her voice as her sharp mind centred on the unspoken truth.

  “Yes, Rihanna, they may do that,” he said reluctantly. He rushed on before giving her too much more time to process the torture component.

  “Let’s not panic just yet. As I said, two of my team are in position to make the extraction. Last information we had from surveillance indicated that he was in good health.” His logic and further information helped to slow her accelerated heartrate. Her dad was a tough guy. Anyone who worked with large animals had to be hardy. It was an occupational hazard: from time to time, you got kicked, bitten, or squashed. It hurt, but torture was another thing altogether.

  He turned her body in the water so that she was sitting between his legs, his arms clutched loosely around her tense body, her back to his front. Without much thought and wanting to offer what silent comfort he could, Bray began to gently massage her arms and shoulders. The bruising from last night was just starting to break th
rough to slightly discolour her skin. His pressure was soft but still dripping with a sexual edge. It somehow felt right to be comforting her like this.

  Rihanna leant into the strong strokes and found her body slowly releasing the tension but her mind continued to whir at full speed.

  “So what is going to happen to me?” She finally asked the question that had been circling her mind all afternoon but had yet to be answered.

  “For now, we wait here until my boss tells me differently.” Bray was so definite and his words so final, it irritated the hell out of her. How could they sit here doing nothing?

  “How can you be so damn accepting of this?” she snapped, tension returning to her shoulders against his relentless efforts. He had almost given up on hoping that his touch would eventually help her relax. Brayden enjoyed the feel of her smooth skin and the closeness just sitting entwined together brought.

  “I’m accepting of this because this is my job.” He paused and then continued. “It’s also my life. What I do for a great part of it.” The finality of his earlier comment was evident again. He looked off into the distance, as if searching for the right words or trying to decide just how much more that he wanted to disclose. Rihanna sensed that he had more to tell but was uncertain.

  “So your job defines who you are?”

  Wow, her question was blunt and to the point and hit him square on.

  He lifted her from his lap and edged around to the other side of the spa. Her chin was raised again in that defiant manner he was beginning to recognise as her not being satisfied until she found a plausible answer that she could accept.

  “You don’t understand…” He trailed off again, searching for words and deciding how much to disclose. How do you go about revealing that the reason you are defined by your job is because you have been specifically created, monitored, and trained since birth with someone else’s purpose in mind? To be the job. To be part of this team of operatives that were human in so many ways—but oh so different in many others. To be part of an elite team that has been specifically designed by humans to protect themselves from the rogues of their species who stray onto the dark side or threaten the greater population.

  How do you disclose that you are not totally human or animal but rather a hybrid of both? How could he not be defined by his job? His unique abilities were designed to do this job.

  He took a deep breath and looked into her serious face, zeroing into his like a heat-seeking missile.

  “I’m part of a team. I have been since university. You just don’t walk away from that.”

  He waited as if letting that sink in, gauging her response.

  “So you eat, sleep, drink, and breathe this team twenty-four-seven?”

  He raised his eyes to look at her and said, “Yes, I do.” His voice sounded resigned even to his ears, as if he resented this job and the life that went with it.

  Rihanna let her gaze slip from his while she thought through what he was telling her. The obvious question that kept coming back to her mind was did he have relationships with all the people he rescued or just her? She had to know. She owed it to herself. Was this attraction between them real or just another fringe benefit of his job? And why the hell did he stay with a job that didn’t seem to make him that happy when he clearly loved being a musician and was obviously totally fabulous at it?

  She slowly turned her head and looked him dead on. He braced, waiting for it.

  “So this thing between us, how do I know it’s real and not just something that you enjoy as a benefit of the job?”

  Her question was reasonable but still stung like hell. He asked himself whether he would be thinking something similar if he was in her position and the only honest answer he could come up with was yes.

  “I guess the answer is that you don’t know.” Rihanna snapped back so fast he could have sworn he’d hit her physically with his words. Guess she wasn’t expecting him to be honest, he almost laughed to himself.

  “I think that you are getting an idea of what I’m about. It seems you trust me. So I’m asking you to believe me when I say that this connection we have is unique for me as well.” She looked at him long and hard, her eyes assessing as if to see whether he would give any indication that he was being anything less than truthful. He didn’t flinch as he looked her straight in the eye.

  Her face broke into a smile that warmed him from head to toe. She wanted to believe him and thought he was telling the truth.

  He held out his arms and she moved into the protective circle within. Rihanna rested her head on his shoulder and just enjoyed the closeness and the warmth of his embrace. After a long moment, he turned his head, seeking her mouth with his lips.

  It was a leisurely exploration for both of them. His lips encouraged her to explore his mouth further. He slid his hand into her hair to gently pull her head back so he could deepen the touch.

  The sensual haze of his touch was broken by the vibrating of his phone on the nearby glass table top. Brayden pulled away reluctantly and moved from the frothing water.

  “It might be my team,” he said over his shoulder, one hand reaching for a towel and the other grabbing the phone.

  Rihanna held her breath, not knowing what to feel. One second, she was kissing Bray as if her life depended on it—all thoughts on him. The next, her mind was shot back to the potential news that a phone call could mean. Would it be good news, bad news, or none at all? Her stomach decided on a gut-wrenching fear and the blood began to pound in her ears. Goose bumps had broken out all over her skin, even though the temperature was a balmy thirty degrees Celsius and the water was pleasantly heated.

  He’d turned away from her and moved towards the house, instinctively looking for privacy to take the call. Her mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios.

  “Hey, Stud—what took you so long?” the Rat Brat asked.

  “Just taking a little afternoon dip, while we wait to hear from you lot.” He listened to her amused chuckling on the other end. The message couldn’t be too bad if the Brat could keep up her easy teasing.

  “I bet,” she said, sounding completely unconvinced.

  “What’s the status?”

  “Good news—operation went successfully. They guys caught the tangos by surprise and it all went pretty smoothly.”

  “Define pretty smoothly?” he asked suspiciously. Any day you walked away instead of being carried in his business was classified as an astounding success.

  “The target has a few cuts and bruises and was fairly dehydrated. Nothing a good night’s sleep and a couple of bags of fluid won’t fix.”

  “And?”

  “Two tangos were eliminated but at least six others were identified as being part of the operation.”

  “Great. Seems bigger than we thought,” he added sarcastically. “Do we know who they are yet?”

  “The guys are running checks now with the information we have taken off the bodies and from the facility. First impression is East European, but something seems off with that. We’re going to dig deeper.”

  “Fuck—that seriously sucks canine testicles,” he said, much louder than he had intended. Bloody East Europeans had a passion for viruses and chemistry. Why the hell couldn’t they leave biology and science alone? Same old, same old. Global domination and mountains of cash.

  “Yeah, it does. That’s why the boss man has told me to get you to stay put tonight and he’ll give you an update on the game plan at oh eight hundred tomorrow.”

  “She’ll want to see her father as soon as possible.”

  “That’s a big negative. Boss says that the risk is too great for them to be together. So you do your thing and we’ve assigned another protective duty team here. Boss wants you guys as far from the action and each other as possible.”

  The confirmation of an increased number of tangos had no doubt altered the original thinking on this mission. Common sense and training told him that putting all their eggs in one basket would be dangerous but it also
made it essential that he kept her safe. He couldn’t bear if anything happened to her on his watch.

  “She’s going to want to talk to him.”

  “He’s sedated at the moment and the medical crew are working on the hydration. He should be fine in the morning for a call.”

  “Okay—we’ll talk then.”

  “Catch you then, Stud. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” He ended the call to her tinkling laughter in his ear.

  He turned around and must have had a grin on his face because

  Rihanna’s terrified gaze immediately softened.

  “Tell me—did they get him?” she cautiously enquired, almost too scared to ask the question in case the answer was not to her liking.

  “Yep, they got him all safe and sound.”

  She let out a huge breath and dragged herself dripping from the spa and basically threw herself at him.

  He caught her weight easily and pulled her to him in a deliciously hot embrace. He just held her there and let her take in the good news. She was shaking with relief. A few seconds later, he realised it was not shaking but soft sobs of relief. He gently took her chin in his palm and wiped away the tears with the other.

  “When can I see him?” she half sobbed.

  He hesitated and Rihanna immediately jumped all over him with words.

  “What’s wrong with him? Tell me now,” she demanded.

  “He has a few cuts and bruises and is a bit dehydrated. The medicos are running fluids now and patching him up.”

  “I want to talk to him now,” she demanded.

  “You can’t. They have him sedated at the moment,” he said.

  He saw the shock immediately return to her face again.