Captive of the Beast

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “So do you.”

  “You keep saying that,” she pointed out, a hint of frustration in her voice that did nothing to douse the crackle of fire between them. Somehow they were leaning close, the distance closing.

  “Because it’s true.”

  “Why should I believe you don’t want what he does?”

  “You know I don’t.”

  She shook her head in a barely perceivable way. “How? How could I know?”

  His voice held confidence. “You know.”

  She opened her mouth, shut it. A charge darted through the air. Warmth wrapped around them. “If you don’t want what he does—then what? What do you want, Rinehart?” Her voice came out husky, laden with the sexual tension flowering between them.

  There was only one answer to her question, only one way to respond. “You,” he whispered hoarsely, reaching for her even as she moved toward him.

  Suddenly, they were in each other’s arms, no barriers, no questions. No Walch. No island. An invisible force, a mating bond, pulled them together, dissolved logic and reason. Lips melted together and time stood still. Gently, he prodded her mouth open, his tongue finding hers in one long stroke that shook him from head to toe. Another slow stroke and she shivered. He slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss, losing himself in the sweetness of her taste. Loving the way she met him stroke for stroke, the way soft sounds of pleasure filled her chest. God, how he wanted her. How he needed her. Passion welled inside him, turned hotter, more intense. Expanded into something he’d never felt before and barely understood. Sex and battle—those two things were the places where he, and all Knights, directed the dark side of their existence, the primal side that still felt the touch of the Beast. But those things never took away the emptiness, never stole away the black hole that seemed to poison their existence.

  But kissing Laura, holding her, feeling her next to him, touched that place inside him that he thought couldn’t be touched. Made him believe it could be filled. Made him burn to make it happen. Made him wild with need. It seemed to do the same to Laura. She squirmed against him, her hands traveling his body, tracing his flexing muscles, his clean-shaven jaw.

  Somewhere in the far corner of his mind, he knew the intensity of their reaction was hypnotic, that it peeled away logic and reason, and consumed beyond thought. But for now, for this red-hot period of time, all he could think about was wanting more. More of this kiss, of her taste, of the sense of rightness kissing her filled him with.

  Their tongues tangled in a rush of tantalizing strokes. Her leg was somehow across his thigh. His hand slid upward, under her skirt, over the softness of her bare skin and under her backside. She moaned as his fingers skimmed the intimate flesh. Rinehart pulled her toward him, and she didn’t resist. Instead, she arched into him, her hand sliding to his jaw, her breasts pressing into his chest.

  Her fingers touched his lips. “I never do things like this.” Her lips grazed his. “I can’t seem…to stop myself.” There was emotion in her voice, a bit of turmoil, maybe even a hint of accusation. “What are you doing to me?”

  She didn’t want to be out of control; he got that from her words. Well, neither did he. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, “I could ask the same of you.” His mouth came down on hers in a punishing kiss that said he didn’t want to need her. But he did. Plain and simple, he did. And she did.

  He pressed her onto her back, impatient with the sitting position that didn’t allow him to feel her fully. That didn’t allow him all he craved. His hips settled firm against hers, and her leg wrapped around his calf. Ah, yes, he thought as his cock nuzzled the sweet V of her body. His free hand swept her side, her hip, her breasts. Laura moaned into his mouth, her scent sensual and aroused, touching his nostrils and making him groan. God. He wanted inside her. He wanted—

  A knock sounded on the door. Damn it! It didn’t matter. He blocked it out. He wanted her and nothing else mattered. He kept kissing her, touching her.

  Laura moaned and pressed her hands to his cheeks. “Door. Someone—”

  He kissed her. She kissed him back. Another knock. She tore her lips away from his, her breath coming in heavy gasps. “Door.” Her chest heaved. He tried to kiss her, and her fingers covered his lips. “No. It’s…it’s Blake.”

  Instantly, he frowned and she paled, her eyes wide with the abruptness of sudden shock. She knew who was at the door without answering it. How could she know it was Blake knocking and not someone else? With willpower, Rinehart reined in the rage of desire, burning him inside out, enough to register that question. And then he knew one of her gifts: Laura sensed things others could not.

  “Oh, God,” Laura murmured, dread in her words. She’d slipped and shown him a side of herself she showed no one. Her reaction only made that mistake more evident. And by the look on her now-pale face, she was afraid he would betray her, that he would be an opportunist who used that information against her. That realization twisted his gut, and anger started to form. She sensed things, but she couldn’t manage to give him her trust? Was she his mate or not?

  Rinehart raised up on his elbows and stared down at her, and the terror he found there cut him like a knife. Terror of him, because he knew something no one else did. He reached for calmness and clear thought. Inhaling, he reminded himself she’d been running from her secrets for years. He exhaled the breath he was holding, realizing that her reaction wasn’t about distrust as much as it was about survival. But somehow, some way, she had to find a way past that. Because now they had a bigger issue to be dealt with—Walch was taping everything that was going on. He had suspected Laura had gifts. Confirming it to be true would only make her more of a target. He couldn’t risk Laura being any more on the radar than she already was. What if Walch confined her in some way?

  And Jag had been clear—Laura would be dangerous if she fell into the Beasts’ hands. Rinehart had no intention of letting that happen. She was in his hands now, and that was where she was going to stay. Whether she liked it or not—Laura was about to learn to trust him.

  Chapter 8

  “Laura! It’s Blake.”

  Laura squeezed her eyes shut at Blake’s announcement. Now, Rinehart knew her secret. She had known who was on the other side of the door before she should have. She hadn’t made a stupid slip like this one since the fifth grade when she’d told her teacher, Ms. Wilkens, that her husband had been in a car accident only seconds after it happened. She remembered that day clearly, and not because of the shock on her teacher’s face, but because of her father’s wrath when he’d come to clean up her mess.

  Since then, not one slip had occurred—until now. And, damn it, Laura didn’t know how to explain her screwup any more than she knew how to explain why she had not only let Rinehart kiss her, but damn near invited him to strip her naked.

  Another knock jolted her out of her reverie. “Coming!” she shouted automatically.

  Rinehart stared down at her, his arms framing her upper body. “Can you have him come back later?” he asked, no doubt because he wanted to discuss her slipup. Or maybe he wanted to get naked. Neither seemed a smart choice at this point, though the idea of being intimate with this man certainly had her body sizzling.

  She rejected his suggestion as firmly as the heat swirling in her core would let her. “He’ll think something is wrong. I never send my kids away.” He nodded his understanding, but made no effort to move from on top of her. He was making her insane, messing with her head. Stealing her sense of control! She shoved at his unmoving rock wall of a chest and glared up at him. “Get up,” she ordered.

  Piercing determination glared in his eyes. “Not without one last kiss.” And before she’d registered his intention, his lips brushed hers, a fleeting moment of fire before his mouth was near her ear. Wickedly warm breath tickled her neck before she found out his true intention, which was not the kiss—it was a message. “Don’t respond to what I am about to tell you,” he warned, his voice low, barely audible even spoken this c
lose. “Walch has the place bugged. I’m here to get you off this island, Laura, but you must do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. Meet me at the north docks in an hour. We can talk there.”

  His head moved away, eyes latching on to hers, a silent question bordering on demand in those rich blue eyes. His steely body unmoving, telling her without words he would not let her up until she agreed to his request—or rather, demand.

  With a sudden claustrophobic need to be free, she nodded, her voice lodged in her throat like her breath, the implications of his words rattling her inside and out. Only minutes ago, she’d nearly told Kresley of her escape plan—thank God she’d followed her instincts.

  The instant she signaled her agreement, Rinehart’s big, warm body lifted off of hers. He towered over the couch, offering her his hand. His eyes brushed her bare legs; her skirt was still practically at her waist.

  She shoved it down and pushed to her feet, ignoring his hand and the hot look on his handsome face. Her mind raced and her heart pounded as if it might explode from her chest. Who was this man? And did she dare believe he was here to help?

  Smoothing her palms fretfully over her wrinkled skirt and wild hair, she realized there was no hope of figuring out answers to the millions of questions in her mind before answering that door, nor was there any way to fix her frazzled attire. “He’s going to know that—”

  “—you’re human?” Rinehart offered softly, standing beside her, far closer than she expected. Her chin tilted upward, her skin warmed where it already tingled from his touch.

  Another knock, but she didn’t respond. She stood there, feet planted, staring at Rinehart, seeing an offer of support and comfort in his expression—comfort that he didn’t understand couldn’t be found. Not by her. Was she human? Yes. Average, no. And that changed things. But he wouldn’t understand what that meant. How could he? Only a short time ago, she’d almost confessed her escape plans to Kresley. She’d slipped and shown one of her abilities to Rinehart. She was losing her edge, and it was going to get them all hurt. And the only common denominator to all this mess was Rinehart. The faster she got away from him and cleared her thoughts, the better.

  She inhaled and rushed to open the door. The minute she pulled it open, Blake started talking. “I was starting to worry. You took forever.”

  “Sorry. I was loading the dishwasher, and my hands were wet.” It was a lie, but a well-intended one. An idea dawned on Laura. “I know you worry about Kresley, but she’s fine.” She forced a smile. “I knew it had to be you before you said it was.” She’d long ago figured out his schoolboy crush on Kresley.

  Blake blushed. “Oh, ah, yeah. How is she?” He stepped forward as she eased the door back. His tennis shoes moved soundlessly forward, his blue sweats, T-shirt and rumpled dark hair accenting his youthful, frazzled appearance.

  “She’s sleeping and she’s fine,” Laura reported, hopeful that Rinehart was buying her trumped-up reason for expecting Blake at the door.

  “Good,” Blake said, sounding distracted. “I…Good. That wasn’t actually…” He stopped talking, pausing inside the door, his gaze catching over her shoulder where she knew Rinehart waited. “You have company.” His gaze swept her bare feet and rumpled attire.

  Laura ground her teeth against the embarrassment seeping through her. Were her lips swollen? Her makeup smudged? How obvious was it she’d been lip-locked with a man Blake knew she’d met only hours before?

  “I do,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted as she sidestepped to motion to her “company.” “You remember Rinehart?”

  Blake looked exceedingly awkward. “Yes. Hi.” He lifted a hand to wave at Rinehart. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” But he didn’t offer to leave, either. In fact, he stepped farther into the room, his fingers flexing, his demeanor wired, edgy.

  Laura was aware of Rinehart studying Blake, could feel tension curling in the air around him.

  “You’re not,” Rinehart said, his tone friendly, free of any signs of the concern she sensed in him. “And regrettably, I was just paged. I need to take off.”

  He turned to Laura, the placid expression on his face a well-worn facade of indifference in the midst of awkwardness. “Thanks for saving me from the mess hall,” he cajoled. His voice lowered slightly, hinting at discreet intimacy. “I enjoyed the pizza. It was different.” The corners of that sensual mouth lifted a second before he surprised her by saying, “Different is good.”

  She blinked at those words and wondered if he was talking about pizza or about her. Was that his subtle way of telling her he knew she was different, no matter how hard she tried to cover up her slip? Damn it, she hated the way he had her dancing on eggshells. She did enough of that with Walch.

  Rinehart turned to Blake, wished him a good-night and then nodded to Laura, the magnetic pull of his eyes latching on to hers with simmering results. And in that moment, years of skepticism, of worry over people manipulating her, drew forth another suspicion: What was creating this almost hypnotic effect between them? Did Rinehart have some kind of gift? Could he create this heat in her using that gift? Was he truly here to help her escape, or was he here to manipulate her into submission? And as she closed the door behind Rinehart, she decided that these were questions she would have only a short hour to debate. Because friend or foe, she was meeting him on that dock—and because the one thing her instincts were telling her with complete clarity was to get off this island.

  The minute the door closed behind Rinehart, Blake went on the attack. “You don’t trust him, do you?”

  “I just met him,” Laura countered. “Why? What is wrong with you? What’s happened?”

  “I was outside when two of his men came out of the building talking about—”

  “Stop!” A alarm was going off in Laura’s head. The bugs. Anything he said would be recorded.

  His eyes went wide. “What? Laura, I—”

  “What’s going on?”

  Laura looked up to see Kresley standing in the doorway. Great. Another obstacle. “Nothing important,” Laura said quickly.

  “It is important!” Blake declared in disagreement. “I heard—”

  “Blake!” Laura ground out sternly. “Stop.” His pale face was turning red, and this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. It was from anger.

  “Look,” she said softly. “I want and need to hear what you have to say, but Kresley is sick. Let’s make sure she is okay first. Okay?” He drew a breath and nodded, but it was clear from his grimace that he wasn’t happy about it.

  “What is going on?” Kresley asked. “Where’s Rinehart?” She frowned. “Did you kick him out already?”

  Laura put her hand on her forehead, trying to figure out how to handle this. “He got paged.”

  “And I bet I know why!” Blake said.

  Laura cut him an irritated look as Kresley swiped her hand through the air. “What is going on!”

  Ignoring the question, Laura focused on the important issue of the moment. Kresley looked better, less washed out. “Are you feeling any better? Are you up because something is wrong?”

  “Nothing besides that you two were loud,” Kresley chided. “And yes, I feel better. My fever broke.”

  One good thing, Laura thought. “So you can stay by yourself?”

  “I’m fine by myself, except that I really want to know what’s going on.”

  “I’ll explain when I know myself.” She considered that answer, and added for clarity, “And that will be in the morning. So go to bed.”

  Her attention turned to Blake. “You. Come with me.” Laura pointed to the door and started in that direction, but then hesitated. “After I get my shoes.”

  Several minutes later, Laura stopped on the beachfront with Blake by her side, her shoes off again and dangling from one hand, sand squishing between her toes. This well-lighted area of the beach that sat directly behind the lab parking lot offered the quickest solution for privacy. Close enough to call for help, but far enough away to avo
id listening devices. The water was calm, soothing; the breeze, cool. Laura, however, remained rattled and out of sorts, her skin hot everywhere Rinehart had touched.

  “Why are we here?” Blake asked, a hand sweeping the wide-open space of the beach.

  “I needed a walk and some air badly,” she explained, knowing the answer wasn’t going to be enough for him, but it was all she had to give. “And I didn’t want to keep Kresley awake.”

  He glared at her, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Sixteen does not translate to stupid, you know. I see what’s happening. You think someone is listening in on our conversations.” It wasn’t a question. “You think someone is bugging our rooms.”

  Laura laughed, a choked sound that mocked her for the attempted lie. But she couldn’t tell Blake her fears, not Blake. His youth made him impetuous, and she couldn’t risk him doing something rash. “You’ve been watching way too much television. Now. Tell me who and what you overheard.”

  His lips thinned and he looked like he might argue. Instead, he said, “Those two men who work with Rinehart—Rock and Max. They came out of the building and walked onto the beach as I was coming in from a run.” He paced back and forth, and then turned to her. “It’s not good, Laura. Not good at all. They said they were going to take us off this island. I think they plan to kidnap us.”

  Or help them escape, but she couldn’t say that. Not yet. She had to reason him into letting this go. “Let’s take a deep breath and backtrack, kiddo. Why would they say such a thing in front of you? That makes no sense.” His gaze dropped, and she grimaced. “You were invisible.” Time and time again, she’d warned him about doing that.

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts!” She sliced a hand through the air. This was why she couldn’t let Blake in on what was going on. He did rash things without thinking. “What if you would have lost control of your powers and suddenly appeared standing beside them? What then?”