by Lora Leigh
“I’ll have my chance at Orion. It’s fated,” he said coldly. “If I could take the risk from you, I would do so. What makes you think I would do otherwise?”
She shook her head. Because he was sleeping with a woman he didn’t truly desire, she thought. Because to catch a killer, he was forced into her bed.
“I haven’t remembered much more.” She heard the sound of her voice, strained, rough. “I remember being held down.” Bile rose in her stomach. “He said…” She inhaled roughly, feeling a cold sweat pop out on her skin. “He said he couldn’t look at me, because I was too ugly.” Her head lowered as she shook her head. “If he had to look at me, he wouldn’t be able to get off. He was angry with Jansen because he wanted the younger girl. Jansen told him I was the only choice, and he laughed. Said he had to pay someone to fuck me after all.”
She pushed back from the table, stumbling from her chair as his expression remained composed, icy. She was shuddering now, thinking about it. It wasn’t a memory; it was like a dream. Like a horrible nightmare she couldn’t escape from whenever she let herself think about it.
“I don’t know who it was,” she cried out, keeping her back to him as she moved into the living room. “I don’t want to know who it was.”
“Because you’re afraid you know him. Your mind knows who it is, and it’s protecting you.” God, his voice. With her back turned, she could hear something in it, something so dark and dangerous in the hard, emotionless tone that she instinctively shied away from it.
“My psychologist, Dr. Brinegar, she tried hypnosis. I asked her to.” She shook her head. “I wanted it over. I wanted whatever was in my head to just go away. But she didn’t get any more answers than I’d already given her.” She turned to him. “Maybe I didn’t see who it was. Maybe this is something else. Retaliation because Jansen is dead. Something else.”
He shook his head as he gazed at her, his eyes deep, deep pools of black savagery.
“Our intel says otherwise, Risa.”
“Maybe your fucking intel is wrong,” she cried out, her arms falling away from her breasts as her fists clenched at her sides.
He rose slowly from his chair. “My intel isn’t wrong, Risa. It’s taken me six years to develop this contact. My intel is very, very accurate. This hit went out because you remembered something in the last three months that you shouldn’t have remembered. Something that makes someone believe you will remember more.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what it is. What could it be?”
“The identity of your rapist,” he stated. “Everything you’ve remembered in the past three months, the little details, what was said, the fact that you could see Jansen as you were raped. The hands that held yours down to the floor of the plane. Emily screaming out at Jansen. It all has to do with the rape. You’re trying to remember your rapist, and he’s been afraid you would remember. He’s watched you, just as the FBI has been watching, hoping you would remember while he’s been terrified you would. He’s covering his ass now.”
For a moment, just for a moment, she was back in that plane. The drone of the engines, the terror that smothered her as she stared at Jansen. The way he laughed, the amusement in his eyes as her body began to burn and she began to cry.
She shook the image away, fought it with everything inside her. She’d been fighting the memories for years and she knew it. She wanted to live in the present; she didn’t want to live in the past. She didn’t want to remember, because she was afraid if she remembered, remembered what it felt like, she would remember how she had begged.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” she choked out desperately. “I won’t talk about this. You can stay here until you find the bastard. Find him and kill him.”
But she knew what he wasn’t saying. Unless they found the identity of his employer, and he always learned who was employing him, then it wouldn’t matter. There were always more killers out there. And the majority of them didn’t mind using a bullet.
She was dead.
Risa turned and stared at the heavy drapes covering her windows. She hated drapes on the windows. The living room was dim, despite the bright winter sunlight outside. The apartment had a shadowy, sinister feel to it, one that seeped inside her and left her shaking with fear.
She was standing there locked in her own thoughts, her own certainties. She was unaware of Micah moving behind her until she felt his palms against her shoulders.
She couldn’t jerk away from him. The feel of him behind her, heated and so strong, his hands against her, his entire maleness just there, feeding whatever the hell that drug did to her.
It had to be the drug, didn’t it? It made her knees weak, made her womb flex and convulse while her vagina ached with emptiness.
Memories of hell were replaced with memories of one night. His kiss. The touch of his lips along her body, on her nipples, between her thighs. The feel of him pressing into her, stretching her, burning her until she’d wondered if she could accommodate the erection impaling her.
“I won’t allow you to be hurt,” he whispered behind her, his breath feathering the top of her hair. “I will give my own life to protect you, Risa. And should that happen, then there are others who will come after me, to ensure you live.”
She shook her head, a tear falling. “Don’t do this, Micah. Don’t say this.”
Because it didn’t mean anything. When it came right down to it, it wasn’t because he loved her, or because his life would suffer without her. It was because Orion had killed Micah’s friends. It was because he was a man who would do whatever it took to protect those he considered his responsibility.
She was his responsibility now.
“Risa, look at me.” His hands eased her around slowly.
Her palms pressed against his bare chest, her fingers curling as she breathed in roughly at the feel of the heat of his flesh, the pleasure against her hands.
The silky mat of chest hair drew her attention as she felt it under her palms. It rasped the sensitive flesh, tickled against it. Made her wonder what it would feel like to have her nipples pressing into his chest.
She couldn’t stop herself; she had to stroke him. Just a little touch.
Her eyes closed as her hands stroked over him. She felt the tight, hard press of male nipples, felt the thunder of his heart racing beneath her hands.
“Yes, Risa.” His voice seemed to come from a distance. “Touch me, sweet. Ah damn, your hands are like silk, love.”
His voice was like rough, black velvet. His hands were on her back, stroking it beneath her shirt. She couldn’t protest. She didn’t want to protest. She just wanted to sink into the heated sensations, the pleasure whipping through her, over her.
She wanted to feel him against her, skin on skin as they had been once before. Her hands slid to his shoulders; her fingers tested the hard muscle there. He was broader than she had thought at the club, more muscular. Harder than she had imagined then.
She remembered the hardness of him.
“Risa.” His head lowered, his lips feathered over her brow. “You’re pushing a damned hungry man here, love.”
He was hungry? She was starving. She felt as though she had never been touched, as though those touches nights ago had been another lifetime. She needed more, ached for more.
“Give me your lips.” His hand cupped her neck. She loved that, the feel of his fingers wrapping around her neck, his thumb pressing beneath her chin. It was powerful and dominant and made her feel feminine, desired.
For this moment, just for a moment, she let herself believe she was desired.
“Micah,” she whispered his name as she felt his lips against her brow, her cheek, her jaw.
A shiver went through her, then a rush of heat as his lips sent swells of pleasure cresting over her nerve endings. Her lips parted, ached. His kiss, she needed his kiss, just one more time.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “I won’t take this time, love. Tell me what you want.”
> If only it was love. If only she could make sense of the emotions that rose inside her, the needs she couldn’t control.
“Kiss me.” She told him; she didn’t beg. She didn’t hear a plea in her voice; she was certain of it. God, if he didn’t kiss her soon…
A groan sounded at the side of her lips; then he was there. His lips slanted over hers and that dark magic sucked her in again.
Was it the drug already in her system that did this? Or was it the man? He was dark magic all on his own. His kiss was addictive. That was the drug, not the Whore’s Dust. She could bear the arousal until he touched her. Until his lips were on hers, and then she was lost.
She was lost now. Her lips parted for his tongue. She tasted coffee and male heat; it might as well have been an aphrodisiac, because now all she wanted was more. She wanted it badly enough that she arched against him, stretching into his body, her arms twining around his neck as she tried to follow his kiss, tried to find a way to satisfy the need for more when she had no idea how to still the need to begin with.
“Sweet.” His lips drew back; he pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips, held her head still, and pressed another to her jaw as she heard a sudden ringing blaring around her.
Her eyes opened as she stared back at him, dazed, uncertain where the sound was coming from.
“Morganna and Clint.” His thumb ran over her sensitive lips. “It’s a couples’ day out. They’re going with us.”
“They are? Why?”
“Couples’ day out,” he stated again. “Morganna and Raven put that on the list. All serious couples hang together, you know. When a man is thinking forever and marriage and all that good stuff, then he develops married friends. We’re lovers, remember? Serious lovers.”
“He does?” Raven hadn’t told her that. Of course, she hadn’t discussed couples, marriage, and forevers with Raven, either. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He released her slowly. “Go dress. I’ll entertain them while you do; then you can entertain them while I finish dressing.” He pulled a T-shirt from the chair behind him, and she couldn’t help but watch as he pushed his arms into it and tugged it over his head.
“Go.” He turned her toward her bedroom, then delivered a light, surprising tap to her rear as he pushed her toward the door. “Hurry, or they’ll believe we were otherwise occupied.”
She flushed. They were otherwise occupied. But she went to her bedroom, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it weakly. She really wanted to be otherwise occupied.
Even more, she wanted to be otherwise occupied with Micah in ways that she knew would only destroy her world further.
CHAPTER 9
THE SHOPPING trip was a disaster of major proportions. No wonder he insisted they needed another couple with them; he was counting on the fact that Risa wouldn’t stomp out of the mall if there were witnesses. And damn him, he was right.
Instead, she fumed. She refused to try on outfits, not that it did her any good, because he bought them anyway as Clint and Morganna looked on in amusement.
Then, at the lingerie shop. Risa had never been so publicly humiliated as she was when Micah dragged her into that shop. Even worse, when he picked out the scraps of lace and silk, satins and stretchy cottons. He bought enough lingerie to clothe twenty women. In her size. Bits of material that there wasn’t a chance in hell of her wearing.
He was insane. The amount of money he spent would have bought her groceries for a year. Groceries for her and a small family, she later decided.
He carried the bags. He encouraged her to buy snug jeans; when she didn’t, he bought them himself. He bought tops. He even bought her a snug leather jacket that looked as soft as butter.
He bought dresses. Dresses she swore she would never have the nerve to wear. Evidently private investigation or whatever the hell he did paid a hell of a lot more than accounting.
“You are spending too much money,” she protested.
“Enjoy it.” He’d shrugged as though cost didn’t matter. “I hope you took my advice and emptied your closets.”
“Do I ever take your advice?” she snarled under her breath.
“Well, I do remember one night that you came close.” He bent and whispered the words in her ear, and she wanted to melt into the floor.
As they walked through the mall, he held her hand or kept his at the small of her back. And he watched everyone. His black gaze was never in one place long unless he was contemplating some article of clothing, looking between the clothing and her.
By time they left, she had five pairs of jeans, innumerable tops, enough lingerie to start her own shop, a pair of leather running shoes, a pair of black heels that were decadent, and three club dresses. Evidently, Micah liked to go to clubs.
Leading her back to the car they had driven in, she noticed the tension in his and Clint’s bodies. Their watchfulness. She wasn’t certain what they were watching for until Clint said, “Car’s clear. Nik and John had surveillance. No one’s been around it.”
“The apartment?” Micah asked softly.
“Not so much as a blink on the surveillance. Travis moved into the apartment after we left. He says all quiet.”
Micah nodded, deactivated the locks while they were several vehicles away, and hit the auto-ignition on the keypad he carried.
It wasn’t cold; winter in Atlanta didn’t often get cold. There was a chill to the air, but that was about it. He opened the trunk and the bags went inside; then she and Morganna were put safely in the backseat while the big bad tough guys sat in the front.
Risa was starting to dislike men.
“I know that look,” Morganna murmured in amusement as she leaned closer, a smile tilting her lips. “You’re imagining how he would look with his head displayed on your mantel, minus his body.”
She shot the other woman a look. Risa still hadn’t decided just how involved Morganna was in the deception the night she had met Micah.
“Come on, Risa.” Morganna watched her somberly now. “You’re life was in danger and I knew it. I have clearance because of my work with the DEA to aid when Clint works certain assignments. You’re my friend. I’d rather tell a little lie to save you than see you dead.”
Risa stared into the rearview mirror as Micah glanced back at her.
“Don’t worry about it,” she finally said, turning to stare out the window of the door. “No harm done.”
And why had she said that? There had been harm done. She was still burning; she was still terrified of her own body since that night.
“You’re hurt,” Morganna pushed. “I don’t like that.”
Risa shrugged. “It was slight, Morganna. Please, just let it go.”
Risa watched the scenery fly by as Micah navigated through the traffic. She was aware of the two men talking quietly to each other, discussing surveillance and precautions.
She had never been out with a man and another couple before. She wondered if this was how it was. The guys sitting in the front and discussing whatever. The women in the back, perhaps discussing fashion. She’d always imagined the couples would sit together instead. She would have preferred it that way if she were part of a true couple. She’d prefer to have Micah beside her, perhaps with her leaning against him as they all discussed topics they could share.
She’d imagined that was a real couple outing. And it very well may have been; she had to remind herself that she wasn’t really part of a couple.
“We’re moving into the parking garage,” Micah announced quietly into whatever was attached beneath his jacket sleeve. A mic of some sort. There was also a receiver tucked into his ear, the little wire to it tucked behind his ear and hidden by his hair until it disappeared beneath his collar.
“All’s clear,” Clint stated as Micah pulled into the closest slot to the elevator.
“We’ll come back for the bags,” Micah decided. “I want to get Risa upstairs first.”
Clint nodded. They exited the front of the car and eac
h opened a door to the back. Micah reached in, took her hand, and helped her out, then placed her carefully in front of him, keeping her there as they moved to the elevator.
They stayed together every step of the way until they arrived at the apartment. As they neared the door, it opened. Another man stepped out, nodded to them, and entered the apartment across the hall.
Another stranger had been in her home?
“It’s okay; he’s part of the team,” Micah leaned close and whispered in her ear. “We don’t have any more of those nasty bugs in your apartment.”
The bugs. She hadn’t wanted to think of what that camera might have caught her doing at any given time. She touched her brow as she bit back the sniping reply she wanted to make. It wasn’t his fault, she reminded herself; he was trying to help. He was trying to save her life; the camera wasn’t his fault.
They stepped into the apartment. Clint and Micah went through it carefully, then left her alone with Morganna while they went for the shopping bags.
“This must be hard on you; you’re used to being here alone,” Morganna commented as she curled into the easy chair in the corner of the room, leaving Risa the couch.
Risa shrugged as she sat down, feeling helpless and very much alone as she stared around the apartment.
“It’s different,” she finally said, mostly because the other woman obviously expected an answer.
“Risa, if you need to talk, I’m willing to listen,” Morganna offered. “It must be difficult, being thrown in this situation.”
“I don’t need to talk, Morganna.” She forced herself to stay on the couch rather than pace the room. “I’m fine. Really.”
“You have a monster trying to kill you, you’re thrown into a situation with a man you don’t even know, one you’re forced to sleep with, but you’re okay?” Morganna stared back at her, disbelieving. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“What do you want me to tell you?” she asked the other woman with no more than a hint of the anger that she felt at the situation. “He’s bossy, domineering, and that fucking drug Jansen Clay shot me full of, too many times, ensures that I’m ready to fuck on a moment’s notice. Having him in my bed is hell. I’m not sleeping. And I’m not fucking happy with the situation. Is there anything else you need to know?”