by Lora Leigh
It was like flying. Risa had never known such freedom of pleasure, just intensity, as she felt in Micah’s arms. She watched, her gaze centered between their bodies as he took her. Her flesh parting, hugging the hard, flushed shaft as he filled her, then left her empty, only to fill her again.
Her hands gripped the hard biceps as he held himself up by his powerful arms. Thrusting against her, filling her with the heated power of his hunger, his thrusts.
The pleasure was never-ending now. She arched to each thrust, watching as he retreated, gasping each time he filled her. She was dying in his arms and she didn’t care. Flying until a ragged cry tore from her chest and she exploded around him again.
He lay fully over her then, his arms curling beneath her, his hands holding on to her as his thrusts increased, each driving stroke pushing her own orgasm higher until he gave a hoarse groan and spilled his release inside her.
Satiation held its own moments of peace. Those minutes spent drifting back to reality, where nothing mattered but the sensation of fulfillment, completeness.
Risa let herself luxuriate in that feeling. In the satisfying sense of being bound to someone else, if only for this moment.
She didn’t want to lose it. She didn’t want to let him go until reality and the danger surrounding her forced her to.
She wanted to lie, just like this, forever. She wanted to capture this moment within her soul and know that when the loneliness came, she could take it out and relive the feeling.
She let her fingers test the resiliency of his shoulders; she felt the morning shadow of a beard against her cheek.
“You make me damned weak, Risa,” he finally groaned, shifting from her but going to his side as he dragged her against his chest.
“You’re always strong,” she said softly, and she knew it was the truth.
But she had her own strength. A strength she hadn’t known she had. One she had found in the realization that nothing was as it seemed.
Perhaps, she thought, she had grown up last night when she had stepped into that room, seen her friends gathered there and the pictures that were laid out.
They had all seen the pictures. They had known her shame, and they felt pity for her. But she didn’t pity herself, at least not any longer.
“When you leave,” she whispered against his chest, “will I ever see you again?”
And she knew the answer to that.
“No.”
She hadn’t expected the truth from him.
“Risa.”
She moved, covering his lips with her fingers and staring back at him soberly.
“No excuses,” she said firmly. “No apologies. And no lies. Thank you for that.”
But she had to force back the tears, because a part of her had dreamed of hearing the lie.
Micah kept his lips closed; he kept his thoughts to himself when they threatened to spill from his lips with all the dreams he knew he wasn’t supposed to have.
Instead, his hand lifted, his fingertips caressing over her silken lips as he stared down at her. No promises, he reminded himself. No lies. From here on out, from this moment on, he could never lie to her. He could never do anything to make her pain greater.
He had to leave her. Soon, the day would come that he would walk from his other half.
That knowledge tore into him like dull knives. It ripped at his soul; it shredded the man he was and left only Risa’s man in its place.
“Belibi tamid.” In my heart always. He couldn’t give her what she needed, he couldn’t be the man she needed, but he had given her his heart. He knew it. He accepted it. Just as he knew he could never reveal that to her.
A smile trembled at her lips, a saddened curve as her blue eyes moistened with tears. As though she knew what he couldn’t speak.
Her hand cupped his cheek. “It’s day,” she said then, her voice rougher; the emotion that filled it had his jaw clenching with such pain that he wondered how he breathed through it.
“It’s day,” he agreed.
She nodded slowly, slid her hand from his cheek, then turned away.
Micah watched as she moved from the bed, her naked body graceful, beautiful.
“I’ll shower first,” she told him. “I promise to save you some hot water.”
Not that she had ever used it all. But he knew what her escape hid. It hid her tears.
CHAPTER 20
IT WAS NEARLY noon before Micah received a call from Jordan to meet with the team in the other apartment while Emily Krieger, Morganna McIntyre, and Kira Richards took bodyguard duty.
Risa watched as her friends stepped into the room and the door closed behind them.
“It’s too early for wine.” She shrugged negligently as she moved to her desk and began arranging the accounts still awaiting her. “There’s coffee though.”
She turned back to the other three women and felt her lips tremble at the sight of the tears on Emily’s face.
Damn, she loved Emily like a sister. Several years older than Risa, Emily had been kidnapped the night Risa had. She had been drugged. She hadn’t been raped, but Risa knew the scars ran deep in Emily’s soul from that night.
“You’re not allowed to cry.” Risa felt a tear track down her own cheek and swiped at it hastily. “The time for crying is over for me, Emily.”
Risa wanted it to be over. She needed these three women to believe it was over. When Micah was finished here and he left, then she would want solitude. She would need time for her tears, and she would need it alone. She wouldn’t shed any more before then.
“Does that mean we’re not friends any longer, Risa?” Emily asked, her voice strong despite her tears.
That was Emily. She was one of the strongest people, on the inside, whom Risa knew. Emily’s confidence had always been something Risa was in awe of, her inner strength something Risa envied.
Risa turned and braced herself against the desk.
“We’re friends,” she said simply. “Nothing’s changed.”
“Even though we lied to you about Micah? We set you up?” Yeah, that was Emily. She could go for the jugular when she needed to.
Risa’s lips quirked. “Yeah, well, I’ll just be sure to remember this the next time you try to fix me up with one of your husband’s friends.”
There wouldn’t be a next time.
“Coffee.” She cleared her throat as she turned and headed for the kitchen. “Micah drinks it faster than I do. He finishes the pot before I’ve finished the first cup.”
She was uncomfortable, and Risa hated feeling that way with the friends who had helped through the horrors of readjusting to life after nearly two years of drugged captivity in a private asylum.
She moved into the kitchen and begin preparing the coffeemaker. She wanted to turn back to them, to joke as they once had, but the time for joking was past and the future undecided.
“How long was this operation in its planning stage?” she asked the women as she finished and turned back to them.
She kept her fingers curled over the counter’s edge behind her as she watched them.
Emily breathed in deeply. “Kell told me when the information came in that you were in danger. They had a week to get a plan together.”
Risa nodded at that as her throat burned with a mix of humiliation and despair.
“Why wasn’t I told the truth?” She wasn’t angry now. The anger had been burned out of her by the truth that when this was over, Micah would be gone forever. “Did you think I couldn’t handle it?”
“We didn’t have time,” Kira stated as the three women moved to the kitchen table. “We got a workable plan together and arranged for you to meet Micah. Just meet him, Risa, to see if you could tolerate being around him. You’ve not exactly been agreeable to dating in the past six years.”
Risa’s gaze sliced toward the other woman as she smiled thinly. “Yeah, being the belle of the ball wasn’t high on my list of priorities. Could have had something to do with all those nasty littl
e nightmares that kept plaguing me.”
Kira nodded at that. “You’re stronger than I ever believed you were. But we couldn’t risk telling you before you met Micah. We weren’t certain of your strength or your ability to handle what you were facing. That’s why it was agreed that we’d wait and have the federal attorney meet with you instead.”
“Probably a wise move.” Risa nodded.
“Risa, we lied to protect you,” Emily said then. “Micah truly is a friend, as you’re aware; he’s just not an active or retired SEAL.”
“Why Micah?” She stared at the three women then. “What did they do, draw straws to see who got to babysit the neurotic mark?”
She didn’t ask the question in an angry manner. Anger wasn’t simmering; it wasn’t even lit. She was curious, but the truth of the answer frightened her.
“Micah demanded this assignment,” Kira told her, a smile curling her lips. “After a few choice phrases in Hebrew concerning Orion’s parentage. He wouldn’t let anyone else take the job.”
“You know Hebrew?” Risa asked then, her heart pounding, the words Micah had whispered to her that morning still resounding through her head.
Kira nodded. “A bit. Not a lot. Enough to know that Orion’s parents are likely lame camels lying in their own waste. Or something to that effect.”
Risa grinned at the thought of that. For a moment, a brief moment, she considered asking Kira what the phrase Micah had whispered to her meant, then changed her mind. Whatever it was, it was something between the two of them alone. Maybe later, after he was gone, she would figure it out. Until then, she would let Micah hold his secrets.
“Risa, the lies weren’t so bad,” Emily said, her blue eyes somber and filled with regret. “It was for your life.”
Risa stared back at her friend for long moments before she nodded slowly.
“I would have done the same for any of you,” she finally whispered, knowing it was the truth. “The friendship wasn’t in danger, Emily.”
No, only her life was in danger from a killer who had never been caught, and one who had never failed.
“Coffee.” Risa turned as the timer went off. “We could have used the wine, but it’s a little early for it.”
“Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” Kira drawled. “I say we do the wine first, then the coffee.”
“We’re her bodyguards,” Morganna reminded the older woman with a laugh. “We can’t have wine.”
“Sure we can.” Kira grinned. “We just can’t get tipsy. Well, except for Risa. And I think a little tipsy wouldn’t hurt her in the least.”
Risa laughed at that, though she got the coffee cups down rather than the wineglasses.
Tipsy wouldn’t hurt her, but she didn’t want to be tipsy now. She didn’t want to miss a single moment that she could spend with Micah by shadowing it with alcohol.
“So, what was so important that Jordan needed Micah?” she asked as she set the coffee on the table, grabbed her own cup, and took her seat. “He doesn’t normally call this early.”
“A CIA operative has been watching you and Micah,” Kira told her. “Nik managed to capture her just before daybreak, and they’re questioning her at the moment. Micah’s their interrogation specialist.”
Risa inhaled slowly. “The CIA? Why would they be watching me?”
“I guess we’ll find out when Micah’s finished.” Kira shrugged, though her gaze was distinctly wary. “Are you sure you don’t want that wine?”
At the moment, she really wasn’t sure.
MICAH RESTRAINED a sigh as he walked into the spare bedroom and stared at the captive bound, gagged, and blindfolded in the wooden chair that sat against one wall, devoid of the disguise she had used while watching him and Risa each time they left the apartment building. He was the team’s interrogation specialist. This was his job, and he had to do it in a way that would hide his identity from this woman—a cousin he was fond of.
They were all screwed now.
“Bailey Serborne.” He almost grinned as she remained completely motionless. “You’re slipping.”
He nodded to John; good old Heat Seeker grinned rakishly before pulling the tape from her mouth.
“Bastards!” The insult was a snarl of fury. “Do you think I don’t know what the hell is going on here? Every one of you will fry for this.”
Micah held back a chuckle. She was a wild one. She was enraged and with good cause. He had no doubt Nik didn’t play up the big bad Viking image that fit him like an old pair of jeans. Real comfortable.
Micah straddled the chair he had placed six feet in front of her and crossed his arms over the back.
“We’re in trouble here, buddy.” He looked up at John.
“Oh really?” Sandy blond brows arched in question. “How so? She looks dainty enough to me. I bet we could skin her out, chop her up in bite-sized portions, and sell her to the local dog food company. They’re always looking for cheap meat, you know.”
Micah winced. Cheap meat? he mouthed in amazement as he nearly laughed.
John grinned and shrugged.
“Cheap meat, your scrawny asses.” She fought the ropes holding her.
“Scrawny asses? She must be talking to you, Seeker,” Micah stated as he shook his head. “I have it on rather good authority that I have a nice ass.”
“Yeah, but your authority is prejudiced,” John snickered. “She’s not seen mine yet.”
“If you want to keep your ass, you’ll make sure it stays that way.” Micah frowned back at him. He didn’t consider that much of a joke.
But Heat Seeker only grinned.
“I’m talking to both you morons,” she screeched. “Let me the hell go.”
“Keep your voice down or the tape goes back over your mouth,” Micah warned her sharply. “Don’t forget, Ms. Serborne, you are the captive here, not the other way around.”
“Yeah, and the boss wouldn’t let me tie her down on the bed,” John grunted. “What kind of captor doesn’t tie his pretty captive to the bed, hm? I think we should file a complaint.”
While he spoke, John lowered his head until he was speaking against her ear, the smile on his face decidedly playful. One of these days, John Vincent was going to be forced to take something or someone seriously. Micah wanted to be there to see the fireworks.
“I’m not working alone.” She tried to slam her head into John’s. “I’ll be found.”
“Your partner’s dead,” Micah informed her. “He died in Russia in that little trap you laid for Orion. You haven’t been assigned another partner. Actually, you’re in rather a lot of trouble with your boss these days. Didn’t he tell you to back off in locating Orion?”
Micah knew the director had ordered her off the investigation she had taken upon herself.
She froze. “Sons of bitches,” she cursed. “Who the hell are you?”
“Tsk-tsk now, we’re asking the questions,” Micah chided her.
She snarled. Her lips pulled back from her teeth and the sound that came from her throat was pure throttled rage. He grinned at that. He knew how to push her buttons.
“I’m not answering your damned questions.” She struggled against her ropes again.
“I still say we sell her for cheap meat,” John reminded him. “We could get a few bucks out of her.”
“It would be tough for a Rottweiler to gnaw on,” he finally chuckled. “Our Ms. Serborne is rather stubborn.”
She was still now, her jaw working as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. He swore he could hear her molars grinding.
“She’s a pretty little thing,” John crooned, grinning wickedly as a growl sounded in her throat. “And she just makes the cutest little noises.”
Breathing roughly, shaking with anger, she remained still this time.
“You know, she took me away from a rather important day that I had planned,” Micah sighed. “I’ll tell you what, if I don’t get what I need in the next, oh…let’s say ten minutes, then you can skin h
er out and see what the going rate on cheap meat is today. How’s that?”
John laughed as he squatted next to her chair and checked the ropes holding her.
“Yeah, some old lady’s terrier will have a hell of a time chewing her up.”
“He’d just spit her out,” Micah laughed.
John wagged his brows and mouthed, Not me. Micah could only shake his head in amusement.
“Now, Ms. Serborne, I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy the preparations to make you a dog treat. So why not just tell us nicely who you’re looking for? You’re threatening our own little op here, and we don’t appreciate it.”
Her mouth remained a straight, stubborn line. Micah knew that line. Strangely enough, his father had once had the same determined, hardheaded set to his lips when he was pissed off.
She was family, sadly enough.
Micah’s father, Garren Abijah, hadn’t been Israeli. He’d been adopted by the Abijah family when his parents had been killed visiting them.
Garren Serborne had become Garren Abijah, with no objection from the American branch of the family. The blond-haired Nordic giant who Garren Abijah had later become, raised amid a Mossad family, had been recruited by the CIA with Mossad’s blessing and worked primarily in Israel.
Bailey Serborne, the little witch sitting in front of him, had been the daughter of Garren’s favorite cousin. Once they had become adults, the two men had made certain they visited often.
Ben Serborne, Bailey’s father, Bailey, and her mother had been the only American family in attendance at both Ariela and Garren Abijah’s funerals.
Bailey had cried on Micah’s shoulder. Already an agent with the CIA, she had vowed to kill Orion. He had nearly killed her instead. Orion had killed her partner, then knocked Bailey unconscious and sliced her wrists. Not enough to bleed her out, just enough to scar her for life.
The bastard was taking a toll on his family, Micah thought furiously.
“Psst, I don’t think she can answer questions if you don’t ask them,” John reminded him long moments later.