Nauti Seductress

by Lora Leigh

  There was only one Zoey Mackay.

  And that thought didn’t set well with him at all.

  —

  Sam Bryce stepped from her pickup; the glimmer of a vehicle parked on the dirt path behind the evergreen shrubs at the far end of the parking lot drew a heavy breath from her.

  God, she was tired, and she knew damned good and well that the owner of that car wasn’t out to just check out the scenery. He had far better things to do with his time. And he had a key to her apartment. She had no doubt he was waiting for her.

  Striding across the narrow strip of grass to her patio, Sam slid the patio door open and entered the apartment. Just to find out how very wrong she was.

  “Let the light out, Sam.” Chaya Mackay rather than her husband stood leaning against the counter separating the kitchen and living area, a glass of Sam’s favorite wine held loosely in her hand.

  There was a weapon clipped to her waist, a sheathed knife strapped to her thigh. Chaya wasn’t there for friendly conversation or tips on a new cookie recipe, she guessed. Son of a bitch, Mackays were getting on her last nerve.

  “You know, you’re about as ballsy as any Mackay,” Sam groused, sliding the door back into place with a heavy push.

  Chaya lifted the glass and sipped at the moscato Sam was so partial to. The look wasn’t one Sam found any comfort in either.

  “You sleeping with Zoey?” Chaya asked as she lowered the glass and stared into the clear, perfectly balanced sweet wine for a moment.

  When her gaze sliced back, piercing and curious, Sam wondered if somehow that Mackay arrogance had rubbed off on the wives. Maybe it was contagious. She’d make a note not to get too close to any of them from here on out.

  She arched her brow mockingly now, though. “Is she in my fucking bed, Chaya?”

  She tossed the shoulder pack she carried to a chair before stomping to her bedroom and removing her weapons. She locked the Glock as well as the smaller backup strapped at her ankle beneath her jeans in the wall safe, while she tried to figure out why the hell Zoey’s cousin’s wife was there.

  “Come up with an explanation for what I haven’t asked yet?” Chaya stood in the doorway, her voice amused, her golden-brown eyes like amber ice.

  “You haven’t asked a question yet,” Sam snorted. “Ask. Then I’ll worry about the answer.”

  She toed off her sneakers and pushed them beneath the chair next to the wall. The cap she wore came next before she began working the hair bands from the ponytail she kept her hair confined to while on duty.

  All the while Chaya watched her with such clinical detachment it was unnerving. The other woman’s years away from DHS hadn’t weakened her stare in the least.

  “I think you were fifteen the last time I saw you,” Chaya commented long minutes later. “All long legs, long hair, and a chip the size of Texas on your shoulder.” She sipped at the wine again while Sam waited. She didn’t have to wait long. “John David still hasn’t accepted the fact that you’ll never marry and give him grandbabies, has he, Sam?”

  Sam shot her a hard glare before pushing past her and stalking to the kitchen, where she checked the empty bottle on the counter before pulling another from the fridge.

  She normally detested wine, but the moscato she’d discovered had become one of her new favorite drinks. She’d tried a lot of drinks in the past year. Remaining silent as she worked the cork from the bottle, Sam cursed Doogan to hell and back. Somehow, he’d fucked up. He’d had to. Otherwise, the former agent wouldn’t be here drinking the last of one of her few remaining bottles of wine.

  “The next time I arrive home to find a Mackay camped out in my fucking apartment, someone’s going to regret it,” she stated, pouring half of the bottle into a wineglass.

  The bottle held two good glasses and that was it. She had a feeling she would be drinking both rather quickly.

  Finishing her wine, Chaya placed the glass on the counter, braced her hands flat against it, and leaned forward slowly, her expression cold.

  “Zoey,” she said softly. “It’s explanation time, Sam. Did you put that rather deep mark on her neck, or did Doogan do it?”

  Sam stared at the wine filling the glass. Yeah, she just might end up breaking out her reserve bottle. Tipping it to her lips, she drank half the glass, the light sweetened fruit taste washing over her taste buds and sinking into her senses.

  Lowering the glass, she turned her gaze back to Chaya. “I’m not sleeping with Zoey. And I don’t know about any damned mark on her neck.”

  The bastard. The least Doogan could have done was remained consistent. For the first time in as long as she’d known him, it seemed he’d marked a lover’s neck. He never did it. He claimed it was against his sexual policy or some shit.

  Chaya eased back, though her expression didn’t change.

  “You know, Sam,” she drawled as though amused, “I’m in a rather odd mood tonight. Why don’t you just tell me a little fairy tale? A story I might be interested in. Natches finds it rather amusing to try to get his ass out of trouble like that. You can give it your best shot if you want to.”

  “Suck my dick, Chaya,” she muttered. Lifting the glass, she finished it, then refilled it.

  Did she even have enough wine to make tonight palatable?

  Chaya chuckled at the sarcastic demand.

  “Penis envy doesn’t become you, Sam,” she chided her gently. “Now, you know, it’s always better to give me the explanations I’m asking for. Otherwise, I can become a problem. Do you want me to become your problem, Sam?”

  Sam grimaced at the threat. She remembered the first time Chaya had made that statement.

  “I’m not a kid anymore, and you’re damned sure not my fucking bodyguard these days,” Sam informed her.

  “No, I’m Zoey’s fucking family.” Chaya’s voice sliced like a frozen dagger. “Don’t turn this into a battle. I’m better at it than you are. And we both know damned good and well you’ve had something you’ve wanted to tell me for a year now and can’t get up the nerve to do it.”

  Sam rolled her eyes. “You think I’m scared of the Mackays, Chaya?” She had to laugh at that. “Don’t fool yourself. I highly respect all of you, but I’m not scared of a single damned one of you.”

  “Then you’re not near as smart as I thought you were.” Chaya crossed her arms over her dark T-shirt. “Is Doogan sleeping with Zoey? And if so, why?”

  “Why would any man sleep with her?” Sam shrugged, trying to ignore the little flare of cutting jealousy. Not that she’d ever had a chance with the black-haired little imp, but hell, she cared . . .

  “Sam.” Chaya’s expression warmed for a second, compassion shadowing her eyes. “Don’t you think I know how much you care about her? And we both know Zoey’s in trouble. A trouble you can’t fix for her.”

  No, she couldn’t fix it. God knew she wished she could. Hell, she’d even tried to. Wished it had been her Zoey had responded to, that those pale green eyes had lit up at the sight of her, rather than the sight of Doogan.

  “Something happened last year,” Chaya continued, her tone softer now. “Something that’s eating Zoey alive and causing you to camp out in your car and watch her place far too often. Now Doogan’s here apparently, sleeping with her. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “So you can tell Natches and her brother?” Sam snarled. “So they can lock her down so deep and bury her in so much protection she runs from all of us? That would get her killed faster than keeping my fucking mouth shut.”

  Chaya’s expression never changed. “You know better. But push me on this and I will go to Natches. Trust me, and I’ll do what I always do with her. Ensure her protection myself without alerting the men in the family. And before you play so charmingly dumb, I know about Zoey’s little hijinks with Clay’s group of bikers. I know about the races, the motorcycle, the black leather, and the fact that she has horrible nightmares of killing a friend.” Fury flashed in her gaze. “Now tell me what the fuck
is going on before I kick your ass myself.”

  The problem was, Chaya Mackay, despite the fifteen years she had on Sam, could probably do just that. Kick her damned ass.

  Sam pulled free the last bottle of wine and jabbed the corkscrew into the cork. God, she should have bought that bottle of whiskey she was considering just after Doogan showed up.

  Rather than using a glass, she tipped the bottle to her lips and took a long drink. Setting the bottle carefully on the counter, she stared back at Chaya silently, thoughtfully for long minutes.

  “She was drugged last year,” Sam stated then. “A hallucinogen used to brainwash the victim into believing they had done something they hadn’t done, according to Doogan.”

  Chaya stiffened, her expression turning completely emotionless.

  “Go on.” She nodded.

  Sam swallowed, the action difficult as her throat tightened with remorse and regret.

  Briefly she explained the state she’d found Zoey in at her sister’s patio door that cool spring night. Icy cold, dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and brief sleep tank. Her suspicion that Zoey had been drugged had her calling her father rather than an ambulance. The Mackays were like royalty to DHS. She had no doubt they could pull diplomatic immunity if they put their minds to it.

  Her father’s orders to hold tight, that Doogan would be there, had infuriated her. But Zoey had been adamant that she had to confess to murdering Harley Perdue. An act Sam knew Zoey simply wasn’t capable of committing.

  The blood Doogan had taken from Zoey that night had affirmed his certainty of the drug used on her. Sam’s meeting with Harley at the convenience store had assured her Harley was indeed alive. Then he’d disappeared and Sam hadn’t been able to reach him since.

  “He has breakfast with us at least twice a week,” Chaya revealed. “Though Natches doesn’t even tell Dawg and Rowdy about it. When we found him, probably just before daylight after you met him that night, he was barely alive. Someone had tried to carve his insides with a knife. And came damned close to doing it. They also managed a few hard blows to his head. He barely remembers what happened. Two men attacking him, the knife slicing him up, but little else.”

  “Wonderful.” Sam pushed her fingers through her hair, her fear for Zoey increasing. “Chaya, he has to show himself to Zoey. She has to know he’s alive.”

  “We have to figure this out first,” Chaya retorted. “Why is Doogan sleeping with her?”

  That one, Sam was really hesitant to answer.

  “Don’t play with me, Sam,” she snapped. “Why is he sleeping with her?”

  She blew out a hard breath, stared over Chaya’s shoulder a long minute, then met the other woman’s eyes.

  “Probably because he’s in love with her and too damned stupid to realize it,” she stated heavily. “Crazy in love with her. He’d kill for her, Chaya. But I also think he’d die for her.”

  And she couldn’t blame him.

  The problem was, Doogan refused to see what he felt for Zoey. The past six years hadn’t been easy ones for him. The bitter years of his marriage had caused him to shut down. With the death of his wife, his daughter, and brother two years ago, Sam had feared Doogan would never let anyone past his defenses again.

  Chaya tipped her head to the side thoughtfully.

  “And you know this, how?” she asked.

  Sam shook her head. “I guess you’d just have to know Doogan. I know Doogan. And trust me, I’ve never seen him mark a woman’s neck, and hearing that he has shocks the hell out of me. Even during his wilder days, he never left a mark on a woman’s skin. He claimed it was a very intimate, very primitive way of shouting ‘mine.’ And he wasn’t stupid enough to ever claim a woman as his. It was like asking her to shred his guts.”

  “Wonderful.” Chaya reached back and rubbed at her neck wearily. “Natches will blow a gasket once he learns who’s sharing her bed. He saw the mark earlier when she showed up to see Lyrica. It’s about to kill him, not being able to figure out who’s daring to claim his baby ‘sister,’ as he calls her.”

  Sam shrugged, lifted the wine bottle to her lips again, and finished it. Tossing the bottle to the trash, she stared at the can for long moments.

  Yeah, Doogan loved Zoey. But Zoey loved Doogan too. Sam had seen it that night when he first spoke to the younger woman, easing her drugged hysteria, calming her instantly. Zoey didn’t trust anyone instantly, drugged or not. She was wary, temperamental, and as explosive as hell. And she never trusted easily. Not like that.

  “He was married when he first saw Zoey,” Sam said softly. “A party at Clay’s about six years ago. He watched her for hours, Clay said.” She shook her head, wondering what loving someone like that would feel like. “Doogan ordered the DJ to play something slow until Doogan left the dance floor. When he did, Doogan went to Zoey and pulled her against him. They danced for an hour, Clay told me. He thought he was going to have to kick Doogan’s ass before the night was out because he was messing with Zoey while he was married. Then, at the end of a song, Doogan stepped back from her, returned her to her friends, then left. He made certain to stay away from her after that. Until last year.”

  “Interesting,” Chaya murmured, her tone thoughtful. “Tell me, Sam, do you love Zoey too?”

  Did she love Zoey?

  Sam frowned at the question, then slowly shook her head. “I care for her. I’d do her in a New York minute. But no.” Lifting her head, she met Chaya’s look directly. “I’m not in love with her. All I care about at this point is keeping her alive, Chaya.”

  ELEVEN

  Doogan was back.

  Zoey checked for the truck after parking in the front garage and moving up the metal staircase leading to the kitchen side of the living area more than two hours later.

  Lyrica had been watching her confrontation with Natches on the television in her and Graham’s room as she nursed her son. The kid might have been the quieter of the twins, but he ate so much that Lyrica had been forced to supplement his diet with baby formula.

  As she nursed her son, Lyrica was all but howling with laughter. Natches had remained standing in the hall where Zoey left him, staring up the stairs, anger and a hint of confusion filling his expression.

  He’d appeared not to know exactly what he should do at that point. It had been amusing, yes, but she hadn’t quite seen the hilarity in it her sister did.

  “Tell Graham and I’ll never speak to you,” she’d informed her sister.

  Lyrica had only laughed harder. “I swear, I won’t have to. He was watching at Walker’s Run. Along with Doogan.”

  And now she would be facing Doogan. The thought of it excited her rather than filling her with the caution she knew it should.

  As she entered the second level, the dim wall lights flipped on and Doogan stepped into the doorway of her bedroom, tucked his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, and watched her silently. The sleeves of his pristine white shirt were rolled above his wrists, the black tie hanging askew at the unbuttoned neckline.

  Yep, Doogan was pissed.

  She’d known he wouldn’t be pleased when Lyrica had revealed that Graham and Doogan had seen her confrontation with Natches. That meant Elijah and John Walker had seen it as well.

  “Did you just get in?” she asked, dropping her shoulder pack to the table at the top of the stairs. “I assumed you’d be later.”

  “Yet another miscalculation on your part tonight,” he drawled mockingly. “And here I had hoped common sense would prevail at some point.”

  Common sense? Oh, he was getting into dangerous territory now. Snide, arrogant, and far too mocking, he was working on getting his ass kicked out of her apartment.

  “Brom,” she said sweetly, using the name Lyrica had revealed Graham sometimes called him. “Please let Doogan come out to play again. I like him much better.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was deal with the same asshole tendencies her brother and cousins felt the need to display.

>   “Tell me, Zoey, seeing as you’ve only recently taken one man as a lover, what makes you think you’re ready to move into the big leagues with two, baby? Especially two Augusts? Have you experienced what it’s like to take a man anally yet? Let alone have one filling that snug little pussy at the same time? I’d suggest allowing a single lover to initiate you first. Just to be certain it’s an act you’ll enjoy.”

  Zoey swallowed tightly, the suggestion paralyzing her as the thought of Doogan initiating her hit her imagination. She couldn’t breathe. Excitement flooded her, her body sensitizing, nipples hardening, her sex becoming slick and heated.

  “Perhaps. But I’m only accepting applicants with a bit more in mind where a relationship’s concerned than it seems you do,” she informed him sweetly. “It’s that whole intimacy and trust thing, ya know?”

  “Long enough to keep you warm this winter?” he growled, his tone low, brooding. “I’ll make sure I show up every time it snows.”

  She laughed. The comment was so outrageous. If she didn’t know better she’d think he was jealous. Unfortunately, she didn’t think Doogan was into jealousy.

  “My arguments with my cousins are none of your business,” she informed him, knowing it was the wrong thing to say even as it slipped past her lips. “They can be morons and they make me insane.”

  That tacked-on little excuse wasn’t helping, if his expression was anything to go by.

  “Yet another erroneous assumption, sweetheart,” he assured her, the smooth icy tone causing her teeth to clench in irritation. “When it comes to another man, or men touching you, then I’m making it my business.”

  He was making it his business? Really? And just who the hell did he think gave him permission to do that?

  “We need to stop this now . . .” She actually tried to smooth things over rather than letting her anger, or her perverse sense of humor, get the best of her. Either one wouldn’t be a good idea at this point.