She laughed. “Tested?”
“Two months ago. I’m clean.”
“Gor blimey, then just get on with it.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up.
She started to unbutton his shirt. “Bugger this.” She grabbed each side and ripped. Buttons flew and pinged across the room.
His grin grew. “You want me bad.”
She leaned in and sucked on the side of his neck, marking him. He hissed.
His hands went back to her bare skin and pulled and jerked the robe away until it fell behind her, only hanging on to her shoulder and elbow.
“Are you on the pill?” he asked as his hands ran up her thighs.
“Children aren’t an option for me. Can’t have them. I’m sterile.” His hand stopped and she opened her eyes, looking at him. He seemed angry.
“I’m not lying.” Fuck, she didn’t want to get into this now. “You want my bloody medical records?”
He blinked and shook his head. “Sorry. Someone lied to me once and tried to get me to marry them by lying about a pregnancy.”
“Fine, I’ll kill the bitch tomorrow, can we just get on with it?” Her breath shuddered out.
His fingers gripped the backs of her thighs, his arm muscles bunched. And still those eyes burned. She took his face in her hands. “I will never be able to have kids. No amount of medicine or technology will change that.”
She kissed him. She didn’t want to think about what she couldn’t do, what was lost to her because of . . .
No.
She wanted to forget. Forget and just live in the moment. Too many reminders lately. Too many dark thoughts.
“Kiss me,” she urged him. “Make love to me. Or I’ll tie you to the bed.”
He laughed, his features easing. “Promises, promises.”
He grazed one finger so near, so near. She wiggled and he slapped her ass. “My way.”
“Your way would take all bloody night.”
“A man does have fantasies.”
Then those fingers were skimming her, running the length of her. Her breath shuddered out.
“God, you’re wet already.”
His fingers pierced her and she arched, moaning as his teeth brought a nipple into his mouth. Wicked hands. They played her until she was writhing against the door, moaning.
“Please, please. Ian. Please.” She looked into the blue depths of his eyes. The hardened features on his face.
He grinned, but it wasn’t amused. She felt one of his hands leave her, felt him opening his pants.
“Hurry,” she said again, rocking against him.
Ian looked into her eyes and wondered what madness possessed them. He wanted, just for now, to forget everything. Everything but her and what they pretended to be.
She was so damn responsive. Matching him in need, in wants, in his world where shadows met light and still were black. Where there was rarely any sanity.
Finally, he freed himself. She was there, her legs locked around him, her robe half hanging off of her, waiting.
For him.
He played her again with his fingers, dancing over the bundle of nerves that . . .
She gasped and arched. He grinned, fitted himself to her and surged inside.
God she was tight, wet, and felt . . .
Right.
He watched her eyes widen as she pulled back and slid back on him.
Without a word, he shook his head, hooked first one arm, then his other beneath her knees, keeping his hands on the wall. He slid even deeper and she moaned.
Her breathing quickened.
“My way,” he said, keeping control of the pace, of her, of them.
Her head tilted back and the long line of her neck was beautiful in the low light of the bedroom, her skin dark and beckoning against his own.
He pushed against her.
“I’ve wanted this,” he muttered, still watching her, watching the way he could make this woman who was so in control lose it.
Was there anything more alluring?
Her legs trembled. “Ian. Gawd. Ian.”
He drove deeper, harder, faster. Sweat broke out on his forehead.
“I can do this to you,” he whispered into her ear, just as he plunged again.
She gasped for breath, bit her bottom lip, and flew apart, her inner muscles vising around him.
He followed her over the peak, groaning into her neck.
His heart slammed against his chest, answered in the pound of hers, beat as one with a woman he wished was real.
Chapter 17
November 15, 1:33 a.m.
Rori grazed a finger over Ian’s chest, her head resting on his shoulder. The sheets were twisted around their bodies; the room was dark now with the exception of the nightlights of D.C. permeating the room. The apartment was quiet, the only noise the faint hum of the heater kicking on.
His heart beat against her ear, his arm holding her and his fingers tracing patterns on her hipbone. His other arm was bent behind his head.
“What did you mean?” he asked, his voice gruff.
She frowned. “About what?”
“Not having kids. What happened?”
He would zero in on that, wouldn’t he?
She started to roll away, but he didn’t move, only tightened his hold on her.
“If you don’t want to tell me, fine. Just stay where you are.” He didn’t lessen his hold on her.
She waited, tensed. She wasn’t going into that tonight. Tonight had been too wonderful; she wasn’t about to ruin it talking about that, let alone even think about it.
Rori took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
“That bad, huh?” He turned and kissed her forehead.
How could the man make her feel weak and strong all at the same time?
She waited. The night surrounded them.
Normally, this was where she got up and left. There were only three men she’d spent an entire night with, two of which she’d never questioned the next morning. Others were simply quick fucks.
She’d thought that Ian Kinncaid would be the latter.
But she knew, knew in the deepest part of her, this man holding her would be one of the former and maybe even something else.
She shied from the thought.
“If you’re not going to tell me, at least stop thinking,” he muttered against her forehead.
“You can go to sleep, ya know.”
He grunted. “Not as loud as you’re thinking.”
She propped her head up on her hands and looked at him. They were in the shadows and she couldn’t even make out his features, just the outline of his head, dark against the pillow.
“Well, since we’re both awake, how ’bout another bang?” Rori leaned in and kissed him.
“Another bang? As in you want to play with my SIG?”
“Told you I knew how to handle a gun.”
“A bang.” She heard the grin in his voice. “I love it when you go Brit on me.” His chuckle rumbled against her chest.
*****
9:45 a.m.
Rori looked at the little girl sitting quietly on the couch. She was coloring on a sheet of white paper, blue lines and red squiggles. Rori had no freaking clue what she was supposed to do with the girl all day.
Ian had left early, telling her to go wherever, as long as she took one of the guards with her.
Like she couldn’t guard one little girl?
Maybe they’d go shopping. Sounded like a plan to her. There were several shops downstairs.
She smiled as she rose and walked back to the bedroom. The sheets were twisted on the bed and she couldn’t help but remember exactly why they were so twisted. Ian had merely screwed her against the door, they’d then gone to the bed and he’d shown her she could beg for just about anything.
She grinned and breathed deep. Like housekeeping wouldn’t know what the hell had happened in here. But then, they were expected to be doing the deed, weren’t they?
In
the bathroom, she looked at her reflection. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”
She shook off the thoughts and quickly dressed in slacks, a button-down, and a jacket. She strapped her piece at her waist, the holster hidden at the small of her back. Technically, that was illegal. Policemen tended to frown on people carrying a concealed weapon, but she wasn’t about to go out without one. If it came down to her and Darya and she couldn’t avert their harm because she’d left her piece at home, well . . . that was simply unacceptable.
She turned and in the doorway stood Darya holding a picture. Hiding behind it, more like.
“’allo,” Rori said, squatting down. She tilted her head and reached out, taking the picture.
There were three stick figures on it. A man, a woman, and a little girl. They all had big heads, but the hair color and eyes were all correct. She had to grin at the fact both she and clearly Ian held guns. Big guns.
Smiling, she looked at Darya and said, “Thank you.” She clutched the picture to her and stood, holding her hand out.
Rori knew the girl probably couldn’t understand her. But she set the drawing on the counter and asked if Darya wanted her to braid her hair. She motioned, then acted like she was doing it on the girl’s head.
Darya frowned, then her expression cleared and she nodded.
Rori picked her up and set her on the counter, facing the mirror.
She picked up the detangling comb they used on the little girl. With her hair, tangles were inevitable. She grabbed the bottle of spritzy stuff one of the aunts had left yesterday. Maybe it was Taylor? Yeah, the redhead.
Rori carefully combed the little girl’s hair. So soft, and an image popped into her head.
Sitting just like this, in one foster home, the lady carefully combing her own hair, laughing at something.
Mrs. Rittlebaum. Rori smiled at the memory. They’d been nice enough, but the husband had died unexpectedly and the kids had been put back in the system.
Not perfect by any means. Her next home had been hell.
Shaking off the thoughts, she focused on the hair in front of her.
It was too quiet in here. One thing, these Kinncaids knew how to keep guests happy. There were stereos in the bathrooms.
She clicked the radio on and found a country station. She loved country music and this was a George Strait.
Rori hummed along with the cowboy and then sang the song with him about a man bemoaning the fact his woman had left him.
She missed a word and her voice faltered. Darya giggled.
Rori smiled at her and parted her hair, braiding it. So soft. The girl had gorgeous hair, down past her shoulders and full of curls that so many women paid money for.
As she got to the end of the braid, smaller and smaller, she stopped and dug through the vanity draws until she found a band to put around it. She wondered where they’d come from, but since they’d been here, housekeeping and hotel staff, once cleared, had been in and out bringing packages, food, clothing, more stuff than she could keep track of.
Looking in the mirror, she wiped both palms along the sides of the girl’s hair, smoothing the flyaways. Without thinking, she placed a kiss on top of the girl’s head.
Darya frowned.
Rori frowned, then shook her head. Cute kid, nothing more.
She helped Darya off the counter and they went to the girl’s room and chose an outfit to wear. In five minutes both were ready to go.
*****
5:04 p.m.
The sun was setting as they drove through the late afternoon traffic out of D.C. and into the suburbs. Concrete and rising buildings gave way to newer sprawling shopping complexes and discount stores. Homes and housing units.
He’d spent the day talking to Pete, going over intel report after intel report. Three raids were set up on brothels by several tasks forces thanks to what he knew. Maybe they’d free some girls without anyone getting killed.
Between what he’d seen and what he knew, what Pete knew, and then after lunch, when John joined them, they’d been able to see how large Elianya’s operation really was. Or what they knew of it.
Right now, it seemed her newest operation was child porn hidden behind the innocent image of overseas adoptions.
It made him sick. They handed the tape they’d confiscated from the town house to Pete. He’d had to watch it again.
The big pale man, raping the young girl, finally squeezing the life out of her, and he knew Darya had seen that.
Those large male hands hurting that girl.
That girl.
Zoy. The image looked so much like Darya for several moments in the viewing room, he couldn’t freaking breathe, felt the ice prickle over his skin, swallowed by the heat, and thought his head would explode.
God.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he glanced in the back and saw Darya sleeping against the side of the large car seat, her chin resting against the shoulder harness. She clutched the bear tightly in her hands. She hadn’t had any more nightmares again last night. Just that first one. Thankfully the memories left her alone after that. It seemed the girl had nightmares every night.
He wanted to buy her more gifts. Clothes, toys. Most of all, he wanted to show her life could hold laughter.
Wasn’t that ironic. He who never laughed wanted to teach the concept of happiness to a child.
God, he needed help.
Over an hour later, they were only minutes from his parents. His parents had gone home yesterday, finally. He loved his parents, really, but it had been so long since he’d had any contact with them, he found himself trying to read them. Read the questions in their eyes they weren’t asking, or why they were asking, and tired of the endless questions they did ask of his past.
The boys had gone home with their wives, and their selective guards. John was watching Aiden and Jesslyn since he’d watched them before. Snake was with Gavin and Taylor, and both Tanner and Roth were with his parents at the family mansion. Since Brayden and Christian still lived there half the time along with Tori, he figured they could use two guards.
He and Rori drove the Mercedes. A dark unmarked car drove behind them with two more guards. Personally, he thought it was overdone, but Pete was stubborn.
Fine, so was he.
“Did she get anything today?” he asked into the silence.
Rori jerked and looked over at him, her profile tinged green from the dash lights. “Not at first. She put back everything I handed her.” She frowned. “I think I need to learn to speak Russian.”
He grinned. “I’ll teach you.”
She muttered something under her breath. “But she finally picked out some drawing paper and crayons. I didn’t know what to get so she’s now set to draw whatever the hell she wants with any instrument known to children.”
“Good.” He patted his breast pocket and took out a cigarette, cracking the window.
“You know,” she said. “You really shouldn’t smoke. Secondhand smoke isn’t healthy for her, and even if she doesn’t directly breathe it, the allergens on your clothing can cause allergies later in her life.”
He narrowed his eyes on the road. God, he wanted a damn cigarette. Fine.
He tossed the unlit cig out the window and crammed the rest of the pack under the seat, feeling the butt of the other gun he’d shoved there.
Pete had let him take a few other things with him as well, and they were in the backseat in the black duffel.
His cell phone rang. Grabbing it, he noted it was Aiden’s home number.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re always so cheerful when you answer the phone,” Aiden said.
Ian took a deep breath. His family was going to take some getting used to. Like acclimating to a new location.
“What?” he asked again.
“Where are you?”
He glanced at the next mile marker and told Aiden, “About five minutes from your house.”
“Good, then we’ll leave. T
he mood Mom and Dad’s been in, we really don’t care to spend any more time with them than we have to.”
“Add it to the list,” he said, thinking of his screwups where his family was concerned.
“List?” Aiden asked.
“Never mind.”
“See you at dinner.”
“Aiden,” he said and shifted lanes, “will everyone be there?”
“Far as I know. Gavin’s already phoned, he’s going to be late, but Taylor and Ryan are already at Mom and Dad’s. Brayden and Christian are not too far behind you.”
Ian grunted and hung up the phone.
He drove on in silence and thought about the tension he was causing between his parents. He hadn’t meant to. He’d never told anyone why he’d left. Never hinted to Aiden why he’d never come home, no matter how many times his brother asked him.
Well, nothing could be changed. He’d just have to live with it.
Rori leaned over and turned the radio on, flipping through the channels until she clicked on a country song.
“No, too hip-hop. Don’t like them.” She clicked on, seemingly going to a certain station as she passed over several he remembered listening to.
Slow, waltzing notes twanged through the car as the man sang of lost love. Rori smiled and settled back in her seat. She hummed the tune, one he’d never heard, but then he wasn’t a big country fan, and then softly sang.
He listened more to her than he did the male vocalist. Learn something new . . .
She was a bit off-key. He looked at her and grinned.
“What?” she asked, her voice the normal clipped syllables.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Just enjoying listening to you.”
She settled back and hummed again.
As they passed Aiden’s turnoff, he saw headlights down the driveway heading toward the highway. How in the hell Aiden could live this close was beyond him. Never could he live right here next to Mom and Jock. It would drive him up the wall.
A few minutes later, he slowed and turned into the long drive. Lighted windows winked through the trees from the house. They passed through the gates and he realized he could get Pete to put some guards out here.
“I don’t understand you when I see where you came from,” she muttered.
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