by Dawn Ryder
“I couldn’t agree more, baby.”
She grabbed his shoulders, feeling a wildness surging along her limbs. The first touch of his cock sent past her lips a primitive sound she’d never made before.
But it felt perfect.
“I love the way we communicate.” His voice was harsh, almost unintelligible. But he gripped her hips and sent his dick tunneling inside her.
“And I love the feel of your pussy clasping my cock.”
Her eyelids were heavy, and all she wanted to do was sink into the feeling of being stretched by his cock. But she forced herself to look into his eyes, and the hunger blazing there was worth the effort. It mirrored her own, adding more fuel to the inferno.
“Faster,” she demanded, her thighs tightening around his lean hips. “I thought you claimed to be a man of action.”
A soft slap landed on the top half of her bottom cheek. “Want to test my worth? I can arrange that, baby.”
He felt larger than before. The walls of her passage were stinging but not enough to detract from the insane rush of delight each thrust gave her. She really was a bitch; she could feel the animal inside her clawing and biting its way past civilized behavior. She didn’t want to be his equal, she wanted to be fucked. But more than that, she wanted to match his pace, and she moved her hips in time with his, lifting to take each forward thrust. Pleasure tightened in her belly, twisting and contorting until she jerked forward, grinding against Mercer while her climax tore away every last shred of awareness. There was only the blinding, white-hot flash of enjoyment so intense, every muscle strained toward it.
Mercer growled, low, deep, and savage. It suited the moment and the way he gripped her hips while driving his cock as deep as possible. A second ripple of pleasure jolted her when his climax produced a scathing outburst of profanity. Her eyes flew open, a moan escaping her lips. But speech was beyond her grasp because she’d forgotten to breathe. She drew in deep gulps of air to fend off the waves of dizziness threatening to drag her down into the pool of satisfaction her climax left behind.
“Christ … that was intense…”
Mercer flattened one hand on the countertop, his body shaking like hers was. But he kept a solid arm around her, holding her securely while they both recovered.
“My neighbors are going to call the cops,” she groused when she regained enough strength to open her eyes and discovered she could see through the kitchen window. With only a half curtain, privacy wasn’t really ensured.
Mercer smirked at her. “I guess I don’t need to apologize for keeping my pants on. Let them wonder if we’re really doing what it looks like we’re doing.”
Zoe groaned and pushed him away. “Easy for you to say, you don’t have to deal with them at homeowners’ meetings. Some of them are mighty free with their opinions.”
He closed his fly before bending down and retrieving her pants.
“Considering how impulsive we are, maybe a full curtain is in order.”
He was teasing her, his voice rich and edged with amusement while he nuzzled her neck.
Zoe blushed because her underwear was still lying on the tile. But she threaded her feet into her pants while Mercer stole her breath with a tiny bite. He lifted her hips so she could finish pulling her pants up but he didn’t back off to allow her off the counter. “Is that some kind of promise that I’ll see you again? Because your performance record isn’t very exemplary to date.”
“If that window had been open, your neighbors would be able to testify as to just how good my performance record is—”
The kitchen window shattered with a pop. A second later she was facedown on the floor, Mercer’s weight heavy on her back as he pressed her down.
“Who’s shooting, Zoe?”
His tone had gone razor-sharp and as cold as a glacier. His knee was in the center of her back and his hand on the back of her neck.
“What the hell are you talking about? Some kid likely threw a rock because he saw us.” She kept her voice even because newly returned servicemen were often a bit jumpy. “It wasn’t a gunshot.”
She expected him to ease up; instead, he ground his knee into her back. Pain shot down her spine and she began to struggle. Post-traumatic stress disorder was no laughing matter. She had to get his mind back in the present, fast.
“Get off me. This isn’t … wherever you just got back from.” She pushed against the floor but he remained unmovable. “My neighbors don’t have guns, Mercer.”
But he did.
She froze when a turn of her head brought her nose-to-muzzle with a handgun. The thing was coal black and wrapped securely in Mercer’s hand.
“Where in the hell did you have that?” she demanded.
“What? Did you think I was going to be an easy kill?” He pressed the muzzle of that weapon against her skull with a confidence that chilled her. “Don’t move.”
Shock held her still, the muzzle of the gun too real to dismiss. In a detached, this-can’t-really-be-happening way she was slightly curious, having watched scenes like this on television, but the cold tile beneath her cheek made her shiver because it confirmed that no commercial break was going to show up to save her.
Mercer flipped open a cell phone. “My cover’s blown. Someone just took a shot at me through the kitchen window.”
“What do you mean your cover?” she demanded.
Another pop sounded, followed by several more. The window past the cabinets shattered in a wall of falling glass.
“Still want to tell me no one’s shooting at me?” Mercer accused.
The sounds were echoing in her ears while she stared dumbfounded at the broken glass coating her kitchen title. It fell from the countertop in little, tinkling waterfalls while the horrible reality sank in.
“They’re shooting at both of us.”
Someone kicked in her front door but Mercer wasn’t waiting for their assistance. He yanked her up and sent her rolling through the kitchen doorway. He came up on one knee, his gun level, and fired off three rounds without hesitating.
He looked like a complete stranger.
Harley was screaming. Whoever had come through the door ran past him and on to the kitchen. There was suddenly a second man crouching on her tile and firing a gun. She scooted away, full of disbelief. She banged her knees on the hard floor but it wasn’t enough to keep her from getting to her feet and running out the opposite door of the kitchen. Her thoughts were jumbled, racing too fast to make sense of, but Harley was still screaming so she went to his cage and opened the door.
The parrot jumped at her, digging his talons into the soft jersey of her top.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Mercer grabbed her biceps and jerked her around to face him.
“Someplace where there isn’t gunfire,” she snarled. His grip was painful and the confidence with which he held the handgun scared the crap out of her. “Let go, you’re hurting me.”
“Too bad.”
His tone was glacier-cold once more. He jerked her around and Harley gave a squawk of displeasure.
“Get rid of the bird.”
“Like hell. I’m not telling my dad I left his bird behind in a firefight.”
She intended to say something else but the sight of Mercer’s shoulder silenced her. Bright-red blood was dripping unchecked down his arm. A groove was cut through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, and the remaining sleeve was saturated.
“You’re hit.” Her voice was a shocked whisper.
He propelled her toward the garage. “Congrats, but it will take a better shot than that to put me down. We’re clearing out.”
His last statement was for the other man who had kicked in the front door. He was every bit as powerfully built and his eyes had the same cold look in them when he glanced at her.
“Why did you say ‘congrats’?”
She was already in the garage when she managed to get the question past her lips. Everything was happening too fast. It didn�
�t seem real, couldn’t be, not when she was inside her own home. All around her were the trappings of her life, but then she caught the scent of fresh blood and looked at Mercer’s shoulder. The wound slapped her with just how real it was. Someone had tried to kill him in her kitchen, and he believed she was in on it.
“I had nothing to do with—”
“Get in. We’ll all be dead in another few minutes if we stay here.” He shoved her toward the van, which was still loaded with the parrot party stage. His friend had yanked the sliding door open and she tumbled through it while trying to control Harley. The parrot extended his wings and fluttered with outrage. Zoe rolled over, trying to maintain her grip on his body, and heard the door slam.
“Make it good, Greer. They’ve had time to reposition,” Mercer growled to his companion.
“Not that much time, we might make it.”
The might in his response chilled her blood.
Greer punched the accelerator the moment the garage door was high enough. The van swayed dangerously, the tires skidding when he took the turn into the street too fast. The crazy, drunken pitching of the vehicle didn’t faze him any. He used his muscular arms to yank the steering wheel around as the engine roared from how hard he pushed on the accelerator.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded as she was flung against the portable cage, Harley hanging on to her for dear life. His talons were digging into her skin, drawing blood. His beak was sunk into the center of her bra.
“Trying not to get killed by your partners.”
Zoe got a look at Mercer around Harley and his expression was hard. The gun was tucked into the front of his waistband, low enough to conceal it from anyone driving past them. Greer had eased off the frantic pace and settled into the flow of traffic.
Fear slammed into her, intense enough to nauseate her. It sent her looking around the van, seeking escape.
Mercer carries a gun.
She shivered, the memory of her suspicion rising above her growing terror. She should have given the impulse more credit.
A phone buzzed and Mercer picked it up. “Yeah … we’re clear.”
“He needs a medic,” Greer announced loud enough to be overheard by the caller.
Her attention returned to Mercer’s arm. At some point, he’d grabbed a towel and wiped the blood away so it wasn’t so noticeable. But she could still smell the metallic scent of it.
“Who are you?”
Mercer turned to stare at her. There wasn’t a trace of the man she’d gotten to know in the last two days. All that faced her was a hardened man who condemned her with his stony expression.
“You’ve been made, Zoe. You and your family members are going to stand trial for treason.”
“You’re insane,” she announced.
She needed to think but her brain felt frozen with shock. Hadn’t she just been having sex with Mercer? Hadn’t her life been normal and gun-free?
But the van engine surged forward, confirming the reality of the situation. It still seemed surreal. She could see the tops of larger vehicles passing by the windows. Harley was holding on to the outside of his travel cage now and glaring at her.
Why had she packed the back of the van so tightly?
The rear doors were useless for escaping, which left the large sliding side door. She sat up, trying to gain an idea of where they were but, more important, hoping for a traffic light that might stop them long enough for her to make a break for it.
“Down.”
She snapped her face around to see Mercer leveling the pistol at her. Disbelief held her still while she searched his face for any hint of the man she’d so foolishly let become her lover.
“I’ll put a slug through your leg the second you reach for that door.”
There was no hint of hesitation in his tone; even Harley mumbled in response. She reached out and stroked the parrot.
“Yeah, Harley, he is an asshole.”
But one with a gun.
* * *
“You’re out of your mind.”
Or she was stuck in a nightmare. Possibly both.
Greer didn’t seem to be interested and only continued to strong-arm her up the driveway of a plush Malibu home. A security gate slid closed behind them, sending another bolt of fear through her. The house built into the hillside sported tinted windows like most of its neighbors.
Only today, Zoe didn’t think that tinting was to shield against the powerful California sun.
“Where the hell is your badge?” she demanded. The shock was wearing off.
She turned on Greer, calling on every bit of coaching her father had given her. He underestimated her and she sent a palm strike directly at his unguarded throat. Recognition of what she was doing registered on his face and he threw himself backward to lessen the impact, but she still broke free while he was cussing.
But she ended up facing two more men. One raised an eyebrow, clearly warning her, but in his hand was a badge. She had to look at it for a long time because it wasn’t a familiar shield, like local police. The word FEDERAL showed quite clearly, though.
She turned around to find Greer reaching for her. His throat was turning red. “Try that again and I’ll break your arm.”
“You failed to identify yourself; I have the right to defend myself against kidnappers.” She faced off with him, her entire body rebelling. “What is going on here?”
“That’s what you’ll be telling us,” Greer informed her. There was a glint in his eyes that sent a chill down her spine. It promised her he was a man who got what he wanted, no matter the method needed to achieve his goal.
Well … he’s in for a disappointment with me …
“Not without a lawyer,” she muttered, but she did turn and start walking.
She looked back at the house. The thing looked like it was looming over her now that she was closer to it. The security team behind her only completed the feeling of being trapped.
From the outside, the house looked imposing enough, but across the threshold it became worse. There were gun racks running along the walls near the door. Resting in those organizational units were high-powered rifles. There were also handguns and spare clips, all loaded. Large flat-screen televisions were just about everywhere, displaying scenes of the exterior of the house and even one that had a shot of her desk. Her jaw dropped as she blinked but the picture didn’t change. It was her desk, all right, her morning coffee cup sitting right where she’d left it.
Greer pulled her along and into what looked like a high-tech lab of some sort. Part of her expected a director to show up any moment to yell Cut, but no one came to her rescue. Instead, Greer tugged her past tables with electronic tools and components on their surfaces. Nothing was messy; it all looked organized and precise.
Which only added to her growing alarm. There was a realism that just couldn’t be faked.
“Sit down, Ms. Magnus. I want to know why one of my men got shot in your company.”
Zoe looked toward the doorway that led to the kitchen. The man standing there looked misplaced because he wasn’t the homey type at all. She also recognized him from the bar. Saxon’s face was lean, the sort of hardness that went along with prime conditioning.
Just like Mercer …
Her eyes narrowed as her mind latched onto the fact that she had been worked over. Her pride wasn’t just stung, it was on fire.
“Your man? Your man is the one who brought a gun into my life, and people who carry guns tend to attract the same sort. So you can explain to me why my kitchen just got shot up.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Right after you show me your badge and provide me with a legal representative.”
“Nice try, Zoe, but Saxon isn’t going to bend under your innocent act.”
She turned around to find Mercer leaning in a door frame that led somewhere else in the house. Pain slashed through her, startling her with its intensity. He looked quite at home.
I’m a goddamn idiot.
“
You’re supposed to be with the medic,” Saxon replied. He had the same arrogant authority in his voice, but the men in the room all responded to it.
“Thais did her worst and pronounced me ‘going to live.’ It’s just a graze.” Thick gauze was wrapped around his shoulder, and a new T-shirt covered his chest now. Relief mixed with the pain still tingling inside her. Zoe looked away before he read her emotions off her face.
“Nice to know I can appreciate a botched job from time to time. Better timing on their part and you’d be bleeding out on her kitchen floor,” Saxon muttered before moving farther into the room. He tugged something out of his pocket and tossed it across the room to land on the table nearest her. Backed on a solid piece of leather, the badge looked exceptionally shiny. She picked it up, studying it.
“Special agent can mean a whole lot of things,” she said before dropping it back onto the table. She found herself fighting the urge to look at Mercer but realized she was doing it because she didn’t want to see him flip out a badge. “Besides, you’re supposed to identify yourselves before shoving me into a vehicle.”
“You were under fire, which makes it a protective motion,” Saxon informed her. “If you want to incriminate my team, get the charge right.”
“Fine, your men are my heroes.” She fluttered her eyelids a few times, earning herself a scowl from Saxon.
“My man was undercover.”
Undercover. She cringed. There was no way to remain unmoved. Her emotions burned too hot for that.
“What the hell is that?”
Saxon looked beyond her, and Zoe turned to find one of his men carrying Harley’s travel cage.
“He’s my parrot,” Zoe hissed. She reached for the handle of the cage, and the man gladly gave it to her.
“You said he was a one-man bird.”
There was a note of incrimination in Mercer’s voice. “Who is Harley’s man? Your dad or your brother?” His eyes were still cold. “Which one is your accomplice? Or is it both?”
“I’d accuse you of being irrational but I actually think you’re just plain insane.”
“Looks like the passion has gone cold.” Saxon took command of the situation with a single sentence.