Conquered

by Angel Payne

  After he slid into his chair like that damn viscount beholding a virgin at some carnal castle feast.

  And here she was, reacting to that scrutiny with everything but the heaving bosom in the corset, attempting to string even two coherent thoughts together. What had they come in here to do again? The symbols on the papers in front of her weren’t any help. Ohhhh shit, was she in trouble.

  “All right, m’lady. Yer the one drivin’ the apple cart here. Let’s have at it, then.”

  “Huh?”

  No. Not trouble. She was all the way in the damn weeds—and Mackenna looked as if he had all afternoon to watch her struggle out. Did he have to quirk those full, firm lips like that? And brace his elbows on the table like that, emphasizing his shoulders in such muscled glory? And why did her imagination have to pick that second to run away on her, imagining what those shoulders would feel like beneath her spread fingers, bunching and coiling in time to his ruthless thrusts inside her?

  And they would be ruthless. She had no damn doubt about that. The same way she knew she’d savor every single one of them…

  “Yer the one who called the meeting,” he clarified as she tried discreetly rearranging her position. Thank God there was a corner of the conference table between them. Not that her damp panties were even visible to the man—though she wouldn’t put it past him to have X-ray vision on top of his other god-level powers. “So I’m here and…at your service.”

  She wasn’t sure whether to deck him or return the smirk he got in with the statement’s purposeful pause. Holy shit, the man even smirked with purpose. She just wished that intention didn’t feel so aligned with what was happening between her thighs. She also wished he didn’t look so much like he thoroughly knew that, even as she reached for the stack of personnel files neatly positioned just a foot to her side, right where she’d left them specifically for reviewing during this meeting.

  “Well, I think you have that wrong.” She actually had to smile then, to dilute the snippy verbiage. Why did it feel like she got the ratio of businesslike and flirtatious all wrong? She smiled at male colleagues all the time and had never second-guessed herself like this—though to be fair, she’d never smiled at any of them while attempting not to undress them with her gaze.

  Oh, dear cripes.

  “Yes, errmmm…” She opened the first file with a decisive whoosh. “Wrong. You. I mean, you’re not wrong wrong; you just—well—this is more about how I can be of service to you—”

  He jogged up a tawny brow, and her guts turned into a nervousness parfait. “Is that so?”

  “I—” Oh, gawd. “I mean—”

  “Jen.” His soothing tone did nothing for her rampaging senses. Neither did the press of his hand atop hers and how he curled his fingertips around the outside edge of hers. “Take a breath. I don’t bite.” Then, after he squeezed in a little tighter, “Hard.”

  Wasn’t he the funny one? Like she’d ever be able to “breathe” normally again, after just one tiny contact of her skin with his. And hell, his hold was just as warm and firm and confident and masculine as she’d imagined it would be. But his command wasn’t restricted there. It permeated his voice. Extended far beyond his not-so-subtle flirtation, becoming a dictate she couldn’t—nor wanted to—ignore. So she didn’t. She took one deep breath. Another. They were enough to lend her fresh composure, along with the reminder that even their handclasp was violating at least a dozen rules of conduct—not that the insolent Scot seemed to mind or care. Which sure as hell didn’t mean she couldn’t.

  “All right, then.” Cursing and thanking herself for it, she pulled her hand back to rest on top of the first file she’d opened and forced herself to focus on the name at the top. Rodric Camden. “This isn’t going to take long. Just need to make sure I’ve got the basics correct for everyone on your squad, along with double-checking that they’re getting settled in okay and have everything they need for their stay here.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He coiled his tone back to professional coolness, even settling back into his chair and parking an ankle onto the opposite knee. For the next fifteen minutes, she succeeded in cooling her own jets long enough to get through the first third of the files in the pile. Unbelievably, her pulse evened out to a survivable rate again…

  Until they landed on the M files.

  More specifically, halfway through the Ms.

  Macallister, Macdonnah, MacDougal, and Macgregor? All completely fine.

  But once she got to Mackenna…

  “Maybe we’d better save this slick skellum for the end of the show.”

  Yeah, to the point that she even tried joking about it.

  “I think the slick skellum has somethin’ to say about that.” And as easily as the man had eased back into his good behavior, he slipped right back out of it—into an even sexier, silkier version of his licentious lord side. Yes, doubling her pulse as soon as he slipped a hand back across hers. Yes, ensuring her throat closed to the diameter of a toothpick as he used the pressure to make her close his file. And yes, drawing her in all over again with the intensity of his gaze, those lupine grays rendering her weak in the knees no matter how solidly her backside was secured in her chair. “And how do you know what a ‘slick skellum’ is, anyway?”

  His perplexity wasn’t just endearing; it was adorable. Jen held herself back from a full laugh by twisting her lips into a coquettish smirk. “A girl’s got to have her secrets.”

  Annnnd forget adorable. He turned fully primal, obviously extracting all the naughtiest nuances from her quip—and with the darkness in his eyes and tension in his jaw, Jen wasn’t sure she minded. Just for this tiny second, it might be nice to think their worlds could collide. That her “secrets” weren’t things like reading three books a week, including the colorful slang of lands she longed to visit. Like his. Especially his.

  “Well then…a boy’s got to the right to try unlockin’ ’em.”

  She gave in to a laugh. “Not if he doesn’t want the biggest disappointment of his life.”

  The corners of his eyes tightened, bringing the gold tips of his long lashes into the light. For the love of all that was good, the man turned even fluorescent lighting into a heart-stopping experience. “You know you’re just really at it now, aye?”

  Jen cocked her head. “I know what that means too, Captain. And I’m in full control of my mind, thank you very much—which I’m not sure applies to everyone in the room at this mom—”

  As she attempted reopening his file, Sam swiped the whole thing from beneath her grip. Like everything else he did, the move was strong but calm, force wielded by a hunk who knew he didn’t have to be an asshole about it. He was simply going to get his way, and that was that.

  But at this point, what did “his way” entail?

  And why was she suddenly a little scared about that?

  And why did the possible answers turn her on so damned much?

  “You’re here to make sure I have everything I need for my stay here, aye?”

  She blinked a few times. Where was he going with this? “Affirmative.” Humoring him might be the only way to find out. And at least that answer was easy enough.

  “Well, I don’t.”

  Several more blinks, along with a frown—until she finally comprehended that he wasn’t blinking, though he was focusing harder on her. “Okay, Braw Boy,” she huffed. “Now that’s just enough.”

  “Oh, I haven’t had nearly enough, Miss Thorne.”

  “I am not a vital need for you, Captain Mackenna.” And before he could expand that into about a hundred different innuendos, she borrowed from some of her growing aggravation to snap, “And if that is a vital need for you, then ask some of the guys from our squad to show you some local places where the jet jockey fans hang out.” There was more colorful vernacular for the girls who liked regularly wrapping themselves around the pilots’ “cockpits,” but she refused to use the crass terms. Long story short, she’d never be one of them, ev
en if she wanted to be. Genetics hadn’t given her lush mermaid locks, generous curves, or the balance necessary for five-inch designer heels. “I guarantee you, there are curvier, prettier, and way more graceful choices in Vegas.”

  For a long beat, the man didn’t falter. Through the moment that followed, in which the air got thicker and his jaw clenched tighter, Jen interpreted his tension as her victory—of sorts. Clearly, he was weighing the avenues toward a graceful concession, which should’ve brought a wave of relief, right? But in the ocean of her mind, there wasn’t a ripple. Just many gallons of salty disappointment and contemplating how she was going to deal with life for the next month, working side-by-side with this Scottish god of a man while knowing he was out taking his pick of the stiletto starlets across the city.

  And remembering the way he held her hand like this. Then slid his grip up to encircle her wrist instead. Then matched the grip with his other hand around her other wrist. And officially awakened so many latent needs in her body. In her psyche. In her sex…

  In all the parts of herself so carefully hidden through the years…because surely no normal or decent man would want a woman who begged him to restrain her…and then take her as hard as he could…

  No normal man.

  But she jerked her sights up and confronted the stunning features of the man who’d tethered her body—and robbed her breath—all too easily. And clearly didn’t intend to release her anytime soon.

  And clearly liking it very much.

  And clearly daring her to say she didn’t like it.

  But God help her, she did.

  So very, very much…

  “Jen?”

  “Y-Yeah?”

  “When are you going to stop fighting this?”

  She gulped. It hurt a little. Her throat was parched, and her lips were dry. But holy shit, she even welcomed that pain too. “This…what?”

  Sam stood. With noiseless steps, he moved around the portion of the table between them and then filled the space directly in front of her. But he didn’t stop there. Bracketing her legs with both of his, he only halted once his knees abutted the front of her chair, and she had nearly a straight-on view of his crotch. And the way it punched forward when she did savor that sight. And how she felt her eyes widen, knowing how flight suits were meant to be roomy down there but how the man’s shaft made use of damn near every inch of it…

  Ohhhh, holy shit.

  “Look at me.”

  His voice only added to the spell begun by his erection. Gone was his vocal swath of velvet confidence, burned away by the peaty husk of his grate. The second she tilted her head back, she saw a matching mien across his face, his high cheekbones jutting into torrid angles that pointed the way to the noticeable parting of his lips and the pronounced flare of his nostrils. It was a look she’d not seen from him before, but right away she knew why.

  He was as consumed by lust as she was.

  And confirmed it—as if she really needed the affirmation—by looming an inch deeper over her. Increasing the torque of his grip by half as much. Just enough so she knew he wasn’t going to relent. Not anytime soon. Though right now, she prayed it wouldn’t be ever…

  “You are just not gettin’ this, are you?” he rasped.

  For a couple of seconds, Jen worked her lips up and down. Words. She knew a few of those, didn’t she? “I—I don’t… Not getting what?”

  He dipped in by another inch. A treacherous one this time, since the man’s fluorescent light voodoo conspired against her, exposing new depths of his eyes to her. They weren’t just gray. Dashed into his irises, there were also shards of cobalt as rich and breathtaking as a Sicilian lagoon. “That I don’t want the girls in the bars across town. That ever since I got here, I’ve only wanted the chance to know one sweet lass a little better. And that if I’m not mistaken, that lass feels exactly the same way.”

  Jen rolled her eyes, despite how the move narrowed his. “Is this the part where you hit me with the line that fate made me trip in front of you last week?”

  He didn’t surrender an iota of his laser focus. “Would it be so wrong if I did?”

  Jen forced herself to look away from him. But not even the coffee spatters on the floor, likely left over from the tactical training they’d had before the hops this morning, could dim the magic of his words in her system. It was true, then. The man affected her far beyond his physical glory. He was a force in her senses…

  But a destiny in her life?

  “There’s a huge gap between attraction and fate, okay?” She let her shoulders sag to emphasize the point, since fighting the man’s hold wasn’t something she wanted to consider. But her surprise about that was eclipsed by his quick response.

  “Fair point,” he conceded, going again for his silken baritone. “I’ll rephrase. Would it be so wrong to deny our attraction from last week?” He readjusted his hold, working the rough pads of his thumbs across the pulse points in her wrists. “Christ. Our attraction from right fucking now.”

  As he punched out those last three words, Jen sucked in an equally tormented breath. They were doing it again. Syncing even the cadences of their lungs to each other without trying. Because they didn’t have to. Because they just were…

  “Tell me you don’t feel any of this, Jenny.” His demand, even without the heart-halting enhancement of her name, was like vocalized magma. “I dare you, woman. Look straight at me and tell me that when we so much as lay eyes on each other, your blood doesn’t turn to fire, your chest isn’t a poundin’ chaos, and your skin doesn’t feel three sizes too tight.” He enforced his hold, scraping his thumbs up to the middle of her palms. “And tell me that every inch of your senses doesn’t scream at you to come to me. To be held by me…exactly like this. To be connected to me, even tighter than this. Just tell me, damn it. Tell me just once, and I’ll be gone and leave you be for the next four weeks.”

  She dragged in a shaking breath. Another. But what did she expect to happen? That the billion knots in her senses would suddenly unravel? That her brain would cease to be a soup of arousal and denial and confusion?

  She couldn’t need this.

  She couldn’t want him.

  “Damn it. We’ve…been through this already, Sam.”

  “Right,” he spit back. “Your personal ‘policy’ and all.”

  “Even if we chucked that out the window, this—us—just isn’t a great idea.”

  He gritted out a tight growl. “Aye, well neither is flyin’ a fighter jet into a Pugachev Cobra, but it sure as fuck feels good.”

  As he finished the last of that, he bent even closer over her. Still, Jen managed to get in a thorough huff as the man lowered her arms along the chair’s rests while maintaining his grip on top of her wrists. “And if you crash that jet?”

  At once, he pursed and twisted his lips at once, quelching her ability to take that huff into a full grumble. To her horror, a sound did spill from her, though it was more a mouse’s squeak than a lioness’s growl. But when the man smirked like that, she couldn’t be held responsible for any wayward sounds—especially when he followed it up with a line that was a little cocky-ass pilot and a lot bold, brash Scotsman.

  “Oh, my little mouse. I don’t ever crash.”

  Chapter Two

  Sam finally—though reluctantly—let up on his hold. While Jen’s unthinkin’ little squeak had been the most adorable thing he’d ever heard, her furious blush told him she couldn’t be further from agreeing with his assessment. Still, before he pulled away, he allowed his fingertips to feather along the backs of her hands—and his spirit to rejoice in the visible shiver with which she reacted.

  Which meant he longed to do it again. Right this fuckin’ second.

  Though next time, he might not stop just there.

  He’d use his lips along with his fingers. Take hers beneath them, using gentle brushstrokes at first, until he couldn’t resist sweeping his tongue to taste hers—though he already knew what she’d taste like. S
he’d be warm as whisky but sweet as wine and have him as plastered as if he’d downed a gallon of each. And he wouldn’t regret one damned second of it. Not with her. Not with this woman who did so many things to him. Heady, giddy things.

  Things he never imagined he’d feel again…

  Because despite bein’ an arrogant bastard, he was also a deeply damaged one. The huddy who didn’t believe it when everyone told him this break in the States would be “good” for him, perhaps even help with his emotional healing. In truth, he’d agreed to come and do the cross-training just to shut everyone up. He’d never expected to admit they were all right. And certainly not within the first hour of his arrival in the middle of this land so foreign, it was like another planet…

  Giving him the nectar that had never felt more like home.

  The elixir of this woman’s gaze.

  The startled light in them, torn away from him too fast that first day…not even cognizant of half the magic they held.

  Not even aware of her true submissiveness.

  His sweet mouse…awakening every leonine instinct inside him…

  Especially in moments like this, in which he was entranced by her smile but wholly unsure what it meant. Forced to delve deeper into the nuances of her quirking lips and twinkling eyes, attempting to determine exactly how her reaction to his comeback was comin’ along. Because she did have one—of that, he was as certain as a g-force whomp at takeoff. He just wasn’t sure if he were about to be throttled or kissed.

  “Never crashed, Captain? Well, there’s a first time for everything, you know.”

  And then there was the concept of both.

  And no, that technically didn’t qualify as a kiss—though it wasn’t a direct beating, either. In a word, it was…

  Oh, fuck the words.

  Fuck anything that would cage this incredible, unpredictable little mouse to something as ridiculous as words. She was far more than that. They were already far more than that. This morning, he’d flown a jet to the edge of heaven but not known half of this adrenaline, pulsing and pounding through him, calling like freedom and feeling like fire—all from just being this close to her. And damn it, she had to feel the attraction too. Hell, the journey between the hangar and here had shown him how semi-strangers could see and feel it. She had slammed on a hell of a pair of mental blinders about it. But he was prepared to yank ’em off. To fight for the right to, if that was what it took. He’d already laid down his life for much less, on too many occasions than he wanted to remember.