Keeping his voice low, he greeted Dylan with, “What’s up?” And then he moved to a far corner and listened to Dylan’s fluent string of curses.
He used the time to wonder if D had told Caleb. Probably.
“Where. Are. You,” Dylan said finally.
“We’re …” In the middle of the goddamned jungle, with soldiers and DMH on our ass, no transportation and no foreseeable way out of goatfuck central. “We’re just fine.”
Dead silence on the other end, and then, “What. Did. You. Do.”
Saved Liv’s life. “We’re fine. Might be a little late getting to the LZ.”
“Zane …”
“I had to double back,” he said, explained to Dylan about the DMH flunkie. And admitted to being caught on film.
There was cursing again. More this time, and Zane checked out the flash of lightning across the sky, counted the seconds until the rumble of thunder followed.
The storm would be here soon. “D, man, it’s all right. We’re only behind like twenty-four hours.” Maybe. “Olivia gave me intel about some of the doctors who worked at the clinic.”
He ran down what she’d told him, knew Dylan was recording all of it.
“So Olivia can make Elijah. And she stole this intel from him. Blew up a clinic.” Dylan gave a long whistle. “He won’t like being made a fool of above all else. Until he finds her, he can’t restore his pride.”
“Then we kill him.”
“Easier said than done.”
That was true. Even though Liv could identify Elijah, there was no way in hell Zane would let her get even remotely close to him again. “We’re moving out tonight—we’ll go as far as we can and then I’ll be in contact. She doesn’t want to leave, but I’ll make sure she gets to Freetown and on the boat, if it’s the last thing I do.”
No point in mentioning the drug lord baby thing, because he was sure Dylan would jump through the phone.
“It better not be the last fucking thing you do, Zane, or I’ll kill you,” Dylan said warningly before he hung up.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered to the phone as another flash of lightning lit up the small house and the floor shook with the rolling boom that came right after.
He turned to see if Liv was still sleeping and saw she was awake, watching him. By the look on her face, he could tell she’d heard every word he said.
Shit.
“That was Dylan,” he said by way of explanation. “My brother … he was the one at the house last year, the one in Minnesota.”
“I never knew that’s where I was. I’d think DMH would pick something a little more exotic for a kidnapping.” She was half joking. But there was a fire in her eyes pointed directly at him.
I’ll make sure she gets to Freetown and on the boat, if it’s the last thing I do.
She felt far more vulnerable than she should because he already knew so much about her. All she knew about him was that he wanted to drag her, kicking and screaming if necessary, to a place she didn’t want to go.
And now she had complete confirmation he’d never planned on giving her a choice in the matter.
“Am I your prisoner?”
“What the hell are you talking about? You know you’re not, or I would’ve had you in cuffs and back in the States already, dammit.”
“Are you going to arrest me for bombing the clinic? Are you planning to take me home against my will? Because don’t think I won’t tell the first person I see that I’m being kidnapped.”
“Liv, look,” he started, and then realized there was no way out of it. “I meant what I said. I can’t apologize for it.”
She stood then, felt her temper rise and any good feelings she’d developed toward him were quickly forgotten.
She should’ve known no one could be trusted. No one. “I don’t want your apologies—I just want you and your do-gooding to stay the hell away from me.”
“I can’t do that. Won’t.
“Why do you care so much? Is it an ego thing? They got away before you could stop them and now you’ve got to prove that you’re a big bad soldier?”
“No,” he managed through gritted teeth. “And I’m a SEAL. Navy. Not a soldier. I’ve spent months of my life looking for you, worried you were hurt. Alone. Scared. I don’t know why the hell you affected me so much, and I don’t give a shit about your ungrateful attitude or your inability to listen to reason.”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, I get it—you’re all warrior tough and you don’t want people to think badly of you if you don’t bring back the woman. This is just another mission to you, an adventure, but this is my life,” she lashed out at him. “You have no idea what it’s like to feel so lost, to have no one to turn to. To not want to turn to anyone. So please, just take your plan and get the hell out of here.”
He didn’t respond, but his eyes darkened, his jaw tightened and an emotion she couldn’t quite place flashed over his face for a brief second before he walked out the door and into the pouring rain.
In turn, she sank down to the floor and began to sob. What the hell had happened to her? Had she really allowed DMH to turn her into someone she didn’t even recognize?
CHAPTER
7
His anger barely contained, Zane walked out onto the wet dirt. Although it was just noon, the storm darkened the sky so it looked more like early evening. The rain came down in sheets—he could barely see the trees in front of him and still he stood and tilted his face up to the sky, let the water pelt him as Liv’s words echoed inside his head.
Why do you care so much? Is it an ego thing? They got away before you could stop them?
He couldn’t tell her that her screams haunted his dreams. How he’d been forced to stand helplessly in that motel room, listening through headphones and unable to help. Sacrificing her for the greater good of the mission. How he’d been unable to think of anything else for months because he knew she was still out there.
Think, Zane … remember, you didn’t want to be rescued either.
But he’d been much younger. Olivia should be smarter than he’d been.
She’s fucking scared to death.
He sighed and the anger began to dissipate. She could push him, lash out at him, and it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t let it. Because he understood.
So he had a few weapons, could escape the drug lords. DMH might be more of a problem. He was a day behind getting to the harbor at Freetown, DMH had a picture of him and Olivia still refused to agree to come to the States.
And her arguments to that effect were so damned logical … but Africa was not the place to keep her safe.
Whatever else she’d been through when she was younger didn’t matter. The serial killer who’d kidnapped her then—he was gone and it was over.
Or at least the danger was. He was pretty damned sure you never got over something like that.
Still, DMH was bigger. Wouldn’t go away—at least not easily. And Zane didn’t have answers for Liv—in his line of work, there rarely were any and he’d gotten used to it.
“What was your plan?” he heard Liv demand from behind him, turned and saw her also standing in the pouring rain, the T-shirt plastered against her body, molding her breasts. Her legs were bare, her eyes fierce, her chin raised proudly. Stubbornly.
He could just imagine the hell they’d put her through to force her to do the transplants. And even having relived the memories, she still looked formidable—shoulders squared—but her heart was broken.
“Come back home with me, Olivia.” His voice sounded different … raw. “Let me take you out of hell.”
“Don’t you see—it won’t matter.” She put a fisted hand to her chest. “It’ll always be with me. I’ll always carry it with me.”
Yes, he understood, better than she knew. He’d lived with it, shoved it down, pretended it didn’t exist.
His parents had wanted it that way. Thought that by changing Zane’s location they could change his life. And it had most d
efinitely changed for the better … but his past was still there, always threatening to bubble to the surface.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she told him, pretending she wasn’t affected by what he’d said about getting out of hell. And maybe she wasn’t. Maybe nothing but saving people could get through to her these days.
Maybe nothing got through to him but that either. Fuck.
“My plan was to grab you, get you to Freetown and onto a ferry,” he said through gritted teeth. “My plan involved saving you. It didn’t involve having the person in danger hit me with a metal frying pan—then tell me to stay the hell out of her life and her business.”
She didn’t bother to look or act contrite. “I never asked you to come,” she said again—her refrain. Her goddamned mantra.
That was it. He closed in on her with three steps. All he could freakin’ think to do was kiss her, and so that’s exactly what he damned well did, hard and fast, without giving a shit what she wanted right now.
But she did want—he could tell by the way she molded against him. She tasted soft and sweet and spicy all at once, like cool rain and the kind of hot summer sun that let you know all was right with the world, and his body enveloped hers, the way he’d wanted to from the moment he’d seen her on the porch.
When he pulled back, she kept her eyes screwed tightly closed as if she could make it all—including him—disappear.
He murmured in her ear, “Open your eyes, Liv. I want you to know my name. To know me—to watch me when you come.”
His voice sent a visceral reaction, a blast of heat, as if she’d been licked by fire, and she wanted to go back and walk through it again and again.
She also wanted to slap him, and both urges were of equal strength. She finally did open her eyes, and pulled away at the same time, then yelled over the sounds of the storm, “I don’t need you. I can give myself an orgasm. Several, actually.”
He grabbed her wrist, held her in place. Although his voice didn’t raise, there was no mistaking the utter and complete command in it. “That’s nothing compared to what I can do for you.”
She shuddered then, ready to come from his words alone. Her body was responding whether she liked it or not, and dammit all to hell, she liked it. “Damn you. I was okay before you got here.”
“I wasn’t. And when you stop bullshitting yourself, you’ll realize you weren’t either.” She thought he’d walk away then, but instead he wound a hand through her hair and brought her face close to his again. Kissed her hard and well enough to make her respond almost instantly, his mouth a hot contrast to the cooling rain. His tongue dueled with hers—the kiss was half fight and half victory, and although she wasn’t sure who the victor was, his kisses were the best she could remember.
Her hands grabbed at the slick skin of his shoulders—his arms remained firmly wrapped around her waist so their bodies molded to each other.
Would he take her right here, in the rain, on the ground? It was so primitive and primal and it felt so right. She wanted to rip her shirt off to feel her breasts rub against his bare chest.
She wrapped her body around his, let his hands roam, tugging at her wet shirt until they were skin to skin and she was hot with need.
They kissed until she couldn’t breathe—until she didn’t care that she couldn’t—and then they kissed more, ignoring the storm, the roll of the thunder rising with their lust.
When he broke the kiss, he pulled her body from his, covered a nipple with his mouth through the soaked fabric, sending a jolt of white hot intensity straight to her core. Her moan was lost in the rain, even as she wound her hands in Zane’s wet hair, because she wanted more.
She wanted everything. His hand traveled between her legs, stroked her bare sex, and she nearly came at that touch, a jolt of sexual awareness washing over her, reminding her what she’d been missing, what she’d been denying herself.
She wanted him to take her—in the dirt, the wet, it didn’t matter, she wouldn’t stop him. Couldn’t. Right now, she needed him as surely as she needed air—her body ached, strained against his, sealing the kind of violent, pleasure-filled release she hadn’t had in forever.
This was her white flag. Her surrender. And she knew that she needed it to survive, needed lovemaking as violent as the storm, as violent as what had happened to her. Somehow that was exactly the way she needed it to be, to draw out the old, and usher in the new under a cleansing deluge … under a man named Zane, against his damp, hot flesh, with a passion that was savage and lethal all at once.
Zane had been holding back for so damned long, he knew his reaction to Liv would be fierce. Primal. One he’d be unable to control if she didn’t stop him, stop this immediately. And he waited for her to, but she didn’t do it.
When he’d first come to live with the Scotts, he’d had a lot to learn about impulse control. For a long time, there had been no limits or boundaries, and even though he’d had plenty of proof to the contrary, he’d needed to discover that he wasn’t invincible.
No one was.
But here, with her, with the storm a shield from danger, Zane felt pretty damned bulletproof. His hand remained between her legs, forcing them open as she held his shoulders for dear life.
When his fingers stroked her, she moved with him, her hands circling the nape of his neck as she struggled for bearing.
There would be none—not out here, not with him. And as his finger slid into her hot flesh, her moan rose up, would’ve been loud as anything if the storm hadn’t caught it as part of its fury.
A second finger joined the first and she was riding his hand now, her lips parted, eyes closed … smile on her face.
He never wanted to see that smile fade, would work on that all afternoon.
He watched her reactions, felt her shudders, heard her moans over the rain, and he was so goddamned hard he could cut glass. But he shoved his own desires down in favor of fulfilling all of hers.
He felt her orgasm approach—her legs stiffened around his hand, her mouth dropped open farther and she went so still that for a second, he didn’t think she’d let it happen.
But she did, the release making her knees buckle. His arm tightened around her waist, pulled her close as her climax swept her away, felt her bite his chest as though she was trying to keep from screaming.
She was so slick, it would take one stroke to fill her, easy enough to lay her down and let her clench around him so tight …
He needed to stop thinking with his cock for a second, he realized—they needed to be inside, out of range.
Maybe he should even goddamned stop this. But thinking ceased again when she pulled her T-shirt off, let it slap to the ground, because holy fuck, she was gorgeous. Curvy. High breasts with dark pink nipples that he could taste. A small triangle between her thighs.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright … her body open to his appraisal. And her eyes held a dare.
———
Zane unzipped his pants and Olivia’s mouth dropped open again at the sight of him.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t known he’d be beautiful. When she’d watched him earlier, the rain streaming over his face and chest, she’d felt a tug between her thighs, a feeling so powerful it propelled her out the door to him.
But now, the lethal savagery of his looks hit her—the savagery that had been almost hidden behind the all-American-boy looks—but not well enough. His eyes glowed, his hands clenched into fists … and the massive power between his legs made her mouth go dry.
She waited for him to approach her, but he didn’t.
“They didn’t … Fuck, I should’ve asked already.” He shook his head.
“They didn’t what?” She saw the look in his eyes, the sudden hesitancy. “No, Zane, they didn’t hurt me like that. They did it in other ways.”
He continued to watch her, unmoving until she said, “Please, I want this. I need this. You’re not taking advantage of me. If anything, it’s the opposite.”
&n
bsp; Naked and wet, he enveloped her, carried them both into the shack and lowered them to the waterproof sleeping bag on the floor, then rolled so she was on top of him.
And then he said, “Take it away, Liv.”
She did. Her hands went to his shoulders first, and she paused for a moment to stare at the broad, muscled chest and cut abs again before her eyes moved lower, as did her hand, slid along the hard muscles as he held his breath.
He remained still under her exploration, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he took over, wrapped her in his arms and rolled her under him. And she wanted that as much as she wanted control.
No, it was time to let her guard down, to prove to herself once and for all that she could.
She’d never wanted to be the type of woman who didn’t trust anyone. Doing so would mean that her kidnapper all those years ago had won.
Not trusting now would be letting DMH win. And that would never, ever happen, not as long as she had breath in her body.
She bent her head and pressed her lips to his chest over the mark her teeth had made earlier. He drew a quick, sharp breath and his arousal, which had been jutting against her from the first kiss, grew harder against her palm. She trailed her tongue left, captured a nipple between her teeth and simultaneously licked and tugged, heard, “Damn, Liv,” as his hips rose upward in a bucking motion, his erection pressing her sex, and she swore. Just a few more times like that and she could come, break apart and fly away. Forget where she was …
“Open your eyes,” he growled, and she did, mainly because she was surprised at his sudden change of tone, her body pulling away from his. “I want you to know who’s doing this to you.”
“I know,” she whispered, but he shook his head even as he drew her back down.
His gaze was locked on hers, a storm behind his eyes that was ready to release.
And she did watch his face even as his fingers slid down and found her core, gasped, open-mouthed, and got a small smile of satisfaction in return. “You like that.”
Promises in the Dark Page 9