by Lora Leigh
The thought of her hurt destroyed him.
Silence filled the bedroom for long moments. The lights were low, the food scattered around the heavy wooden tray they had placed it on at Morganna's side.
"I can't be a pretty little doll that you and Reno take down from the shelf to admire or pick at when you have time to come home," she said, though there was no heat, no ire, in her tone. "The house is dark and empty, and now that Raven's married and she and Reno are trying to start a family, her time is limited as well. I need a life, Clint."
"You could have married. Had babies." He had voiced the same argument once before, while they were fighting, while they were hurting.
"The man sleeping in my bed wouldn't have been you. The babies on my hip wouldn't have been yours." She shrugged easily. "You shouldn't marry and have children if you can't commit all of yourself to that family. I couldn't do that with another man."
She made his chest tight, made his throat sting with the lump of emotion threatening to strangle him.
"I never wanted to hurt you," he finally said. "That's why I stayed away, Morganna. That's why I was cruel, why I tried to make you hate me. I don't want you to cry over me."
"Eh, hell, Clint, it's too late for that." Her laughter was easy, if tinted with regret. "We take one day at a time, right? When you have to leave, I promise I won't cry."
She turned her head to stare back at him as he watched her in confusion.
"At least not while I'm looking?" he asked as he let his fingertips run down her cheek.
Her eyes sparkled with a glimmer of laughter. And how the hell she could be happy right now, he didn't know. But she was, and, he admitted, he was as well. Right here, with her in his arms.
"Yeah." She finally nodded. "Not while you're looking."
She turned back then, digging into her food with gusto as he lifted his beer from the bedside table and drank from it.
"Here. This is good." She lifted a spring roll dipped in duck sauce and leaned forward for a bite.
"I didn't really care much for the Academy," she said then. "I've enjoyed working with Joe, though. And I spent a few months in intelligence gathering here in Atlanta. Processing the information that came in from the agents and fitting it with reports from informants and so forth."
"So why did you take this assignment?" He couldn't believe he had placed so much distance between them that he hadn't even known what she was doing.
He had suspected for years she was up to something he wouldn't like, but to investigate, to delve into it, meant getting involved. Getting involved meant this. While they ate in his bed, Morganna curled against his chest, sinking further into his soul.
"Because I was the only one in place for what they needed. And it mattered," she whispered. "What they're doing to those women ... Women I socialized with, that I had laughed with. It was too much."
Morganna shook her head with a jerky movement.
Clint tightened his arms around her waist and rested his chin atop her head. "When we lost Nathan, that's how Reno and I felt. Like a part of us had been wounded. No more fake Irish brogues, or practical jokes. No more crowing over the woman that loved him or the life he was going home to." He closed his eyes against the memory.
"That's how I felt." She curled closer in his arms. "I needed to do something to make it better."
Yeah, that was his Morganna, always fighting someone else's battles.
"If something happened to you, a part of me would die," he admitted. "If you were gone, Morganna, what would I have to fight for?"
She stilled in his arms then.
"Raven. The children she'll have." She breathed out roughly. "I don't ask you to quit, Clint. I know you can't quit. It's not a part of you. You're a warrior, and I love all of you, especially the warrior. But I'm not a baby, and I won't stand by and watch you kill yourself alone, because you're too stubborn to love, or to accept love. When this is over, maybe we both have some hard decisions to make. Because I won't go full circle. If you walk away from me, from what we have, then I'll go on. And I won't wait any longer for a man who so obviously loves being miserable more than he loves me."
He frowned down at her, knowing he should be angry, he should be arguing. But her hand was smoothing over his chest with a gentle caress and she was staring up at him with those velvet eyes shining with love.
"So you'll just walk off and find someone else?" he asked with a frown.
"The biggest, meanest, thickest-muscled redneck in the South," she assured him. "Then I'll cry and tell him how mean you were to me and watch him kick your butt."
He laughed. He couldn't help it. She actually looked serious. Staring up at him with that fierce look, her pert little nose wrinkled just the slightest and her lips held in a firm line. Though he was certain there was a hint of a smile there.
"Might as well get a cat while you're at it." He smirked. "You know how much I like cats."
And he did. He loved cats. He'd just never owned one. Unfortunately, most cats really seemed to dislike him.
"I'll get a mean cat," she assured him, and yes, that was definitely a smile tugging at her lips and sparkling in her eyes. And he'll have really sharp claws. He'll scratch you for being mean to me, Clint."
He chuckled at the threat. If he wasn't mistaken, she had made the same threat when she was eleven and her parents wouldn't allow her to go with him and Reno when they went out one night while home on leave.
She had cried then. Tears running from her eyes as she swore it wasn't fair that she didn't get to see them long enough.
And they had stayed home until she had gone to bed. If he wasn't mistaken, two tough twenty-year-old Special Forces recruits had sat for nearly three hours and played Monopoly with her and Raven.
He shook his head at Morganna as he reached for his beer, only to have her lift it from his hands and bring it to her lips. And he swore it was the damnedest sight in the world, her lips touching the rim as she tilted the bottle back and drank from it.
"Your beer tastes better than mine," she whispered as she then placed it at his lips. "Taste it and see."
And he did. And it did. He could taste Morganna. Sunlight and heat filling his senses until he knew he would never be the same again.
He took the bottle from her and set it back on the table before lifting the tray and pushing it beside the beer. So he could tumble her to the mattress. So his lips could fit over hers and he could taste more of her.
Sweet and addictive, spicy and electric, the feel of her lips beneath his, her tongue stroking over his, tore through him in ways he couldn't bear to acknowledge. Hands as soft as silk caressed his shoulders, his back. Delicate little nails pricked at his flesh; a soft female moan washed over his senses.
There were no words. There was no need for them. As he consumed her kiss, he was consumed in return. As he pushed between her thighs, they parted for him; her legs lifted and clasped his hips in the most intimate of embraces.
She was still snug. Her sweet pussy was tight, hot, and he had to work for what he needed, the full clasp of snug, satin muscles rippling over the full length of his cock.
Short, gentle thrusts worked his flesh inside hers. His hands caressed her and he was caressed in turn until he was seated fully inside her, his senses exploding with pleasure as he began to rock against her.
This was what he fought for, what he dreamed of and ached for: Morganna in his arms, her breathless moans breaking free of their kiss as she arched, tightened, and exploded around him.
And as she milked his cock he followed her. His thrusts lengthened, grew faster, until a shattered cry tore from his lips and his release spilled inside her.
She was his and his soul acknowledged it, even if his mind couldn't.
Chapter 18
THE NEXT NIGHT CLINT SAT sprawled in the leather comfort of his host's living-room couch, his expression carefully bland as he watched the crowd milling about the huge room. The mansion sat on the outskirts of the city, a two-story m
onstrosity of glass and stone that had always somehow offended his tastes. Though he got along well with its owner.
Trina Blake was an oddity. A Dominatrix with a cruel streak, as well as a record a mile long. Her sexual tastes ran to women rather than men, especially small, willful women. And her gaze was currently tracking Morganna.
His Morganna. The possessiveness rising inside him had the power to bring a measure of fear to his heart. She was changing him and he wasn't certain how he would survive the outcome.
"Forget it, Trina." Clint lifted his drink to his lips, sipping at it as he spoke to the black-haired Cuban-American.
"She's exquisite," she murmured, her maroon lips curling into a smile as she shifted on her chair, her hands playing indolently with the long, coarse strands of her black hair. "I was actually ready to go after her myself when I heard you had carried her from the bar, for the second time." She cast him a mocking glance from black eyes before, oddly, checking the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. "Though she doesn't appear as submissive as I know you like them, Clint."
He turned his gaze back to Morganna. Her back was to him as she sat with several other guests, not all of whom were part of the lifestyle. Where the other submissives were catering to their Doms' needs, Morganna was socializing. Playing her part to the hilt and driving him insane.
"You have no idea what my likes or dislikes are, Trina,” he said, pulling his gaze back from Morganna and the small crowd growing around her. She was like a flame, incandescent, fragile.
"I know your women normally hover about you, closer than any others," she drawled maliciously. "That one will bow to no one willingly, Clint."
He grimaced in irritation. No shit.
But he was catching the undercurrents to the conversation. He had known that if Fuentes' drug was involved in this, then the chances of Trina's involvement were high. She had been part of the drug network two years before and had been girlhood friends with Carmelita Fuentes, the viperous bitch who had run Fuentes' cartel at Diego's side with a bloody hand.
"She'll heel." He kept his response clipped. Morganna was playing her role perfectly. And why wouldn't she, he thought with a spurt of inner amusement; defying the rules came so naturally to her.
"Masters members have been watching her quite closely," Trina murmured. "I was so hoping she would apply for sponsorship. There's no way she would have heeled to any of the Doms, which would have put her on auction. I would have made certain of it." She glanced at her watch again, a slight frown furrowing her brow.
"Leave it alone, Trina," he growled.
"If you're sponsoring her, you can put her up for auction, Clint."
"She didn't apply for sponsorship, Trina," he snorted.
"Have you signed an agreement with her?" Her brows lifted questioningly as a hint of amazement showed in her gaze.
Clint didn't bring women to the parties; he picked up women at the parties. He had never shown a willingness to participate in the sort of relationships that existed just under the surface of the atmosphere he partied within.
"No agreement," he admitted, glancing at Morganna again.
Damn her. That skirt molded over her ass perfectly, reminding him of the silky feel of it and the feel of his cock sinking slowly within it. He didn't fight the lust he knew was reflected on his face. Trina would read it. She would process it...
Her chuckle grated on his nerves.
"She is the real one," she said then, drawing his gaze back to her as she tilted her head, watching him with a hint of regret.
"Excuse me?" He narrowed his eyes as he rotated his wrist, swirling his drink in his glass, allowing the ice to clink against the sides.
"Every woman you've had since I've known you has resembled her. But she's not the imitation; she's the one you've always wanted. I'm not the only one who has recognized that."
"What's your point, Trina?" He was aware of the fact that every woman he had bedded for years had reminded him of Morganna. It was the only way to stay away from her, to diffuse the hunger eating at him. He just wasn't aware that anyone else had figured it out.
Catlike calculation filled Trina's angular face as she lowered her chin and watched him through veiled lashes.
"I like you, Clint," she said then, her voice low as she wept the area with her gaze. "Perhaps a bit too much."
That one was a surprise.
"Would you like to clarify, Trina?"
"She has made enemies. Powerful enemies, my friend. Just as you have."
Shit. He tensed at the undertone of her voice.
"When?"
"You know when. And if you're smart, you now know who. Diego isn't dead, Clint." She stood carefully to her feet, leaning closer as irritation flashed in her eyes. "You have five minutes," she whispered. "It's all the head start I can give you. Get out of here, and get your woman out of here, before it's too late."
Fuentes wasn't dead. It should have been a shock, but it wasn't. Clint had never been satisfied with the information that had come through, that the charred remains of Diego Fuentes' body had been found within the hacienda that had burned to the ground that night.
Fuentes would not have gone into that burning building for any reason, and Clint knew he hadn't been trapped inside it when it began burning. Fuentes was behind the drug, and Morganna had stepped in his path when she had witnessed the dealers spiking that woman's drink.
"We're out of here." Clint leaned close to Morganna's ear. whispering the words as his hand tunneled under her hair to the opposite ear and slipped her receiver free.
She was better than he gave her credit for. She didn't argue. She turned to him with a graceful smile, though her gray eyes had darkened, sharpened. She turned with him. moving easily at his side as he curved an arm around her waist and led her quickly through the house and into the darkened kitchen.
As they entered the tiled room she paused only long enough to slip free of her high heels before they headed quickly to the back door.
Pulling the revolver from the small of his back, he was aware of Morganna slipping the snub-nosed pistol from her purse. There was just something wrong about her carrying, he thought distantly as his eyes narrowed, probing the dark shadows beyond the French doors.
"Stay behind me." He eased the door open, ignoring her] soft snort.
"Don't worry, baby; I have your back." Her voice was calm, though the thread of amusement had the corner of his lips kicking up in a grin as he led her onto the deck and they| worked their way to the ground.
Nothing moved; nothing breathed. The hairs along nape were tingling with warning, though. They had to hurry. Gripping her free wrist, he pulled her through the shadows toward the front drive as he dropped both their receivers to the ground.
Forget the valet parking. Despite Morganna's grumblings earlier, he had parked close to the exit drive directly in front of the thick brush that bordered the property. He led her into the brush then, aware of her stocking-covered feet and cursing his own ignorance in not thinking of this.
He hadn't expected it to come this soon, he admitted. He hadn't expected them to move so fast. Though he should nave. He had just hoped the intel they had received that Diego Fuentes was dead had been correct. He had also hoped his suspicions against Merino's team had been wrong. He had messed up, he admitted. He should have dragged Morganna out of town the first night he'd found her.
She stayed silent as they worked their way to the truck. She moved behind him easily, her breathing steady, following the guidance of his hand on her wrist until they paused in me dark shadows in front of the pickup.
The driveway was well lit closer to the house, but this far down the bright lights were dimmer, the shadows cast by the other vehicles making the truck harder to see.
"Stay put," he whispered as they paused beneath the thick weeping willow branches. "When I give you the go-ahead, stay low and get your ass to the truck."
"Got it." She crouched beside him, and when he glanced sack at her, he didn't see fear
or excitement. He saw determination.
Gripping the revolver in his hand, he slid from beneath me tree and made his way to the truck. He had seen the black sedan that pulled in front of the house as they neared his truck; he was betting Diego's assassins were already figuring out something was up.
Bending close to the truck, he checked the length of Scotch tape he had placed over the front of the hood. It was still in place. Then he made a quick survey of the undercarriage, checking for surprise packages that would blow them to hell and back.
Moving quickly, he pulled the keys free of his pocket and eased open the driver's side door before motioning her to him.
Pulling back, he helped her into the track before jumping in behind her, shoving the key into the ignition, and praying before giving it a quick turn.
The engine turned over with a smooth hum. Throwing it into reverse, Clint pulled from the parking spot as he saw the two men rushing from the front of Trina's house.
"Hang on." He shoved the vehicle into drive before accelerating quickly from the parking lot.
"Only Joe's team knew where we were?" Morganna was> turned, staring behind them, as he raced back toward town.
She was quick; he had to give her credit for that.
"Yes. They were the only ones."
"Could someone have had time to call from the party?"
"They would have." He nodded. "But it was pre-planned. I was tipped off at the last minute by a friend."
"Hell of a friend," she breathed out roughly. "We have lights rounding the curves behind us."
"I see them." Clint flipped off his own lights, knowing the brake and parking lights would follow suit. The adjustments he had made to his vehicles after the operation in South America were paying off.
He had known something had gone bad there besides Nathan's death; he just wasn't certain what.