Bang: B-Squad Book Two (16 page)

N
ot even the
royal straight in Tamara's hand or the 300- point lead she had in rummy softened the hard grip of anxiety threatening to choke her. A golden glow from the lights in the motel's parking lot seeped in around the edges of the closed curtains. Wrappers from her vending machine dinner filled the trash can by the door. The third can of soda hadn't been a good idea for her nerves—not that anything short of having Essie back was going to do a damn thing to help.

"This is ridiculous." She tossed her cards face-down on the table.

"Your hand?" Isaac asked, keeping his own cards in his hand and his voice carefully neutral.

"No, sitting here playing cards while God-knows-what is going on at that compound." She shoved her chair back and stood up.

The need to move wasn't just optional, it was almost beyond her control. Frustration, worry, the lack of control, it all whirled around inside her, forming a tighter knot with every step she paced in the narrow space between the table and the bed.

Isaac laid his cards on the table, slow and steady. "We've been over this."

That tone. She knew that tone. It was the bitches-be-crazy-so-talk-calmly tone. Maybe she was crazy. In this moment, she didn't give a fuck. Essie was in danger and Tamara was stuck sitting in a motel room miles away, being told to sit and wait like a pretty little girl should. She'd promised Amelia—promised her—that she'd keep Essie safe.

"I know. Of course I know," she seethed, the anger rushing through her like a fast-moving wave of lava. "I'm just a calculating opportunist. If you’re looking for a sugar daddy then I'm your girl, but when it comes to doing anything important I am just another empty-headed blonde." She was yelling and she couldn't stop herself. The volume, the words, the emotion, they were out of her control. "Just look at the mess I've made of everything so far."

"What in the hell are you talking about?" he snapped back, tension stringing his shoulders tight. "Would it have been better if you'd just left Essie with her dad?"

"Hell no." That hadn't even been an option, not for a single second.

"You can't control everything, no matter how hard you try. Haven't you realized that by now?"

"I learned that a long time ago." She continued to pace as the memories came at her one after the other, making her scared that she'd drown in the bitter real-life nightmares of how she'd grown up. "My mother made sure I knew exactly what my limitations were."

Isaac got up and walked into her path. He stood there, a mountain she couldn't move. He didn't reach out. He didn't take her by the shoulders and shake her. He was just there like a constant on a map—exactly what she needed, wanted, craved. The realization jerked her to a stop and made her already racing pulse go into hyper-drive.

"She sounds like mom of the year material."

"You have no idea." The heat had seeped out of her, replaced by an almost eerie calm, an emptiness waiting to be filled. "By the time I was fourteen, I was in training—not for a pageant, but for landing a rich man. By sixteen, I had one of my own. By eighteen, I had several. Do you want to know how many men I've slept with because they were rich and looking for something pretty to hang on their arm? Too many. I was a rich man's trophy for too long to not know exactly what my limitations are."

This was why she built that cool reserve around her like castle walls, because once it started to fall, anyone could see all her vulnerabilities. That was the real lesson her mom had taught her—never let them see you weaknesses. Her mother had known Tamara's, and she'd exploited every one.

Isaac reached out, but Tamara swerved around him and resumed her pacing. If he touched her now, she'd fall apart. She wouldn't—couldn't—let that happen.

"You're more than that," he said, pivoting to face her even as she walked away. "It's time you stopped letting you mom's twisted opinion of you be your own."

Her step faltered and her head snapped up. The truth of his words slammed into her, shaking the fragile grip she had on her emotions. The moment the first angry tear slid down her cheek, she vowed to make him pay, make him hurt as much as she did. She spun around, hands on her hip and glared at him as he stood there all self-righteous. Too bad for him she knew right where to hit.

"Says the man who can't bring himself to admit that he's so desperate for a place to belong—a tribe of his own—that he hangs on the edges of his family and of the B-Squad just to get a glimpse of what he won't let himself have."

He started, his eyes darkening with fury. "Fuck you."

"Why, because I'm right?" She hurled the question back at him.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

But she did. She was sure of it. If there was one thing she excelled at besides makeup and a spectacular baton-twirling routine, it was knowing what men wanted—what they really wanted. She'd spent her life studying them, understanding them, anticipating their desires. Looking at Isaac as he watched her, horror and anger flitting across his face, she knew she was right. And she wished like hell she wasn't, because it meant he'd spent years hurting himself the worst way he could.

"Sure I do, and deep down you know it," she said, all her rage gone. She walked back to him. "The first time we met, you told me you don't play well with others. That was a lie. You are the consummate team player and you can't help but be the hero people need, but you're too busy punishing yourself for what happened in Afghanistan to let yourself be the man you're meant to be."

"Shut up," he said, barely getting the two words out through his clenched jaw.

"Why?" She gave him a small smile, the kind that promised it would be okay. "Because the bitchy blonde is right?"

He didn't say anything. He just stood there, his entire body locked tight while he stared at something over her shoulder. Then, slowly, his muscles relaxed and his gaze slid over to her.

"Yes." One corner of his mouth tilted up. "The bitchy blonde is right."

Relief flooded through her and the breath she'd been holding whooshed out just in time for guilt to sneak in and take up residence. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that. It wasn't my place"

He shrugged those broad shoulders of his. "It's about time someone did, because you're right. And that just goes to prove that you're a helluva lot more than what your mother drilled into your head."

It was pretty to think so but… "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

She took a deep breath. If she didn't do it now, she wasn't sure she ever would.

"I'm scared that she's right. I failed with Amelia, letting her disappear into Jarrod's world without a fight. I failed Essie because I let him get to her. Failed the B-Squad because they're out there risking their lives for the office secretary."

"That's bullshit." He snorted. "You didn't fail. Amelia asked you to save her daughter, and that is exactly what you're doing. We're getting her back and we're going to help the Feds nail Fane to the wall so he can't ever steal her back again."

It sounded so good when he said it like that. It made her want to believe. "I'm not good at accepting help."

"No shit." He laughed. "But no man—or woman—can do everything on their own. We all need a team."

"Even you?" Sure it was a nudge, but he needed it. She wasn't the only one who'd been spitting in the wind and paying the price.

"Yeah, even me." He closed the distance between them and rested his hand on the upper swell of her hip. "But right now, all I need is you."

"Why?" It was probably the worst question in the world to ask, but she couldn't stop herself.

"I have a thing for bitchy blondes." He dipped his head, letting his lips hover over hers. "Didn't anyone tell you?"

Her heart banged against her ribs and a thin ribbon of fear wound its way through the excitement bubbling up inside her. Falling for Isaac was a risk—the biggest one she'd ever taken. It's why she'd pushed him away and run every time he chased. He wasn't like the others. He was a forever kind of guy. "What if I'm not as bitchy as I pretend to be?"

"I guess I'll just have to learn to live with it." He stayed there, his mouth only a hair's breadth from hers, all but daring her to make the first move.

If there was a decision to make, her heart had already done it, so it was time for her body to catch up. She raised herself up onto her tiptoes and captured his mouth, her tongue demanding entrance, and all the fear, uncertainty of the past few months washed away with the touch.

Her hands snaked around him, sneaking underneath his soft cotton T-shirt, the only thing blocking her from the skin-to-skin contact she craved. She wanted—needed—to touch and taste his warm skin. She yanked the shirt from his jeans, exposing a slim line of bare skin above his low-slung jeans. Electricity sparked between them, traveling from her fingertips to her clit in a bolt of passion. Weaving her hand between the cotton and his skin, she pushed his shirt higher, but not enough.

Isaac broke the kiss, nudging her back far enough to be able to whip off his shirt. "Take your clothes off."

"Is that an order?" She toyed with the hem of her T-shirt, anticipation making her tremble just enough to send her pulse skyrocketing.

Desire flared in his eyes. "Yes."

Cocky and confident, he sat down in the straight-backed chair, ready to enjoy the show. Well if that's what he wanted, she could more than deliver.

"Whatever you say, sir." She released the loose-fitting T-shirt and dropped her hands to the top button of her jeans and flipped it open before inching the zipper down.

Shimmying out of the jeans, she watched Isaac as the battle between his need to touch her and his wanting to watch played out on his face. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair, but he hadn't given in to the urge that she could feel it beating against her skin. It sent a fresh wave of want surging through her, and drawing out the moment didn't seem as fun anymore. She yanked the T-shirt over her head, tossed it onto the bed, and stood before him in only her hot pink lace bra and panties.

Isaac let out a strangled groan and surged out of the chair. He was beside her in two long strides, all heat and hunger and wanting focused totally on her.

"You're taking too long." His voice was strained.

"I thought you were enjoying the show." She looked up into his eyes as she traced a finger around his hard, flat nipple before dipping down to lap at it.

He shivered under her touch and she grazed her teeth over him and lowered her hands over his bare chest, following the dusting of his hair as it narrowed over the hard lines of his abs and disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans. She brushed her fingertips over the button and opened his jeans. She had his zipper halfway down when he wrapped his strong hands around her wrists and yanked her away from her goal.

"That wasn't nice," she teased, her voice breathy and soft.

Even now, as he had a viselike grip around her wrists, she leaned in toward him, needing to touch, lick, and taste every inch of his warm skin. He tugged her arms higher, pulling her close and drawing her attention from the magnificence of his muscular chest. His face was set in hard lines, his eyes nearly black with lust. Using his free hand, he glided a fingertip over the lace band crossing over her hip, slipping it under the material—far enough to taunt but not enough to please—and eliciting a moan from her.

"You're still wearing too many clothes."

God, she couldn't agree more. "You don't like seeing me in nothing but lace?"

"I will always like that, but tonight I need to feel you." He skimmed the back of his hand up her stomach, setting off jolts of pleasure that ricocheted through her. "I'm going to touch you everywhere, tease those pink nipples of yours until they're so hard and feel so good that you're not sure if it's pleasure or pain, but you're going to beg me not to stop." He cupped one breast, circling his thumb over the lace-covered nipple. "I'll watch you come, and then I'm going to sink deep inside you and make you come again all over my cock."

"That's a big order." She arched her back, pushing more of herself against him, desperate for the little bit of friction.

He rolled her nipple. "And you're already wet just imagining it."

"Cocky bastard."

"When it comes to how fucking unbelievable it can be between us?" He grinned down at her. "You damn right I am."

"Then you’d better let me go so I can take it all off."

No strip tease this time. Tamara wanted her clothes gone and gone fast. The last bit of lace had no sooner than hit the floor when Isaac wrapped an arm around her waist and tossed her onto the bed. Pillows bounced, but she stayed put thanks to the six-feet, four-inch wall of sinewy muscle holding her in place. Propped up on his hands, he was almost in pushup position above her, wearing only his jeans and a devious smile. It was the kind of look that had her biting down on her bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud.

"It's not fair." She reached for his pants. "You still have your jeans on."

"If you're still cognizant enough to talk then I'm not doing my job." He sucked her nipple into his mouth, tugging hard on the sensitive nub.

The smart ass remark she was about to say died on her lips as pleasure verging on blissful pain shot through her. Suddenly his hands and mouth were everywhere. The inward bend of her waist. The round top of her hip. The hollow of her throat. The delicate flesh of her breasts. The sensitive curve of her inner thigh. It was torture. It was heaven. It was all Isaac and she couldn't get enough.

He licked and nibbled his way from one breast to the other as she writhed underneath him. "You taste so sweet."

She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back so she could rub herself against him. She was so wet, so desperate for him that the feel of denim against her soft folds was almost enough. "Isaac, please."

"What is it, darlin'?" He nipped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder, unleashing a delicious tingle of sensation across her skin. "What do you want?"

"You." It wasn't just a plea, it was straight-up begging and she didn't care.