Fatal Strike (27 page)

She had to close her eyes, against his rapt contemplation of her splayed thighs, but she’d said “his,” and she’d said “anything.”

She reached down, opening herself. His hands stroked her inner thighs, spreading her wider. His breath was hot against her tender inner lips, and he groaned, when he saw how she was gleaming wet. She slid her fingers inside herself. Withdrew them, slick and hot. An offering, a plea.
For God’s sake, just do it.

He drew her fingers into his mouth, and the greedy, wet suction of his mouth around her fingers shocked her into a an orgasm.

Astonishing. Long and sweet and lovely and unexpected, melting her into a bright shimmer of emotion. When she finally opened her eyes, he was looming over her, motionless. Gazing at her hungrily.

“Wow,” he whispered. “Fingers. Who knew.”

She tried to speak, but couldn’t. She nodded instead.

“I have to lick you now,” he said. “Or I think I’ll die.”

He seemed to expect an answer, but words were not forthcoming. All she could manage was a breathless murmur, another nod.

“Hold yourself open again,” he said. “I love the way it looks. So pink and shiny and soft.”

She did so, crying out at the intense sensation when he put his mouth to her. His hands clamped over her thighs, holding her wide, and he played her with his tongue, first a light promise, a caress of breath and cheek, oblique and delicate, and then teasing kisses and licks, running his tongue tenderly along every groove and fold, suckling her clit, then plunging deep. Lapping her up.

The last climax had been like a rainstorm, but the next one was a thunderclap. Or a string of thunderclaps, actually, jolting her into a new bright place, soft and shining and unknown.

Some time later, he shifted his body, arching over her. She lifted herself with a moan of delight as he nudged and prodded into place, and caught her breath at the perfection of his slow entrance.

He stirred her up, inside her body, inside her mind. Bathing himself with her slick balm.

He ground to a halt. She gazed up into his eyes, clutching his shoulders. “What?”

He shook his head, eyes shut. “I’m so wound up.”

She pulled him close, clenching herself around the thick hot club of his cock. “I love how you are,” she said. “I love how you want me. How much you care. Give it to me. All of it.”

“Look at me,” he demanded. “The whole time.”

Her eyes were wet with tears. “Yes.”

That was the end of words. She just clutched him, hung on, gasping for breath, as the rhythm grew desperate, hard, frenzied.

Their eyes locked, all the way up to the mutual explosion.

 

The log shifting in the fire roused Miles. He stirred, reluctantly ungluing them where sweat and sex had stuck them together. His breath hissed between his teeth at her pussy’s tight, pleading farewell clutch around his cock.

He stirred the fire, put on another log. Disappeared into the kitchen, and came back a moment later with a cup of water.

“Drink,” he said.

She smiled at him with her eyes over the rim of the cup.

Miles drank the rest as she sank back onto the couch, staring at her reclining body, and stroking her breast, the dip of her waist. Then down, between her legs, toying with her drenched folds.

“Good thing we put down the sheet,” he said. “Yum. Wet.”

“Yes.” She was abruptly self-conscious about it. “I should wash.”

His hand got bolder, slipping inside her. “I’ll wash you,” he said. “I love groping your pussy. Makes me crazy.”

She laughed. “Right. I know just how you wash me. It would defeat the purpose of washing. You’d make me wetter than before.”

“So? What’s your point?” He slid two fingers deeper in her slippery hole. “So we defeat the purpose. Over and over. Let’s defeat the crap out of it. Let’s drive the little bastard right into the ground.”

She lifted herself to him, laughter rippling through her. She felt so open, yielding. He leaned over her, his clever fingers teasing her into another swelling crest of pleasure.

It broke, and washed over her in long, pulsing, rippling waves.

He climbed onto the couch and lay alongside her, clasping her in a tight, shaking hug that melted her to tears.

He looked alarmed. “Did I hurt you? Did I do something to you with my mind?”

“No. I’m great,” she assured him. “It just feels good. I feel so much better. I could almost eat.”

“Really?” He jerked upright. “Let’s do it! Come on.”

“What’s the hurry?” He clambered off her body, and she was sorry she’d said it. She missed his heat, the contact.

“Don’t want to miss this opportunity. Let me see if there’s more food.” He flipped on the light in the kitchen and washed his hands.

She watched from the couch, enjoying the spectacle of a stunning naked man reaching up to rummage through cupboards for sustenance for her. Didn’t get any better than that. It didn’t even matter if it all imploded on her. What mattered was this moment. Perfect, precious, and hers. She would live it completely, and no one would ever be able to take it from her. No matter what happened.

She wiped the tears away just in time, as Miles came out of the kitchen, two steaming cups in one hand, a wax paper package of crackers in the other. “Instant cocoa and stale graham crackers are the best I could do.” He sounded displeased with his offerings. “Nothing but sugar and starch. Tomorrow we’ve got to get you some better quality sustenance.”

“This is great,” she assured him.

He watched her wash down a bite of the graham cracker with a sip of hot, chocolate-flavored water. “This is the first time you’ve independently asked for food,” he said. “I feel like throwing a party.”

“Don’t make me self-consious about it,” she grumbled.

He rolled his eyes, but his smile was so beautiful and happy, she got down an entire second cracker, then a third, to please him.

Miles drained his cup and opened his arms. She climbed onto his lap, sighing with contentment at the contact with his hot body.

They cuddled, her head on his shoulder, her hair trailing down his back, listening to the fire crackle for a long time.

“You should get some sleep,” Miles said.

“And you?”

“Going to fire up the computer, do some poking around,” he said. “You might as well rest while I do it.”

She lifted her head. “What now, Miles?”

He let out a careful sigh. “I’ve been trying to come up with a plan,” he said. “We can’t stay here. We can’t stay anywhere for a while, at least not nearby. Tomorrow, we buy food, clothes. We stay on the back roads, we get a new vehicle. We road trip, and stay clear of him. And as soon as we can organize it, we accuse him.”

She nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Let me get my phone,” he said, sliding her off his lap. “I have to check on Davy.”

He punched in the number, waited. “Hey, Sean,” he said into the phone. “So? News?”

Lara felt the tension grip him. Her skin still felt the warmth from the fire. But the temperature dropped in the Citadel.

She waited, her belly tight with dread.

“Understood.” Miles closed the call, his face like stone, and stared into the fire. Lara waited as long as she could, but after a few seconds, she was ready to tear out her hair.

“What?” she demanded. “How is Davy? Is he okay?”

He dragged in a deep breath. “He’s stable,” he said. “Still in the coma. They think the surgery went okay, but they won’t know for sure until he wakes up.”

“Okay,” she faltered. “Well, good. So what, then? What is it?”

“Greaves,” Miles said. “He found them. He has them pinned. He threatened their kids.”

It was happening already. Her beautiful fantasy bubble popped, and icy reality rushed in, sickening and queasy.

Lara wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering. “How . . . ?”

“They figured out who I was,” he said. “Maybe Anabel recognized me. Maybe it was the gun I left at the house, maybe my fingerprints, on the gun, the steering wheel. They left a note, stuck to Jeannie’s back. They threatened Connor’s boy Kevvie, too.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

“It’s a message to me. Arrogant shithead that I am. I sent a message to Greaves in the woods, and this is the answer.” He buried his face in his hands. “At least he didn’t slit Jeannie’s throat. Not yet, anyway. But he will, because he can. It’s a promise.”

Lara put her hand on his shoulder. Her throat burned. It just kept happening, worse every time. Her shit luck, spreading to everyone she touched. She was a walking black hole. It couldn’t go on.

“I’m the one he wants,” she said.

Miles’ head whipped up, eyes blazing, and just the faintest snap of coercion flicked across her consciousness, making her wince.

“Don’t. Even. Start.” His voice was a low rasp of menace.

Lara threw her arms wide. “What else am I supposed to do? Let him kill your friends, their kids? I can’t allow that!”

“Neither can I,” he said.

“So tell me, then!” she yelled. “What can we do?”

“Not we,” he said. “Me, Lara. Just me. I’m hog tied when I’m with you. I hate to do this to you, but you’re going have to run alone, to someplace I don’t know. It’s the only way I can swing this.”

“No, Miles. Don’t—”

“And when you’re gone, I go after this guy. And I kill him.”

M
iles desperately needed some rest, but it wasn’t happening. Too much junk in his system. Raw fear, to think of one of Greaves’ goons being close enough to little red-mop-headed Jeannie to slap a note on her back. Close enough to his good little buddy Kevvie to ferret out the number of his hotel room. That opened a hole in his belly that no amount of teeth-grinding concentration could plug.

At least Lara had finally dropped off, after a protracted and emotional argument, which neither of them had definitively won yet. He kept checking obsessively for that bright diffuse glow in his mind that indicated she was there, inside the shield. Everytime he felt it, it gave him a rush of relief. So he reached all the time.

She was safe for now, until she got her next heroic notion. Then all bets were off. But he couldn’t think about that, or he’d just get pissed again.

He needed to get back to that cold place he’d been after the battle in the woods, where instant, ice-cold decisions were made for him by the war machine’s super-processor, and doing the hard thing came naturally. It was the only way to face Greaves, and not give a fuck that he had little to no chance of surviving the encounter. And no chance at all of surviving it with his future with Lara intact.

That was gone now. He had to cut it off. Let it go.

He worked on that, in his head. Throwing switches, laying tracks. Cold, sharp and purposeful.

There was no point in lying here, staring at the coals. He got up, stirred the fire, put on more wood. Broke down the rifle for transport, wrapping the separate pieces in a yellowed newspaper he’d found in the closet. Transferred their wet clothes from the washer to the dryer. He found an old receipt from a hardware store, and scrawled a note on it.

He folded the receipt into an origami swan, tucked fifteen hundred bucks into the folds under the wing, and left it in the middle of the kitchen table. He wished he could leave more money, but he needed the cash for Lara.

Then he tucked the blankets up over Lara’s pale shoulder, sat naked on the floor in front of the fire with his computer and router, and dove into the Internet’s store of lore about Thaddeus Greaves.

A lot of the stuff he had memorized from his previous searches, when he’d begun investigating her disappearance. He knew by heart the inspiring tale of Greaves’ humble beginnings as a private first class in the army, his years in the secret task forces running dangerous missions for his country, blah blah. Big-ass hero. After his years of military service, he had parlayed his smarts into business, and proceeded to make a vast fortune without apparent effort.

Now his money made itself, thick and fast, and he had a whole staff of people dedicated to growing it, so Greaves was free to focus on philanthropy. What a great guy. He supported medical research, the arts, education reform, literacy, scientific research, space travel. He was heavily invested in green energy projects. A passionate advocate for climate-change research and innovation.

Then he ran across something more recent. A press release, dated three days ago. Greaves had funded a community center for his hometown, Blaine, Oregon. In fact, he had a house there. Miles had compiled a list of the man’s residences some time ago, and the Blaine house had been included in the lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous article to show the contrast between his newer lavish mansions and the relatively modest home on the shores of Blaine Lake that he’d bought for his family before he became filthy rich. Still a damn nice house.

The community center was a huge gift, worth tens of millions to the town of Blaine. There was an assisted living facility for elders, a day care and preschool to help children and working families, a sports and arts center for youths, a modern art museum, a theater and concert hall, even a cinema. A shopping district with a pedestrian mall, a town square, a fountain and a park, all in the interests of creating what Greaves considered to be the heart of a functioning community, spaces where people could stroll, socialize, plan concerts, picnic, throw a stick for their dogs. The community was appropriately grateful, and was having a big, fawning event day after tomorrow in which they were dedicating a statue to the guy. Jesus wept. The love was raining down.

At some point, he became aware that the light in the Lara place was glowing brighter. He turned. She was propped up on her elbow.

“Find out anything interesting?” she asked.

“He’s going to be in Blaine day after tomorrow—a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the huge pile of money he just shat all over the place,” he said. “Dedicating a statue of himself. Getting his ass kissed.”

And taking a bullet to the head from the H&K G-36 that Miles had picked up in the woods today. He refrained from mentioning that item on the agenda for Greaves’ busy day. That would take a stroke of luck. He did not want to shoot into a crowd. Greaves’ house would be best.

“You’re going to go there,” she said.

It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer it. “He’s a real prince of a guy,” he said. “Wants to save the world.”

She sat up, let the blanket fall. Her nipples were taut and puckered and dark, her flesh covered with goosebumps. So gorgeous.

“He said something like that to me, too,” she said. “While holding me in a telekinetic vise-grip. He said he wanted to save the world. Make the world a better place.”

“Wow. What did you say?”

“I laughed at him,” she said. “It pissed him off.”

“No shit,” he said drily. “So I can imagine. Jesus, Lara, what is it with you? Do you have a death wish?”

Her eyes narrowed, but her cheeks went hot with anger. “Not when I have something to live for.”

Miles chewed on that for a long moment, and snapped the laptop shut. “That’s how you feel?”

“Yes,” she said.

He rose up , staring at her intently. “That’s nice,” he said. “I’m glad you put some value on your own life. That’s a comfort to me.”

She shrank back. “Don’t be cold and sarcastic,” she said.

“Can’t help that right now,” he said. Cold was how he had to be right now, to do this job. She’d just have to deal with it.

He lifted the blanket that covered her. Lara shivered at the rush of cool air, and brushed her hair out of her eyes, perplexed. “What’s this?”

“This is me, making sure of my welcome,” he said. “Am I welcome even if I’m cold and sarcastic? You said you were mine. Did you mean it? Or was it just pillow talk to make me hard?”

She jerked up onto her elbows, frowning thoughtfully. Then she lay deliberately back down again, scooting over to make room for him.

“No,” she said. “It was absolutely true.”

He gestured at her slender legs. “Then open up for me.”

Her eyes dilated, her heart rate spiked. A subtle glow heated her cheeks, her chest, though her eyes were wary. “Don’t play games.”

He shrugged. “Don’t make me wait.”

She slowly opened her legs, and lifted her arms to him, beckoning. “Welcoming enough for you?” she asked.

“We’re getting there.” He shifted onto the couch between her parted legs, positioning himself, and leaning over so that his cock rested on her mound, pointing up toward her belly. “Touch my cock.”

She clasped him. Squeezed him, slowly gripping, sliding, staring into his eyes as she did so.

He covered her hands with his own, slowly dragged them off his cock with a tight, milking pull, and shoved her legs wider, parting her pussy lips. She gasped, as he thrust into her tight, slick depths.

He grabbed her hands, pinning them on either side of her head as he worked himself slowly inside and out. A juicy, swiveling slide and grind and push. Rhythmic and lazy.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, surging deep.

She clenched around him. “I want you,” she said.

“That’s nice.” He thrust again, harder. “Not what I asked, though.”

“How can I trust you in this mood? You’re angry at me.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m angry. Do you trust me anyway?”

“Why are you acting like this?” she demanded.

“Because it’s how I feel,” he said. “I’m in no mood to fake.”

She struggled to free her hands. “What do you want from me?”

“A straight answer. Do you trust me? Yes or no.”

She sobbed for breath, lifting herself to meet him. He had no clue where he was going with this inexplicable power game, but the dark mood had him in its grip. He wanted her surrender.

He kissed the arch of her trembling throat, feeling the delicate play of bone and muscle and tendon beneath his teeth, licking, sucking. Biting. Dragging his teeth, a delicate, teasing scrape as his hips pumped and rocked. There were tears trickling in front of her ears. He kissed them away, savored their salt. They were his, too.

He worked himself inside her with all his skill, making sure he was sliding his cock right over that spot deep inside, that glowed red hot for him. Driving her closer to her climax—then drawing back.

“Do you trust me?” he asked again.

Her body did. It was a hot liquid kiss around his cock, with every deep stroke. But he could feel the rest of her still holding back.

“Open your eyes,” he said sharply. “Tell me.”

She obeyed him. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling. “Yes, I do trust you.”

Maybe it was the words that brought her off, maybe it was something that he did with his body. He didn’t know or care, just held himself motionless while she came and came, her pussy throbbing and clenching around his cock. His mouth fastened over hers, his heart pressed against her heart. Drinking in his reward.

He waited until her eyes fluttered open again, and spoke, his voice hard and clear. “Promise me you won’t do the human sacrifice thing again,” he said. “Promise me you’ll get on that bus and disappear.”

She opened her eyes, tears streaming. She jerked at her trapped hand, still pinned to the pillow. “Let me wipe my face,” she said.

“Swear it.” He was squeezing her fingers too tightly. He loosened his grip, but he didn’t let go.

“Miles—”

“Do it, Lara.” He didn’t do the coercive mind jab, but both of them felt it there, snarling and lunging at the chain.

She bit her lip til the color fled, and shook her head. “I can’t.”

 

Lara stared into his furious face, unnerved. His eyes burned.

“You can’t,” he repeated.

She shook her head. Her voice was frozen in her throat.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he said.

She shook her head again. “I can’t say that to you. I have no idea what’s going to happen, what we’ll encounter, what choices I’ll have to make. I won’t make a promise that I don’t know I can keep. Especially not to you.”

“You’re telling me you’re just going to—”

“No!” she protested. “I’m not telling you any such thing! I’m just not making irresponsible promises. I don’t follow orders well, so don’t get all alpha on me. And stop pinning my hands. You’re being a controlling bastard. And that
hurts.
”

He let go of her hands. She flexed her aching fingers.

“Don’t try to manipulate me with sex, ever again,” she added tartly. “That’s a dirty trick, and totally unfair.”

“Why not? It doesn’t work on you anyway. It makes you come, but your precious integrity is intact. So why not go wild with the kinky power plays? It’s just a fucking parlor game for you.”

“Stop trying to intimidate me. You’re being ugly. And I hate it.”

They stared at each other, bodies still locked together.

“You know my ex, Cindy?” he said. “She may have been a selfish, lying slut and a lightweight piece of fluff, but damn, I could always count on her to do what was in her own best interest. I never had to worry about acts of suicidal heroism from her.”

“You’re a fine one to talk,” she retorted. “You’re being irrational. I have no plans of doing anything crazy, or—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it. You won’t promise. End of story. Nothing you could say can make that easier for me to swallow.”

She reached up, stroking his stubbled cheek, and dared to speak anyway. “I won’t do anything stupid. I promise that,” she told him gently. “And you can always trust me to tell you the truth.”

“Oh. That’ll be a big comfort when you’re dead,” he snarled.

She heaved, shoving at his unyielding weight. It was like pushing on a steel girder. “Get off me. You are pissing me off.”

Her wiggling underscored that fact that their bodies were still joined. He was deep inside her, as thick and throbbing as ever.

He noticed her gaze, and glanced down, with a harsh laugh.

“Yeah. I’m still hard. Bummer, that. I should have come when you did, but no. I was too busy jerking you around, being a controlling bastard.”

Her hands flattened against his chest. Conflicting feelings trapped her voice in her throat, but he read her face. His eyes went cold.

“No, I would not do that,” he said. “Since you’re evidently wondering. I would not force you, ever.” He withdrew instantly, and stood up. Cold rushed in where his hot body had been, racking her with shudders. “I’m not that much of a controlling bastard. Jesus, Lara. I thought you said you trusted me.”

“It’s true.” Her teeth were chattering. “I do. Even now.”

“What good is that if I can’t trust you back?”

With that parting shot, he stalked off into the kitchen, and then the bathroom, slamming the door. Leaving her wrecked.