Legend of Michael (3 page)

A few seconds later, Michael dragged a laughing, pleased Becky down the deserted hallway, by the restroom, and out the back door exit. The minute they were outside, he pulled her lush curves against him and slid his hand into her silky red hair in preparation to kiss her, but was unable to execute.

Breathlessly, Becky Lee whispered, “I’m dying here, Michael. Kiss me. I need you to kiss me.” But she didn’t need him, not really. She
wanted
him, wanted the rush of sex with someone who burned for the escape it offered as much as she did. And there was a time when that had been a perfect match for Michael, a time when that made her a short-term kindred spirit. A time when holding a woman and knowing he gave her pleasure made him feel like something other than a monster. But tonight wasn’t that night. Or rather, this wasn’t the woman, any more than any of the others inside that bar were.

Michael released Becky Lee and led her back inside. “What you need is a drink.”

Several minutes later, he exited the back door alone, the need inside him nearly primal now, a need beyond resisting, beyond any form of denial. Michael faded into the wind and reappeared on Cassandra’s back patio.

***

Near midnight, Cassandra sat in the overstuffed chair in her bedroom, a stack of research papers on her lap, the rare cool evening breeze, compliments of a hit-and-run August storm, drifting past the curtains covering her open sliding-glass doors. She’d dressed for bed and promised herself she’d go to sleep at a reasonable hour, knowing full well that fourteen-hour days were wearing on her. But this X2 research was wearing on her too. There had been five more soldiers who’d tested positive for a total of fifteen. Out of those, a third of them were displaying out-of-character aggression, and as a result, her father wanted all fifteen men turned into pincushions. Washington had supported his immunization program because he’d given them an amazing weapon in the GTECHs. He wasn’t going to risk losing that support, no matter what he put these men through. It was a miracle any of the GTECHs were still sane, but she’d give her father credit, he’d picked soldiers who endured and thrived.

A breeze lifted the curtains ever so slightly, and her gaze shifted to the doorway. Her thoughts immediately went to Michael, wondering when, or if, he’d ask her out again. Every time they got a little steamy, he ran for the hills. With all the heat between them, and all those legendary stories of his conquests, she wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she worried it had something to do with the disapproval she sensed in him when the subject of her father came up. Not that she wanted to be one of his conquests, but well, maybe he could be one of hers.

She laughed at the insanity of that idea and then laughed some more in memory of their second date to play Putt Putt mini-golf when she’d smashed a ball into someone’s car—a BMW, of all makes. The owner had, thankfully, been generous in his forgiveness, but Cassandra had been horrified. That was, until Michael, “The Dark One,” had smiled and kissed her on the nose—she’d forgotten her embarrassment. She remembered looking into his eyes, all twinkling with crystal blue amusement, and feeling a connection. There was something different about him in that moment, beyond the smile she’d finally dragged out of him. He’d let his guard down.

Suddenly, the curtain lifted with a full-out gust of wind, and Cassandra could have sworn it called her name. Almost instantly she shook her head. This crush on Michael was making her crazy.

She set her file on the table beside the chair and pushed to her feet, her sheer white gown settling just above her knees. She intended to shut the back door and go to bed, but was also more than a little eager to peek outside. Pulling back the curtain, she saw the dim glow of her porch light sprayed across the porch, illuminating a tall figure standing several feet away from the doorway.

Cassandra blinked, certain she was imagining Michael standing there, but no, he was actually here, looking as lethally male as ever—and a bit like a warrior of old, with his hair framing that strong face and broad shoulders. That thought sent her stomach on a roller coaster ride. Oh God. He was a warrior—or rather, a soldier who’d just returned from a mission. She knew all about these midnight visits and the bad news that came with them.

She shoved open the screen and stepped in her bare feet toward him, all thought of her sheer gown forgotten. There was only the certainty her world was about to crumble around her. “Tell me. Just tell me now. It’s my father, isn’t it?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Everything is fine. He’s fine.” He scrubbed his jaw. “
Everyone
is fine.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, searching his face for confirmation. “Please tell me you’re sure.”

He nodded sharply. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

“Oh thank God,” Cassandra said, letting out a relieved breath, her hand still pressed to her chest where her heart had darn near ripped a hole. For all her father’s flaws, he was all she had, and she loved him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, taking a step backwards. “Coming here was a mistake.”

“Wait!” she said quickly, certain he was about to disappear, closing the distance between them and grabbing his arm. “Please. Don’t go. You came here for a reason, and you haven’t even told me what that is.” But she could see from the tension in his expression, he’d already shut her out. She didn’t want him to shut her out. “Talk to me, Michael. What happened? Was it a mission?”

He hesitated, and said softly, “It’s always a mission.”

So something was wrong. Something had upset him, and he’d come here, to her, for comfort. Her heart swelled with that knowledge. Michael, who shut out everyone, had come to her. Her fingers slid down his arm to his hand. She drew it into hers. “Can you talk about it?”

“I wouldn’t if I could,” he said. “It’s nothing you want to hear.”

“I’m pretty tough,” she promised.

He pulled her close and held her, burying his face in her hair, the warmth of him surrounding her. “I know you are,” he said softly. “And too good for the hell of my life. Which is why I feel so damn selfish for needing you.”

He tried to set her away from him, as if he planned to leave. Cassandra held tight, shocked by his confession, by his vulnerability. “You aren’t going anywhere without me. I won’t let you push me away. I need you too.”

The fire in his eyes was instant, the low guttural moan that slid from his throat, primal. She barely remembered the moment he lifted her, hands intimately palming her backside. There was only the passionate wildness of his kiss and the need to wrap herself around him, to get close and then closer. She didn’t even remember entering the house—completely out of her conservative nature. He could have taken her on the patio, and she would have begged him to take her again. She just wanted him, and yes, needed him.

Somehow, they made it to the mattress, her on her back and her gown on the floor. But shyness jolted her out of her wanton abandon when he rolled to his side, still fully clothed, and flattened his hand on her stomach, his gaze hot in its perusal.

Cassandra tried to sit up, but his hand pressed her back in place.

“What are you doing?” she asked, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable herself now. Why wasn’t he as lost in passion as she was?

“Admiring you,” he said, his hand gently brushed her nipple, and she barely contained a moan. She didn’t want to be out of control when he was not.

He slid back on top of her, as if he sensed she was ready to bolt, trapping her beneath his big body and spreading her legs with his knees. Long raven hair framing his shoulders, reminding her again of a warrior—a wild, wicked warrior.
Her
warrior. It was a crazy thought, as wild and wicked as the man. But for tonight, he was hers, for tonight there was only the two of them, only the need that she saw in his eyes, tasted on his lips as they brushed gently over hers.

“This is the part where you relax and let me show you how beautiful you are.” He kissed her neck, her ear. “So very beautiful.” And so he did—slowly, seductively, perfectly. She lost herself to pleasure, lost time, lost coherent thought, as Michael’s mouth found her breasts, her nipples, the aching V of her body. There was something magical about the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, that stole the inhibitions of her past and demanded she give herself fully to him. That demanded she lose herself and find him.

His tongue brushed her nipple, and her back arched, a soft moan slipping from her lips. He lifted his head, his crystal blue eyes touching hers, brimming with molten heat.

“I like it when you moan for me.”

She touched his face, wanting so desperately to know the man beneath the warrior. “Your eyes,” she said. “Show me the real color.” She felt, rather than saw, his reaction, the instant tension in his body and responded. “The real you. That’s who I want. That’s who I
need
.”

He stared at her, unmoving, barely breathing, until his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, drawing her into a frenzied burn of pure hot sensation. Their hands were all over each other, their clothes vanishing. She never felt such an ache to feel skin against skin.

Time faded into moans, into sighs, into the ache of her body’s need for him to be inside her that had her calling out when he pushed away from her to stand at the end of the bed—naked, rippling perfection, every bit as delicious as she’d imagined. Instinct sent her to the edge of the mattress, eager to touch him again, to feel him and look at him. He reached for her and pulled her with him as he sat down on the chair. “I need to be inside you, Cassandra,” he said, easing her legs across him.

“Yes,” she agreed breathlessly, letting him brace her as she slid down the long, hard length of him until he was buried deeply, completely.

His hand tangled in her long blonde hair, gently tugging her mouth to his. “Do you feel how much I need you?” His hips shifted, his cock expanding within her, stroking her with one long, teasing caress.

“Yes,” she gasped as he did it again.

His eyes shifted blue to black. “Are you scared now, Cassandra?”

She didn’t want to fall for a soldier, didn’t want to worry or be hurt, and her heart said it was too late. She wasn’t falling for him. She’d fallen. “Yes,” she whispered, leaning back farther, ensuring that he could see the emotion behind her words. “You scare the hell out of me, Michael Taylor.”

“The feeling is mutual, sweetheart,” he said, before he claimed her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss that paled to the wildness that followed. He let her feel the vulnerability and pain behind each stroke of his cock, each caress of his tongue. He needed her, and that didn’t scare her. But how much she needed him… did.

***

Michael wasn’t good for Cassandra. He knew it. He was pretty damn sure she knew it too. But there was an odd feeling of peace inside him while he was with her, a feeling that almost—
almost
—as impossible as he thought it to be—made him feel human.

Michael had told himself to leave before she woke up, to make last night a mistake not to be repeated. But after getting dressed, he’d sat down in that chair where they’d made love and was still there when her alarm went off. And damn if he wasn’t glad he’d stayed around because seeing her with her hair wild and her lips swollen from his kisses, was an invitation to a good morning that had him following her to the kitchen while she made coffee.

“I hope you like your caffeine so strong it’ll peel your eyelids back,” she said, a few minutes later in the kitchen.

“The stronger the motor oil,” he said, leaning an elbow on the cabinet across from her, “the better.”

She smiled her approval, turned to the cabinet, and pushed to her tip toes, trying to reach a mug. Michael would have helped her, but he was too busy admiring her cute heart-shaped butt, outlined in silk, and trying to talk himself out of setting her up on that counter and taking her right here and now.

She turned to face him, mugs in hand. “You GTECHs might not need much sleep, but I—” A gasp cut off her words, the mugs flying in the air, as her knees buckled.

Michael caught her around the waist, and she collapsed against him. “My neck,” she whispered, barely able to speak. “It… hurts.” She balled her fists on his chest, desperation in her pain-stricken face.

He lifted her and carried her to the couch, sitting down and cradling her shaking body in his arms. “Easy, sweetheart,” he soothed, running his hand over her hair. He didn’t have to look at her neck to know what was happening, any more than he imagined she did. He’d known to stay away from her, known he was treading dangerous waters, and now, he’d marked her.

Long minutes later, she eased off his lap onto the cushion. “I’m okay. I think it’s passing now.” They stared at each other several tense seconds before she confirmed she was thinking the same thing he was when she said, “You should check my neck.”

He nodded, and she slowly turned, lifting her hair to expose her neck. The instant Michael saw that mark on her skin, a rush of pure white-hot possessiveness flared inside him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to the double circle on her neck, wanting nothing more than to make love to her, to mark her yet again as his.

“Michael,” she whispered, leaning into him, and he could feel her responding to his need, feel the passion turning damn near combustible. “Is it…?”