Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) (38 page)

“But I was a kid. A broken-hearted one who missed her mother desperately.”

She didn’t have to say that she still did. From the heavy, sad look she gave him, he knew she did. “My mother made him better. Without her, I tried. But I didn’t have the same influence on him. My mother told me to believe him. To have faith in him. So I always did. I still do. I’ve always felt responsible for him.” She gave him a soft smile. “When it became too much, I’d go partying. Right now, I don’t know how to make any of this right. I know what my father wants me to do, and I believe I need to do it. But the reality of what he’s set in motion is killing me. Jack and Posie were wonderful. Daniel and Sarah were too. Jen is missing. God knows what’s happening to my father.” She shook her head. “I just can’t make any of this right.”

“Focus on what you’ve accomplished.”

She shook her head. “Not much. I dropped the ball. I should’ve been on the road to Tennessee, long before you arrived at the bakery. I’d have the backup. It wouldn’t be gone. People I care about wouldn’t be dead.”

“Maybe. But you could also be dead. You kept yourself and your sister from being kidnapped.”

“You did that.”

He smiled. “I helped. You were fighting them before I got there, and doing a decent job of it. You at least delayed them.”

“But I need you to believe me, and I can’t even persuade you that what I’m saying has any basis in reality. Shadow and LID Technologies exist. They really do. I’ve seen them. I was at his side, when he developed them.

“I can’t take your word for it. I need evidence,” he said it as nicely as he could, and she nodded. “You and Spring are safe now. We’ll find your father. I’m still not sure how, but we will. You’ve got to trust me on this.”

Some of the misery lifted from her eyes. He knew he should return to the front cabin. He should at least open the door, which should prevent anything physical from happening between them. But inertia overcame logic. His butt stayed planted in the comfortable chair, and when he inhaled he smelled vanilla and fresh pine. He leaned closer to her. Seconds passed, and still he didn’t move. He only breathed in her scent.

A faint pink blush formed on her cheek. The rose-pink was the color of the sweater, which was the color of her nipples, and once his mind seized upon that thought, there was only one thing that his body wanted to happen. He wasn’t going there, but he gave himself freedom to touch her. He ran his finger along her cheekbone, because for some reason it made sense for him to want to know the answer to whether the pink flush had any heat in it. He didn’t just want to know the answer. He needed to know the answer. Yes. There was heat. When she blushed, there was just a small elevation of temperature, one that he could barely detect, but it was there, on the tip of his index finger.

He would have stopped, but she caught her breath and licked her lips, leaving a sheen of moisture on her lower lip. Where, of course, he now needed to touch. With his index finger on the glistening pink pad of her lower lip, she breathed in, even deeper, and he was lost. She wanted reality? He didn’t have it for her.

With the very last centimeter of self-control that existed in his body, he said, “You have to tell me to stop. I won’t do it on my own.”

She shook her head, as he traced the outline of her lips and bent forward to kiss her neck. “I’m not going to do that.” She smiled a lazy, sultry smile as he tore himself from her. “Just don’t apologize after.”

No apology?

No problem.

Somewhere between getting her out of her seat and getting his rock hard penis into her, shoes and clothes came off. He started with her jeans, she started with his shirt. As she started to lift the sweater over her head, he gripped her hands. “Wait.”

He sat her on the bench seat and knelt between her legs. Her jeans were off, her panties were somewhere in the heap. Doing something he’d wanted to do ever since seeing her in the kitchen that morning, he unbuttoned each tiny button of her sweater, then pushed it aside. He paused, admiring the way the mounds of her breasts moved with each of her breaths. He unsnapped the front hook of her bra, drawing a deep, harsh breath. Her nipples were the exact shade of the damn sweater that had been tormenting him, and he bent to her, his naked body pressed against hers, as he closed his mouth on one nipple, sucking, biting, and licking, until she moaned. He turned his attention to the other, reaching behind her and holding her tight as she arched into him.

The night before she’d been surprised by his idea of foreplay. Now, her eyes glistened as she watched him study her body. She gave him a positively wicked smile as she teased him by opening her legs, licking her lips as she did so. Turn on factor? Off the charts. He loved uninhibited women.

Over the intercom, the pilot said, “We’ve been cleared for takeoff. There are a few planes ahead of us.”

Sebastian pushed Skye’s knees further apart as the jet started rolling. “We should stop this and buckle up.”

“Stop and I’ll kill you.”

He laughed as he eyed her tight folds and dark curls. With the same index finger that had grazed the pink flush along her cheekbone, and her lip, he touched her core, swirling his finger into her, closing his eyes at the feel of her slick heat, listening to her soft moans. He lifted the finger to his mouth, sucked her moisture off of it, and needed more.

Goddamn it, but he wanted to kiss her as he did her, the old-fashioned way, the kind of wet kiss that went with love-making sex. The kind of no-holds barred intimate touching that could go on for hours. He wanted to open his mouth on hers, slide his tongue over hers, taste her, and not stop until their lips were bruised, and make love until they screamed into each other’s mouth in release.

Not an option. Instead, he bent his face towards her sex, and covered it with his mouth as he moved his hands to her hips and pulled her to him. As though he had never tasted a woman before, he groaned, relishing the salty-sweet, fresh taste that confronted him as he tongued her. She lifted her feet to the seat’s edge, opening herself to him as he sucked and licked. Mostly, he feasted, coincidentally giving her pleasure while indulging in the assault of sensations that her body offered. Her hands were on his head, pulling his hair. When he penetrated her with his tongue, her restrained whimpers were just as sexy as the screams she’d given him the night before.

He moved his tongue to her clitoris and slid two fingers deep inside of her as the jet picked up speed. Thrusting with his fingers, he nibbled as he sucked. Because four men were on the other side of a thin door, her cries may have been restrained, but there was nothing restrained about the way she pulled his hair and clenched her thighs against his head. With her hips bucking, her head thrashing, and her breath coming in short gasps, she whimpered, peaking as quietly as she could while the jet gained altitude.

He lifted himself before her orgasm stopped, tearing his mouth from something he never wanted to leave. He pulled her from the couch, laid her on the floor, knelt between her legs, and lifted her knees over his shoulders. He pushed the tip of his penis into her, feeling her close around him as he buried himself, inch by inch. In the throes of an orgasm, her muscles were clenching so hard that he had to fight his way in, powering through it as he thrust up and deep. She gasped, opened her eyes, gripped his waist for balance, and shifted her hips as she tried to accommodate the full length of him.

He grit his teeth but didn’t slow his pace. He needed days with her, damn it. Slow and leisurely? Maybe one day he’d have the opportunity, but not today. He pounded into her, watching her expression as he rode her, hard. She lost her breath, her eyes became glazed, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. When he became concerned it was too much for her, he slowed his pace. She shook her head and encouraged him by meeting his thrusts by arching into him. Her channel contracted around him, becoming a heat-filled, pulsing tourniquet on his penis that fueled a power-driven release. Nerve-endings sizzled from the bottom of his feet to the tips of his fingers, and everywhere in between. His orgasm was just as deep as it had been the night before, with violent and endless contractions that stole his breath, leaving him with the feeling that, for the moment, at least, his world was finally in sync.

With his last ounce of energy, he maneuvered himself and her, so that she was on top of him, holding her so that she was eye-level with him. He stayed inside, focusing on the feel of his hot semen and her juices, the feel of her full breasts, pressed against his chest, the pounding of her heart that joined with his. Her face and neck were flush with sexual energy, her eyes burned with a deep, internal light, and she gave him a full, satisfied smile as she looked into his eyes.

With the warmth that came with her radiant, satisfied smile, his in-sync feeling disappeared.

I want more.

He should be done with her, but he wasn’t, and what he wanted had nothing to do with sex. Lifting his head, he planted soft kisses along her jawbone, up her cheek, to her temples, to her forehead. He moved his lips to hers. When there was just a thin space between them, he stopped.

A piece of paper could have fit between their lips, but not much more. He looked into her eyes. She was watching him. Waiting for his next move. She wasn’t going to push the issue.

Hell.

He dropped his head without making lip contact, not wanting to look her in the eye. He shifted his hips, sliding out of her, and immediately wanted back in. “We should get dressed,” he said, his voice harsher than he intended, irritated not because she had done anything suggesting that she expected a damn thing out of him. No. The problem was his. He didn’t meet her eyes as he unraveled the pile of clothes, sorting through his and hers. He was buckling his belt as she stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed, her hair once again in a ponytail and a loose braid.

He drew a deep breath, stricken by how pretty she was.

I am royally fucked.

His problem, not hers.

“You okay?” he asked, forcing himself to push past the feeling of dissatisfaction, that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him.

As she nodded, he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her close. He should just return to the front cabin of the jet. But he didn’t feel like it. He was stepping out on a limb by holding on to her, stepping out on a limb by asking her about her father’s outlandish scenario. But as he wrapped his arms around her, he had at least one more question that needed an answer. “How exactly were you supposed to get into see the President? Did your father just expect you to knock on the front door of the White House?”

She frowned. “Of course not.”

The plane started its descent, swaying through turbulence, before settling into comfortable air. He sat, heavy, in the seat, and she did the same, buckling her seat belt.

“Well?”

“A senator will get me there.”

He swallowed, drew a deep breath, and asked, “Which senator?”

“Senator Robert McCollum.”

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

“Sebastian?”

He shook his head, trying to clear the jumble of thoughts provoked by hearing the name of the senator with whom he’d negotiated the prison security contracts. “What exactly does McCollum know about any of this?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Does he know about Shadow and LID Technologies? Does he know that you’re supposed to be bringing the President your father’s backup?”

“I have no idea. I just know I’m supposed to contact him. He’s going to get me access to the President.”

He looked out of the window and down. The jet had just breached a layer of clouds. He could see the ground. He touched his watch, testing whether he had communication capabilities. “Ragno?”

“Yes. Did you have a nice flight?”

Nice didn’t describe it. Incredible was more like it. He didn’t go there. “We’re still in the air. Any word from Charlotte?”

“No backup.”

Skye’s eyes were on him. He shook his head. “Backup’s gone.”

She shut her eyes in disappointment.

Ragno continued, “The safety deposit box had a pouch of diamonds, some gold medallions, and cash. Who the hell are these people that they’d leave a pouch of loose diamonds?”

“Great question, but diamonds and gold medallions can be marked, and they’re smart enough to know that. Did cameras pick up anything useful?”

“Partial faces. That’s it. Nothing helpful. Our facial recognition software isn’t giving us anything.”

“What about the phone?”

“Also gone.”

Questioning eyes were on him. He shook his head.

“Well,” he paused, “Skye just gave me a bit more information.” He drew a deep breath, still amazed at the idea of who Barrows had established as the D.C. contact for getting Skye into the White House. “Brace yourself. It gets better.”

“Tell me.”

“Skye’s contact in D.C. is Bob McCollum,” he said. “McCollum is supposed to get her into the White House.”

“Are you kidding me?”

A chuckle caught in his throat. “Believe me, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.”

“What does McCollum know?”

“Skye doesn’t know. She’s just supposed to contact him. He’s supposed to get her, and the backup, into the Oval Office.”