Spider Game (6 page)

Pascal Comeaux swept his hand down her hair, fingers lingering for a moment. Cayenne caught his hand, pulled it from her hair and indicated his wedding ring. Trap clenched his teeth. Around them, the air thickened until it was dense – so dense that a heavy opaque gray slipped around them like a veil. Mordichai coughed. Draden cleared his throat. The air was difficult to breathe into their lungs.

“Trap,” Wyatt cautioned softly. “You’ve got to hold it together. We’re all watchin’ her. Nothin’s goin’ to happen.”

“I was right, damn it,” Trap hissed. “She’s fuckin’ robbin’ them. First she flirts her cute little ass off with them. What the hell? Does she go home with them?” The moment he said it, the walls of the room creaked. Expanded and contracted. Overhead the roof creaked, the sound like tree branches scraping against tin.

“You know she isn’t goin’ home with them, Trap,” Wyatt said. “Don’ be an ass. And don’ take down my favorite waterin’ hole.”

Cayenne’s soft laughter drifted toward them again, and Trap’s head came up, rage churning deep inside, right beneath that thick blue ice. He’d had enough, and this time, he was going to put a stop to her shit.

“Uh-oh,” Wyatt whispered softly under his breath.

Trap’s eyes narrowed.
Stop flirting with them before someone gets hurt.

There was silence. Outraged silence. Her breath hissed out between her teeth, but only Trap heard it. She turned her back to the bar, leaning on her elbows, which thrust her breasts out toward him. For one moment her jeweled eyes touched his and then skittered away defiantly.

You don’t own me. You have no right to tell me whether or not I can flirt.
 

You want to flirt, you can damn well flirt with me. You want to get laid, I’m your man. You’re going to get someone killed.
 

Her eyes came back to his face. Drifted over the angles and planes. Touched on the shadow on his jaw.
Trap, you know what we’re feeling isn’t real.

It’s real enough for me, baby. Those two men are brutes. I’ll take my time with you. I’ll make you feel better than you’ve ever felt in your life.
His velvet voice stroked her skin, deliberately fed her need of him.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she abruptly spun around again.
Get out of my head. I’ve been a prisoner all my life and no one is going to cage me.

He refused to leave her head now that he was firmly entrenched in it. He stroked her again. Gently. Intimately.
When I’m inside you, baby, you’re going to fly. No cage for either of us. Ever. You’re mine, and no matter who comes at you, I’ll fucking kill them before they get to you. That’s a promise. Now get away from those two.

There was a small silence again. Trap made himself breathe. She needed to come to him. If he tried to force her, she’d be in the wind again.

This isn’t what it looks like. Just business.
 

She was trying to appease him, but that just pissed him way the fuck off.
I know what you’re doing. I don’t like it, and you have to stop before someone else figures it out.

You don’t know what I’m doing.
 

Her voice was always sultry. Sexy. An invitation, but delivered telepathically, mind to mind, so intimate, his body’s response was low and wicked, a hard punch he didn’t expect. It actually took effort to keep his expression the same.

You’re testing them to see if they meet your personal criteria for setting them up to be robbed.
 

Again there was a small silence. She turned her head to give Pascal another smile. The man reached over and slid his hand down her spine to the curve of her ass. She moved away instantly, saying something low to him. His brother boxed her in, forcing her body back toward Pascal.

Trap stood instantly. The room pulsed with tension. That shimmer moved from their table through the air, thickening more, making it difficult to breathe. Several men coughed. The other GhostWalkers stood as well. Cayenne turned immediately still, sandwiched in between the brothers. She flashed a smile at Trap, ready to defuse the situation. She could see the intent in his eyes, feel the danger pouring from his body. The icy rage pulsed in the air.

She continued to smile at Trap as if they were old friends. “I didn’t see you sitting there in the dark. Want a beer?”

Pascal leaned down and said something in her ear. She shrugged, snagged two bottles of icy beer that Delmar put on the wooden plank in front of her and slipped out from between the Comeaux brothers. Pascal let out a snarling curse and caught her long hair in his hand, jerking her back toward his body.

Trap got there first, but every team member had his back. All five of them. Men with cool, dangerous eyes that had seen more combat than Pascal could possibly imagine in spite of his years of growing up fighting.

“Let her go,” Trap said softly. Too softly. “She’s mine. You touch her again and you’re a dead man.” He meant it. He let Pascal see that he meant it.

Pascal was mean and he liked to hurt others, but he wasn’t stupid. He was a cunning, cruel man who ruled his world with an iron fist. He knew death when he saw it. He knew a situation he couldn’t win. He shoved Cayenne at Trap.

Trap’s hands were gentle as he caught her to him, trusting the others to keep the Comeaux brothers off of him.

What are you doing? I can’t combat this, even with my voice. I could have made him stop. You know that. He’s very susceptible to my voice. Trap, I can’t make him forget this and he’ll come after you. He’s a coward and he’ll sneak.
 

He comes after me, he’ll die. You should have just come to my table.
He pulled her front to his side, clamped her there with one arm tight around her and walked her back to the table in the shadows where he’d waited for her. He kept his eye on the Comeaux brothers as he did so. Both turned to watch her progress across the room. Then again, he noted, most of the men watched the sway of her beautiful ass. Pascal caught his eyes and drew a line across his own throat. If that worked to intimidate others, it didn’t Trap.

Trap halted at the table, curled his hand around the nape of Cayenne’s neck and drew her to him. She was significantly shorter than him. Touching her bare skin sent tiny electrical charges firing through his bloodstream in a rush of heat. He took the beer bottles from her with one large hand and set them on the table.

She frowned as he drew her right up against him. Both hands framed her face, tipping it up toward his, holding it still as his head came down. His mouth moved over hers. Gently. Seductively. Coaxing her. Her lashes fluttered. Covered the brilliant, shocked green of her eyes. Her lips parted on a gasp of protest. He took full advantage, his tongue sweeping into that heated moist paradise. Tasting her. Taking her inside where he needed her. Stepping back into the shadows, taking her with him now that he’d made his statement to the other men in the bar, sheltering her from the room with his much larger body.

He kissed her thoroughly, starting out gentle and sliding right past gentle to savage. Claiming her. He kissed her like he meant it – and he did. He caught fire, and she ignited right with him. He knew she wasn’t experienced because her response was tentative at first, but then the heat rushed through her, the same current of electricity, and instantly her mouth moved under his.

He poured himself into her, kissing her hard. Wet. Long. Her body melted into his and against his chest, he felt her nipples harden into tight, inviting peaks.

Are your panties wet yet? You’re so fucking beautiful and you taste so good I want to spend all night eating you.
 

You have to stop. I can’t do this with you.
But she didn’t pull away. One hand crept into his hair, her fingers twisting deep.

We’re in the shadows. We’re both GhostWalkers, baby, and we can hide when we want to. None of them get to share our moment.
 

One moment. That’s all we get. Then we’re done, Trap. You have to leave me alone. I mean it. You don’t and it’s going to be war.
 

She still kissed him back. Feeding his hunger. Feeding her own. Once they started they couldn’t get enough of each other. That had never, not once in his life, ever happened to Trap. He didn’t lose himself in a woman. He found release, but just kissing her – her mouth moving under his – was better than whatever any other woman had given him. Because Cayenne gave herself to him. Completely. Holding nothing back in that moment. She wanted him to have this with her. To remember it. She wanted to have him like this, hot and wild and belonging only to her. She stored every second in her mind to take out over and over because she didn’t believe for a moment she would ever have it again.

CHAPTER 3

T
rap raised his head, breathing hard. Breathing for both of them. He waited until Cayenne’s long lashes fluttered and then lifted. Her eyes were a little dazed, and the sight sent blood pounding through his cock. He smoothed one hand gently over her cheek. Her skin was softer than anything he’d ever felt.

“Don’t ever tell me you don’t belong to me, Cayenne, because you do. You know you do.” He knew better than to claim a woman for his own, but there was no denying the pull between them. It wasn’t just strong. It was savage. Relentless. He didn’t even care that it wasn’t logical, when he was a man all about logic. He was cynical and believed in nothing but his team – and the fact that Cayenne was meant to be his.

Her gaze searched his. She swallowed. “Trap. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. There’s a reason I was in that cell where you found me. I would have killed you if I had to in order to get out of there. This stops here.”

He heard the brutal honesty in her voice. She was trying to save him from himself. From her. From whatever it was between them. “Sit down for a minute. Drink the beer. We’ll talk.
Talk
. That’s all.” He had to find a way to reach her. She had become the most important person in his world. He didn’t care why. He just knew that if he couldn’t have her, he’d never have anyone. Whatever that relentless pull was, it had a hold on him and would never let him go. He would never again be able to be with another woman without wishing she were Cayenne. Without thinking of her, or fantasizing about her.

She shook her head, but she couldn’t tear herself away from him. Cayenne put trembling fingers to her lips – lips that looked as if they’d been thoroughly kissed. Trap slid his hand from her neck, down her arm to capture her wrist. He kept the movement gentle, knowing she was like a wild animal, trapped in a corner and ready to run.

“Come on, baby. Just sit a minute. I want to fill you in on a few things going on you may not be aware of,” he coaxed. He had to spend more time with her, get her to see things his way. She couldn’t be robbing people to find the money for food and clothes. He could easily provide for her if she’d let him. She was afraid. He didn’t blame her for that, but she had to get over it. “Just sit down, Cayenne. I’m asking for a minute.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

Her voice was beautiful. Soft. Melodious. Even though it was low and soft, her tone felt like velvet brushing over his skin. He knew her voice carried power. That exact pitch could slip inside a man and influence him to do all sorts of things. He was one of the few that could fight the pull of her compulsions, but it was difficult. Like others, he was susceptible. He just had to keep the logical part of his brain uppermost and he’d manage to escape her influence.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Maybe it is a bad idea. But let’s do it anyway.”

Cayenne pressed her lips together, but she allowed him to hold out a chair for her, hesitating only a moment before she slipped into it, mostly, he was sure, because he made certain her back was to the wall. He toed his chair closer to hers on the pretense of not wanting to be overheard. He knew he could keep their conversation private, but he wanted his thigh pressed tight against hers.

He needed to touch her. That need was on a primal level and impossible to ignore whether it bothered him or not – and it bothered him. He never allowed himself to
need
anything or anyone. Up close, her fragrance teased his senses, inflamed them until every nerve ending in his body came alive.

She picked up her beer and took a small sip. Not enjoying it. She didn’t like the taste. Her expression didn’t change, but he knew. He saw her. Or maybe he was locked somewhere inside her mind, because when they spoke telepathically, a part of him had remained in her. More than likely, when he’d rescued her from her locked cell, he’d been nearly as vulnerable as she was. Going through walls, changing molecular structure left him weak and shaky. He’d already done it several times, rescuing Wyatt’s little girls before he’d gotten to Cayenne.

He removed the beer from her hand. “What would you prefer to drink?”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “Trap,” she protested, glancing around the room at the others drinking the brew. She reached for the beer.

He held the bottle out of reach, an easy feat since he had long arms. “What do you prefer to drink?”