The Spy Who Loves Me (15 page)

Amber said nothing. He was wrong. About that, she was sure. But right now wasn't the time to prove it.

 

A nightmare.

This was a nightmare all done up in silks and satins and high-gloss paint.

Finn paced the room, more lush than a suite at the Plaza. He'd expected to be tossed in a cold, stone cell or tied to a cement slab with a buzz saw swinging like a pendulum over his chest. Instead, he'd been tossed into the lap of luxury.

Disconcerting, to say the least.

He sat down on the edge of the firm mattress and ran his palm over the silky bedspread, his mind going a million miles an hour.
He needed to get out.
Needed to find Amber. But he'd already been over every inch of the room. If there were any hidden passages or secret escape routes, he hadn't found them.

The bathroom was simply stocked, lacking anything from which he could fashion even the most remedial of explosives or weapons. He ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. Probably just as well. If he blew the door out, he'd most likely end up with a bullet in his head. And he was no good to Amber dead.

They'd been separated as soon as the truck had pulled to a halt inside a concrete bunker, and he could only hope that her accommodations were as appealing. He had a suspicion, however, that her quarters were much more spartan. Diana thought that Finn had information, and apparently she was going to attempt to extract it with honey.

But Amber was just along for the ride. On the plane they'd made it perfectly clear that they had no need to keep her happy. Only to keep her alive—in case they needed to use her to get to him.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He'd tell them whatever they wanted if it would keep her from being hurt. But it wouldn't do any good. Because at the end of the day, he didn't know a thing.

He pounded a fist against the bed, the gesture unsatisfying against the thick, downy covering.

“Now, now, sugar.” The soft, feminine voice drifted to him from across the room. “What could possibly be troubling you?”

Finn opened his eyes and saw Diana standing in the now-open doorway. She wore only a silky negligee, transparent against the light of the hallway. She glided forward, every movement calculated to entice.

He ignored her question, staying perfectly silent as she moved toward him. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and he bit down on the inside of his mouth, stifling the overpowering urge to push himself up and off the bed. He'd never before wanted to hit a woman. But he wanted to now. And how.

When she reached him, she ran her fingertip along the line of his jaw, even as he turned away, trying to escape her caress.

“Now, sweetie, what kind of a reaction is that? I thought you'd be happy to see me.” She took his knees and pushed his legs apart, then moved to stand in the V of his thighs. “I thought we could enjoy this time alone.”

“Somehow,” he said, “I sense an ulterior motive.”

“Nonsense.” She turned in a full circle, her peignoir swishing against the rough fabric of his jeans. “You can see I'm completely unarmed.”

“I'm not sure that makes you any less deadly.”

She tossed her head back and laughed, as if he'd skewered her with his rapier wit. Then she moved closer, pressing her hand on his shoulder and leaning forward. She smelled like strawberries, and Finn wondered if he'd ever be able to have short-cake again without suppressing a surge of rage.

She twisted slightly, then sat down, balancing on his thigh. She pressed close, her hand dangerously close to his crotch, as she whispered in his ear. “You know you want me, Mr. Teague.”

“I'd appreciate it if I could have my leg back, Diana,” he said. He met her eyes, his confidence tenuous but intact.

“Say please,” she said, her breath tickling his ear.

“Please,” Finn said.

“I don't think so.” Her hand closed over his crotch, the unexpected touch sending waves of unwanted sensations coursing through his body.

“Oooh,” she whispered. “You really do want me to stay.”

Finn grimaced, at the moment hating his body, testosterone, and mostly, his cock. “Just being polite, ma'am.”

“I love a man with manners.” She slid off, once again standing in front of him. Finn breathed in and out, slowly and deliberately, willing control back into his body.

Her smile suggested she had his number, and he hoped to hell she was wrong. Then she reached up and pulled at the silken bow at her neck. The peignoir seemed to dissolve, like so much spun sugar touching water, and suddenly she was naked before him. A crest of lust crashed over him, smothered quickly by a wash of rage and self-loathing.

This wasn't the woman he wanted. Not now, not ever. She'd been a fantasy, nothing more.

“What's the matter, sugar? You want me. We're all alone. There's no reason why you can't have me.” She slid her hands along his inner thighs, pressing, urging. “She's not here to see,” Diana whispered. “And I promise, you won't regret it.”

She took his hand, touching his palm to her breast. Her nipple tightened against his skin, and Finn's entire body tensed, blood pounding in his ears.

She leaned forward, her breast plump in his hand, and when the soft moan escaped her lips, Finn lost it. He jerked upright, grabbing her by the waist as he twisted around and tossed her back onto the bed. His hands clutched her neck, and he squeezed. Not hard enough to block her air passage, but hopefully enough to cool her down.

“Oh, baby.” Her voice, low and raspy, held not even a hint of fear. Her hand reached out, grasping for his fly as she wrapped her legs around him, her ankles intertwined behind his knees. “You like it rough,” she said. “So do I.”

He pressed her down by the shoulders, ignoring her little sounds of pleasure. “Where is she?” he asked.

“I told you. She won't know. She'll never know.” She spread her legs wider, revealing more of her perfect body. Her pubic hair glistened, and he realized she was genuinely turned on. Maybe she was trying to seduce the information out of him, but she was enjoying herself in the process.

For half a second, he imagined taking her right there, as if nailing her would prove some dubious point, or serve any purpose other than a release of this horrible, burning anger.

“Enough.” In one swift movement, he flipped her over, pulling her off the bed and ending with her neck in the crook of his arm. “One wrong step, and I swear I'll break your neck.”

“Darling,” she whispered, “was it something I said?”

He turned, tugging her along with him, until they were facing the door. He half-walked, half-dragged her that way, stopping in front of the electronic pad that controlled ingress and egress. “Open it.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to argue. And then she leaned forward. He tugged her back, wary.

“Do you want me to open the door or not? Let me at the goddamn pad.”

He relaxed his grip ever so slightly, and she pressed her palm against the translucent pad. A horizontal bar of light moved up and down, like a photocopy machine storing an image. And the instant the light faded, the door slid open.

A man Finn had never seen before stood there, a pistol aimed at Finn's head. “Let her go, Mr. Teague.”

Finn complied, raising his hands and taking a step backward as Diana walked into the hall and stood, naked, by the man.

“Who are you?” Finn asked.

“There'll be time enough for that later,” the man said. “In the meantime,” he said, his hand stroking Diana's bare flesh, “I think I'll go take care of your unfinished business.”

The door slid shut, trapping Finn once again. He collapsed against it, losing himself to a haze of anger and frustration.

After a moment, he straightened up, then pressed his hand against the electronic pad.
Nothing.

Not that he'd really expected anything, but he had to try.

He turned back around to face the room, taking in its luxury, its careful appointments. A room for seduction, all right. And right then, damn him, he wanted release.
Amber.

He wanted her. Craved her. So badly his body ached. He wanted to hold her, to touch her, and to lose himself in her.

But he had no way of finding her. Much less of knowing if he'd ever see her alive again.

D
rake swept his eyes over Diana's flushed body. Her nipples were tight and hard, her eyes warm and dreamy. “So glad to see you enjoyed your assignment,” he said. He shrugged out of his uniform jacket, draping it over her bare shoulders.

A sultry smile touched her mouth. “I thought you wanted me to enjoy my work,” she cooed. She moved closer, pressing her body against his, and he felt himself tighten with the contact. She slipped her hand between them, rubbing lightly at his crotch. “And this way, we can skip all that pesky foreplay.”

He laughed. He couldn't stay mad at her. Hell, this whole operation was for her. For them. “He's a good-looking man. Are you sure you didn't want him just a little?”

“He's an ass,” she said.

At that, Drake laughed harder. In Diana's world, there were two kinds of men. Those who succumbed to her charms, and those who didn't.

Diana might be more than willing to use Mr. Teague as a human vibrator, but she didn't want him. Not really.

Not any more than Teague wanted her.

No, Teague didn't want Diana, he wanted the brunette that Beltzer had snared. And Drake intended to let him have her. One night of prison passion, of bonding in fear and solitude, of jointly wondering what their fate would be…oh, yes. That would make Mr. Teague even more susceptible to persuasion when Drake began his interrogation.

All in all, Drake had nothing to worry about with Phineus Teague.

Diana pressed him against the wall, shifting his thoughts quite effectively from Teague to her soft, hot curves.

“Now,” she said. “Right here. Right now.”

He shook his head. “Later, my pet.” He squeezed her nipple, twisting until she cried out in pain and pleasure. “Right now I have a different kind of foreplay in mind.”

 

About five minutes after Diana left, the door opened again. Finn tensed, expecting a second try from Diana or an unpleasant visit from the man with the gun.

Instead he got Amber.

The wave of relief that washed over him was so palpable that seconds ticked by before what his eyes saw registered in his brain—she was utterly naked, her wrists bound behind her back. Even so, she held her head high, defiant.

“If it was up to me, I'd just take you myself,” Beltzer said from behind her. A nasty bruise swelled on his cheek, and his lip was split, exacerbating his already snarlish appearance. “You'd like it, too.”

“I wouldn't bet the ranch,” Amber said, as Finn silently cheered her spunk.

“Bitch,” Beltzer muttered.

Beltzer shoved her through the door, pressing the butt of his gun into the small of her back. She stumbled, landing on her knees as the door slid shut.

Finn was at her side in an instant, shrugging out of his shirt. The deep wound under her left shoulder blade was raw and angry, the skin around it swollen and brownish yellow in color.
Infection.
He traced a finger along the edge of it. “We need to take care of this.”

“It'll be fine,” she said, her quick smile going straight to his heart.

He knew better than to argue with her, but as he draped the shirt over her, he ran through a mental inventory of the contents of the bathroom. Nothing for First Aid, that was for sure.

“Nice accommodations,” she said as she stood up. “They must have put me in one of the budget rooms.”

“Did they hurt you?” he asked, turning her slightly and working on the ropes binding her wrists.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Pissed, but fine.”

He turned just long enough to study her face and decided he believed her. Good. Because if Beltzer or any of them had laid a hand on her, Finn was going to have to kill them. And at the moment he wasn't entirely certain how he would go about that.

One more tug and the ropes fell from her wrists. “Done,” he said. Beltzer had used a simple slip-knot, and Finn made easy work of it. As soon as the rope fell away, Amber pulled her arms through the sleeves, then rubbed her red, raw wrists.

He wanted to talk to her, to reassure her that somehow, some way, he'd make this right. But the words wouldn't come.

Instead of speaking, he clutched her shoulders, pulling her to him. Primal emotion had pushed reason aside. All he knew was that he wanted her. Wanted to know she was safe. Wanted to erase the memory of Diana. Wanted to ease Amber's fears and hurts. Hell, he just wanted to find one good place inside this nightmare.

His lips met hers, and she opened her mouth, returning the kiss greedily, as if her hunger was as intense as his. She hadn't yet buttoned the shirt, and now he slid one hand inside, stroking her back as the other cupped her neck. He feasted on her lips, seeking satisfaction, but needing so much more.

He'd been craving her. And now, by God, he had to have her.

In one bold movement, he pressed her down, straddling her as she lay on the soft carpet. “I don't want to hurt you,” he said, stroking her shoulder.

“If you
don't
touch me,” she said,
“that
would be torture.” She smiled, and he saw no hesitation in her eyes. Just an invitation. Hell, a demand.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

The shirt had fallen open, and her chest rose and fell with her quick breaths. He reached out to stroke her breasts, then bent over, flicking his tongue over her nipple. She moaned, her hips lifting slightly off the floor.

His hand went to his fly, and he eased out of his jeans and briefs. Then he hesitated, wanting to explain to her. To let her know that he didn't know why they were on this island, but that he'd do everything in his power to keep her safe. “Amb—”

She reached up, silencing him with a single finger as she spread her legs wider.

Already rock hard, that unspoken command just about killed him. He slid his hand down to cup her sex, slipping his finger inside, testing, wanting to be certain she was ready for him. He wasn't disappointed. She was ready. Hot and wet and slick. And with one determined thrust, he entered her.

She exhaled, a soft moan of pleasure, and her hips rose to meet him. Her hands cupped his ass, and she pulled him toward her, forcing him in harder and deeper. Amber closed her eyes, moaning as they ground together in pure, raw passion. But he kept his eyes open, memorizing the way her breasts tightened and puckered, the way her teeth grazed her lower lip, the way her stomach quivered as her passion built.

Her velvet heat pulled him in, and he wanted to curl up inside her and never let the moment end. At the same time, he wanted the explosion that was building inside him.

He thrust again and again, as if with each thrust he could replace some of the bad with pure, wonderful good.

And when she shuddered beneath him and cried out his name, Finn had to wonder if, despite the horror of the situation, he had somehow managed to touch heaven.

 

The orgasm washed over her, wave after wave of pleasure so intense she wasn't entirely sure she could survive the sensation.

He groaned, a deep, male sound, and she felt his entire body harden against her and then relax as he, too, found release.

“Finn.” His name left her lips as naturally as breathing, and she pulled him to her, wanting the crush of his weight against her. He took her in his arms, and she could feel the tension drain from him as they lay together, their bodies still thrumming as if they'd touched a live wire.

She hadn't expected the burst of passion that had pulled her into his arms, but she wasn't going to reprimand herself for it. She'd wanted him. She wasn't about to deny it.

After a few moments, he shifted, raising himself on his elbow to look at her. His eyes were intense, filled with raw emotion—desire and something else. Something that left her feeling naked for the first time since she'd been tossed into the room. She scowled, then eased slightly out of his embrace.

“I wonder if I should apologize,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“We're doing exactly what they want.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned, as she rolled the rest of the way away from him and sat up. “I thought we were doing exactly what
we
wanted.” She closed his shirt over her and began to methodically button it.

Something had happened with Finn and Diana. He hadn't made love to Amber so much as he'd worked something out. And while she'd enjoyed it intensely, now she actually felt shy.
Shy.
Her of all people.

She didn't know why and she wasn't inclined to examine her psyche. All she knew was that she wanted this man. Not for the mission, because she hardly needed to seduce him for his secrets anymore. And not because they'd been tossed into the Bridal Suite with the expectation that they'd do exactly what they were doing.

No, she wanted the man she'd come to know, even despite all the secrets between them. A man she liked more than she cared to admit. And, even more, she wanted him to want her more than he wanted to erase a bad memory.

Which was why it irked her that they hadn't been alone. Diana's ghost had been in the room with them.

Without thinking, she lifted her chin. “Did you work it out?” she asked, then immediately regretted the question. She'd wanted the sex as much as he had. What did she care about his motives so long as the package deal came complete with an orgasm? She was a big girl, after all. And she knew better than anyone that sex was a sharp-edged tool.

But she did care. Damn her, she did.

His smile was sad as he stroked her cheek. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I did.”

He held her by both shoulders, and she lifted her gaze to his eyes—then gasped at the emotion she saw burning there. Any doubt that she'd been only a warm body fizzled away. The man wanted
her,
and the knowledge thrilled her more than it should.

She reached out, stroking his cheek, now rough with stubble. “Finn—?”

“Shhh.” He closed his eyes, then kissed her palm. A sweet, tender gesture that sent a rush of warmth through Amber's veins. But when he looked at her again, there was nothing sweet or tender in his gaze. Just raw emotion. Passion. Heat.
Need.

And all of it directed at her.

“I shouldn't have—”

She hushed him with a kiss. She had no interest in looking backward. With Finn, she wanted only to move on. “It's okay,” she whispered.

He looked at her, the intensity of his gaze almost frightening.

Intellectually, she knew she should back off. They needed to talk, and that meant they needed to get clear of the sexual mist surrounding them. After all, she needed to know what he'd learned, what he'd seen, and they had to figure out what Drake was up to.

She knew all of that. And yet she couldn't seem to move.

And when Finn pressed forward, capturing her mouth with his own, the last vestiges of reason left her, her thoughts boiling down to the simplest of equations. He wanted her. She wanted him. And they were trapped. Not exactly a hard sell.

His mouth closed over hers, and even those simplistic thoughts vanished as she surrendered to a crest of emotions and sensations that seemed to build in one syllable increments—yes, please, yes,
more.

The room was plush, the bed looming just in front of them. But once again they never made it that far. Never made it any further than the spot they'd started in.

Finn's hands traced down her sides, sending shivers racing through her body. He pressed her back against the carpet, his need palpable and so very erotic.

Her shoulder ached, generating a heat all its own, but she hardly noticed. She was too lost in a haze of erotic sensations. He cupped her breasts in his hands and buried his face in her cleavage, giving her much more satisfying sensations to cling to.

His breath came hard and fast, matching hers, and his fingers caressed her breast as he closed his mouth over her nipple.

Amber moaned, losing herself in the riot of sensations ripping through her body. The throbbing between her legs increased, and she raised her hips, seeking his heat. His leg was between her thighs, and as she raised up, her body met the hard muscle of his thigh.

She ground against him, her body still warm and tingly from making love just minutes before. He sucked and teased her nipple, fueling the fire that was fast building into an inferno.

“Slow?” he said.

“Now.”
Slow was nice in theory, but not now. Not when she needed to feel him inside her. Needed to know that it was her and only her that was taking him to the edge and back again.

With a low, guttural groan, he balanced himself over her; she felt him press against her, hot and insistent.

“Yes,” she said, answering his unspoken question.

He thrust against her, and her body opened to him, drawing him closer and tighter. She crossed her legs behind him, arching her back, and meeting his thrusts. He was deep inside her, and the pleasure washed over and through her.