White Hot (24 page)

“What are you doing?” she managed, though she knew very well. Driving her mad.

A muscle along his jaw twitched. “Anything I want.” He watched her eyes flare at his impudence, and he touched her again, deliberately letting his thumb ride her. “Problem?” he asked as she sucked in a gasp.

She wanted to punch him, the cocky bastard.

Right after he got her off.

“Fuck you,” she told him.

Far from being angry, he looked gratified at her reaction. Even more so when, despite her pique, she moved her legs farther apart for him.

His thumb slicked over her, increasing its pressure. Fountains of pleasure shot through every nerve ending. It was impossible to stifle her moans. He kept at it, bringing her right to the sparkling edge of orgasm, then leaving her hanging in frustration.

“Fine. What do you want?” she ground out.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders, attempting to wriggle down onto his rigid length again. To push herself over.

So…close…So…close
…

He didn’t answer. He fisted his cock and held it in position, so close yet so maddeningly far away from where she wanted it, that she held her breath in suspense.

“You want me?” he asked.

God, yes.
She felt the first electric tingle of orgasm at his question—that was how much she wanted him. “Yes.”

He pulled his cock out of her and guided the head up over her clit. Hot and smooth as a steel piston, it glistened with his essence. She writhed against it and moaned, reaching for the climax that was still just out of her reach.

“Please,”
she rasped, and opened her legs wider for him.

“Say my name,” he ordered, his voice like rough cut velvet.

Her throat ached for a taste of him. For the feel of him crushing into her. “Please, Clint.”

He stared down. The angles of his face were harsh, uncompromising, his lips a tight dark slash in his flushed bronze skin.
Not good enough
, his expression said.

She shivered.

“Clint…Wolf Walker.” This time it came out like a hushed vow.

His cock thickened, sucking at her clit. She felt another tingle, stronger this time. He pulled it away. She inhaled a stuttering breath of protest.

Then he guided it to her entry, and pushed in. Slick and hot, he slid home, stretching her, filling her, in an almost painful pleasure. She was drowning in desire, mindless with need. She arched up to meet him and felt the throb of orgasm take hold.

He flexed deep within her, then withdrew once more to the quivering verge. His thumb found the center of her pleasure and teased it. She cried out as the throb grew stronger.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice low and rough in her ear, “while you come for me.”

Climax seized control of her body just as his name left her tongue. “Clint”—she gasped—“Wolf Walker.”

From far away came the hushed echo of a quiet question. “And who am I to you, Samantha?”

Clinging to him, she gave herself over to the rush of the inevitable, and whispered her answer.
“My man.”

Five minutes later, Clint cleared his throat.
Wow. Okay, then.

“That was…interesting,” he said, striving for neutrality.
And powerful.
And probably the best…and worst…sex he’d had in his entire life.

Under him, Samantha didn’t move. “Um. Yeah.”

Not to mention the most disturbing.

What did a guy say after doing something like that to a woman?
Talk about your average elephant in the room.
Hell, he couldn’t even meet her eyes.

Clint rolled off Samantha and stared up at the orange snowplow chassis above them. What the
hell
had just happened to him?

She’d had—or
seemed
to have—a minute or two of hesitation about…well, God knew what—it wasn’t like there was any big shortage around here of things to hesitate over. Naturally, he’d jumped to the conclusion it had to be
him
she didn’t want. That she’d changed her mind about having sex with a raving lunatic on the cold, dirty deck, in the middle of a goddamn siege for godsake.

Because, yeah,
that
was a totally unreasonable hesitation.

So what did he do? Ask her nicely what was wrong? Whisper sweet nothings in her ear to change her mind back again? Admit he was being a prick for making her fuck him under those deplorable conditions and let her up?
Hell
, no. He’d gone all
Blue Velvet
on her.

Because, of course, that made
perfect
sense.

Je
sus.

Sure, he’d engaged in power sex before. Handcuffs, role play, spankings and the like. But he’d never actually meant any of it. And he’d certainly never initiated it. But if some woman wanted him to tie her up and play cowboys and Indians, what the hell, he’d go along with the fantasy. Made the sex he got that much hotter.

But this…this was different.
He’d
been the one to start it. To force his will on her. He’d wanted to
own
her. Control her every thought.
Make
her want him. He’d meant every fucking word and action of his attempt at total domination over her.

At the time, anyway.

Now he was just plain embarrassed.

Hell, his usual demeanor might be a tad macho—according to certain parties—but he’d never been a controlling asshole. Not at work.
Definitely
not with women. He
liked
a woman with spunk, with a streak of defiance and independence. A woman who enjoyed being on equal footing with him. Who insisted on it, really.

That was one reason he’d never hooked up with anyone for more than a few months, or days. He’d never met a woman like that who wasn’t also a ballbuster.

Until now.

And he’d just given this woman a damn good reason to bust his balls from here to the North Pole and back.

Yep. Way to go, asshole.

He raked his fingers through his hair. “You must be freezing,” he said, and started to rise.

“No, I…Yeah. I am.” She started to crawl out from under the giant snowplow.

“They’ll be back soon, too.” He took a second to grab the
SD card from its hiding place, then scooted out and helped her up. He deliberately avoided looking at her gorgeous naked body as he gave her an awkward peck on the lips. He was in enough trouble. A fresh hard-on wouldn’t help.

She blinked, then wordlessly handed him his bear claw and went to gather her clothes. He looked down at it and realized that, naturally, he didn’t have any clothes to gather.

And wasn’t
that
special.

He watched her slide on her panties and sweats—he couldn’t help himself—and as she was pulling on her hoodie she caught him looking. She froze uncertainly, the hem of the hoodie halting just above her breasts. Which was too much of an eyeful for his dick to take sitting down.

Outwardly, he remained determinedly impassive as it rose to attention. Inside, he was tearing it a new one.

Her eyes flitted down, widened, then darted back to his. She yanked down the sweatshirt.
Too late, baby.

“You aren’t getting dressed,” she observed, her voice somewhat strangled.

“No clothes,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth. “And I’m not putting that damn wetsuit back on.”

Her lips formed an
O
. For a second she just stared at him. Was that
amusement
that darted through her eyes? “Okay,” she said.

Okay?

What was that supposed to mean?

He began, “My clothes are down in our—in the room we—I mean, um…” He stopped in irritation.

“The hideaway?” she helpfully supplied.

“Yes,” he said, and turned abruptly to gather his gear. Heat stung his neck as he tied the leather totem back around his wrist, then scooped everything up and flung the soggy wetsuit over his shoulder. “Ready?”

Again she nodded, and silently followed him across the ro-ro deck and down the ladder to the orlop. He didn’t feel a
bit
self-conscious having her eyes on his bare backside the entire way.

“Warriors in ancient Sparta used to fight naked,” she
ventured conversationally as they headed for the hidden room, treading cautiously through the empty passageways. “Went to war and everything in the buff. Except maybe, you know, a bracelet or something.”

He turned to glare at her.

There wasn’t a hint of smile on her face. “I’m just sayin’.” It was her eyes that gave her away.

“Keep it up,” he warned.

Her cheek twitched.

He realized what he’d just said, so he turned on a heel and started walking again before he could dig himself in even deeper. When they got to the hideaway, she busied herself with a black duffel bag he hadn’t noticed before.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I managed to get to the staterooms. Our guns were gone, but I picked up some clothes and a few other things.” She pulled out his black T-shirt and tossed it to him.

“Thanks. Is that a laptop?”

She nodded. “It has the ship’s logs and such. Figured I should keep it with me.”

He stared at it for a moment, then turned to look for a place to hang the wetsuit to dry. “Too bad we can’t get the Internet on it.”

“Yeah.”

He settled on the empty hammock hook for the wetsuit. The hammock was still on the floor where it had fallen when she cut the ropes. It was a shame. It had been a nice one. And they’d had a good time in it. Real good.

He turned to find her watching him, a first aid kit in her hands.

“I should see to that wound,” she said, studiously ignoring the hammock, acting as if she offered first aid to naked men every day.
Naked Spartan warriors.

Hell, if she could take it, he could, too. “Sure,” he said, and held out his arm.

She came over and opened the kit, picking through the contents and comparing bandage sizes to his cut. She swayed a little.

He grabbed her arm. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.” She gave him a smile that looked more worn than reassuring. “Just a little tired.”

A little? He suddenly noticed she looked completely exhausted. Which made him feel even better about practically forcing himself on her. “What time is it anyway?”

She checked her watch. “Five thirty.”

They’d been up for over twenty-four hours. Twenty-four highly stressful hours. On so many levels.

“Sit,” he said. Taking the first aid kit from her, he urged her down to the deck. “Forget about my—”

“No.” She reached up and took it back. “It might get infected. Who knows where that wetsuit’s been.”

He raised a brow but didn’t argue. He saw it would be faster just to give in. He sat down next to her and held out his arm again. “You need sleep, honey.”

“And you don’t?”

He winced as she poured some foul, painful liquid on the cut. “I have things to do first.” Number one being the sat phone in his dry-bag. He wanted to check on the Coast Guard’s status. He hoped to God the battery was charged.

“So do I. I know where they’ve got my crew.”

Wait. What? He gave her a narrowed look. “And?”

“I’m going to get them out,” she said as she closed up his wound with a butterfly bandage. “This is deep. It needs stitches.”

He hissed a breath at the sting. “Over my dead body.”

Her fingers paused for a moment on a second bandage, then tore it open. “Wimpy baby.”

“You know very well what I mean.”

She stuck the bandage on him. “I don’t suppose you made it to
Eliza Jane
’s radio?”

The change in subject didn’t fool him for a nanosecond. “I did. But I’m telling you, Samantha. Do not even think about—”

Her expression went at once to astonished and hopeful. “You got through to the Coast Guard?”

He gave up.
For now.
“Yes. But—”

“You told them we’re hijacked? And they’re coming to help us?”

“Yes, but probably not in time to do any good,” he reluctantly told her. “The GPS was smashed so I couldn’t give our exact coordinates. It’ll take them a while to find us.”

He could see the gears turning in her head, calculating the odds. She looked less hopeful, but a lot more determined. “Okay. Then we just need to keep everyone alive until they get here. Right?”

He let out a long breath. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to tell her everything.

“What?”

“You want the good news or the bad news?”

Her face fell a little more. “You choose.”

No use sugarcoating. “The hijackers are probably planning to blow up your ship. Along with the hostages, is my guess.”

To her credit, she barely flinched. “How?”

“I found a couple of military packing cases on the trawler. They were mostly empty, except for some spare ammo and a few other things.” He jerked his chin at the dry-bag. “I brought back the ammo. And the box of detonators I found.”

“Detonators?” As that sank in, she swallowed. “That’s the good news, right? You took them away.”

“Two were missing from the box.”

“Oh.” The last gleam of hope in her eyes flickered and nearly died, only reviving at the last moment. “Okay. We’ll just have to find the bombs before they go off.”