Captive Heart (24 page)

She pushed herself against him, letting the shocks of pleasure drive her even deeper into the unbelievable sensations. Her whole essence seemed to blossom out from the center as she moaned and pressed her legs against the sides of his head.

Jack kept up the pressure, easing and starting back, the right place, the exact right touch, and her orgasm didn’t end. Couldn’t end. She knew she was screaming now, her head moving back and forth as she made herself ride each pulsing second. Melting. Her mind, her skin, her bones. And he kept it going until she whimpered. Begged some more. She had no idea what she was saying, if she was even forming words.

Jack shifted again, moving his body along hers until he braced his arms beside her head, until his hard cock pushed into her throbbing channel.

Andy let out a fresh groan as he drove inside her, powerful and demanding. He really was taking her, making her his own, and she opened wide to let him, wrapping her legs around his hips and taking him as deep as any man could go. She opened her eyes. Saw the crazed desire in his brown eyes, the warmth in his expression.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you.”

Pushing her, faster, deeper, so right, so satisfying.

Andy moaned as the waves of her orgasm closed over her head, sweeping her away to a world where she could be his forever, with absolutely nothing else to worry about.

Jack felt crazy.

He could get used to crazy.

Hot and endless and total—and crazy. Those were the only words he could find to describe the last three, almost four weeks of his life. Here he was again, dressed in jeans and a black shirt, open at the neck. He had gotten used to the look. He had gotten used to the relaxed feel of dressing more like his real self. A lot of his rules had gone out the window. Andy was allergic to rules, and Jack had begun to wonder why he had so many in the first place. He couldn’t stay away from the woman even after she proved to be a rotten influence on his self-discipline—and he definitely couldn’t keep his hands off her, work hours or not. Their tendency to end up in bed … or on couches … or even on his desk was probably what drove her to flee the townhouse for the brownstone and use an innocent child as a buffer while they tried to get a little work done.

Well, not really. Cynda had to go out shopping. She’d be back any second, but Andy said she’d watch Neala, and told Jack Neala would help her keep her mind on the task at hand—which today happened to be more mug shots, pictures of captains and bosses, further up the criminal food chain.

Jack had spread the books of photos on the big wooden table in the alcove at the back of the brownstone’s living room, and he tried to relax on the leather sofa while Andy whizzed through the photos.

Sitting across from him in one of the leather chairs, Neala in her lap, Andy glanced at each picture, then pushed them aside. In the projective mirrors on the walls around them, Jack could see her from all different angles, and he enjoyed each one—even the views from the darker mirrors, with lots of swirling mist.

“That’s him.” Andy shifted Neala onto one knee, used a little water to squelch the fire the little girl had started on Andy’s jeans, and stared at the photo she had picked. “That’s Frank the monster. I should have thought to look at boss pictures first. I’m sorry my schedule has been so scattered.”

“Ari Seneca. What the he—” Jack glanced at the little girl on Andy’s lap. “Um, heck. What the heck would drive him to let somebody turn him into a science experiment?”

“We took down his empire. We cut his men to pieces and left him with nothing, and whatever we didn’t take, the Rakshasa probably did. He didn’t have enough left to rebuild his syndicate for his sons.”

“So he thought he didn’t have a choice, and now he’s let himself get turned into God knows what.” Jack smacked his hand against the picture. “He’s taking out all his rivals, and he’s terrifying whoever isn’t dead yet. That’s one way to get business back on track.”

“I’m still not sure he’s driving this anymore.” The sleeve of Andy’s blousy white shirt flared as she moved her arm and tapped the picture. “He might have thought he’d be running the show, but I’m afraid he’s just a big, dangerous flunky now, working for whatever mad scientist brought him back to life. We need to draw him out, Jack. Him and his friends. We need to understand how they created him.”

Jack’s tone got edgy before he could control it. “Don’t start that again.”

Neala twitched at the gruff sound, and half the mug shots of crime bosses burst into flames. Andy hit them with a big splash of water just about the time a knock sounded on the brownstone’s front door.

Cynda opened the door and poked her head inside, her short red hair brushing against her cheeks. “Here I am. Thanks—wait a second.” Her gaze narrowed at Neala. “Do I smell smoke?”

Andy held the little girl tighter as Neala hid her face. “It’s okay. She was just reminding Jack not to be a jerk.”

Cynda stepped into the entryway and frowned as the sensitive wind chimes above her head gave a jangle, set off by her strong fire energy. “No flames in the brownstone or the townhouse. No fire inside, period. You burn enough stuff by accident without destroying things on purpose.”

“Soo-oorry,” Neala said to her mother. To Andy, she said, “Battle? Can we play? Please?”

“Not now, honey. Maybe next time we get together.” Jack watched as Andy kissed Neala’s cheek. “Go with your mom and I’ll see you soon.”

“Promise?” The kid plied Andy with an adorable pout.

Andy poked out her bottom lip in an imitation of Neala. “Yes.”

Neala’s pout turned into a giggle. “Promise about battle?”

Andy made like she was debating about this, then said, “Yes.”

“No Ethan. Just us?”

“I’ll think about that.” Andy gave Neala a little push out of her lap.

The little girl ran to her mother. Cynda gave them both a wave, then pulled the brownstone’s front door closed behind her. Jack couldn’t help thinking about how Cynda and her husband, Nick, found a way to juggle the OCU, Sibyl responsibilities, children, extended family, and God only knew what else. They had put down major roots, and every day they made it all work. Hell, they didn’t even have the option to cut and run, and they didn’t seem worse for it. On the contrary, they seemed happy and solid.

What would that be like?

Too late, Jack realized he was staring at Andy.

She lifted one eyebrow, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Busted
.

Might as well come off with the truth
. He leaned back on the sofa without taking his eyes off of her pretty face. “I like watching you with Neala. You’re a natural with kids, and she has red hair like you.”

He let that sink in, and when she didn’t start to freak, he added, “Do you want children of your own?”

“I—ah, yeah. You?” She said it casually, but she broke their staring game and started an intense study of the floor. This had major importance. Another thing he had to answer well and right.

Honest. Just go with honest. I think she can take anything if I’m just straight with her
. Yet another thing to love.

“I’ve always wanted kids,” he said, “but I never took the time to do it. Guess I figured I’d let my chance pass me by.”

Until we happened
.

Okay, way too soon for thoughts like that. Or maybe not. Crazy, and definitely liking it.

Andy kept her eyes on the floor. Her fingers came together in her lap, and she seemed tense and soft all at the same time. “I thought the same thing.” She looked up, straight into his eyes. “Until recently.”

That echo of his own secret thoughts hit Jack hard. He knew she tried to give him his privacy, tried not to read his feelings, but right now he wished she would. He wanted her to experience every second of the rush of tenderness and affection and desire. He didn’t hold an ounce back.

Her face flushed. “You … want me to have your babies.” She stood and turned away from him, fanning herself, and once more he couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she looked in all the mirrors, from all the different angles.

He stood. Moved toward her. The only thing he could think about was touching her, but she backed away from him, still waving her hand in front of her face. “Oh, God, Jack. Look, we have to work. We have to get things done—other than sex. You know that, right?”

Jack paced her, more or less pursuing her around the table, past her chair and the next, toward the couch. “If you say so.”

“I say so.” She kept backing away from him and pointed her finger at his face. “And I mean it. I know these supermobsters and the Coven have gone silent, but do you really want to wait for them to spring their next plan?”

He stopped in front of the couch and caught her by the waist. “Not sure we’ve got a lot of choice. Griffen knows how to hide his people with that energy-damping thing he does.”

Andy put her hands over his, looking pissed even though he knew she wasn’t. “You’re only being conservative about baiting them because I’m involved.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “There’s truth to that. Sue me.”

“When you got hurt, you asked me to wait—but you’re healthy now.” Her tone and gaze turned serious. “Very fit. I can attest to your stamina. It’s time to let me do what I do.”

Jack’s gut did an instant churn. Anger blazed through him, but just as fast, he realized what it masked. Fear. And he decided to admit it since she’d probably sense it anyway. “I still don’t want to make you bait for a monster that pulls people apart—or any of his bullet-eating buddies.”

Andy let go of his hands and put her arms around his neck. “You got any better ideas? Because I’m afraid if we let them have all the time in the world to put together their next plan, we might not get lucky and live through it.”

Movement in one of the mirrors caught Jack’s eye, and he turned his head toward the misty glass as Andy kept talking.

“I think you’re being too cautious. I know you’re worried about something happening to me, but I can take care of myself.”

“Somebody’s coming.” He let her go as wind chimes started to ring all over the brownstone.

“What?” She sounded totally confused. “You can’t sense elemental energies. How can you—”

Jack pointed to the large mirror, the one now bright and full of rapidly swirling mists. “Doesn’t that one connect to Motherhouse Ireland?”

“Shit. Yeah. It does.” Andy swept photos and ash and water off the communications platform. “You better step back. Whoever’s coming through doesn’t seem to need help on this end, so it’s probably a Mother.”

The wind chimes jangled and clanged.

Jack moved a few feet to the side. Staying out of the way was a wise choice when it came to the Mothers, especially the fire breathers who wore the green robes of Motherhouse Ireland.

Less than a minute later, the mist in the mirror parted to reveal a stone chamber and a tiny woman so close to the glass she looked like a gray-haired, wrinkled blur. The wind chimes got more and more frenetic as she got closer to the glass, and closer. Jack’s skin tightened, and he knew he was picking up bits of the powerful energy surging as the woman stepped into the projective glass, into one of the ancient energy channels coursing through the planet—and out of the smoking mirror on their wall. She landed easily on the table, like she’d done nothing but hop from one spot to another in some children’s game.

Her fierce green eyes blazed at Jack before turning on Andy, and he noted the Irish hand-and-a-half sword on her back, crossed with a Chinese great sword that had to be almost as tall as the woman herself. Her hair hung in fuzzy ropes all around the blades, and there was no mistaking who had come calling.

“Mother Keara,” he said by way of greeting as the smells of wildfire, smoke, and sword oil filled his nose. Little by little, most of the wind chimes settled to silence.

Andy gave the formidable Mother a nod. She obviously didn’t share the sudden, wary tension that consumed Jack the minute he saw the woman. Mother Keara didn’t make social calls, so Jack’s autopilot took him to immediate red alert.

Mother Keara glanced around the brownstone’s living room, then asked Andy, “Where’s yer group?”

“They went to the townhouse to take report for tonight’s patrol.” Andy gestured to the front door. “I was here looking at mug shots, trying to get a bead on Frank—on the enhanced mobster who pulls people apart.”

Mother Keara’s green eyes narrowed. “Did you?”

“Yes. It’s Ari Seneca, a Balkan crime lord.” Andy reached down to a pile of photos and pulled out a picture, but when she tried to hand it to Mother Keara, the old woman waved her off.

Smoke rose from Mother Keara’s shoulders as Andy tossed the photo on the couch. “I know who that one is. Good-lookin’ in his day, smooth talker—and a first-rate bastard running cons and guns and money in two nations, across a long span of years for a human. Why would he let such be done to him?”

Andy blew a cloud of smoke out of her face. “We don’t have an answer for that.”

Jack would have responded to the question, but he knew better. Where the older Mothers were concerned, it was best to speak only when spoken to, especially if you had no natural ability to repel earth, fire, or giant gusts of air. It still struck him as odd to watch Andy speak to Mother Keara like an equal, with none of the automatic deference younger Sibyls usually gave their elders. Even with all his worrying about how much she expected of herself, Jack realized he still let himself forget that she was a Mother in her own right.

Quietly, carefully, he edged around the table until he was standing beside her, facing Mother Keara directly. Something was wrong, and Jack had an instinct that the something involved him.

Mother Keara gave him a quick appraisal, then nodded like she approved of his existence. “I came to give a report of my own. With the others gone, I’d do just as well to give it to you, Jack Blackmore.”

Jack gave her a polite nod and waited, mouth closed. He was surprised, then gratified when Andy’s hand brushed his. She wasn’t making any secret of her association with him—that had to be a good thing, right?

Mother Keara paid the gesture no mind. She stood on the big table giving off smoke like a messenger from hell, and her voice came out strong and forceful as she said, “We have made contact with the Host in Ireland, but our efforts came at a high cost. One of our Mothers is in the infirmary, though we expect she’ll recover soon enough.”

Andy frowned. “Do the Sluagh know why some of their ranks have come to New York City?”