Conspiracy Game (15 page)

“
Might?
Looking at you makes me feel good.”

He pushed her gently back onto the bed so she was lying down. Jack ripped back the top sheet and shoved it aside, kneeling between her legs. His hands massaged her calves, moved up to her thighs. He bent to kiss her inner thighs, using small circles with his thumbs to heighten her awareness of him. He leaned forward to press kisses over her ribs, to trace each indentation with his tongue and nibble at the underside of her breasts. He closed his eyes to better savor the feel and texture of her, to memorize every square inch of her. He didn’t want the memory of her to ever fade, and this night was all he had to give her—to take for himself.

She relaxed into him the way she had earlier; once making up her mind to give herself to him, she did it wholeheartedly. She reached back with her hands to grip the bars of the headboard, to keep from accidentally forgetting, in the heat of the moment, not to grab and hold on to him.

Her bare body lay out before him like a feast, and Jack took his time, tasting every inch of her, suckling her breasts, teasing and biting, deliberately heightening her pleasure. He waited for every gasp, every arc of her body, the movement of restless hips to tell him exactly what she liked—what drove her mad—what pushed her over the edge.

She gripped the bars tighter as he made his way down her body. He could feel the building tension in her spiraling out of control. His fingers caressed the slick heat between her legs, dipped deep to push her higher and higher until she cried out. He wanted more. He wanted to hear his name on her lips, hear her cry out with pleasure. He bent his head and feathered kisses along her inner thigh, feeling her body jerk in response. His tongue teased and caressed, drawing gasps of pleasure, plunged deep to dance, to stroke, to draw the honey out of her. Her womb contracted, stomach clenching, and her hips rose off the bed as she gave a little sob—somewhere between utter ecstasy and fear of losing her mind.

Jack took a firmer grip on her hips, drawing her even tighter into him, needing to hear her cries, to know that he was the man giving her such pleasure. His hands began a slow exploration of her body, deliberately seductive while his teeth and tongue sent her nearly spiraling out of control. Hot licks and teasing bites, he drove her higher and higher. Her hips thrashed and bucked under his assault, the searing heat setting off a series of small explosions. Instead of relieving the terrible ache, it only built it into a stronger tidal wave of pulsing heat.

Briony pulsed with fierce need, arousal so strong she thought she might not survive. Her mind was a haze of need, so that she began to plead with him, afraid of the nearly savage intensity of pleasure. Jack knelt between her legs and drew her to him, his eyes glittering with raw possession—with stark craving. He thrust hard, burying himself deep, driving through her tight folds, taking her over the edge. She exploded—imploded—strong currents of electricity dazzling her while her body simply fragmented and wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her.

And then Jack began to move. Every movement of his hips sent a shiver of pain through his body, but it mixed with the building heat, the building pleasure. She surrounded him with hot friction, her slick folds tight, her muscles strong, gripping him as he surged deeper and deeper, and all the while she stared up at him with dark chocolate eyes, dazed with heat and passion.

He shifted her slightly to get the angle that would press him hot and hard over her most sensitive bud, and he picked a faster, rougher rhythm that had her crying out his name.
Jack.
Not aloud. Whispered in his mind. Aching. Stunned pleasure consuming her mind. He wanted to pound into her with a frenzied need, but the innocence in her eyes, the emotion on her face, forced him to keep some semblance of control. He wanted her to remember this moment forever, because it would be forever etched in his mind. He watched her face, saw the intensity increase, felt her body grip his. She gave a soft cry, the sound mingling with his harsh yell, and he emptied himself into her, pouring everything he was into her, body and soul.

“Again,” he growled.

J
ack
sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her face. She looked so young—not a line on her face. Her eyes, when she looked at him, held so much innocence. She saw him as the man he could have been—not the man he was. He killed without remorse. Demons sat on his shoulder every minute of the day and drove him hard. He wanted her—but if he kept her, there was every possibility of becoming the man his father had been. His father had looked at his sons with cold, empty eyes, eyes filled with hatred for being near their mother. It was time stolen from him and he wouldn’t put up with it—not from them—not from anyone. No one could touch her, speak to her—she was his possession.

Jack and Ken had made a pact together, a sacred oath, that neither would ever risk destroying a woman the way their father had their mother. His father had loathed them, twin boys who took up their mother’s time, received her smiles—and her love. There were beatings that became more and more vicious as his obsession grew.

God help him, Jack felt that way about Briony—that terrible need to keep her to himself, to hold on too tight. He couldn’t fool himself into thinking he wasn’t already a little obsessed. He was capable of killing—had done so before he was in his teens—and now, faced with looking at the monster he’d become—he had to give her up. She deserved a normal man—one capable of loving without possession and jealousy and fear. It was the only gift he could give her. He knew, when he walked away, that no other woman would ever do, but he couldn’t take her and watch her innocence and light slowly fade, to be replaced by fear the way it had been in his mother.

Briony stirred, murmured his name in her sleep, and reached for him. His heart clenched hard. He leaned close to her. “Once I’m gone, Briony, don’t come near me again,” he whispered. “Not ever, because I’ll never be able to give you up twice.”

Her eyes opened and she smiled at him. “I was dreaming about you.”

His stomach churned and he bent to kiss her. He shouldn’t. He knew better, but it was damned hard to let go. “I’ve got to get out of here. My ride’s waiting.”

She sat up, pushing at the silky hair, a small frown on her face. “Is it safe? Are you certain it’s safe, Jack?”

“It’s safe enough.” He stood up and slung the rifle around his neck. “Thanks for everything.”

Briony swallowed hard, resisting the need to cling to him. Of course he had to go, but he hadn’t said one word about seeing her again. Not one. She caught his hand. “Jack.” She said his name softly. “How are we going to find one another?”

He pulled his hand away, rubbed his palm down his thigh as if the gesture simply wiped her away. “We aren’t. You didn’t think this was going to go anywhere, did you? I’m not the kind of man who settles down with a woman and kids in a house with a white picket fence. You knew that going into it. You’d be a liability to me.”

Briony never took her eyes from his face. His features were set and hard—carved of stone—eyes as cold as ice. Jack betrayed absolutely no emotion. She could have been looking at a total stranger. Her heart crumbled into tiny pieces. She heard her own wail, a long, drawn-out cry of anguish, but it was only in her own mind—and she had enough pride to keep her shields up stronger than ever so he couldn’t hear the weeping in her head. He couldn’t know just how much she’d invested in him—how much of a fool she’d really been.

“I see.” It was all she could get out. She should have looked ahead, should have known he would be capable of walking away without a backward glance. She kept her eyes on his face, hoping for one small sign that she’d meant the same things to him that he had to her. “Good luck then, Jack.”

He turned away from her, an abrupt motion, and walked out the door. Not once did he look back. Briony knew because she watched him through the window, all the way, until he was out of sight. She sat on the bed until dawn, unmoving, without a single tear, feeling numb—frozen—feeling as if he’d torn out her heart and taken it with him. She felt a fool for even thinking they had something special. Jack took her gift of love and trust and flung it back in her face. She stayed very still—very small—wishing she could just disappear. She stayed there on the edge of the bed until Jebediah pounded on her door to tell her it was time to face the day and another performance.

C
HAPTER 
6

Twelve hours earlier…

T
he
Special Forces GhostWalker team gathered together in the California home of Lily Whitney-Miller, daughter of Dr. Peter Whitney. They grouped together in the war room, where they met regularly, knowing the room was impossible to bug.

“Do we know if he’s still alive?” Kadan Montegue asked as he spread the aerial maps of the Republic of the Congo across the table.

“If there’s one person who has a chance of escaping the rebel camp and making it out of the jungle alive, it’s Jack Norton,” Nicolas Trevane replied.

“General Ekabela is the most bloodthirsty of all the rebels in the region,” Captain Ryland Miller added with a small sigh. “The general’s troops are mostly veterans in combat. Most of his men were in the military before everything went to hell there.”

“It seems to me, as long as I can remember, it’s always been hell in the Congo,” Nicolas said. “Ekabela had done more damage to that region, destroying entire villages and towns, committing genocide, but he’s as elusive as hell and well funded.”

“He controls the marijuana traffic and has major backing by someone here in the U.S. None of his prisoners have ever lasted more than a couple of days. He’s particularly ruthless when it comes to torture. Ken Norton was in bad shape and they’d only had him about ten hours. Ken’s still in the hospital,” Ryland pointed out. “They nearly skinned him alive, not to mention sliced his body into tiny pieces. If Ekabela has Jack, he has only a few hours to escape before they do worse to him.”

Kadan tapped his finger on the map. “Ekabela is on the move. He isn’t going to take any chances with Jack. What the hell was that senator thinking, flying over the Congo in the no-fly zone? And what was some hotshot military scientist doing in a region as hot as the Congo?”

“That’s just the thing,” Dr. Lily Whitney-Miller said. She stepped out of the corner where she’d been observing the GhostWalker team as they met together for the briefing. “The small jet that was shot down in the Congo is the same plane that landed at the airport outside of New Orleans when Dahlia’s home was attacked.”

“What’s even more interesting,” Ryland said, “is that Ekabela didn’t kill the pilot or the scientific team. And when Ken Norton’s squad went into the Congo to rescue the senator, Ekabela was waiting for him.”

Kadan held up his hand. “You think Ekabela was tipped off that the GhostWalker team was conducting a rescue? How would that be possible?”

Ryland nodded. “I’m sure of it. Ken was able to get the senator, the research team,
and
the pilot out. Why would Ekabela keep the pilot alive? He wasn’t worth anything at all.”