Finding Trust (Centre Games) (9 page)

“Yeah, I did because it was the logical and easiest to believe story. I also think that the crux of your conversation with Jazz will be true before very long, and I know how you like to be honest.” The line was delivered with a devilish twinkle in his eye, a raised eyebrow, and a smirk.

“Yeah, I do like to be honest. I just can’t believe I am thinking about being intimate with you when my life is at an all-time low. I don’t even know where my father is and I’m seriously thinking about getting into bed with you and not to sleep! Geez, what sort of daughter am I?” She said her words out loud but more to herself than him.

He could tell Rihanna was giving herself a mental uppercut. She shouldn’t beat herself up over all this—she was handling it all amazingly well. He pondered whether to tell her about her father yet or wait until he knew something concrete. He needed to make some calls.

“This thing between us is happening. The only thing we can determine is the timetable. I want you, and I am almost positive you want me.” He looked her straight in the eye, daring her to deny the statement he had just made. She subtly nodded in agreement and held his gaze; anything else would be a lie. She may not be happy about meeting somebody that seemed to send all her girly bits into continual high fives, but it had happened and now she had to deal with it and all the other things that were happening in her life at the moment.

“So let’s go inside. I have to make some calls to my team. You can go relax in the spa with a glass of wine and I’ll join you in a little while.” He was building the anticipation to the main event. They both knew it. He leaned forward again and gently pressed his lips to her forehead. He could tell from her silence and the tension in her body that what was happening between them was causing nearly as much stress as the situation with the virus and her father.

“Let’s just see what happens. We’ll both know when the time is right.” With that, he turned, helped her out of the car and inside the house.

That was the problem…the waiting might just kill her.

Chapter Five

An hour or so later, Rihanna relaxed in the spa with a crisp fruity New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. Brayden was somewhere in the house, making calls or contacting his team or whatever super spies did.

His place sure was beautiful. The spa was built into the end of the veranda and the edge formed a water feature, joining  a lowered pool that formed a liquid border around the valley side of the house. The spa was so cleverly located at the end of the veranda, she had not noticed it last night or this morning, giving complete privacy and an uninterrupted valley view. Not that she thought privacy was something that you could ever want for on his property. The view was something that postcards were made of.

With time on her hands and the monotonous gurgling of the spa jets, Rihanna’s mind started to replay all her “scenes” with Brayden. It was crazy, really, but less than twenty-four hours earlier, she had not even met him. Today she felt as if she had known him for years. Or was it forever?

Brayden was too good to be true. So far, he was incredibly sensitive, strong, level-headed, and always seemed to know just what to do to keep her calm and focused. He also had an amazing way with horses. Strange, now that she thought about it; how did he know that the mare was cast in the fence? She certainly wasn’t visible from the house. Mmmm, she wondered. Now that she thought more about it, he didn’t seem that overly concerned that there might still be people lurking in the vet hospital and the house. In fact, he actually let her wander off by herself after giving her a stern lecture to begin with about staying behind him at all times. That was strange for an “operative,” wasn’t it? Admittedly, her experience with this sort of thing was limited to TV shows and romantic suspense novels.

Strange, it was almost as if he knew that there was no physical threat there. It was also bizarre how he had known she was in trouble last night. Sure he said he saw her leave with that guy but he couldn’t possibly have seen the knife at her side, could he? And it was not as if he actually knew her or what her normal behaviours entailed to determine whether this was the normal sort of stuff she would do. He certainly seemed to be tuned into her wavelength.

Mmmm, relaxing was nice. But she couldn’t help feeling incredibly guilty and worried about her father and the virus. The thought of what the virus could do or what might be happening sent her gut into further spasms of fear. “Breathe, Rihanna, breathe,” the sensible medical part of her brain told herself over and over, the chanting helping prevent an anxiety attack.

She had her eyes closed and had almost tricked herself into dozing when she felt him slide into the spa next to her. She didn’t open her eyes but felt his fingers wander up her thigh to rest on her hip and start lazy strokes around the junction of her hip and thigh. He settled back against the edge of the tub, making himself more comfortable but never changing the speed of his caresses.

“Mmmm, you’re back,” she half murmured, half groaned in the best sort of way, never opening her eyes.

He leant over her and brushed his lips across hers. It was a light, teasing touch of his lips against hers. It wasn’t enough. She opened her mouth and his greedy tongue licked across her lips and slipped into her mouth, taking control of the kiss. She looped an arm around his neck and pulled him closer. The hand at her hip moved slowly up her stomach and stopped teasingly below her breast. She let out a strong groan this time, trying to encourage his hand higher to cup her breast.

He resisted her obvious but unspoken request, waiting to see what she would do. She slithered closer to him, encouraging more of his exploration. Her hand moved tentatively to his forearm and she rested it there, not brave enough or forward enough to direct his hand to her breast just yet.

She let out another groan against his mouth. Her body was trying to encourage him without words.

He quietly laughed against her mouth, not breaking contact. His large hand cupped the fullness of her breast as he began to familiarise himself with her gorgeous curves. He brushed his thumb over her nipple a couple of times and to his surprise, it pebbled even firmer than when he first found the enticing nub.

She moved into him, slanting her body against his, trying to get closer to his gorgeous physique. Mmmm, he was the stuff male models were made of—only warmer, realer, more engaging, and far less aloof. Her hands skimmed his powerful shoulders, running over the hard muscles; she couldn’t resist increasing the pressure to knead at the strong planes. It was his turn to groan a response.

“You like that?” she asked with a smirk in her voice.

“Hell yes,” he replied instantaneously. Her hands were strong but sensuous at the same time. He couldn’t take much more of this. His erection was becoming increasingly painful in the front of his board shorts. It was the most pleasant of tortures. And just to add some more to it, he knew it was time to stop for now.

He gently pulled away from her grasp, letting his hand slide down her toned arms to finally enclose her wrists. She was clearly aroused to a high level and her breathing was uneven. Rihanna looked him directly in the eye. Her question was written all over her face.

“Why did you stop?”

“We have plenty of time. I want you to be sure.”

She let out a long, frustrated breath but only nodded. She looked as if she wanted to say something in protest but stopped before the words formed. He knew beyond a doubt that she was being driven by the same restless need that he felt whenever he was near her or thinking about her. For his own peace of mind, he needed to be close, oh so close. He couldn’t remember anyone ever having this effect on him before.

“It’s a very stressful and traumatic situation you’re in. It would be wrong of me on so many levels to take advantage of your vulnerability. “He stopped, taking a rasping breath as if struggling for control. “But I just can’t seem to stop thinking about having my hands on you or having your beautiful body wrapped around me.”

His words brought her crashing back to reality. She hit the tarmac with a thud. Her inner voice asked the obvious question, “What the hell was she doing making out with Bray?” Her father was God knows where and she was busy scratching an itch. Where was her sense of responsibility?

She started to clamber from the tub, disgusted with her lack of control or assessment of the situation. Thankfully, he obviously had more control.

He reached for her and pulled her back to him; she lost her balance and landed awkwardly in his lap with a slight splash. The round curves of her backside had no trouble identifying his very real erection.

He sighed. “Rihanna, I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. There is definite chemistry between us on so many levels. Yes, I want to know…” He paused and then went on. “Actually, it’s more than that. I have to know exactly how good it can be between us…but I don’t want to press an emotional advantage.”

He turned slightly under her, his obvious erection rubbing against the curve of her bikini-covered bottom. “I want whatever is between us to be real and have a chance. It has to be because we both want it and are thinking clearly.”

She didn’t say anything for the longest while and he didn’t press her for a comment. After what seemed an eternity as she considered his words, she raised her head and met his eyes.

“I need to know how my father is,” she said quietly. “As much as I’d like to lose myself in whatever is between us, my father and this ‘thing’ has to come first. I have responsibilities to people.”

And with that sentence, she said so much. Rihanna was very big on doing the right thing. Even if it meant doing something she didn’t want to or depriving herself of some pleasure, her sense of responsibility would override any other needs or wants for herself. He could respect this about her. He had a feeling he may not always like this quality but he could certainly respect it.

Rihanna watched his face for any sign that gave away him telling less than the truth.

“One of the calls I made earlier was to my team. Your father is currently being held by the militants.” Her shock and anguish rocked her face; her mouth fell open in a horrified gasp. He raced on. “The word I got was that two of my team members are on the ground and confident that they can make an extraction. We should know if they have been successful or not within the hour.”

A million emotions ran through her in a matter of a heartbeat. Was it good news or was it bad news? Her muddled brain struggled to process the information he gave her. He didn’t push or prod, just gave her the distance to process the information at her own pace, come to her own conclusions. She could tell he was looking at her, expecting further questions but he refrained from prompting.

Finally, she raised her head and asked, “That’s good, isn’t it?” She was looking for confirmation and support, but at least she was tending to think of things in the positive rather than the negative.

“I won’t lie to you, Rihanna. These people are very dangerous. Human life means very little to them. The advantage that your father has is that he is an essential source of information on the virus. Therefore, they will be reluctant to hurt him further than they have to. They will do what is necessary to ensure his co-operation.”

“You mean they will torture him?” The horror filled her voice as her sharp mind centred on the unspoken truth.

“Yes, Rihanna, they may do that,” he said reluctantly. He rushed on before giving her too much more time to process the
torture
component.

“Let’s not panic just yet. As I said, two of my team are in position to make the extraction. Last information we had from surveillance indicated that he was in good health.” His logic and further information helped to slow her accelerated heartrate. Her dad was a tough guy. Anyone who worked with large animals had to be hardy. It was an occupational hazard: from time to time, you got kicked, bitten, or squashed. It hurt, but torture was another thing altogether.

He turned her body in the water so that she was sitting between his legs, his arms clutched loosely around her tense body, her back to his front. Without much thought and wanting to offer what silent comfort he could, Bray began to gently massage her arms and shoulders. The bruising from last night was just starting to break through to slightly discolour her skin. His pressure was soft but still dripping with a sexual edge. It somehow felt right to be comforting her like this.

Rihanna leant into the strong strokes and found her body slowly releasing the tension but her mind continued to whir at full speed.

“So what is going to happen to me?” She finally asked the question that had been circling her mind all afternoon but had yet to be answered.

“For now, we wait here until my boss tells me differently.” Bray was so definite and his words so final, it irritated the hell out of her. How could they sit here doing nothing?

“How can you be so damn accepting of this?” she snapped, tension returning to her shoulders against his relentless efforts. He had almost given up on hoping that his touch would eventually help her relax. Brayden enjoyed the feel of her smooth skin and the closeness just sitting entwined together brought.

“I’m accepting of this because this is my job.” He paused and then continued. “It’s also my life. What I do for a great part of it.” The finality of his earlier comment was evident again. He looked off into the distance, as if searching for the right words or trying to decide just how much more that he wanted to disclose. Rihanna sensed that he had more to tell but was uncertain.

“So your job defines who you are?”

Wow, her question was blunt and to the point and hit him square on.

He lifted her from his lap and edged around to the other side of the spa. Her chin was raised again in that defiant manner he was beginning to recognise as her not being satisfied until she found a plausible answer that she could accept.

“You don’t understand…” He trailed off again, searching for words and deciding how much to disclose. How do you go about revealing that the reason you are defined by your job is because you have been specifically created, monitored, and trained since birth with someone else’s purpose in mind? To be the job. To be part of this team of operatives that were human in so many ways—but oh so different in many others. To be part of an elite team that has been specifically designed by humans to protect themselves from the rogues of their species who stray onto the dark side or threaten the greater population.

How do you disclose that you are not totally human or animal but rather a hybrid of both? How could he not be defined by his job? His unique abilities were designed to do this job.

He took a deep breath and looked into her serious face, zeroing into his like a heat-seeking missile.

“I’m part of a team. I have been since university. You just don’t walk away from that.”

He waited as if letting that sink in, gauging her response.

“So you eat, sleep, drink, and breathe this team twenty-four-seven?”

He raised his eyes to look at her and said, “Yes, I do.” His voice sounded resigned even to his ears, as if he resented this job and the life that went with it.

Rihanna let her gaze slip from his while she thought through what he was telling her. The obvious question that kept coming back to her mind was did he have relationships with all the people he rescued or just her? She had to know. She owed it to herself. Was this attraction between them real or just another fringe benefit of his job? And why the hell did he stay with a job that didn’t seem to make him that happy when he clearly loved being a musician and was obviously totally fabulous at it?