Hidden Agendas (34 page)

It was a mystery his tongue was determined to solve. The first thrust had her taste exploding through his senses. Sweet, stormy, tinted with the taste of honey and fire, and as intoxicating as any moonshine he had ever consumed as a young man.

She drugged his senses. She rocked his mind. And she owned his soul.

He fucked her with his tongue, feeling the tight grip of her pussy as she tried to arch closer, the feel of her fingers plunging into his hair as he thrust his tongue deep inside her.

Rapid, furious thrusts had her body writhing beneath his hold and her juices flowing to his tongue with an abundance that had him groaning in sheer ecstasy.

Delicate tissue clenched around his tongue with a ferocity that had his dick jerking, demanding ease.

Sweat poured from his body, dampened hers, and filled the air with steamy hunger as he quickly lifted his head and moved over her.

He had pushed as far as he dared. Reaching out to the bedside table, he jerked a condom from the drawer, quickly sheathed the raging flesh of his cock, and in one smooth stroke buried himself inside her.

Heat. God, so hot and tight. His balls flexed as they pressed against her wet flesh and his cock flexed in primal warning as the tight grip of her pussy sent his senses into sensory overload.

He couldn't hold back. Straining with the effort to bring her to release before he found his own, Kell began to move with tempered speed. Easy strokes. Containing the agonizing need to give in to the release straining through his body.

Beneath him, Emily was jerking, arching, fighting the hold he had on her thighs as her hands moved to his shoulders, the little nails biting into his flesh as he pumped his cock inside her.

She was tightening on him. Her voice filled with consuming lust as he felt her flesh ripple around him, clenching, spasming, before a keening cry left her lips and she exploded around him.

"Fuck, yes. Come for me," he groaned. "So tight. So hot. Sweet baby, I'm going to fuck you until we're both dying from it."

Her release shredded the last of his control. His hips hammered into hers, thrusting his cock inside her with rapid jackhammer strokes that parted the spasming flesh that fought to hold him inside her.

He gritted his teeth. His head shook in desperate denial, but holding back his own release was impossible.

He didn't know what he said, words were spilling from his lips as he pumped inside her, feeling his cock erupt and his cum spurt heavily from his body.

All he knew was the heat and the hunger, the release and the desperation.

"Je t'aime. I love you. Bébé. My sweet—so sweet."

He came over her, still buried inside her, fighting to breathe as his arms surrounded her and his lips were buried in her neck.

"My precious. My life," he groaned at her neck, hearing her voice at his ear, gasping cries of love.

"... mine." The keening cry of possession that fell from her lips was accompanied by her sharp little teeth biting into his shoulder and sending another flare of heat tearing through his body.

"We're not finished," he groaned at her neck, stringing sharp little kisses beneath her ear.

"Chère, by no means are we finished." He was still hard, still hungry.

He pulled free, resheathed his still hard cock before pulling her to him and lifting her into his arms as he sat on his knees, impaling her once again on his thick cock.

Her eyes widened, then turned slumberous again as her arms wrapped around him, and she leaned back just enough to give herself leverage before she began riding him.

"Fuck, yes," he growled. "Fuck me, ma bien-aimée." He whispered an endearment he had never used, had never allowed to slip past his lips. His sweet. His darling. "Ça c'est bon, so good. Ride me hard." He gripped her hips, urging her on, feeling the tight clasp of her pussy and the heat surrounding him as he lost himself in possessing her once again.

He watched her as she rode him, her legs clasped around his hips, her torso arched, pushing her breasts to him, sweet hard nipple drawing his mouth as he held her, fucked her, lost himself in her.

"Ma bien-aimée—my beloved."

They exploded together, his harsh exclamation mixing with her cries as they fell to the bed amid tangled limbs and sweat-soaked flesh.

"Give me a minute," he groaned, boneless, barely able to breathe. "We'll go again, eh amoureuse?" His sweetheart. She was his soul.

The soft, defiant snort drew a grin to his lips.

"Touch me, die," she muttered, her pussy flexing around his cock as she held him inside her.

"Die if I don't," he muttered, barely able to withdraw and collapse to his side before drawing her against him. "Might need some food first."

Her murmur, neither encouraging nor denying had a grin tugging at his lips. "You're cooking, right?"

"You're dreaming," she mumbled.

Yes, he was. Of her. Always of her.

He drew her closer, letting her drape over his chest with a sigh of contentment and closed his eyes for a quick nap. Just a little one, before he fixed them both something with enough protein to see them through the day. Tonight, she would sleep. Sexual exhaustion could do wonders for the nightmares, he knew.

And he would see that no nightmares came calling. That tonight she would sleep, because tomorrow they would both need all their senses rested. Tomorrow, they would face her demons.

* * *

Judas stared at the secured cell phone in his hand and the message that he had only to click a single button to send. Just one movement of his thumb, and it would be over. He had made his choice two years before; he didn't know why he was second-guessing it now. After years of ignoring the truth, the knowledge that this day would come, he had accepted there was no chance of fighting it any longer.

But still, he hesitated.

He had accepted his father's demand days ago. He would take his place within the cartel in exchange for Mr. White, Emily's safety, and most especially in exchange for Nathan.

He wiped his hand over his face at the thought of Nathan. The one man who had known the truth about him and had never told it, never judged him for it.

The message waited. He had already agreed, there was no reason to hold back now. All was laid in place and his father was giving him Mr. White on a silver platter. All he had to do was this one last thing.

Just send this final message. The message that would lead Macey to him within a matter of days. But it would also finish this final battle between the men of Durango Team and Mr. White. White would be history.

He pushed send, closed the phone, and sat back to stare into the darkness of the room surrounding him.

He hoped it was worth it. That the choice he'd made would eventually reap the rewards he dreamed of.

And oh, how he dreamed. But lately, he had begun dreaming of more as well. Of gray eyes and long black hair. A hidden smile and a woman's whisper of desire. He was throwing that away and he knew it.

Judas. The betrayer. That's how he would be seen, and he could deal with it. He just had to remember that the rewards were worth it. He had to keep the rewards in sight. Otherwise, the secrets would kill him.

The Andover ball was in full swing when the limo passed through the heavy gates of the Alabama plantation. Ivy-draped trees lined the drive that circled around the front of the house and heavy shadows flickered among the landscaping lights positioned around the grounds.

The house itself was brightly lit, with guests lingering outside as well as around the grounds. The band positioned in the gardens behind the house could be heard from the front; the subtle jazz-influenced tunes were at once soothing and darkly sensual as they filtered through the night.

Many of the guests stood on the wide front landing where the double doors were thrown open; subtle shaded lighting cast a golden glow on the front lawn, giving the milling guests an ethereal look.

Ball gowns mingled with sheaths and ultrashort designer dresses. The men wore tuxedos, and many were in uniform, though Kell and Ian had opted to wear dress suits instead. It was easier to hide the hardware, Kell had told her.

Beneath her bronze silk dress and stiff petticoat, Emily wore her thigh holster and weapon, though she had opted to leave the dagger in her drawer because the petticoats kept snagging on the wood handle.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach as the limo came to a smooth stop and she inhaled roughly to draw in courage.

Macey had received another message from Judas late the night before, informing him that all parties would definitely be in place and the attempt to kidnap her was proceeding as planned.

"Stay close, love," Kell muttered as the Secret Service chauffeur came around the limo to open her door.

"We have you covered."

Emily nodded jerkily.

"Remember to stay close to me. I want you covered at all times. If you have to go to the ladies' room, Kira will go with you. Ian and I will stay close to the doors in that event. Reno and the others are close by and will stay in close proximity to us."

Emily gripped her small purse as she stared back at him, drawing strength from him. "We're just going to enjoy the party." He kept his voice calm, the steady timbre easing her nerves. "Ready?"

She nodded quickly.

Below her dress, low on her back, was a small circular piece of skin-toned tape that he called a skin tag.

Just in case they were separated, he told her. He had taken every precaution to protect her, yet an awareness of the danger enfolding her did nothing to comfort her.

Emily inhaled deeply as the limo door opened. Kell stepped out first, then extended his hand inside to her.

Emily moved from the limo, keeping her head up as heads turned and she recognized more of the faces than not. She knew these people. She had gone over the guest list with Kell and Ian, and realized that most of the names listed, she had known most of her life. She couldn't believe that one of them could be a killer or a spy, or God forbid, an international terrorist. No, the elusive Mr. White and his terrorist counterpart Sorrell had to be crashing the party. Which would be too easy to do with this crowd.

Gripping Kell's arm, she followed him up the wide steps to the landing and entered the spacious marble foyer. Chandeliers glowed with brilliant light overhead, crystal prisms storing and reflecting the glow back tenfold, increasing her feeling of vulnerability. Anyone, everyone could see her.

"Miss Emily Stanton and Mr. Kellian Kreiger," the doorman announced loudly as they entered and Kell handed him their invitation.

Great. No way to sneak in here.

"Emily. Kell." Their host and hostess, Markwell and Catherine Andover, were in their forties. Markwell was nearly six feet, with calm brown eyes and thinning brown hair. His wife, Catherine, stood a few inches shorter in her heels and had short red hair and cool light blue eyes. Emily had never cared much for Catherine, but the Andovers had contributed heavily to her father's election fund and they were influential within the political and financial circles her father frequented.

"Markwell." Emily accepted his kiss on her cheek as she held back an instinctive dislike of him. He was a shark, and took every opportunity to touch where he shouldn't.

This time, though, he kept his hands at her shoulders before moving back and shaking Kell's hand.

"Catherine." No problems here. The other woman air-kissed her cheek with enough distance to assure Emily that the other woman thought as much of her as she thought of Catherine.

"It's so nice to see you, Emily," Catherine drawled. "You missed our last few parties. We worried the kidnapping had adversely affected you."

And how the hell was it supposed to affect her?

Emily smiled coolly. "I've just been busy, Catherine," she assured her.

"Ah yes, school is out and you dabble in writing, don't you, dear?"

Emily kept her smile pasted on her face. "Or something," she agreed.

"And Kellian Kreiger." Catherine turned to Kell, her catlike smile grating on Emily's nerves then as her gaze flickered over Kell's chest and thighs. The witch. She was coming on to him and Emily didn't like it in the least.

"Mrs. Andover." Kell accepted her hand before lifting it and brushing a gentlemanly kiss across her knuckles. "It's a pleasure."

"It's been too long since we've seen you, Kell." She sighed. "You don't attend enough of the little events we're invited to."

"I've been busy." Kell's voice was cool.

"Ah yes." Catherine's smile curled with a hint of maliciousness. "The Kreiger heir risking his neck as a SEAL. It's a shame."

"If you'll excuse us, Catherine." Emily curled her fingers around Kell's arm. "I see some friends I'd like to talk to."

She drew Kell away from their host and hostess, aware of the tension in his body.

"You know them?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"Friends of the Beaulaines and Kreigers." His voice was cold, scathing. She had a feeling that wasn't a compliment where he was concerned.

"So you come to the parties often?" she asked as they moved into the large ballroom.

"Sometimes." He was in SEAL mode. Tense, prepared.

"Are you this relaxed at all of them?"

He dipped his head closer to hers. "No, I'm usually holding up the wall and cussing Reno for making me accept the invitation."

"Hmm, yes, I should have made a point to attend more parties." She nodded as she let a smile pull at her lips. "I would have shown you how it's done."

"And how's it done?" There was no accent now, but his voice still had the power to make her stomach clench in warning arousal.

"You don't hold up the walls, you hold up the trees in the gardens." She snickered. "They're easier to hide within."

His hand tightened at her hip, but as she glanced up, she saw the smile that tugged at his lips.

"I could have helped you hold up the trees," he murmured as they began to make their way through the crowd. "Though, to be honest, had we been caught, we could have been arrested."

"I doubt it," Emily whispered in reply. "I watched a lot of shadowy freak shows in those gardens, Kell.