Legend of Michael (14 page)

Suddenly, the patio door opened, a gust of wind lifting the dark floral curtains, the sheers beneath fluttering wickedly. Michael stepped into the room, and the wind died. He looked like a warrior, dangerous, primal. He was bare to the waist but for the bandages she’d wrapped around him, his jeans hanging low to display sculpted abdominals, his feet bare, his long, raven hair loose around his shoulders.

And despite the proof that he was not Zodius, that she had no reason to fear him, she did feel fear. So much that she could barely breathe. Fear of what she wanted. Of her inability to resist this man when she knew damn well he was going to hurt her again if she gave him the chance—a realization driven home as he cast her in a heavy-lidded inspection so intimate that her knees went weak.

Instant heat spread through her core and then sizzled like a wildfire through the rest of her body. Her nipples tightened, her thighs ached. In the midst of the flames burning her inside and out, there was relief that at least he had not left her again, no matter how much she
should
want him to.

She had two options. Refuse to be intimidated by her state of undress and march over and get her clothes, or turn and run back into the bathroom. She had a flight to catch, along with Brock’s computer drive to copy, and Michael had already seen her in her towel.

“You didn’t answer when I called you,” she said, her eyes flickering to his, her fragile bravado already faltering under their heat, her voice raspy, unfamiliar. Her fists balled tighter around that terry cloth at her chest. “I was afraid you were sick again.”

He stared at her, said nothing, an animalistic quality crackling off him, edgy, dark—powerful. Hot. So damn hot. She swallowed hard, the sensual touch of his dark eyes flustering her, arousing her. “Say something, damn it!” So much for keeping a cool head and acting unaffected.

And still Michael did not speak—he simply stood there, immobile, his eyes holding hers, sexual tension between them, magnetic, impossible to resist. The desire between them had always been intense; their lifebond connection simply turned up the heat another ten notches, transforming the desire to something darker, more intense—all-consuming. As if the desire had a life and mind of its own.

Desperately, she cut her gaze and charged toward the closet. Touching him would be a mistake. It would cloud her judgment and skew her ability to judge the man beneath the Lifebond. But she barely made it a few steps before he was there, pulling her into his arms.

“You didn’t really think you could walk out here in a towel without this happening, now did you?” he half growled a moment before his lips came down on hers.

Cassandra lost herself to Michael in that moment, to that hot, hungry kiss, a mating of mouths that she longed for. The spicy male scent of him seemed to pour through her veins like an aphrodisiac. Her hands were all over him, his all over her. It was wildly exciting, intensely addictive. And there was no fighting it, no understanding it. His hands were in her hair, hers in his. Teeth nipped, lips caressed.

The towel disappeared, her breasts pressed against his bare chest, his hands caressed her body as he picked her up, one hand curving along her backside, the other laced through her hair. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her legs around his waist. She didn’t resist; in fact, she clung to him, far more desperate to feel him close to her, to feel him next to her, inside her, than she had been to get away from him.

Somehow, someway, a semblance of real life slipped into her mind, and her fingers shoved into his hair, pulling his mouth from hers. “You left,” she whispered hoarsely. “You left and never said a word.”

Their eyes collided much as their passion had—wild, emotional. “You have no idea how many times I’ve burned to feel you like this again,” he said, low, guttural. “How many times I was hard just thinking about it.”

She shook with his words, shook with the magnitude of the passion between them, though it solved nothing, explained nothing. But her body didn’t care; her body simply wanted and needed.
Don’t ask a question you don’t want the answer to
. She didn’t ask. Not now.

“Prove it,” she challenged. “Prove it now.”

Cassandra couldn’t get enough of Michael. She clung to him. Burned for him. Breathed him in as his mouth slanted over hers, punishing, hot, as dominating as the man. There was nothing gentle about the way he took that kiss, the way he claimed her. Raw, animalistic passion that burned away the past and left only this moment and then the next.

They went down on the bed, her on her back, his broad masculine frame commanding hers, his lips traveling her jaw, her neck. He pressed her breasts together, lapping at her nipples with his tongue, suckling and licking until her back arched. He rolled the stiff peaks with his fingers, tugged and nipped to the point of near pain, yet it was so much pleasure. She was panting, watching him in wonder, stunned that this was really happening. He lifted his head, his eyes finding hers, her breasts still intimately molded to his palms. Time seemed to stop as the unanswered questions, the unspoken words, burned between them, a spell of sorts, holding them, compelling them to deal with more than the physical need. Michael pushed out of her embrace, standing up and reaching for his jeans.

Emotionally shaken, but no less physically enthralled by the sheer male power of Michael, Cassandra rested on her elbows, her legs still spread where she wanted him to return.

She watched as he shoved his jeans and underwear down powerful legs and bare feet and stood in all his naked glory for her inspection, his cock jutting forward, thick with readiness. Inhaling a lust-laden breath, Cassandra crawled toward him as surely as he was reaching for her. His legs touched the end of the mattress as they came together in a deep, frenzied kiss, one of his hands palming her backside as he picked her up, caressing along the cheek and intimately sliding along the cleft.

Again, Cassandra wrapped herself around Michael, her arms draping his neck. His erection wedged thickly between her legs, and she moaned into his mouth, the anticipation of having him inside her almost too much to bear. He reached between them, used both his fingers and his cock to stroke her sensitive flesh, before he pushed the pulsing head of his erection inside her and sunk deep to her core. Their lips froze in a caress. For several seconds, they clung together, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways, his powerful one wrapped around hers. Every inch of her body tingled with pleasure, a connection beyond anything she’d ever known.

Michael brushed his lips over hers in a long, languid motion, drawing his erection slowly along the inner walls of her body. Cassandra gasped into his mouth as he thrust hard and hit her core—gasped with pleasure, with fulfillment, with need. A wild rush of passion followed, a frenzy of hips swaying and pumping. And in one long, hard thrust of movement, they went down on the mattress, Michael’s muscular legs spreading her in a V, demanding what she did willingly—open for him.

Their bodies moved in wild abandon, hands exploring, caressing, clinging. She lifted off the bed, hips pressed to his, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more of him, desperate in a way that she couldn’t escape. Desperate for far more than the deep thrust of his cock, but for something she knew in the far reaches of her mind was part of their lifebonding process. It was a feeling she had felt before, but never like this, never so intense, never so all-consuming.

He tore his lips from hers, his hair draped around his shoulders, around hers. As he stared down at her, his dark eyes wild, hungry, tormented—she knew he felt what she felt—that he understood her burning need.

Slowly, Michael thrust into her—a long, deep, sensual stroke of his cock that had her arching into him, tilting her hips to take more of him. To get closer. She could never be close enough. And when she wanted more, he pulled back, teasing her as he traveled a slow, torturous path of pleasure along her sensitive core. With only the tip of his thick erection inside her, he paused, before he drove into her once, then over and over, until they were in another wild frenzy.

Riding on the edge of release, Cassandra wrapped her legs around Michael’s, wrapped her arms around his back, moaning as he kissed her again. A deep, torturous, wonderful kiss that took her over the edge of bliss. The combination of his tongue and his hips shattered her control, causing her muscles to spasm around his cock, her body shaking with the intensity of her pleasure. With a guttural moan, Michael pushed deep into her core, buried his face in her neck, and she could feel the pulse of his release.

Time stood still for long moments as they held one another, their bodies vibrating with energy, until slowly, slowly, muscles eased and tension unraveled.

And with the unraveling of passion came the formation of another kind of explosion, and this one had nothing to do with passion. At least not the kind of passion made of pleasure. The kind made of confrontation. Confrontation that started forming in her chest, with the hurt of the past, with the hurt that was Michael.

“Let me up!” she yelled, suddenly claustrophobic. They’d had sex. Fine. It was good. She didn’t want what came after; she didn’t want to look into his eyes, to face the past or even the future.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he purred near her ear. “What’s the rush?”

He rested on his elbows and forced her to do what she didn’t want to do—stare into his eyes. Those damn eyes that always made her think that nothing but the moment mattered. Made her think they had something real when she knew better.

Her throat went all cottony. Her tongue thick. “I have a flight to catch. I need to get ready.”

His eyes glimmered with determination. “You aren’t taking that flight.”

He couldn’t be serious. “Of course I am,” she said. “We need that hard drive.”

“We don’t,” he said. “Brock told Lucian he knows nothing more than we do.”

“He could have been lying,” she said. “We can’t take that chance. The return flight is a perfect opportunity to get that drive.”

“The only place you’re going is to Sunrise City where I know you’ll be safe.”

Safe.
He
wanted to keep
her
safe. Right. She glared at him. “I can’t find Red Dart in Sunrise City, and what am I supposed to tell my father?”

“Whatever you need to,” he growled. “Be creative.”

“And then we don’t get that hard drive and the data on Red Dart!”

“We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way, or we both know you would never have come to me in the first place!” Frustration boiled inside her. “For two years you didn’t give a damn about where I was or what I was doing. What right do you have to tell me anything?”

He glared right back at her, his jaw clenched, his eyes glistening—looking as if he was about to explode—like he might actually, for once, yell back at her. And she wanted him to. She wanted him to say what was on his mind. To let her inside that hard shell of his. But it didn’t happen. He rolled off her and leaned against the headboard.

“You’re not getting on that plane.”

He’d shut her out again. Damn him. Damn him to hell. With a sound of frustration bursting from her lips, she rotated to her knees, facing him. She didn’t know if she was more angry at him for shutting her out again or for being a bossy, arrogant ass. “I am getting on that plane, Michael, and you cannot stop me.”

“Watch me,” he said with dark menace.

She shook her head, agitated. She wasn’t going to argue with him. It wasn’t even an argument anyway—he didn’t talk to her. “No,” she challenged. “
You
watch me.”

She scrambled toward the edge of the bed and toward the closet. In a flash, he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling her between his thighs. Awareness came instantly, her nipples inches from his face. His hands branding her hips. His brushed his cheek against one of her breasts, his lips against her nipple.

She shivered, and damn him, she struggled to retain her anger. To remember why she had to get dressed. His tongue laved her nipple. Her thighs tingled, her core ached. Need built inside her, and she fought it. She craved this man, his strength, even his damnable bossy, silent treatment. Which meant she was really in need of some counseling, because he was going to hurt her again. She knew it. She figured he did, too. Yet knowing she had a hard drive to copy, maybe even a world to save, she was seriously considering climbing back in bed with him.

Clinging to what resolve she had left, angry at her weakness, she shoved at his shoulders. “Damn it, Michael. I am not having sex with you again. This won’t work. I won’t be manipulated.” He sucked her nipple, all that silky dark hair erotically tickling her skin. Desperate to stop him, before she no longer possessed the will, her hands went to his head. “Stop, Michael!”

He tilted his chin up, a challenge in his eyes. “Is that what you really want?”

She glared. “Yes. I do.” Or she wanted to and that was what counted. “I’m getting dressed, and I’m leaving.”

He arched a brow. “Care to bet on that?”

Chapter 12

Michael had barely thrown out his challenge when Cassandra’s eyes flickered and turned solid black. Wild, uncontrollable need to claim her right then and there overcame him, like a mating call that demanded satisfaction, the need to throw her on the bed and bury himself inside her again almost too intense to ignore.

He cursed. “Your eyes just turned black, Cassandra.” His gaze raked her naked body.

She said something to him, but he didn’t hear her. His mind filled with potent, white hot need—his cock thick, pulsing. Whatever was happening to him, to them, was primal, powerful. Not at all the scientific lab version of bonding as he knew it. It was as if his body and soul believed if he took her again, the process would be complete. She would never want another. She would bear his children. She would die if he died. That jolted some sense into him. He set her away from him, nerve endings raw.

She stumbled with the unexpected action, and he started to reach for her and stopped himself. “Holy hell,” he said, running his hand over the back of his neck. She was naked, and so damn hot. His woman.
His
. Fuck. Not his. Couldn’t be his. He was X2 positive. He was… not what she needed. “I can’t touch you.” He snagged his jeans from the floor and shoved his legs inside. “Get dressed before I don’t let you.”

“I—”

“Get dressed, Cassandra,” he ordered, balling his fists by his sides. He’d tried to do everything in his power to protect Cassandra.

A shaken look crossed her face, before she darted toward the closet and started to dress.

He tried not to watch. He failed. His gaze followed every inch of the pink silk panties as they slid up her long legs and over that little triangle of dark hair. He turned his back, inhaling a breath, trying to calm the sudden raging lust ravishing his body.

“They turned black in the hotel restroom after we… saw each other,” she announced from behind him. “They changed back to normal in a few minutes.”

Before he could stop himself, Michael turned to face her. Mistake. Big mistake. She was putting on her bra. Pink like the panties. Sheer. He wanted to rip it off. He jerked his gaze to her face. “And you didn’t tell me? How could you not tell me something like this?”

“At first I thought you knew and then…” She slipped on a pair of slacks and reached for a crème silk blouse. “I would have told you.”

“When?” he demanded. “I wouldn’t have touched you again had I known we might become bonded without a blood exchange, Cassandra.”

She made a sound of disbelief and slipped on her shoes. “Right.” She crossed her arms in front of her, but not before he saw her hands shake. “Of course. Well, now you know. It happens when you touch me. So don’t touch me.”

The icy cut of her words rippled over him. Crap. “Cassandra. I didn’t mean that how you took it. This isn’t how lifebonding, as we know it, works. We have no idea what is happening to you or how dangerous it might be.”

She held up a hand and waved him off, slipping on her shoes. “Oh my God, Michael. For a man who says so little, you are really good with excuses. The eye color changes back. So stop panicking. We aren’t lifebonding. And believe me I don’t want that any more than you do. Why would I want to be bound to a man who might decide to leave me again tomorrow and go another two years without talking to me? Oh wait. If we lifebond, long-term separation would make you physically ill, right? Isn’t that what I read in Ava’s research? No wonder you don’t want this to happen. You’d have to commit. You couldn’t leave.”

Anger rolled off her in hard, biting surges of energy. It was all Michael could do not to go to her. He didn’t know what to say. Everything felt wrong. He only knew how much he needed this woman, how much… he loved her. His voice hung in his throat, with the confession in his head he didn’t dare say out loud. “I want you, Cassandra. I want you so badly I can barely breathe sometimes. I’m X2 positive. I contain what is inside me, while others do not, but that doesn’t mean that you would. I’ve seen what Ava is. I will not let you become that.”

She scoffed, looking away and then back at him, her jaw set firmly. Her words came out through clenched teeth. “We both know Ava was an evil bitch before she ever completed the bonding. If lifebonding is some joining of kindred spirits, then Ava and Adam’s were tainted before they ever met. No more excuses, Michael. I don’t need them. Nor do I need you if that is all you have to offer. When this is over, we part ways. Just don’t touch me in the meantime, and we’ll get through this just fine.”

“Damn it, Cassandra,” he growled. “You have no idea who I am or what my family is.”

She drew back, the look on her face wounded. “You’re right. I don’t know because you never really let me inside, now did you?”

He scrubbed his jaw. “I was—I am—trying to protect—”

“Don’t you dare say, ‘protect me,’” she said, jabbing a finger at the air. “
Don’t
say it. If you need to believe that to make yourself feel better, fine, but keep it to yourself.”

Michael forgot distance, stepping toward her. “Cassandra—”

She retreated backwards. “I said, don’t.”

A knock sounded on the door. “Room service.”

“Great,” he mumbled. “Now they get here. An hour after I ordered.”

“I’ll get it,” she said, turning toward the door.

He was there in an instant, pressing a solid palm on the wooden surface, stopping her from opening it. “If one of Adam’s spies sees your eyes, he’ll know you’re my Lifebond. He’ll use you to get back at me.”

She paled and backed away, and he could feel the tension in her. Michael silently cursed his brilliant delivery of that information and quickly got rid of the attendant. He wheeled the cart into the room, his new clothes draped over the top. Cassandra stood in the center of the room waiting for him, a stricken look on her face. He wanted to say something, the right something, but his last effort had gone over about as smoothly as a tornado.

“So this is my life now? Hiding from Adam?”

His gut twisted at those questions, because there was no good answer. He had a sudden flashback of that first day they’d met at the elevator inside Groom Lake. Her smile. And that musical laughter he replayed in his head when that dark, empty place he hid in wasn’t big enough to hold all the hell messing with his head. She’d been happy. Before her damn father stole it away. He grimaced at that. Who was he kidding? Until
he
stole it away. He was just as guilty as her father. He’d known not to get involved with her. She wouldn’t have that mark, if not for him.

“You’ll be safe in Sunrise City. We’ll charter a plane home and get back without notice.” And then he’d find a way to destroy Adam if it was the last thing he ever did.

She nodded, hugging herself. “Yes. Safe. Okay.”

It was all he could do, not to go to her, to pull her into his arms. But touching her, daring to believe they could be together, was the very reason she wore that mark on the back of her neck. He had to fix this, not make it worse.

“I’m going to shower and change,” he said. “Try and eat something.” He forced himself to walk past her and managed to make it to the bathroom without reaching for her. But he stopped there for just a moment, guilt twisting him in knots. This was why he didn’t do relationships. His life had a way of bleeding onto the lives of those around him. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. I never meant for any of this to happen. I’ll make this right for you. Somehow, I’ll make it right.” And then he disappeared into the bathroom.

***

The minute the shower turned on, Cassandra headed for the door and quickly zipped her bag. Of course, half her stuff was scattered and unpacked, but she didn’t have time to worry about that. She’d forget the bag if it wouldn’t look odd to Brock.

She snatched her purse and her computer case, and she was in the hallway in a flash, easing the door to a silent closure, and then darn near running to the elevator. If this was her life now, then fine, but Cassandra wasn’t going to sit back and wait for Michael, or her father, to make it better. Nor was she going to tuck her tail and hide from Adam. She was going to be a part of the solution. And once she copied the hard drive on Brock’s computer, she’d call Caleb for help.

Her and Michael… well, that was an emotional subject she refused to think about right now. To say they had history to deal with was an understatement, and she wasn’t sure they could get past it or even if she wanted to at this point. He’d hurt her two years ago, and today in that hotel room. She didn’t want to hurt anymore.

Halfway down the hallway, Cassandra managed to hoist her computer bag on her shoulder and dig her sunglasses from her purse. She slid them in place as the elevator opened, thankful to find several people inside. Michael would never be able to stop her now without making a scene. She would have been relieved if not for the sudden feeling of nausea that washed over her.

After a fast trip to the restroom to check her eyes and slap on some makeup, Cassandra nervously scanned the lobby, praying Michael wouldn’t show up. She spotted Brock standing near the bell desk dressed in tan slacks and a button down with a military-issue, tan tie.

Cassandra walked toward him, forced to endure the far too intimate inspection of a man who wanted to kill her. She held her sunglasses in one hand, ready to put them on at an appropriate moment, because though her eyes were more green than black at present, they were also glossy and dilated. Just barely able to pass as normal. Right. Normal.

“Morning,” Brock said, pushing off the bell desk as she neared. “You look like walking death.”

Her jaw went slack at the comment—no doubt about the hidden meaning. And then she got mad, just barely taming her retort to below hostile. “I thought they taught you military men more manners than that,” she said, shoving her sunglasses on her face, her nerve endings prickling with the sudden awareness that Michael was nearby. “Migraine,” she complained. “And no, it’s not a good morning. Not a good night, for that matter.” She crinkled her nose. “I left my drugs at home too, so it won’t be a good ride home either. Pity for you, sitting next to me. I’ll try and use the doggy bag and not your lap.”
She was definitely aiming for his lap.

“You won’t mind giving up the window seat then, I guess,” he commented dryly. God, the man was a bastard. A lying, arrogant bastard. A fool, too, if he thought he would be using her father. No one got anything over on her father. They might think they did, but they always ended up playing his game, his way.

Brock flagged a bellman and handed him a bill. “We need a cab, ASAP.” He shifted his attention back to Cassandra and motioned her forward. “Shall we?” He inspected her with suspicion. “Were you after pain medication when you went out so late last night?” Brock inquired, setting a duffel bag on the ground. You could take the honor out of a soldier, but never strip him of his duffel bag. Soldiers used them for life.

She had no pain meds, so she didn’t want to claim otherwise. “Could have sworn I said toothbrush,” she said, casting him a sideways look and offering nothing more, remembering her father’s often spoken warning.
Your words can be the enemy’s weapons
. In short, keep your mouth shut.

Well-timed, the cab pulled up in front of them, saving Cassandra from further prodding, and she quickly scooted in to the far side next to the door. If Brock dared sit too close to her, she might just use her
foot
as a weapon.

Thankfully, Brock kept his distance and talked on his cell phone for most of the short ride to the airport—to her father of all people; her stomach rolled the entire time, and she was glad for the distraction, to rest her eyes if only briefly.

Minutes later, standing at the curbside airline desk, she felt a twist in her stomach. She swallowed against the bitter taste in her mouth. Cassandra had no idea what was happening to her, but she didn’t think it was lack of sleep.

It was becoming clear that she couldn’t ignore the implications between her connection to Michael and her illness, not after the eye color change and not when she knew the lifebonding process included a short, violent, physical transition, nausea being par for the course. Much more intense than her random eye color shift and some mild nausea. And she and Michael had most definitely not exchanged blood. But now wasn’t the time to let her worries, or her stomach, get the best of her. She had to get that computer hard drive copied before she keeled over and couldn’t complete the task.

Inside the airport, Cassandra quickly stepped into the security line that Michael had designated for the laptop switch.

“That one is shorter,” Brock argued, pointing to the next line over.

“This one is closer to the restroom,” Cassandra countered, and with a grimace, Brock followed her lead.

Soon she was tossing her shoes in the plastic tray on the conveyer and then setting her computer in one as well. Beside her, Brock did the same thing. Nerves churned her stomach a little harder as she shoved her sunglasses into her purse, her gaze downturned as she worried about what her eyes might look like.

Quickly, she passed through the metal detector without challenge, but behind her, Brock set it off with a loud buzz. He grumbled, checking his pockets as she retrieved her sunglasses and slipped them into place. The female security guard behind the conveyer gave her a weird look.