Nauti Dreams (13 page)

you haven’t noticed.”

And Dawg had noticed. Natches had been drawing further and further away over the

years. He pulled the hammer and nails from the kitchen drawer and moved back to the

door.

Her looks shouldn’t bother him, and Dawg knew it. Crista had just torn into his butt the

night before over a similar comment.

“It’s not just her looks,” he finally admitted.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s her eyes. Look at her eyes, man. They’re dead inside. That woman isn’t even alive,

and you can see it in her face. Her expression and her eyes. She’ll destroy Natches.”

Rowdy was quiet for long moments then. The sounds of the hammer striking wood and

the four-inch nails sinking into the frame were the only comment Dawg received.

Finally, the door was secure, and Rowdy was just staring at it.

“She’s not dead inside,” he finally said, his voice soft.

“Same as.” Dawg shrugged. “You didn’t work with her last year. She’s cold inside, man.

She can get nervous as hell, she can get scared, and she did a fine laugh tonight, but there

ain’t no love in her for anyone.”

Rowdy shook his head at that. “There’s too much emotion.” He looked at Dawg then.

“Just like Natches. And she’s determined to hide it. You can’t see past that need we both

have to keep protecting our little cousin, Dawg. Sometimes I think we forget he’s all

grown-up now.”

“And just as alone as he ever was,” Dawg growled.

Rowdy shook his head. “Not anymore.”

SIX

He didn’t take her back to the hotel, just as he’d told Chaya he wouldn’t. She didn’t

remember Natches being this damned stubborn. Not that he couldn’t give the proverbial

mule a run for its money. But practically kidnapping her wasn’t something he had done

before.

“Why bring me here, Natches?” she asked him as they stepped into the comfortable

living area of the boat, and she stared around in interest.

“Because we’re not finished.” He closed the door, locked it, and reset the security system.

She felt her heart race at the sound of the muted little beep from the security console.

Somehow the boat seemed much more intimate than the apartment had. It wasn’t just that

the space was less open and smaller; it was as though a part of Natches himself was

infused within the interior.

Dark browns and desert tones made up the color scheme of the furniture. The carpet was

a creamy white. Small dark maroon pillows rested at the arms of the couch, and a rug of

the same color was laid at the door. Heavy desert brown shades covered the windows,

and the splash of golden light that fell from the table lamps softened the room.

The kitchen was separated by a combination table and bar. Laminate flooring stretched to

the curved metal staircase at the far end of the kitchen and beyond, to what Chaya

assumed were the bedrooms.

She turned back to Natches when he didn’t explain further, and watched him warily. He

reminded her of a caged beast straining against his restraints. It was there in the wild

glitter of his dark green eyes, in the taut planes and angles of his face.

“Why the hell did Cranston have to send you here?” he finally asked, the guttural tone of

his voice causing her to flinch.

“That was my question as well.” She shrugged, watching him carefully as he strode past

her to the refrigerator in the kitchen. “His answer was that I was his best bet. He didn’t

tell me what the bet was though.”

“Driving me bat-shit crazy?” he asked as he twisted the cap off a beer and tipped it to his

lips.

Watching him drink from the longneck bottle was sexier than it should have been.

“Probably.” She finally admitted there was a chance that that was exactly why Timothy

had sent her rather than another agent. “He wasn’t pleased with you or Dawg last year.

And he does enjoy his petty little revenge games.”

Actually, he normally had a solid reason for those games, they were just irritating as hell.

But the real conversation she and Natches were having was beneath the actual words,

thrumming with tension.

Chaya couldn’t forget. Anytime she was near Natches, every time she was within

touching distance, the memories and the pain returned. And the need. The same need that

had his erection buried between her lips earlier. The need to touch and be touched was

stronger than the pain.

It had been five years. Losing Beth had nearly driven her crazy, but the years had helped

her to sew closed the ragged wound that loss had left. She still cried sometimes; she still

ached most of the time. But she had learned to go on. Beth was gone; there was no way to

bring her back.

But Chaya had always known that Natches was still alive. And the guilt she felt at the

thought of going to him had always held her back.

While Natches had been teasing her in that hospital, seducing her, making her laugh, her

daughter had been in danger. While she had made plans for a future that didn’t include

her traitorous husband, her daughter had perhaps been crying for her mother. And while

she had been laughing with Natches, someone had been planning to bomb the building

Craig had taken their child to.

Hunger, guilt, anger, and need vied inside her now just as they had for the past five years.

They twisted inside her, making it impossible to see past what she had lost long enough

to decide what she was running away from. And now she had no choice but to face it.

Whoever that faceless organization was that had managed to authenticate a strike code on

that hotel in Iraq, it had to be stopped. It was too dangerous, its influence becoming too

corrupt. There were moles in Army Intelligence, and Cranston had traced them to the op

here.

“I’m going to kill Cranston when this is over.” Natches set the beer bottle down on the

bar, his heavy-lidded gaze moving over her again.

That look made her sizzle. Chaya could feel all the nerve endings in her body coming

alive. That look could make women across the world weak in the knees. He could bottle

it and make billions.

“Good luck.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans to keep them from

shaking. To keep herself from shaking.

“Take your clothes off.”

Chaya blinked back at him, certain she hadn’t heard what she knew she had heard.

“Do you think it’s just that easy?” She shook her head and wished it was. “Sorry,

Natches, I’m not here to be your toy. I’m here to do a job.”

“So you can do both now.” He grabbed his beer and finished it before tossing it in the

trash can in the corner. “You can be Agent Greta Dane during the day and my toy at

night. I promise you won’t be in the least neglected, Chaya.”

Oh, she just bet she wouldn’t be. And when the time came that Timothy decided to let

them all in on the little game he was playing, what then? Would she be cast aside as all

his other playthings had been?

“You have plenty of other toys, Natches; you don’t need me.” She wanted to sound

flippant, uncaring, but she could feel the ache building inside her.

Five years. It had been five years since he had taken her. She had been so filled with pain

then that she hadn’t been able to appreciate the pleasure that had torn through her.

But she remembered it. She remembered his tears mixing with hers as he kissed her, just

as she remembered how easily he had coaxed more than one explosive orgasm from her.

She watched him uneasily. He wasn’t just going to take no for an answer, and she didn’t

know if she had the strength to hold back if he touched her again.

And he was going to touch her. She pulled her hands slowly from her jeans pockets as he

advanced on her, his expression predatory.

“Natches.” She whispered his name in warning.

“There’s the door; run, little rabbit,” he suggested, his voice wicked as he nodded to the

door that led to escape. “Go ahead. Or do you have the courage to actually take me on

without excuses?”

Her fingers curled against her palm as he challenged her. The chance to touch him again,

to feel whatever it was she had felt that night that she hadn’t been able to forget. She

hadn’t been able to touch another man after that.

“That so isn’t going to work,” she retorted and wished her voice sounded stronger,

wished it had more conviction.

She could feel herself preparing for him despite the protest. Her breasts were sensitive

and swollen, the nipples throbbing. And between her thighs, she could feel herself

dampening, her clit engorging.

She wanted. She ached. She had been aching this past week with a strength that had

forced her to masturbate several times. And it hadn’t been enough. It was never enough

when she thought of Natches.

“You want me.” He was too close now, standing in front of her, forcing her to look up at

him.

He was so wicked. A rogue. She had called him that once, and he had laughed and

winked as he agreed with her.

“Does just wanting make it all right?” she whispered, catching his wrists as his hands

settled on her hips. “Wanting isn’t always enough, Natches.”

“It’ll be enough for tonight.” There was no plea in his words, just pure demand. “I’m not

asking for forever, Chaya. I wouldn’t dare.”

And before she could question the angry tone of those last words, he was kissing her. His

lips covered hers, his tongue pushed between them, and he was taking what he wanted.

There was no question of giving it to him, because he didn’t ask for a damned thing.

This wasn’t the teasing seducer she had known five years before. This was a conqueror.

This was a man who refused to ask. He knew what he wanted, and God help her, he

seemed to know exactly what she needed, too.

Chaya felt the world tilt around her; she could have sworn the ground shook. Whatever it

was, it was Natches holding her, his lips on hers, his muttered, hungry moan vibrating

against her lips as his mouth slanted across them and his tongue tempted and teased hers

into an excited, erotic duel.

It was fire and lightning, this kiss. It was being awakened from a lifetime of nightmares

and finally given light. It was like being reborn.

Chaya heard herself cry out, felt her arms latching around his neck, her body arching to

him, needing more. More contact. More touch. Oh God, she couldn’t get enough of him,

and the need would destroy her. This need rocked her to her very core, to the center of

that lonely, almost broken, spirit that had sent her running before. Because she couldn’t

face losing anyone else. She couldn’t face losing Natches, too.

She trembled as she felt his hands caressing her, running along her back, pushing beneath

her top and touching bare flesh. He moved against her, pressing his thigh between hers,

rocking her against him.

She felt the delicate, sensitive flesh between her thighs flame. Wicked, greedy wildfire

swept through her, and nothing mattered but more. More of his kiss. If she didn’t get

more of his kiss, she would lose her mind from the need. More of his touch. She wanted

to be naked in his arms. Naked and shuddering and surrounded by Natches. Surrounding

him. Burning as she only burned in her dreams.

“There, Chay.” He pulled her closer, one hand on her butt, forcing her to ride the hard

muscle of his thigh as she ground herself against him. “See how good it is, baby?

Remember how hot it is?”

Oh yes, she remembered. She remembered begging him for more, screaming for more.

The memories were hazy because the pain had been overwhelming that night. But she

remembered enough to know why she had ached in the darkness of the night after she’d

left Iraq. She remembered enough to know that, once he took her, she was never going to

be the same again.

No more sleepwalking. She had existed the past five years, forcing herself through each

day, refusing to acknowledge that a part of her, that hidden, feminine core of her, was

right here. In Natches’s arms.

“Natches, let me breathe. Let me think,” she gasped as his lips slid from hers—lazy,

confident—and nibbled at her jawline. Her nerve endings rose up in a crescendo of

pleasure.

“No thinking allowed.” The rasp of his day-old beard sent shards of the most incredible

pleasure washing through her body. “Now, let’s get these damned clothes off.”

It was sexy. It was erotic. It was the most gentle act of sexual intensity that she could

have imagined. He pulled her arms from around his neck, then, staring down at her, his

forest green eyes darkening to moss, his palms touching her flesh along the way, he slid

her blazer from her shoulders and over her arms.

Chaya stared up at him, unable to break the contact, the connection. He had done that

before, she remembered. Stared at her, watched her eyes as he undressed her.

“This isn’t a good idea.” She tried to protest, but it sounded more like an invitation. It

was an invitation. Everyone knew Natches did anything anyone else considered a bad

idea. And the more erotic, the more wicked, that bad idea was, the faster he was there.

“Who needs good ideas? Come here, baby. Let me see those pretty breasts just one more

time. Lift your arms for me.” He pulled the hem of her shirt up and over her head, off her

arms. It dropped to the floor as a hungry growl left his lips and long, thick lashes