Night Game (28 page)

“Raoul.” His name came out somewhere between a plea and an invitation. Her arms went around his neck to cradle his head. “I thought you weren’t going to seduce me.” She arched her back to thrust her breast deeper into his mouth.

“Unbutton your shirt.” He murmured the command around her breast, the material of her shirt wet from his ministrations, her nipple aching and tight from the combined sensations of his mouth and the rough material.

Her hands slid the button loose, then a second one before bunching in his hair. His hair was silky soft, as black as night and curled around her fingers as if holding to her as tightly as she was holding to him. She closed her eyes as his warm breath teased her bare skin. When his mouth closed around her breast she cried out, pulling him closer, her fist bunched in his hair. Her knees went weak and heat rushed through her body like a fireball, pooling low and wicked so that she sought relief by rubbing harder against him.

“You have too many clothes on,” he whispered. “We both do.”

“Kiss me again.” She needed his kiss, craved it with the same terrible ferocity as his touch. She wrenched at his hair in an effort to pull his head up, in an effort to retain reality. Teeth tugged her nipple, his tongue laved, easing the sharp bite of pain that only seemed to add to the fire building in her.

“I want your clothes off.” His teeth nibbled and scraped around the mound of her breast, underneath, tormenting her until she was desperate for him, her leg wrapping around his waist in an effort to ride him.

The things he could do to her body with his mouth and his hands were incredible, unbelievable things she had never experienced or thought would heighten her pleasure. He was by turns rough and then tender, his hands hard then soothing, his mouth biting, then hot silk. She would lose herself in him, lose her sanity, need him. She would
need
him. Flame stiffened, jerked back, stumbling, nearly falling off the airboat.

“What am I doing?”

There was terror on her face. In her eyes. Gator drew in a ragged breath and attempted to force his body under control. She was trembling, shaking her head, looking at him as if he had suddenly become her enemy. Her hair was disheveled, spilling in wild abandonment around her face, her lips were swollen from his kisses, and her breasts gleamed at him from her gaping shirt, faint red marks of his possession on them. It was impossible to control his body when everything in him urged him to take her right there in the bottom of the boat.

“Nothing happened,
cher
,” he assured, keeping his voice low.

“What do you mean nothing happened? Something happened here and we can’t take it back.” Her voice shook.

She was right. He knew she was. He would never, ever, as long as he lived, stop craving the feel and taste of her. He wouldn’t walk away satisfied from another woman. He wanted Flame. Only Flame. All of Flame. Her heart, her body, maybe even her soul, whatever he could take for himself and hold on to. The same knowledge was in her eyes and she looked so scared he couldn’t stop the step toward her.

“It’s addiction. Obsession. Everything but what it should be.” She couldn’t back away from him but she shrank against the seat.

His fingertips deliberately caressed her breasts. “What should it be if not this?”

“Simple physical attraction.
Normal
physical attraction.”

“I’d rather have this. I’d rather have you.” His hands cupped her breasts possessively, his thumbs stimulating her nipples. “Normal is never going to be enough for you, Flame, any more than it will be for me.” He leaned in to her to claim her mouth.

The moment his lips feathered over hers, his tongue teased the seam of her mouth, she felt an electrical charge running from her mouth to her breasts and to her groin. His fist was suddenly in her hair, holding her in place as his teeth tugged at her lower lip, demanding entrance. Her brain went into meltdown as she allowed his tongue to sweep inside her mouth, to tangle with hers. They seemed fused together, so hot and so addicting she couldn’t stop kissing him. Her bare breasts mashed into his chest and she could hear their combined heartbeats, smell the musky scent of their combined need.

His mouth became rougher, more demanding, his hand tightening in her hair, but it only added to the intensity of her desire for him. Fire raced up her belly to her breasts, spread through her body until she wanted to cry with need. He tasted hot and wild and it was almost more than she could bear. To want him. To be made to want him. It should be her choice.
Hers
.

Flame pushed at his shoulders until he allowed her to escape. Dragging the edges of her shirt together she wiped at her mouth. It didn’t help. She could still taste him there. Her body felt swollen and achy and unfulfilled.

“Why?” Gator could barely breathe. Barely think. It took every ounce of willpower, of discipline and control to keep from taking what she wouldn’t give him. He knew she wouldn’t be able to resist him if he persisted.

“Whitney.” She whispered the name.

She may as well have shouted it. Dead or alive, the man haunted them. Gator fought to drag air into his lungs as he stared at her, fighting back the need to just overrule her decision. Her shirt was pulled together over her breasts, but had slipped off her shoulders. He could see a hint of darker smudges marring her skin. He stepped closer to her, a small frown on his face. “Flame?”

She glanced at her shoulders and jerked the shirt over her skin. “It’s nothing.”

“It isn’t nothing. How did you get those bruises?”

“I told you, I bruise easily. I got a little beat up driving the Jeep over rough terrain.” Flame buttoned up her shirt, wincing as the material brushed against her tight, sensitive nipples. His gaze dropped to her breasts, clearly seeing the outline. He licked his lips and turned away from her to start the airboat.

Wrapping her arms around her waist, Flame refused to look at him as the boat skimmed over the water toward Burrell’s island. She would not be used as an experiment, not ever again. Certainly not for some perverted sexual experiment. She’d never responded to anyone like she had Raoul. She’d never wanted or needed anyone the way she did him, The ache in her body refused to subside and she simply didn’t trust the intensity of her craving for him.

Raoul didn’t believe Whitney was alive. He certainly didn’t believe he’d somehow found a way to make them addicted to one another. But she knew what the doctor was capable of doing.

She stared at the passing landscapes. The bayou was a beautiful place. She didn’t even mind the humidity so much. She loved the wildlife and the way it sat there, right out among the midst of civilization as all around it the city built up. Normally she didn’t care to be in cities, people crowding in where she couldn’t stop the continual assault of noise, but she liked New Orleans and the French Quarter. She thought the aboveground cemeteries looked like miniature cities, beautiful and different and perfect for New Orleans. Mostly, she liked the people with their smiling faces and their various accents and ready laughter. She didn’t want to leave any of it, and she especially didn’t want to leave Raoul.

As if reading her mind, Gator’s fingers brushed her arm, slid down to tangle with hers until he was holding her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You had all this. How could you think whatever Whitney did was worth the trade?” She nearly choked on the question. She wanted his life. His grandmother and brothers and his wonderful home.

“At the time, I didn’t think I was trading it away. I had some psychic talent and a huge sense of responsibility. I thought by getting more training I could save more lives. I’d already had so much special training in so many areas, Flame, it just felt like one more. Then it all went to hell.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, his gaze watching the waterway.

With his foot standing on the gas and one hand on the stick controlling the rudder he had to be alert. The trail was narrow and the plants slick as they skimmed the surface of the marsh. He didn’t dare let up on the gas going over the mud because he didn’t want to get stuck. When navigating an airboat, he looked out for everything from other boats, to alligators and the knees of cypress trees, anything that could damage the bottom of the boat. The airboats were top heavy and could flip rather easily and he was very aware Flame was riding with him. He didn’t want anything to happen to her.

Gator kept his fingers tangled tightly with Flame’s as they raced over the waterway and marsh to reach the small island Burrell had loved so much.

“Do you regret your decision?”

He glanced at her. “Not anymore. No.”

Flame sucked in her breath. He just accepted what was between them. He didn’t care if Whitney manipulated them or not. He had no idea how protective he could look, how possessive and how intense the desire that shadowed his eyes was when he looked at her. She detested Peter Whitney and everything he stood for. Whitney believed the end justified the means and that humans were small sacrifices to make for the greater good of knowledge. She had seen so much pain inflicted on the other girls he’d bought from the orphanages as well as experienced it herself.

Throwaways he’d called them. She still flinched inwardly every time she thought of it, every time she recalled the contempt in his tone. Joy Chiasson was not a throwaway. Neither was Burrell. Flame could stand up for the ones like her, the ones no one else would stand up for. Whitney with his billions might get away with his monstrous experiments, but she would bring down the ones she could.

“Flame.”

She shook her head. “Don’t, Raoul. I have to think about this. Give me time to think things through. Something is going on here and I have to figure it out.”

“Why? What does it matter if he manipulated us sexually or emotionally or whether we’re just attracted because we know each other like no one else could? We have a chance at something few people ever have.”

“What? Great sex? He’ll put us in a cage and watch us.”

His fingers tightened around hers. He’d been in a cage, waiting to be murdered. “I’m not going to let that happen. We’re worth millions of dollars to the military. I go out on missions when they send me and I come back and report and take my leave. That’s my life. It has nothing to do with Whitney. No one is going to lock us up when they need to use us. What would be the point of that?”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

They were nearing the island and Gator throttled down, taking the airboat right up onto the island into dense reeds. “This is where we get off. You’re going to get muddy.”

“I have to buy new clothes anyway.” Flame jumped onto a small patch of what looked like solid ground, but sank up to her ankles. “Ugh. Why is it every single time we recon, it’s always in the mud or in water?”

“It’s going to rain too.”

“I didn’t need you to tell me that.” She worked her way carefully through the sludge until she was on more solid ground, then began to make her way across the island toward the small basin where Burrell had always kept his houseboat.

There was little left of it, mostly the smell of burnt wood and the blackened remains of one part of the deck. She could see Burrell’s favorite chair partially burnt lying in the reeds near land. She stumbled, pressing her hand to her mouth.

“I can do this, Flame,” Gator offered. “There’s no need for both of us to be here. We don’t even know if anyone’s going to show up.”

She lifted her chin. “Burrell was mine. I didn’t have him very long, but he was mine. He didn’t deserve to get chased out into the swamp, shot, and thrown to the alligators. I’ll take these people down, and if I’m a little uncomfortable so be it.”

Gator kept his face completely expressionless. She did things to him, to both his body and mind when she talked like a warrior. He respected her, wanted her, admired her courage. Her leg had to hurt like hell, but she was barely limping. He had the sinking notion he was be ginning to fall in love. Judging by the look on her face, she wouldn’t welcome the admission so he simply stayed silent.

Wanting a clean sweep of the surrounding area, Gator chose the high ground. They didn’t have long to wait. A car slowly made its way along the narrow ribbon of road leading to Burrell’s island. The driver parked in the small widened area where Burrell’s old truck still remained. Three men pushed the doors open, all the time looking around them warily.

Flame’s fingers closed around Gator’s wrist. “I’ve seen the man in the plaid shirt before. He works security for Saunders.” Could Saunders have had Burrell killed? He couldn’t have known she’d taken his money. There was nothing to trace the robbery back to her. What had Burrell said that morning? He was meeting Saunders later in the afternoon to pay him with a bank draft rather than cash.

She sank down, uncaring that she was sitting in muddy water. Her legs wouldn’t hold her. She never considered Saunders might kill Burrell if the riverboat captain made his last payment and took possession of the island. She looked around her. “Look at this, Raoul. This is a tiny piece of land, mostly uninhabitable. The ground is spongy, the water table is high. It’s worthless. There isn’t even enough wildlife to hunt for a living here, or trees to harvest. Saunders can’t want it badly enough to kill for it.”

Gator stroked a caress through her hair. “I have a feeling Saunders doesn’t like to lose. He’s a high-stakes player. Parsons has been trying to get something on him for a long time and from what I understand, they know Saunders is dirty, they just can’t nail him. And it isn’t because he’s that careful. His people are too afraid of him to ever testify against him and everyone who’s ever tried to go up against him has ended up dead.”

“What about Parsons? Is his cover really that good? I found out he was DEA. If I could, why couldn’t Saunders? A good computer hacker can find most anything.”

“Parsons resides here. He doesn’t really hide what he does. He’s a businessman and he lives in the same area as Saunders. They struck up a friendship and go to the same clubs. Saunders likes to rub elbows with the politicians and the hotshots in town. Parsons is only one of them. Saunders knows the mayor and even the governor.”