Seduced by the Storm (22 page)

One
of Wyatt’s hands came down on her head, tangled in her hair. She smiled around
his shaft, let him pump into her mouth, his grip in her hair tightening as his
breathing came faster.

Under
her knees, the helicopter thumped, vibrated, rocked. "You’re not going to
crash us, are you?" she asked against the head of his cock.

He
moaned. "And ruin the best blow job ever? Not. Fucking. Likely."

She
closed her hand around the base of his shaft, squeezed as she drew it up to
where her lips made a seal around the smooth ridge of his head. Applying strong
suction, she flicked her tongue and fisted him with hard, firm strokes. At the
same time, she thumbed her clit, fucked herself with her fingers.

Trembling
with the desire to come, she let it happen, cried out around his cock. Her
release sent him over the edge, his hips bucking, his hot seed filling her
mouth. She took it all, sucking until he began to jerk and his thighs quivered.

"Land,"
he rasped, as she ran her tongue from his crown to his balls, catching the last
of the juices they’d made.

"What?"

"I
have to fly."

Smiling,
she tucked him back into his jeans and climbed into her seat. "Who won, do
you think?"

He
wiped his brow, his breath still coming faster than he probably liked.
"Won?"

"Chicken."

His
dark, heavy-lidded gaze made her breath catch. "I’ll give you that one.
But once we’re alone with a real bed? You’re mine."

It
took Wyatt a few minutes before he could actually see straight again, the orgasm
from the blow job making his legs tremble slightly and his entire body throb
and shiver.

Yes,
that was one battle he’d gladly concede to Faith, over and over again.

She
wore a sexy, smug smile, as he was hit with the realization that Faith was
maybe the first woman in his life who didn’t bring out his love jones every
single time.

"You
do know this heli has GPS tracking." Her voice broke into his thoughts
sharply.

"I
know. No way to disable it without taking the whole bird down."

"So
you’re taking it down, then?"

"Yeah.
Can you handle that, Faith?"

"Anything
you can do, I can do."

"Oh,
we’re still playing chicken. That’s good. I’ve got some ground to make
up."

The
helo was a full-body machine when it wasn’t on autopilot, and he worked it the
way he’d learned years earlier, mainly through self-teaching. Taking a chance
at hovering the helo over the water while they jumped out was better than
risking a crash landing.

Faith
could handle this. "We’re going to have to dump her at a klick in about
five minutes." That would put them about one thousand meters from the
shoreline—not a bad swim, but they’d use the raft. They couldn’t afford any
rescue attempts from the wrong people.

"Won’t
the crash attract a lot of attention?" she asked.

"It
shouldn’t. But we don’t have much choice—I’m counting on the fact that the
average person can see maybe six miles of detail when looking at the horizon of
the ocean. With darkness and low clouds compromising visibility, much
less."

Faith
peered out the window into the fading evening light. "I like to swim as
much as the next agent—"

"The
jump will really get the blood pumping."

She
cast him a doubtful look, and yeah, it wasn’t going to be pretty—the seas were
ten-foot swells, which would be rough as shit on her. But then again, the
entire atmosphere was in an uproar. Keeping the helo level was becoming a real
bitch, even with the autopilot, and it was ruining his afterglow.

Having
Itor come after them now would ruin it much, much more.

"And
what will we do as the heli banks and nose-dives, the way it did before?"
she asked.

He
tapped the side of his head. "Under control, Faith. It’s all under
control. Grab the bag with the raft—it’s somewhere. But don’t inflate it in the
cabin."

"I
know when, where and how to inflate, Wyatt. I thought I made that perfectly
clear."

He
watched her get up from the seat, the soft leather skirt molding her curves.
"Lose the boots."

"I
know that!" she called over her shoulder.

"And
grab two life vests," he said, and smiled when she grumbled and cursed him
behind his back even as the wind picked up, tossing the bird from side to side.
Fucking amazing that any of these motherfucking metal hunks of shit stayed in
the air to begin with.

She
brought his vest to him. He continued to work the pedals as he stripped out of
his coveralls and then put the vest on.

"I’m
ready. Shall I open the ramp?"

"Give
me a second." He grabbed the cell from his pocket and shot a quick text
message as his feet continued to keep the helo steady. He got the return
confirmation within seconds. "Rock on, man."

"Everything
all right?"

"Never
better. It’s game on." He noted that she’d tucked the main part of the bag
that held the motherboard under her life vest. "When I say go, put the
ramp down and throw the raft."

The
raft would inflate when it hit the water, and they’d have to go within seconds
of its launch to prevent it from getting too far behind them. He could pull it
back with his mind, but he’d still be trying to prevent the helo from crashing
around their heads, and while multitasking was something he did well, that
might prove too much of a stretch.

She
nodded. "Are we going to clear this?"

"She’s
got forward motion—that’s all we need."

"It’s
going to be close."

"Close
calls are the best kind. Make you appreciate living that much more. When we
unass this bitch—"

"Elbows
to sides, tuck the chin, fists to face. Knees and feet together tightly,"
she said with a small, satisfied smile—and oh, yeah, he wasn’t going to be able
to wait for a bed.

"Yeah,
see, I was going to say to jump into the crest of the wave so you don’t fall
into the trough and break your legs. Because that would suck."

She
rolled her eyes and went to the back of the helo. When he heard the ramp go
down, he was ready. "Throw it now, baby," he called, took his feet
off the pedals and mentally kept the bird steady as he walked quickly toward
her.

She
waited confidently by the open door, hair blowing wildly, the leather skirt
with the high slit up the back looking fucking amazing, and out of place.

She
was excited about the jump.

He
grabbed her hand as he stood at the ramp with her, and yelled, "Don’t let
go, Faith. No matter what, you hold on tight."

She
nodded, and they jumped down the fifteen feet into the water—ten-foot seas, at
least, and for him, not a bad swim at all. SEALs would call this a good night.

The
waves pushed and pulled at them, attempted to wrench them apart—but neither one
let go, held fast until they both resurfaced, the life vests pulling them up
rapidly.

He
had no doubt Faith could handle herself out here, but they needed speed to get
away from the helo. He stared at the orange raft bouncing in the waves in front
of them and willed it to close the distance between them, using his gift. As
the raft responded by hurtling toward them, Wyatt turned Faith’s body, her back
to his chest, and did a side swim with her to meet the oncoming raft, despite
her protests that
she could bloody swim, dammit.

"Get
in," he yelled over the rushing roar, pushed her into the orange raft and
then dragged himself in next to her.

"Why
didn’t you let me swim?"

"Because
I didn’t want to let go of you," he said as he began to push the raft with
his mind, because, fuck, the farther away from the crash site, the better. And
that Chelbi was going down fast now that he’d taken his mind off it, let it
bank, and bam—it hit the surface with a force that made the water surge, pushed
the raft forward with a sickening intensity that nearly toppled them into the
ocean.

He
pushed Faith to the floor of the raft, covered her body with his and
concentrated on moving the raft as rapidly as he could away from the
fast-sinking helo and the parts that ripped off it on impact with the water.

The
water temp wasn’t bad, but with the wind, they were both chilled, and nestling
into her made him so damned warm.

She
peered over his shoulder to stare at the explosion that lit the night sky. Even
though they were both in shape, both breathed fast from the rush of danger.

"You
all right?" he yelled over the sounds of the ocean.

"Never
better."

"Good."
He sat back and helped her to sit up in the raft. He ran his hands through his
hair, slicked the wet strands away from his face and took a deep breath. They
were almost there—but they certainly weren’t done, not with this mission or
with each other.

"Is
that shore?" she asked, squinting into the darkness.

"Yeah,
we’re all right—the current is on our side," he said.

She
nodded, fixed the bag that had remained wrapped around her, the strap crossed
at a diagonal between her breasts under the life vest.

He
could easily take that bag from her—could’ve taken it at any point during the
jump or right afterward, destroyed it and left Faith to her own devices.
Could’ve left her the raft and swum in himself after smashing the motherboard beyond
recognition, and for a second earlier, when they’d first gotten into the raft,
he’d almost used his mind to rip the bag from her body and throw it into the
ocean.

But
he didn’t. And it wasn’t because sex was the only thing on his mind—far from
it.

"We
can walk the rest of the way in," he said, dumped himself over the side to
test the depth and helped her into the water. She looked at him as if she
wanted to ignore his hand, his help, but she didn’t.

He
pulled the KA-BAR that he’d strapped to his arm earlier out of habit—a habit
that would probably never die—and slashed the sides of the raft so it would
deflate and float along with the rest of the debris. Better Itor think them
dead, even though they’d never stop hunting for him, or for Faith.

He
followed her out of the water, watched as she stripped off the life vest and
threw it next to her so that it would also float back into the ocean.

As a
free agent, she was far more vulnerable than he was, but he wasn’t about to let
anything happen to her. Not until he could convince her that their connection
was much more than just their mutual interest in the weather machine. Not until
he could break through the fear that had held her back on the helo.

The
beach was deserted and there was no sign of the man he’d called yet. Still,
they were in the right place, coordinate-wise, so he’d give the guy a few more
minutes.

"What
are we waiting for?" she demanded.

"We’re
getting a ride—he’ll be here soon."

"So
we’re just going to stand around on the beach, vulnerable and exposed?"
She stared him down angrily and he shook his head and thought about how
fucked-up it was that someone with her abilities could ever feel vulnerable and
exposed.

Although
he felt the same way around her—and it had nothing to do with the freakin’
motherboard. "We’ll be fine, Faith. My friend will give us a ride to
wherever we need to go to make the exchange for your sister. We’ll have room
and board for the night. Just hang on—"

"Don’t
tell me what to do, Wyatt. You’ve been micro-managing me ever since we got on
the Chelbi."

"Right,
I forgot, you’re big, bad spy girl, ready to take on the world all by yourself
at a moment’s notice."

"We’re
going to find someplace to stay tonight that I choose," she said, standing
directly in front of him, arms crossed, and he could see her eyes blazing in
the moonlight.

"I
didn’t realize we were still playing chicken," he said. "Didn’t
realize this was going to be an ongoing theme in our relationship."

Yeah,
she was panicking, tugging on the damned choker the way she had back on the
helo. Probably more so now that she’d done exactly what she’d told him she
wasn’t going to do. She’d flipped out when he’d told her he wanted her to crave
him, and she’d done so on that helo.

Hell,
they were both in the same position—he’d just been a little better about not
showing it.

"You
play chicken all the time—with yourself. You take chances," she shot back.
"Sometimes, you take stupid chances that you don’t have to take."

He
nodded. "Yeah, more than sometimes."

"Why?
Talk to me, Wyatt. Please." She paused. "I’ve seen your aura. It’s
full of holes, and it only looks like that when someone’s not well—and I know
for a fact that you’re fine physically. So it’s got to be…well, I tried to heal
you, but…"