Seduced by the Storm (34 page)

Dev
had given her a shot at a real life, but Creed completed it.

Heart
in a knot, she realized that as much as she loved Dev, Creed was the love of
her life, and she’d put him on the back burner. She’d fucked things up so
badly, and this time she wasn’t going to blame her inexperience with
relationships. She wasn’t going to blame Creed or Dev or the CIA.

She’d
done this to herself, and she was going to take responsibility. But that didn’t
mean she wasn’t pissed at Dev for being an ass.

"Yes,
sir," she snapped. "I’ll head out on my mission now, because heaven
forbid I be in your house without an invitation."

DEV
WATCHED ANNIKA GO, and once she was out of sight, he slid to the floor, his
head in his hands. He hated that he’d had to force Annika and Creed together
like a meddling uncle, but things between them had hit critical mass. He’d been
aware of Creed’s issues with him, but some selfish, dark part of him hadn’t
wanted to give up Annika.

Now
he had a feeling that if all had gone well, she’d realize she had to make a
choice between him and Creed, and if she chose Creed, Dev would lose her.

But
the loss would be bittersweet. She needed Creed—he was probably the only person
on earth who could handle her, and vice versa.

He
pulled his phone from his BDU pants’ side pocket and dialed the flight
coordinator. The perky but incredibly efficient woman answered on the first
ring.

"Jessie?
I need a jet readied for takeoff. It’ll be going to Ireland."

"Yes,
sir," she said. "Time frame?"

Dev
glanced at his watch. Knowing Annika, she’d need an hour to prep, an hour to
hunt down Creed, and thirty seconds to strong-arm him into going with her.

"Two
hours, three, tops."

"We’ll
have to make adjustments to the flight path. The hurricane—"

"Do
what you have to do."

"You
got it, sir."

Dev
hung up, rubbed his eyes and leaned back against the cupboards to stare at the
ceiling. He wished he could close his eyes, but there was too much in his head
he didn’t want to see—Oz, Annika and Ryan, the latter of whom he could no
longer see at all with his CRV.

Which
meant Ryan was dead.

Right
now, he had to concentrate on work, because just this morning Haley had called
to tell him that Remy’s attempts to push the cold front forward had failed.
They were leaving for the coast in an attempt to affect the hurricane itself.
If they weren’t successful, Dev’s grief would be the least of his concerns.

ANNIKA
KEPT CALLING Creed, even as she sped to his house. She’d stopped by her place
to grab her always ready mission bag, which contained clothes, weapons, gadgets
and disguises, and then she’d started the search for Creed. She tried his
office first, his favorite biker bar second, and although it was a long shot,
she had to see if he’d gone to his house.

When
she saw his hog out front, she nearly let out a whoop of victory. She dashed
inside and drew up short at the sight of him sitting on the couch, whiskey
bottle in one hand, TV remote control in the other.

He
was watching soaps.

"Um,
baby? You never watch soaps."

He
took a swig from the bottle. "All the backstabbing and cheating and
fucking makes my life look normal. I like that."

Shit.
They’d never be able to talk with him piss-drunk. But she couldn’t risk leaving
him either. If he sobered up and thought she’d taken off on Dev’s orders
without even trying to work things out, any hope of making things right would
be destroyed.

"Okay,
come on." She took the alcohol from him and yanked on his arm. "We’re
going on a mission."

"Fuck
that." He threw down the remote and grabbed the bottle.

"It’s
Ireland," she cajoled. "They have lots of whiskey there."

"Take
your precious Dev. He likes whiskey."

"Dammit,
Creed, this isn’t about Dev."

"It’s
always about Dev."

She
fisted the front of his T-shirt and got right up in his face. "Not
anymore. Now, get on your feet." She tugged, but he dug in like a fucking
mule, and she accomplished nothing more than ripping his shirt. "I don’t
have time for this, Creed."

"Then
you should go," he growled. "And this time, stay the fuck away."

He’s
drunk. He doesn’t mean it.
She kept
telling herself that, but it did little to cut the sting. "I’ll take you
by force if I have to."

"You’ll
have to."

Fuck.
She didn’t want to hurt him, but he was leaving her no choice. Then again,
maybe she could enlist some help. It was another long shot, but at this point,
she was willing to try anything.

She
left him stewing in front of the TV and stomped to the kitchen, where she
paced, trying to collect herself. After a minute, she hesitantly called out,
"Kat?"

There
was no answer—but then, what did she expect? She couldn’t communicate with the
damned ghost.

"Kat?"
What was the ghost’s real name? Quaty? "Quaty? Look, I know you can hear
me. I need your help. Creed needs your help. He has to go to Ireland with
me."

A
glass on the kitchen counter shattered. Clearly, Kat didn’t like the idea.

"I
know you aren’t overly fond of me, but look at Creed. He’s a mess. It’s not
even noon and he’s pickled. There’s a hurricane coming and he’s too hurt by
everything that’s happened to care. I can help him. Talk some sense into him.
At least get him sobered up so he’s not a danger to himself." She paused,
still feeling a little stupid for talking to the air. "Or would you rather
see him miserable, drunk and watching soap operas?"

There
was no indication that Kat agreed, but then, no more glasses had shattered.
Annika checked her watch. She needed to get going. With or without Kat’s help,
Creed was boarding that plane.

She
went back to the living room, where Creed hadn’t moved except to lower the
volume of liquid in the bottle. She swiped it out of his hand. "You’ve
left me with no choice."

He
came to his feet with roar of rage. "I’m not going!"

Annika
struck. She hooked his elbow with hers and wheeled behind him, but before she
could take him down, he went to his knees with a shout.

"Kat!
What the fuck are you doing?"

Yes!

"Goddammit,
Kat! You traitor!" His curses blistered the air, and though he struggled
to get back to his feet, he seemed to be held down.

Quickly,
Annika took advantage of the situation, wrapping her arm around his thick neck
and putting a sleeper hold on him. He bucked for a second, and then slumped
peacefully to the floor.

"Sorry
about that, baby," she murmured. "But you’ll thank me later. I
hope."

She
swallowed dryly, because she could hope all she wanted, but the truth was, she
wasn’t sure of anything except the fact that when he woke up, he was going to
be
pissed
.

"Nice
of ML to put us up and lend us his private jet," Faith remarked as she
buckled herself in for the eight A.M. takeoff, her legs sheathed in the soft
lambskin leather pants ML’s personal shopper had bought for her. A black tank under
a sheer white blouse completed the outfit, making her look part super agent,
part hot mama.

Wyatt
sat next to her, his long legs stretched out into the aisle, and didn’t bother
to hide his appreciation as his hand stroked the outside of her thigh.
"ML’s an old friend."

"On
which side of the law?"

"Whichever
side we need him to be. That’s the beauty of ML."

"You
know, he really does look a lot like Elvis."

Wyatt
laughed. "Don’t get too attached to him. He knows you’re mine."

"You
need to stop saying that."

"No
can do," he said earnestly. He didn’t remind her that she’d agreed.

Instead,
he unzipped the duffel ML had handed him before they’d gotten on the jet.
"We’ve got more clothes here for both of us. Passports." He pulled
out the small green booklets and handed them to her.

"Mr.
and Mrs. Lapp?"

ML’s
parents. The real Mrs. Lapp had given birth to eight children. Babies. Wyatt
could picture himself with babies running around, one or two riding his
shoulders, another couple behind him, trying to grab at his legs.

Yeah,
he’d be a good father. "Problem, Mrs. Lapp?"

"No,
no problem, darling. Just trying to get into mission mode."

"Plenty
of time for that." He put his arms behind his head and sighed, thought
about Remy and Hurricane Lily and pushed as much good karma their way as he
could. Even though Wyatt had done his job, the hurricane had progressed too far
by the time he’d gotten the code to Haley for ACRO to stop it without relying
solely on Remy’s powers. Wyatt wished there was more he could’ve done.

Twenty-twenty
hindsight was always a bitch.

Although
he hadn’t destroyed the motherboard, while Faith had been taking a shower he’d
made sure it wasn’t going to disappear into the unknown. Thanks to his
telekinesis, Wyatt had been able to feel inside the safe’s combination lock
until each number hit its pin in the locking mechanism. Once inside, he’d
murmured his thanks to ML and his resourcefulness as he attached a
micro-tracker and then replaced the motherboard in the exact position in which
he’d found it. A quick call to ACRO with the tracking device’s frequency, and
all was set. As much as he trusted Faith to do the right thing, knew
instinctively that she would, he still had a responsibility to ACRO…to the
world.

"You
look very serious." Faith’s voice purred in his ear, and he wondered if it
would always be like this, if his body would instantly react to her touch, her
voice. "Maybe you should unleash some of your sex mojo on me and I’ll help
rid you of the worries."

"I
don’t need the mojo to get you, baby. Hopefully, the pilots will stay behind
closed doors for a while." He jerked his head toward the cockpit.

"Oh,
right—forgot your mojo can affect everything in your path. And I’d much rather
keep you to myself than share you with the men who’re supposed to be flying
this plane."

"Yeah,
me too." He maneuvered her into his lap. "Better defuse me
quickly."

"Good
thing I’ve got just the cure for you." She wiggled on his lap, his
erection already like a ramrod in the loose cargoes he’d gotten from ML’s
personal shopper.

He’d
noted, with great interest, that Faith hadn’t been happy as the woman named
Leslie had offered to help dress him in the clothing. He’d barely noticed
Leslie at first. He’d grown used to the extra attention from women, because no
matter how good his control got, he was always going to have stronger
pheromones than other men. Faith, however, had noticed plenty.

"As
much as I love you in those clothes, I’m going to love you out of them more,"
he murmured, and waited for her knee-jerk response. He wasn’t disappointed.
"Get used to the word
love,
Faith."

She
licked her bottom lip lightly, as if trying to decide how to handle the
situation. She finally made her decision by leaning in to kiss him with a
ferocity he hadn’t expected, her hands twisting in his hair to pull him even
closer to her—and oh, yeah, he couldn’t get enough of her. While they were up
here, with nothing else to worry about, he was going to make the most of this
uninterrupted time.

He
undid the buttons on her shirt, one by one, making sure his knuckles brushed
against her nipples as he did so, then slid the soft material off her shoulders
and leaned forward to kiss her breasts through the cotton of the black tank
top.

She
sucked in a breath as he tugged on her nipple through the fabric, soaking the
material as he caressed the now hard nub with his tongue and teeth. She was
busy trying to yank the tank top off while simultaneously taking off his shirt
as well. Within seconds it was skin on skin, their mouths joined for long but
not leisurely kisses, the kind that curled his toes and made him think about
tomorrow and all the tomorrows afterward.

He’d
never considered himself an easy mark—he’d always been self-reflective, even
more so since spending time with the good people at ACRO, and he’d come to the
realization that he might never find someone he wanted to be with for the long
haul. Sam had reminded him that with his sexual pull he could never be sure if
it was the pheromones or Wyatt himself that the women were drawn to.

But
this, this was so different, and he had to ask himself if he’d feel the same
even if their lust was controlled by his mojo, which it wasn’t. He’d have to
say yes, he’d feel the same, because the intensity between them, even when they
were merely talking about the weather, was off the charts.

Faith
was already pulling down her pants—he did the same, and once they were both
naked, he had her on her back on the attached couch, which ran along the
starboard wall of the aircraft.