Seduced by the Storm (9 page)

"Mmm-hmm.
Sure."

"You’re
insufferable."

They
started moving down the hall, him leaning on her even though she suspected he’d
recovered well enough to walk on his own. "I love it when you talk like
that."

"Like
what?"

"A
stuffy Brit in need of a good loosening up."

"And
I suppose you think you’re the one to do the loosening."

One
big shoulder rolled in a lazy shrug. "I’m handy with lube."

"I’ve
no doubt about that," she muttered as they halted in front of one of the
nondescript steel doors lining the hallway.

He
grinned and reached for the door handle. "Shit. My clothes."

"You
left them outside. Was your room key in them?"

"Yeah."
He stared at the door for a second. "But I left it unlocked." Sure
enough, the door swung open.

"That’s
not very safe," she commented, as they stepped inside the room that was
smaller than most water closets. It contained bunk beds she doubted Wyatt could
sleep in without bending his legs, lockers and a desk sized to accommodate a
laptop computer and nothing more. A narrow walkway down the center was just
large enough to fit the two of them.

As
long as they were touching.

Wyatt
turned into her and settled his hands on her hips—which she promptly removed.
"You may think you’re irresistible," she said smartly, "but
you’re not. And now that I’ve done my duty and escorted you to your room, I’m
going to set about my business."

"But
I still need help out of this suit," he said, his green eyes going all big
and innocent and, bugger all, irresistible.

Unbidden,
her gaze dropped to the exposed skin of his chest, the sculpted muscles beneath
the damp hair plastered there. The suit stretched like a second skin over the
rest of his body, doing nothing to hide his lean, powerful frame. He was built
for both battle and sex; in ancient times he’d have been a warrior who won the
day and then won a female over in bed.

The
thought made her ridiculously hot. The idea of him coming to her after war and
then coming inside her…She had to get away from him.

"You
can get your own self out of the suit." She fumbled for the door handle
behind her, only to find it locked. When had he done that? And why couldn’t she
unlock it? "The lock seems to be jammed."

His
dark eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Really? Weird." He reached
around her, the close quarters forcing their bodies together, his weight
trapping her against the door. "You’re right," he said in her ear.
"It’s stuck. Happens sometimes. I keep meaning to shoot it with
WD-40."

"Bloody
hell."

"Yeah."
He inhaled deeply, and on the exhale, his warm breath fanned across her neck
like an invisible caress. "Sucks, huh?"

"Wyatt,"
she began, and then couldn’t speak because his tongue was a wet lash of heat on
her neck. Oh, God, this had to stop.

When
he was done licking her.

Groaning,
she tilted her head to give him better access, and he took advantage in an
instant, like the predator he was. He sank into her, covering her entire body
with his, attaching his lips to her throat below her choker and sucking as if
he had a direct link to her sex.

His
brutal erection prodded her belly as he pushed one thick thigh between her legs,
making her rain-soaked dress bunch up indecently. Hard muscle created intense,
melting pressure at her core, and she went utterly wet, her body preparing
itself for him, even if her mind hadn’t yet arrived at that same place.

"We
can’t," she said, sounding more breathless than she thought she should.
"What about your roommate?"

"Don’t
have one."

"Well,
still, it’s too…" Dangerous. Not that she didn’t make a life out of
danger, but she wouldn’t put an innocent at risk because she couldn’t control
her hormones. Which was strange, because she’d always been perfectly capable of
controlling her carnal desires.

"Too…intense?
Explosive?" He nuzzled her throat, dropped his hands to her thighs and
pushed the hem of her dress up to her waist. Then, in one quick move, he ripped
her panties in two. She felt them flutter against her skin as they fell to the
floor. "What we did last night was those things. But as good as it was, it
can be better. I can feel it. You can too, can’t you?"

Yes,
God help her,
yes.
Her feminine instincts were screaming with the
knowledge that this man could take her places she’d never been.

His
hand slipped between her legs. Long fingers brushed over her folds, lightly,
teasingly. "Tell me you can feel it." He pushed a finger inside her.
"Oh, yeah…so wet…spread your legs…yeah, like that…" His voice was
ragged and rough, blessed evidence that he was as affected by the white-hot
chemistry between them as she was. "Tell me. Say it."

"Yes,"
she whispered, gripping his shoulders, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to
pull him closer or push him away. "I feel it, damn you."

"That’s
good, baby. That’s good." A second finger joined the first, his hand
creating a slow, easy rhythm that she undulated her hips to, wanting deeper,
faster.

"Now
unzip me."

He
stepped back, withdrawing his fingers from her body. As she reached for the
zipper tab, he brought them to his mouth. His gaze held hers, forcing her to
watch as he sucked the evidence of her desire from his fingers.

"Oh,
sweet Jesus…"

Blood
pounded in her ears and her sex throbbed to the same beat. Unable to move, she
remained rooted to the spot until he’d licked himself clean. When he finished,
he grabbed her hand in his and forced her to drag down the zipper on his
drysuit.

Not
that he truly had to force her, but she’d frozen in some sort of lust-shock,
something that had never happened to her before. She’d had lots of sex, had
been in lust several times. But what Wyatt did to her went way beyond anything
she’d experienced; the way he made her feel so feminine, dominated—and yet,
worshipped.

He
wasn’t
making
her do anything. He was making her
want to do
anything.

He
peeled himself out of his suit, and she salivated at the sight of him naked,
his magnificent length jutting upward so hard, the tip curved into his six-pack
abs. She reached for him, but he caught her around the waist with both hands
and lifted her.

"I
have to taste more of you. Grab the pipe."

Above
her, a network of pipes and wire runs coiled deep into the overhead. Unsure of
his intention, but on fire and crazed with need, she seized a metal tube with
both hands. At the same time, he heaved her up so that her thighs came down on
his broad shoulders and his mouth met her pussy. She didn’t even have time to
gasp before he speared her with his tongue.

"Yes,"
she moaned. "Oh, God, yes." She gripped the pipe so tightly she was
afraid it might crack, and when she started to rock her hips, he tightened his
hold on her ass, where he held her firmly against him.

He
lapped at her with an almost out-of-control hunger, his tongue first sweeping
her inner walls and then swiping up the length of her. Broad, fast licks met
deep, stabbing penetrations. Pure, erotic sensation assaulted her—her body, her
mind—and she heard herself begging for release. He didn’t tease; he caught her
clit between his lips and suckled hard and it was all she could do to hang on
to the pipe and not scream as she came apart.

The
moment she stopped bucking, Wyatt slid her down his body. In one smooth, raw
move, he entered her and forced her back against the lockers. One arm went
behind her to bear the brunt of her weight against the metal, and the other
held her thigh so she could wrap her legs around his waist. She locked her
booted feet at the base of his spine and held on for the ride.

His
eyes were wild, emerald lasers of possession as he pumped into her with the
same focus and near-desperate need he’d displayed when he’d feasted on her sex.

"Faith."
A low moan vibrated his chest. His lips drew back,
baring his teeth. "You feel so good. So fucking perfect. Can’t…wait."

He
threw back his head and surged into her, his thick shaft stretching her,
heating her, making her burn. The tendons in his neck strained, the veins in
his arms bulged on top of rolling muscles, and oh, he was a thing of masculine
beauty. A force of nature no less powerful than the monster machine two decks
above them.

The
sounds in the room, from their panting breaths to the slap of skin on skin,
even the metallic clanking of something distant, heightened her desire, made
her pulse catch, her blood sizzle, and then she was coming, moaning through the
pleasure. He was right there with her, his breath hissing between clenched
teeth, his hot jets of semen filling her, his hips pounding into her without
mercy.

The
way he held her, the intensity of his thrusts…something told her this was more
than a quickie shag. This was a claiming, of sorts—a wonderful yet terrifying
message to her and other men.

Which
was ridiculous. But she couldn’t shake the thought that she’d just made a
terrible, perhaps fatal, mistake.

When
it was over, she dropped her legs to the floor and he collapsed against her.
They were both trembling, struggling to breathe and stay upright. Eyes closed,
Wyatt fumbled with the locker to his left, grabbed something, and then she felt
the soft rasp of a cloth between her legs.

"Sorry,"
he muttered, pulling back. "I meant to grab a condom. I just…shit. What
you do to me…"

Shocked
that he cared enough to tidy her up, she stared at him, wishing they’d met under
any other circumstances. Maybe someday, if she survived the next couple of
days, she could ring him—

Fool.
Nothing could ever work between them. She lived in
England, he lived in America. He was a simple roughneck, she ran an agency full
of superhuman spies. Their worlds couldn’t be farther apart.

Then
again, maybe that was part of the appeal. Most of the men she met were part of
her world, the good side or the bad, and to them, she was a soldier in a global
war for power. She didn’t have many opportunities to get to know men outside of
her business, and when she did, she didn’t allow herself to get close. She
wasn’t exactly a prize—she brought to the table a side dish of danger,
something a man living in the "normal" world had no defense against.
The last thing she wanted to do was risk the life of an innocent simply because
she wanted a relationship with someone who saw her as a woman, not a warrior.

Wyatt
tossed the cloth to the bottom of a locker and reached for another, and she
used the opportunity to slip from beneath him. Tugging her skirt down, she
moved toward the door, intent upon breaking it down if she had to.

"You’re
not leaving," he said, as he wiped his cock clean.

"I
have to." She couldn’t look at him, so she looked at the floor—and groaned
at the sight of the panties Sean had sent to her upon finding out she would be
arriving on the platform, shredded and in a pile. "Oh, shit."

"Ah,
hey, I’m sorry about that." Wyatt swept them up and tossed them into the
locker that seemed to be the repository for everything. "I’ll buy you new
ones."

"That
won’t be necessary." She reached for the door handle. "This can’t
happen again, Wyatt. We’re done. It’s over."

A
palm slapped against the door, right next to her head, so hard she jumped.
"I don’t think so." He leaned in close, once more trapping her with
his body, using his size and height in a primitive me-man-you-woman message
that would have chafed if it hadn’t made some small, shameful part of her feel
so desired. "If you think I can spend the next thirteen days seeing you,
hearing you, smelling you"—he inhaled deeply and growled a
little—"without touching you, you’re very,
very
mistaken."

Shivers
skittered over her skin at his words, at the possessive tone, at the heat his
body was sending out again. When she felt the hot head of his cock slip beneath
the hem of her dress to brand her ass cheek, she nearly sobbed. The erotic
menace, the danger he threw like a scent, scared the piss out of her.

Oh,
she could take him out if she wanted to, could kill him where he stood. But
this wasn’t about a physical fear of him. It was about what he could do to her
soul, and ultimately her mission to save her sister.

"Please,
Wyatt. Let me go." She didn’t mean from the room. He knew it. But he
opened the door as though it had never been stuck.

"It’s
not over, Faith. It’s just begun."

"You’re
crazy," she breathed, staring out into the deserted hall because she dared
not turn to him.

"You
don’t know the half of it."

She
fled. Faith Black
never
fled. She’d held her own against Syrian
assassins, Itor’s lab-created beasts, ACRO’s top agents…but with Wyatt, an
apparently normal guy who might or might not have some military experience, she
was losing her footing for the first time in her life. Maybe too much had
happened at once: her sister reappearing after more than twenty years, feeling
guilt over having to betray Sean and now protecting Wyatt from Sean’s wrath if
he learned what had happened.