Tempt Me Eternally (10 page)

He'd begun to relax—no, she'd said—only to tense again. “Woman, I am not someone to taunt.”

“Neither am I. So if you want the info that badly, you'll bargain for it.”

And he'd thought her smart before. She was a genius. His lips curled into a smile as he dodged a building, his shoulder catching on a jagged stone and snow cascading onto his chest and her legs. She yelped; his grin widened.

“Very well,” he said. “What would you like from me? A gift? Say yes, and I'll even unwrap it for you.”

“If you dare tell me your penis is the gift, I'll scream.”

“In pleasure?”

“Have I told you yet that you're annoying? I want the agents released.”

He snorted. “Nothing you have is worth that.”

He could hear her teeth grinding. He'd lied, though. He thought he might give anything and everything to have her writhing in his arms again. Willingly and without reservation.

Stupid cock. Perhaps one day he would be commander of it rather than the other way around. He just, well, he liked her spirit, her courage, her tenacity . . . and, yes, her body. He wasn't going to lie to himself and claim that the attraction was completely mental.

“Let
one
of them go, at least.”

“No. That one could lead your precious AIR army to my doorstep.” Those he'd captured and moved, he'd blindfolded, so that wasn't truly a risk, but she didn't need to know that, because really, his bargain, the trade-off, was the only viable option.

“What
will
you do for the information, then?” she asked, clearly frustrated.

“I'll give you a vow that they will not be killed by my hand. Or by anyone in my army,” he added before she could mention Marleon again. Of course, he would see to it anyway, but still he would not tell her that.

“And how do I know you'll keep your word? You've already admitted that you fight dirty.”

“As do you.” He patted her bottom, strangely proud of her wit and the fact that she remembered what he'd told her. As if it meant something. Sure, he was undoubtedly deluding himself, and she'd remembered what he'd said simply because she'd smashed his balls into his throat immediately after, but that was neither here nor there. “You'll just have to trust me.”

“Oh, really?” She sank her teeth into his back, past his clothing and straight into skin. He winced. Damn, but her teeth were sharp. Rather than scold her as he should have, however, he said, “I'll take this to mean you refuse to trust me.”

“That's right.” The words were moaned as if he were thrusting between her legs. She licked him through his shirt, sucked, murmured, “God, you taste good,” then groaned in embarrassment and stopped. “There'll be no trusting,” she choked out. She began kicking and slamming her fists into his back. “I won't stand for this kind of treatment. Do you hear me?”

“I believe everyone can hear you, Aleaha.”

She bit him again, but her teeth quickly gentled and she released another of those moans.

His grin widened as he picked up speed.

The diabolical bastard carried her into a dream.

From her perch on his shoulder, she scribbled mental notes, trying to memorize the path they raced and the surrounding neighborhood. But he moved in that superspeed of his, one snow-covered building blending into another, so she had trouble garnering more than a few tidbits.

The neighborhood itself was meant for New Chicago's
elite. That much she knew without looking. The air just smelled cleaner, wealthier, as if everyone scrubbed their windows with pine-scented hundred-dollar bills rather than cloth.

She remembered how Bride used to drag her to neighborhoods like this. They had stared at the homes, pretending they belonged inside. Once she'd even assumed the features of someone's little boy and entered. It had been dinnertime, and a mouthwatering spread of ham and dressing had been laid out before her.

Bride was a vampire and only drank blood, so she'd waited outside. Aleaha had barely begun to eat—and to stuff morsels into her pockets for later—when she'd lost her hold on the boy's image, the ecstasy of the food too much. The parents had screamed at her, cornered her, and demanded to know what she'd done with their son. Thank God Bride had rushed in, gathered her up, voice-voodooed the couple into forgetting them, and helped her escape.

After that harrowing experience, she'd stopped visiting neighborhoods like this one. The desire to belong, however, had never faded. Even though she'd known how impossible such a dream was.

How could Breean, a Rakan and new Earth resident, afford something in an area like this? Didn't matter, she supposed. However he'd done it, he was now the kind of guy she'd wanted to date as a teen.

We're going to marry rich husbands,
Bride had told her one day.
We'll never have to worry about anything ever again.

They'll be handsome,
she'd replied.

Of course. We're gorgeous, so we deserve gorgeous men. And they'll be so in love with us they'll drool every time they look at us.

They'll think we're the smartest girls ever
.

And they won't care about our origins,
Bride had added.
They'll just keep giving us money.

That had been Aleaha's main concern. Not the money but her origins. Breean met that demand. Breean met
all
the demands. He was rich, handsome and ready to drool. Not that she was thinking of him in terms of a husband. But wow, he was rich. She just couldn't get over that fact. Did she like him more because of it? Um, yeah. How shallow was she?

When he reached the wraparound porch of a house on the far end of a perfectly paved street, he slowed. As if sensing his presence, one of his men opened the door and Breean sailed inside.

She gasped at her first glimpse of marble floors veined in gold. From somewhere, water trickled into several bathing pools, and mist circled through the damp air. Satin pillows in every shade of gold, from the palest yellow to the darkest amber, lined the walls. The windows were stained black, allowing no light inside. Her gaze lifted to the ceiling, and she saw crystal chandeliers flickering with hazy luminosity.

This totally wasn't the den of iniquity she'd expected. As run-down as the other home had been, she'd placed Breean in the poor and desperate category.

Breean stopped and spoke to one of the warriors, keeping her draped over his shoulder. She didn't mind—the better to eavesdrop. But what was he
saying, damn it? She thought she heard the word
tree
but she couldn't be sure.

She drew in a frustrated breath, catching more of that honeysuckle scent. And smoke. Ugh. She coughed, inhaling the odor of burning material. The warriors she'd fought only a week ago bustled in every direction, bare except for underwear, and not quite meeting her gaze.

All that golden skin . . . She tried not to stare, but they were huge. Everywhere.
Merry Christmas to me
.

Idiot.

“Do you like?” Breean asked, squeezing her legs to let her know the question was directed at her.

Did she like the men? The mansion? “No,” she lied. “How did you get so much water in here?” After the human-alien war, its use for bathing and swimming had been restricted, the supply scarce and expensive. In fact, the water had probably cost more than the house. Most people were forced to clean themselves with a dry enzyme spray.

“We brought it with us, bucket by bucket. Water abounds on Raka,” he explained. “There is nothing better than hearing the rush and feeling the warmth, the decadence.”

“So why do you want to make a new home for yourself
here
? There's not a lot of water left.”

“As I told you, our planet was in ruins. We needed a fresh start in a place where the female population thrives.”

So he hadn't just lost the women he loved. He'd lost everything and everyone. She felt a wave of pity
for him, but quickly tamped it down.
Don't feel sorry for him. He's the enemy—and obviously prowling for sex!

Still. His people had died of the Schön disease. AIR would find that interesting. Might even want to question him to find out how he'd survived, as well as what he knew about the race and their queen. Perhaps that information would save his life. Although, AIR wasn't known for its forgiving spirit. His people had killed several agents, and someone would have to pay for that.

“You can put me down now,” she said. The position was uncomfortable, but it was being so close to him that disturbed her most.

“Not yet.”

“Why? Payback?” She would deserve it. She'd given his dangly bits hell, after all.
All's fair to him when fighting, remember
?

“I told you how I would return that . . . favor,” he said, and she couldn't tell if he was fighting amusement or anger.

Actually, no, he hadn't told her anything. He'd alluded to touching her, but nothing else. Diabolical bastard. It would have been so much easier to hate him—as well she should have, damn it!—if he'd flat out threatened her with violence. Instead, he'd practically threatened to kiss her better.

He rounded a corner, the hallways wide and spacious and leading to a multitude of rooms. There was even a staircase that wound to the second floor. He didn't take it, though he paused and stared up it for a long while. Finally, he sighed, then meandered down
another hall before carting her
down
stairs, into a cold, dank basement.

Not a basement, she realized a moment later, but a dungeon. “Another prison?” In a home like this, she would not have expected a torture chamber to be a purchase option.

“Yes. You'll stay here only long enough for me to prepare your room.”

That was a lie, she knew it was. He'd had all week to prepare a room for her. What was his purpose, then?

“Besides,” he added, “the other agents are here, and I know you've been wanting to see them.”

The other agents were here? Happy but panicked, Aleaha quickly pictured Macy. The blond hair, the shorter body, the bigger boobs. Her appearance changed in a blink, and she expelled a sigh of relief.

There were multiple cells, each with a barred front and dirt sides, and inside each of those cells was an agent. Finally. Her eyes collided with Devyn's; he was now wearing a loose black shirt and pants. He didn't speak, but his grip tightened around the metal, his already pale knuckles bleaching of color.

Despite his stressed expression, he blew her a kiss.

She spied Dallas next, and he winked. Then she saw Hector Dean, tattooed and muscular, who always left a room when she entered. The guys he joked and laughed with, but he'd never warmed toward her. Today, he nodded in acknowledgment. Where was Jaxon?

“I'm fine,” she told them all. “Nothing's been done to me.”

Each of them relaxed.

“We're fine, too,” Hector said in that deep voice of his.

“Enough,” Breean said.

“Suck it,” she told him, and several of the agents laughed.

He didn't set her down until he reached a small, empty cell. Inside, he slid her down his body, the action igniting heat between them. Heat she couldn't afford. The moment her feet touched solid ground, she scampered backward, unsure what he meant to do—and unsure of her reaction. Would she have the strength to stop him again if he kissed her?

To her relief, he didn't comment about the change in her appearance. That, too, would have weakened her. And destroyed her.

Please don't let him call me Aleaha. Please, God, don't let him call me Aleaha
. She should never have told him her real name.

Eyes on her, he shouted something in his own language. She wished she knew what he was saying. A few seconds later, a Rakan warrior stalked into the cell. He was holding a bundle of clothing, and he didn't look at her. Breean took the garments and said something else. The man nodded before racing out.

One heartbeat passed in silence, two.

Breean met her glare. He seemed taller and more like total, in-your-face carnality than ever before. What would he say to her next, now that they were seemingly alone and she was at his mercy? What would he demand of her?
Take my cock into your
mouth,
she could almost hear him say.
You're welcome. Merry Christmas
.

Her heart galloped—but not in abhorrence and oh, she was disgusted with herself. She'd failed to escape, to get help, to free the agents. She'd failed to resist Breean when he'd kissed her, and had even begged for more.

In that one night, hell, one hour, one minute, he'd stripped her of all common sense and inhibitions. Would have stripped her of her clothing, too, if she hadn't fought her way out of that crazy lust-fog. The week had not dulled her desires. And here she was, still freaking desiring him,
after
he'd set her inside a cage next to her coworkers. It was insanity.

Remember how it was with the other three men you allowed in your life
. How, after she'd spontaneously changed during sex, one had slapped her. How two had called her names. How one had thought to use her ability to his advantage. What would she do if superstrong Breean hit her? Hit him back, of course. What would she do if he called her vile names? Cry like a dumb baby, most likely. What would she do if he tried to use her? To hurt AIR, even? Curse at him, surely, before crying some more.

Did she seriously
want
him to like her?

Yep, insanity.

“They aren't the best of quarters,” he finally said to her, guilt in the undertones of his voice, “but as I told you, they'll do for now.”

The warrior who'd brought the clothing returned with blankets, a pillow, and some type of bag. He
placed the items in the corner and left. The sweet scent of fruit and chicken wafted through the air, causing her mouth to water.