Tempting the Fire (18 page)

But she’d risked her life for him—again. And as much as he hated knowing she was afraid of him when he turned, he loved the way she held him when he was back to being a man.

He lost himself in her kiss, until his cock was steel against her. He wanted her and there was no way he could wait. He didn’t know if it was the beast in him, but he didn’t care about anything else but having her, right then and there.

Of course, he didn’t want her on display if any of the doctors or guards walked in. There was a small area in the corner that was curtained off—a changing room, of sorts—and he picked her up and placed her on the bench before pulling the curtain around them for a modicum of privacy.

“Chance,” she whispered, but he was tugging at her BDU pants, pulling them down around her knees, along with her black thong, while she was attempting to kick off her boots without untying them.

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He was only able to get one pants leg off, but it was enough to give him full access. He spread her legs and knelt between them, licking her core, tonguing the tight pillow of nerves until her fingers dug into his scalp. He couldn’t remember wanting someone more—it was as if he needed to memorize her taste, to inhale it

… to make sure he was so bonded to her that he could never, ever hurt her, no matter what form he took.

He buried his face against her sex as though it could save both their lives.

She tasted sweet, like honey, her musk rising around them in the small space. She was already slick from want and he couldn’t get enough.

A single finger traced her slit—he used it to enter her, then added another, sliding them in and out as he suckled her clit, hard.

When her orgasm hit, fast and intense, it was all that much more satisfying for him. She contracted her thighs around him—and he refused to stop, even as she whispered that it was too much, too much, Chance …

Because it could never be too much. He knew that now with the clarity of a man whose life and death was a precarious—and hourly—balance. And even though it was better for her to be far away from him, it was too late for that. He’d chosen—and he wasn’t letting go.

Well, not until she finally pushed him away, her body weak from orgasm, her face flushed.

He didn’t give her the opportunity to recover before he was pulling her urgently to the floor, their bodies tight together in the small space. “I want more.”

“More,” she whispered, and she smiled and touched his cheek.

He rubbed the day’s worth of whiskers against her hand. “Fuck me like …

fuck me like it gives you pleasure.”

She looked uncertain, and at the same time guilty. “You do give me pleasure—but I want you to feel good.”

“Baby, I do. But I want you to feel amazing. I want to make you feel the way no one else has.”

“You already have.”

“Trust me, you haven’t seen the half of it.” He averted his gaze for a second, until she brought a hand under his chin and forced him to look into her eyes.

“What’s wrong? Where did you go?”

He squeezed his eyes closed. “I want to be able to tell you that when we get out of here, I’ll take you away someplace nice—someplace with a big bed and champagne and room service and anything else you want. But I can’t promise you that … or tomorrow. Or the next fucking hour.”

“Talk about it like you can,” she insisted, and he smiled.

“I’m not all that good at fairy tales.”

“Everyone can use some fantasy.”

“Yeah?” His voice was rough with desire, his fingers still stroking between her legs as he spoke. “So what’s yours?”

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“I’ve never thought about it.”

“Bullshit.”

She hesitated, then blurted, “It’s you.”

His heart thumped and he didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter because loud voices outside the tent startled them both. No one appeared to be coming inside, though, so Chance took the opportunity to roll her, quickly, quietly, entering her in one swift stroke.

He’d opened her with his tongue, but still, the hot pulsing of his cock took her breath away momentarily. She locked her legs around his as she groaned against his palm. And as he took her furiously, she forgot everything she’d been taught—forgot her job and ACRO and simply let herself be fucked, hard and well, and she was fucked and loved and there was nothing orchestrated about it.

He was close to release—she could tell by the way his body strained against hers, strong and silent—and he went deeper, plunging in and out until her legs were rubber and she could do nothing more but give in to anything and everything he wanted, right here on the changing room floor.

LOGAN HADN’T EVEN FELT THE BULLET GRAZE HIM. AND

NOW Sela was staring at the rip in the synthetic skin that had been implanted underneath his own thin epidermis.

With a tentative finger, she touched the exposed wires and then stared at him. “Are you really half machine?”

“Did I feel like a machine?” he asked, barely able to contain the fierce anger that tore through him. “Because when I was fucking you, there was nothing mechanical about it. That was all me.”

“I’m not judging you, Logan.”

“Shit.” He pulled his arm away from her as the rage ebbed slightly. He felt off balance, like the injection hadn’t worked well. And maybe because of the wound, it hadn’t. “I’m in trouble here. The reason I’m yelling at you … it’s not you. I think some of my bioware is malfunctioning. The shots keep me alive. And I’m not feeling … right.” Uncontrollable rages were a seriously shitty side effect of the malfunctions.

She looked concerned, and concern too often led to pity, and he didn’t want either. Not when he was half naked and trying to enjoy the post-orgasm haze.

Although, truth be told, that was pretty well gone the second she got pissed at him.

Since he’d met her, it was like his emotions were hijacking his better judgment—and that never happened. He never gave away intel this freely. Or ever.

He blamed the fact that his bioware was compromised from the wound. That he might not have enough serum to make it through the night. That he might break down completely and be unable to control himself.

But really, he wanted to tell someone. Not just someone—her. Because if 104

she was disgusted, if she was going to walk away, better he know now.

Because he liked her a hell of a lot. She was smart. Sharp-witted. Called him on his shit.

He felt like a normal man around her. The problem was, there was nothing normal about him.

So he knew what Chance was feeling. He’d been where Chance was now.

He got it. The guy must be freaking out, and Logan knew GWC had to do everything in its power to try to cure the SEAL.

The guy had turned into a chupacabra and, judging by the sounds Marlena had made, she didn’t seem to mind.

But Sela was not Marlena. She was watching him carefully, and when she spoke again, her voice was gentle, like she was trying to keep him calm. “Can you give yourself another shot?”

He sighed. “I’ve always got backup—always. But I lost my pack during the fight and the backup with it. If you weren’t here, I’d head to camp.”

“I don’t want you risking your life for me.”

“Too late, Sela.” He stared out into the darkness. “I’ll last through the night.

We’ll hump it back at first light. And I’ll try to control myself … well, my temper, at least.”

That earned him a wan smile. She moved away, under the pretense of washing her hands, as he tried to get his shit together.

He sure as hell didn’t feel like explaining all of this to her. But there wasn’t a choice now. Especially because she was suddenly pointing the gun at him and backing toward the cave entrance. “Where the hell are you going to go, Sela? It’s the middle of the night—do you think you’d fare better with the FARC or a chupacabra than with me?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is that you got pretty angry before, and if you lose control again …”

“You weren’t worried about that when you were coming.”

“I didn’t know you were … unstable.”

He swallowed, hard. Because, yeah, he knew that, even if he didn’t know what the hell he really was. All he knew was that he’d never felt like more of a man than he had in Sela’s arms, and he didn’t want that to end.

But she was nearly to the mouth of the cave.

“Sela, you can shoot me, but it won’t stop me. You’ve seen a little of what I’m made of. You have to know that if I wanted to, I’d already have you down on the ground and out of commission. But I haven’t.”

“That makes me feel a lot better.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m trying to explain. Now, are you going to stand with the gun pointed directly at me the whole time I talk? You need me to get out of the jungle alive,” he reminded her, and she lowered the gun to her hip but didn’t let go of it. And she stayed on the other side of the cave.

He began the story, reluctantly, his voice flat, distant, as if he was talking 105

about someone else. “Up until about four years ago, I was in the Navy.”

“Let me guess, you were a SEAL.”

“Now you’re telling the story?” he shot back, and she flinched. Dammit. He hated what his mechanical malfunctions did to his temper. “Okay, yeah, I was a SEAL. And I was on a mission in the jungle—like Chance was. My team was ambushed by a group of tangos. We were outnumbered, which happens, but this was bad. At the end of the day, I was the only man left alive—and alive was a really fucking relative term.”

He didn’t remember anything after taking a round of ammo to the head.

Later, he’d learned how bad things were for him, how his legs had been rendered useless, as had his right arm.

“I was in the hospital, on life support—my brain was swollen, so they couldn’t perform surgery.” He sank down to the ground, settling in for the confession. “And my dad—he owned and ran GWC—he came in and had his lawyers get me out of the military hospital and transferred to his facility. At that point, the military thought—figured—I’d be headed for some kind of long-term care, so they didn’t fight him.”

Sela swallowed hard and he looked away as he continued, because he didn’t want sympathy from her. Wasn’t sure what he wanted, except he didn’t want her to know about his internal wiring, but it was too late for that. “When I woke up, I’d lost six months of my life.”

“But you woke up … How?”

He pointed to the left side of his head. “Bioware. It was all an experimental procedure—my legs, my right arm, my head. It’s what saved me. During those months—really, the first year after my bioware was installed—I was the GWC’s living, breathing science experiment. Sometimes they performed surgeries on me whether I consented or not. What choice did I have? And the more they experimented, the more they learned how to help me.”

He thought about the operations; they were like torture. The pain was both physical and mental—one night, they killed him on purpose, just to see how long it would take to bring him back from the dead.

During those months, he grew cold and distant from everyone, didn’t know if it was from the accident or the bioware, but if it wasn’t for the fact that his sister could still make him laugh, he would’ve sworn he was dead on the inside. The doctors told him not to expect much in terms of emotion. The most life he could muster was during sex.

So yes, he used sex for the pure pleasure of being alive, but the emotional connection had not been there since the accident and the surgeries. Not until this spitfire of a woman marched into this jungle and his life and turned everything upside down.

“The one thing that kept me going was my sister. I thought maybe my love for her was more about memory, about knowing how I should feel about her, remembering how close we were before. I didn’t think I was capable of real love 106

anymore. Of any emotion beyond constant anger.” Even now, he had to pause for a deep, calming breath when he thought about his past. “In the beginning, I felt like a slave to the serum that keeps me alive. I was told that I should feel lucky, but all I could feel was rage. The doctors insisted it was a side effect of the implant. The psychologists claimed it was the aftereffects of almost losing my life, of losing a big part of myself.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think that when I’m with you, all that shit falls away and I’m just me—

the old Logan. So when I told you earlier that I wasn’t a machine … I don’t know, I probably lied. I have no idea what the hell I am anymore. A real-life version of the Six Million Dollar Man. But I’m not going to hurt you—that much I know.”

“Logan.”

It was all she said. She walked toward him, putting the gun down before she reached him. She knelt next to him on the ground and wound her hand into his, and he felt the combination of anger and shame rush through him. He breathed deeply, because he’d promised her he’d control himself, that he could.

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure—wasn’t sure of anything at all.

WOW. LOGAN’S STORY WAS STRANGE. HEARTBREAKING. AND

IF she hadn’t seen crazier things during her time with ACRO, she’d say it was unbelievable.

“So, this technology … are there more people like you out there?”

“Not that I know of. The company wants to perfect it more so the next chump doesn’t get stuck having to inject himself with a quart of motor oil every day.”

“Is that what it is? Oil?”

He tore the bottom of his shirt into a long strip. “It’s a lubricant base combined with antibiotics, hormones, immunosuppressant drugs and a few other ingredients I don’t care about.”

She eyed him. “So where are all the parts? Are they more than functional on a basic level?”

“You mean, do they give me superstrength or -speed or anything? Yeah.”

He sighed. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

She ignored him. “You don’t like having to depend on anything, do you? It must kill you to have to be a slave to your injections.”

He seemed surprised by her words. “You sound like you know something about that.”

“I watched my mother go through something similar.”

“Did she have medical problems?”

“You could say that.” She leaned back against the cave wall and closed her eyes, the day’s events suddenly overwhelming her.