Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three

by Lawless, Alexi

  Jack held her tightly, pressed length to length, solid and real, utterly reassuring amidst her uncertainty. “Dammi la tua mano e corriamo uniti per tutta la vita.”50

  “What does that mean?” she whispered, her heart pounding.

  “It means trust me to love you, tesoro,” Jack whispered into her ear, making her tremble.

  “Show me,” she whispered back, aware that she was making a decision now—one she could never reverse. One she didn’t want to.

  Jack’s teeth fastened around the tender lobe, tugging gently as he began to move again. His pace was focused and tireless, and each time she tried to urge him faster, Jack pushed her back, making her relax into the pleasure, making her yield to the steady, deliberate strokes. Sam choked out a needy sound, pressing against him, unable to get close enough, pulling helplessly, taking more and more of him, suspended somewhere between the tenderness of his love and the violence of her passion.

  Jack remained wholly absorbed in her, intensely focused on the moment, winnowing each of her responses from her as he drove deep and then lingered, testing and teasing and tantalizing until the friction became too much.

  I want you I want you I want—

  Samantha dissolved around him, lost in the undertow of a rich, brimming release he prolonged with his slow, rolling rhythm. The feel of his supple skin, the scent of their sex, the taste of him in her mouth, the way he reached into her so deep it nearly hurt—it all was too much, too all-encompassing, too good from every angle. She felt herself spiral, contracting around him, clutching helplessly as the dizzying madness of her climax consumed her. Jack watched her with a kind of possessive gleam in his eyes until he finally gave into his own pleasure, shouting out his release, gripping her thighs, her breasts, her face, forcing her to look at him, to watch as he succumbed to her, a relentless stream of Italian coming from his mouth so fast she couldn’t begin to comprehend it all.

  Afterward, Sam lay quiet in his arms, back to chest, her body heavy and replete with satisfaction, his fingers toying with the full-slip sweetness of her sex, still tender from their lovemaking.

  “I came in here for something else,” she confessed in the quiet, coolness of the room, feeling safe in the darkness.

  “I know.” He kissed and nipped her shoulder.

  Sam looked over her shoulder at him. “Why do you think I came?” she asked, wondering if he really knew her as well as he thought he did.

  Jack looked back at her with surprising gravity, his fingertips drawing goosebumps from her as they slid down her arm.

  “You came to say goodbye to me tonight, like you did in Chicago. Like you did with Wes in Afghanistan.”

  She was surprised at the unerring accuracy of his statement, at the lack of recrimination in his tone. “How did you know?”

  Jack’s hand drifted around to her front, slipping over the thudding beat of her heart. “The only way you know how to feel invincible is when your back is in the corner and you think you’ve got nothing to lose, Samantha,” he told her frankly. He pulled her back against him, his lips finding hers again.

  “I’ve lost so much in my life,” she murmured, running her fingers over his jaw.

  “I know you have, baby. But what kind of life is there in denying yourself the people standing right in front of you?” he asked, touching her hair.

  “Wes walked away from me.”

  Jack kissed her brow. “You were kids, tesoro. He wasn’t ready. Maybe you weren’t either. But that’s the past now. You’re both different people now.”

  Samantha drew back, “Are you making a case for him?”

  A cuff of laughter shot from him as he shook his head, a chagrined expression on his face. “Absolutely not. If he tries to get between us, I will fucking kill him. But I will say this: I can’t blame him for still being in love with you. If I was in his position, I probably would be too. There’s nothing more tantalizing than the one that got away. There’s no fantasy more seductive than dreaming about what might have been, even if it would have never worked out.”

  Now it was her turn to lean back. “What makes you so sure it wouldn’t have worked out?”

  Jack’s smile was slow and certain and maybe even a little profane. “Because you were meant for me, Samantha. The minute I laid eyes on you, it was game over. For both of us.”

  *

  S A M A N T H A

  She stood at the edge of the ocean, the cold waves sliding over her feet and around her ankles before the tide ebbed back, froth glistening over the sand. Sam giggled in delight, enjoying the feeling of her toes sinking into the wet sand.

  “You ready?” her father said to her, smiling down at her as he gently tugged at her hand, so small and pale in his rough and calloused grip.

  “Let’s stay here,” Sam told him, her voice small and girlish, a little shy. “I like it here.”

  Her father knelt slowly beside her, dark hair ruffling in the wind.

  Sam could feel the cool sting of the sea salt mist against her skin, smelled the distinct, vital scent of the great blue ocean stretching in front of her as far as her eyes could see.

  “Are you afraid?” her father asked her, gripping her securely with his warm hands.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Then what’s the matter?” he asked softly, looking into her eyes.

  “What if I like it?” she said after a moment, looking out at the vastness in front of her, another world of possibilities.

  “Then you can be a mermaid.” The corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

  Samantha looked backward, saw her mother sitting on a blanket on the beach, her belly heavy and full with a baby. Her brother, they told her. Her mother smiled and waved at her, her long, black hair whipping in the wind.

  “What if I don’t want to leave you and mommy forever?” Sam asked uncertainly. “I can’t see you if I’m a mermaid, Daddy.”

  “But you wanted to come see the ocean, remember?” her father reminded her, nudging her gently. “Ever since you learned to swim at the creek, you’ve asked to see the ocean.”

  The tide came back in, higher this time, rushing around her feet and ankles, splashing up her calves, beckoning, inviting her to play. She wanted so desperately to go run into the surf, dive through the waves. She belonged there in the water. She could feel the pull.

  “What do you have to lose, Sammy?”

  You, Mommy, firm, dry land… my world as I know it.

  She took a tentative step toward the water, feeling the lure, the draw of the unknown.

  “What are you willing to lose, Samantha?”

  She frowned, turning back, but her father and mother were gone. Lightner stood there instead, his pale blue eyes a frozen fire, his smile sardonic.

  “What are you willing to lose?” he asked again before shoving her backward into the water.

  Sam opened her mouth to scream. Her body spasmed in a whip-tight myoclonic contraction as she tried to break her fall.

  She jerked awake, gripping Jack’s shoulders as he held her.

  You’re awake—I’ve got you. It’s just a dream… you’re safe…

  She relaxed into his clasp, her heart slowing, her breathing once again becoming deep…

  Chapter 27

  April—Evening

  Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas

  W E S L E Y

  Wes had been here only once before, when his mother had brought him as a young boy on one of their rare road trips outside of Austin—a treasured memory. He distantly recalled being more enthralled with the acreage of public gardens than he had been by the sixty-thousand-some works of art. He’d run around the grounds, playing explorer while his mother had watched from a park bench, holding an old camera she’d bought at a second-hand store. A camera that would later become the first he’d look through in order to see the world.

  As Wes stepped onto the property, wearing a navy blue tuxedo for the Wyatt Foundation’s Annual Charity Gala, he wondered what hi
s mother would say now, seeing her son mix and mingle with Houston’s glitterati, his photographs on display in the main gallery of the Beck Building. She’d passed away before he’d really made something of himself, but somehow, he had a feeling she’d be more tickled to see him dressed up for once, his unruly hair freshly cut and slicked back, his normally scruffy face close-shaved with a straight razor at an old-school barbershop off the Washington Corridor.

  It was a warm and balmy evening. Wes could hear live music fill the air, a bayou band playing a silky, jazzy version of “Blue Moon” that wafted through the gallery like some glamorous Gatsbyesque dream. A beautiful scene, full of beautiful people, Wes mused, surrounded by perfumed women resembling rare and exotic birds, in their silky, sequined gowns, against the backdrop of carefully groomed men wearing their affluence like a coat of armor.

  No matter how much success Wes had, no matter how many accolades he garnered, a part of him always felt a little uncomfortable at events like this, surrounded by outrageous, obscene wealth. He always felt he was being observed like one of his photographs, appraised and valued at some unspecified dollar amount. He spotted Hannah, Grant, and Carey as he passed through the main hall. Hannah waved at him, her face breaking into a beatific smile that brought out the blueness of her eyes.

  “Wesley!” she said, looking over him in approval. “You’re as handsome as a polished penny. Who knew you cleaned up so well?”

  “Thank you, Hannah,” he told her, kissing her hand gallantly. “You look good enough to eat,” he flirted, taking in her silver organza gown. “Promise me a dance later? I’m gonna show you how it’s done.”

  “That’s enough of that, young buck,” Grant joked gruffly, looking dapper in a tuxedo. “You ready to be auctioned off?” he joked as they shook hands, nodding toward Wes’s grandly-displayed photographs.

  “To the highest bidder,” Wes quipped with an unabashed grin. He shook Carey’s hand next. “Good to see you, man.”

  “How have you been, Wes?” Carey asked cordially, though he appeared a little distracted as his parents turned to greet other guests.

  “Good, good. Let’s catch up at some point this evening,” Wes suggested casually, thinking about what he’d found out since they last talked.

  “Let’s do it.” Carey nodded.

  “Sammy here yet?” Wes asked, glancing around.

  “Right behind you.”

  Wes turned, and he could have sworn his heart skipped a moment as he saw her standing on the landing, maybe twenty yards away, wearing a bold red dress, the daring neckline highlighted by a shimmering diamond necklace tipped with rubies big enough to choke a horse.

  “Incredible,” he murmured, moving toward her like he was trapped in a tractor beam, unable to think of anything but getting closer. She wore her hair down in sexy, flawless waves, like some raven-haired Veronica Lake, a cold femme fatale, dressed to thrill. Alejandro stood beside her, scanning the crowd, vigilant and stoic as a secret service agent in a black on black tux. Samantha stepped forward as he approached, and Wes damn near swallowed his tongue, eyes tracing over the long, tantalizing expanse of her leg peeking from a side slit so daring, there was no way in hell she could be wearing anything underneath.

  Just as Wes ascended the stairs to grab her up and give her a kiss she’d never forget, Jack joined her on the dais, slipping his arm around her waist as he clasped her to him, his head bent toward hers in an intimate gesture. Wes’s eyes narrowed as Jack said something into Sam’s ear, making her red lips curve in a slow, secret smile. The kind of smile only lovers share. The kind they’d shared once, eons ago, before he’d wrecked them. Hot white jealousy spiked through Wes, propelling him forward, angry at how perfect they looked together, a sleek his-and-hers set. The crowd milling around him admired them openly, oohing and aahing over the urbane power couple as they stood in the sparkling scene, like a photograph from a glossy magazine. The Queen and her King.

  Jealousy made him aggressive, and his determined stride caught her attention. Sam froze for a moment, watching him as he prowled toward her, her gaze dark and unreadable. Jack also turned when he noticed her stiffness, his silver eyes hooded as he moved imperceptibly closer, telegraphing his possessiveness of her, though his gaze remained cool. Wes patently ignored Jack, his eyes on her and only her. Wes stopped in front of her, leaning in close as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the warm skin of her cheek.

  “You’re hands down the most stunning woman here, Sammy,’” he told her sincerely.

  “Wes, you look pretty fantastic yourself,” she complimented, turning toward her date before Wes could read her expression too closely. “You remember each other, right?” she introduced.

  “Sure do.” Wes didn’t even bother looking at him. “How was rehab, Jack?” he asked amiably, his eyes still on Samantha.

  “Annoyingly peaceful,” Jack replied, not sounding put off in the slightest as he slipped an arm around Samantha’s waist.

  I fucking hate this guy.

  Alejandro must have seen the daggers in his eyes. He looked a little amused as he nodded silently to Wes in greeting from his station by Samantha.

  “Your photography is going to be the highlight of the evening,” she remarked, cutting through the tension. “I think the bidding will get pretty intense based on what I’m hearing. Mack told me he was thinking of investing in the pieces himself.”

  “Mack?” Wes parroted, surprised.

  She nodded behind him. “He’s coming up behind you as we speak.”

  “You don’t say,” Wes remarked with aplomb, turning to watch Mack cut a swath toward them, his expression perfectly affable as he approached. The older man was dressed cowboy formal in a sharp black jacket with dart pockets and a platinum bolo tie. His smile was broad and affable as he clapped Wes on the back, old-fashioned Texas charm rolling off him. He squeezed Wes’s shoulder a shade too hard to be friendly. “How’s it going, Wes?”

  “It’s about to get better,” Wes responded cryptically, thinking about the information he’d uncovered with Captain Bill Spears. He’d been planning to save the inevitable confrontation for later in the week, but tonight would do just about as good as any. Seeing Sam so obviously back with Jack made him feel a little wild and reckless. He felt like setting fire to something just to watch it burn, and Mack would do just as good as anything. Wes decided then and there he’d tell Samantha everything tonight, whether she liked it or not. He didn’t know yet exactly how Mack was involved, but he’d beat the grass until something came flying out, consequences be damned.

  Wes turned to Samantha. “I’d like to chat with you later this evening when you get a moment,” he said in a low voice when Mack turned to greet Jack.

  She shot him a questioning look but merely nodded.

  Wes picked up her hand, grazing a lingering kiss over her knuckles. “You’re even more beautiful now than the day I first saw you,” he murmured.

  She squeezed his hand briefly before letting him go.

  *

  April—Evening

  Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, Texas

  R O X A N N E

  “We have ninety-two percent of the guests here and accounted for,” Rox reported to the team as she scanned the RSVP guest list on the tablet she’d used to check people’s IDs as they entered the gala while passing through the metal detectors. “Looks like Sam’s thrown the party to be at tonight.”

  “Not a bad turn out,” Avi replied into her ear bud. “We should go ahead and close the doors. No one gets in from now on.”

  Rox signaled to the security team, watching as they unobtrusively got into position to block the entrance to the museum. Since it was a private event, the Lennox Chase and Leviathan security teams were manning the main building while the FBI controlled the security on the broader grounds. Tonight Rox looked like a party planner in an understated black dress, her hair tucked under a nondescript brown wig that concealed her Bluetooth earpiece. She’d dressed to blend in but still look offi
cial, the eyeglasses she wore holding a tiny camera that allowed Avi and the guards in the control room to see what she saw.

  “Team leaders, I want an official status,” she murmured, flipping through the camera feeds that she could see on her tablet.

  “Blue Team Leader checking in,” Rush replied. “We’ve got all the entrances and exits covered.” He was in charge of a couple dozen Lennox Chase guards milling around the event, looking like everything from museum proctors to waiters in the crowd, their guns hidden carefully in holsters.

  “Red Team Leader confirming; we’ve got coverage,” Talon responded from his perch high above the festivities where he, Henri, and a half a dozen other snipers were watching the gala like hawks, stationed indoors and outdoors, just to cover all the bases.

  “Eyes in the sky—anything you’re seeing that I’ve missed?” Rox asked, walking toward the main hall with the brisk efficiency of a woman on a mission.

  “Everything is as it should be,” Avi replied from the museum’s security room. The MFAH team hadn’t loved relinquishing control of the museum’s command center, but they’d done it eventually, letting Avi take control of the cameras with a couple other guards. Thankfully, the museum’s security was already top-notch, so they hadn’t needed to do much more than add a few complimentary bells and whistles, like facial recognition software. “Facial rec hasn’t come up with a match yet. I don’t think Lightner’s here.”

  “Is the camera in my glasses working?” Rox asked.

  “Yes,” Avi confirmed. “Facial rec is running against everyone you’ve looked at in the receiving line. Keep mingling.”