She took his face in her hands, carefully, and lovingly met his hard gaze. It would do no good to repeat the words to him. She would not try to convince, she knew he would not believe her. Instead, she rose to meet him, brought her mouth to his, felt his resistance slowly dissolve as her lips pressed to his.
In one swift move, he tore away the pink silk panties she wore, then covered her body with his. He entered her hard, fast, thrust himself deeply inside her. She lifted her hips, wanting him deeper still. With a groan, he grasped her buttocks and ground himself into her. She raked at his back, sobbing, the unbearable ache coiling tighter inside her with every thrust of his hips.
When her release came, she cried out, felt her body shatter into tiny, shimmering pieces. She held on, called out his name, opened her body and heart and soul to him. He shuddered against her in an explosion of primal heat, groaned deep in his throat as he spilled himself into her. She held him, knew that in a few minutes, when the passion cooled, he would not want her. She felt his heart beating fiercely against her own, pressed her lips to his shoulder, tasted the salt on his hot, damp skin.
She said nothing when he finally moved away from her. He said nothing.
He dressed quietly, then left her.
She heard the sound of the front door close, felt the cold creep over her, not from outside, but from her heart.
Eleven
Dressed in black, the men moved through the moonless night in pairs, ten teams in total. They surrounded the sprawling, three-story villa, blended in with the thick trees and lush foliage. Meticulously, carefully, they inched their way closer to the twelve-foot stone wall circling the compound.
Fog hung like a thick, gray blanket over the cold ground. The air was crisp and salty, swollen with moisture from the nearby ocean and the anticipation of combat. From the east, the lone howl of a distant wolf froze each man in place. An answering call from the west, and the soldiers hunkered down.
They waited.
His back pressed against the thick trunk of a tall cedar, Dylan waited along with the twenty-man team he’d assembled during the past three weeks. He’d learned patience those two years he’d trained in Borovkia. The most successful assignments had been won first with detailed strategy and caution, then with courage and determination. He’d been taught to plan, to wait, to listen—not only with his ears, but with his gut. Those lessons had saved his life, and the lives of the men he’d worked alongside more times than he could count.
“Blackdog requests orders, sir,” came a whisper from the tiny radio in Dylan’s ear.
“Are positions readied?” Dylan spoke quietly into his mouthpiece.
“Affirmative.”
“Five minutes.” Dylan pressed a button on his watch, knew that the other men did the same.
Five minutes.
A long time for a soldier waiting to move.
An eternity.
Dylan’s family had objected to him leading this mission, but when intelligence had finally discovered the secluded seaside villa in Marjorco where the Black Knights were holding Emily’s grandmother, Dylan had refused to be left behind. After everything the bastards had done to his family, then blackmailing Emily, Dylan vowed that tonight, once and for all, the Black Knights would pay for their treachery. By dawn’s light, each and every man aligned with the traitorous organization would be behind bars or dead.
“Three minutes,” Dylan heard the quiet voice in his ear.
He knew that it might have taken years to discover this secret location if not for Emily’s cooperation. The phone calls she’d made every few days to her contact with the Black Knights to report her progress at the palace had been invaluable. Every call, Emily had insisted she be allowed to speak to her grandmother or she would not continue helping the men. Still, Emily’s contact had always kept the calls under the time needed to trace the number.
Until the last phone call.
That call, when her contact had begun to hang up, Emily had blurted out that she’d finally been successful in seducing the prince, and that she would only need a few more days to gain his confidence and access to his safe. She then began to describe—in detail—how she had seduced Prince Dylan. Her explicit description of how she’d removed her clothes, how she’d slipped off her blouse, then her bra, how she’d touched herself, had greatly interested and momentarily flustered the man at the other end of the phone.
Lord knew, when Dylan heard the recording of the call, he’d been flustered, then annoyed that the intelligence team would also have to hear Emily’s arousing account of seduction.
But the extra few seconds had gained Dylan’s men the crucial time they needed to trace the call. He knew he had to put his own annoyance aside and simply concentrate on the task at hand, which was discovering where the Black Knights were hiding out.
Still, Dylan couldn’t help thinking how easily Emily had lied to the man on the phone. He couldn’t help remembering how easily she’d lied to him.
He hadn’t seen her since the night they’d made love. But he would be the one lying if he said he hadn’t wanted to see her. More than a dozen times he’d started for his car, intending to drive up to the cottage, torn between wanting to yell at her and wanting to kiss her.
But he would not allow himself those emotions. He did not trust himself to be alone with her and not drag her into his arms, then make love to her. So instead, he’d stayed away, had focused on helping discover the Black Knights’ location and coordinating tonight’s mission.
“One minute.”
Adrenaline pumped through Dylan’s veins, burned in his stomach. His muscles tightened, his breathing quickened. Forcing all other thoughts from his mind, he counted down with the rest of the men, then slipped out from his position behind the tree.
The men moved as one, inching their way closer to the wall. Two days’ surveillance had revealed that the guards changed shifts at exactly nine o’clock. If Dylan’s first wave of four men timed it right, each one of them could take out two guards at the same time, while the rest of the Royal Elite Team had two minutes to break inside the villa before an alarm would sound, then possibly another two minutes to find Olivia.
The lamp posts from inside the compound backlit the two guards on the wall changing shifts. Dylan watched as the men smoked and shared a joke while a dark figure—Captain Ian Alson—easily scaled the stone wall, then quickly disabled both startled men.
Dylan and his team were over the south wall in fifteen seconds, made a dash across the lawn, then climbed up a wrought-iron lattice and entered the villa through a pair of French doors. At that exact moment, if all went according to the plan, eight other men would be entering the house, as well.
Gun in his hand, Dylan listened, heard the sound of a laugh track from a television sitcom coming from the second room down.
Olivia’s room.
Silently, Dylan directed the man with him to the end of the hall, then he moved to the room and knocked lightly. Without waiting for a response, he stepped inside, then locked the door behind him.
With her back to him, Olivia sat primly on a large white sofa in the living area, watching an old episode of a popular family comedy. She wore a bright pink housecoat and slippers, and she’d wrapped the sides of her short, curly silver hair in some kind of stretchy blue bandanna. Dylan scanned the room, noted a closed door that he knew would open into a bedroom and bath area. When he felt confident they were alone, he holstered his gun. “Mrs. Bridgewater?”
Olivia jumped at the sound of Dylan’s voice. She turned, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of the black-uniformed, armed man suddenly standing in her room. She pressed a frail hand to her throat. “Oh, my heavens! You startled me, young man.”
“I’m so sorry to disturb you like this, madam.” Dylan stepped into the room, forced himself to remain calm even as the distant sound of gunfire rang out. “But could I please trouble you to get dressed and come with me?”
“Whatever for?”
“You
r granddaughter asked me to bring you home.”
“Emily?” The woman furrowed her brow. “But Frederick told me that Emily’s on her way tomorrow.”
“There’s been a change of plans, Mrs. Bridgewater.” He walked quickly to the open balcony doors. He heard shouts from outside, another gunshot. He closed the doors, then turned back to Olivia and forced a smile. “Would you mind?”
“Well, I suppose not.” Olivia stood, patted the bandanna around her head. “Dear me, it’s been years since a handsome man spirited me away during the night. I’m not sure what to—”
The door broke open and a man rushed inside, waving a .357 Magnum. Sutton. Instantly, Dylan had his own gun in his hand and pointed at the man intelligence had identified as Damek Cutter, a vicious mercenary who’d been with the Black Knights for three years. This was the man who’d used his fist on Emily, Dylan remembered. His hand tightened on the cold metal in his palm, and he wished to God that Olivia wasn’t standing between him and the mercenary.
“Drop it,” Cutter roared.
Dylan held his gun steady. “Not a chance.”
Cutter swung his gun and pointed it at Olivia, whose face had paled. “Drop it, or I drop the old lady.”
Olivia gasped.
Dammit. A muscle jumped in Dylan’s jaw. He knew the bastard would do it. Lips pressed into a hard line, Dylan swung his gun away, then slowly lowered it to the floor.
“Wise decision, Dylan,” came another voice.
A man stepped over the splintered wood and entered the room. Dylan glared at him. Anyone other than Dylan’s immediate family would have thought the man was Dylan’s father. He was identical to King Morgan in nearly every way.
“Hello, Uncle Broderick,” Dylan said dryly. “Or should I call you Uncle Frederick?”
“Frederick is your uncle?” Clearly confused, Olivia glanced at Dylan, then back to Broderick. “Frederick, I demand you explain all this to me immediately.”
“My dear Olivia, you are so naive.” Broderick shook his head, then sighed. “It’s all about money and power, my dear. I was born to have both, but my family stripped me of everything I deserve, everything that should have been mine, including my title.”
“You’ll have a new title now, Uncle, one you truly deserve.” Dylan heard the sound of more gunfire, prayed his men would arrive in time. “It’s called prison inmate.”
“I’ll never go to jail,” Broderick said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m a Penwyck. A king!”
“You’re a kidnapper and a blackmailer.” Dylan could see that his uncle truly had gone mad. “You used innocent women for your own selfish gains.”
“When I stumbled upon Miss Bridgewater’s picture in the West County newspaper, a candid snapshot of volunteers serving meals at a senior citizens’ center, I was struck by her resemblance to that young woman you were so taken with several years ago, Miss Katherine Demasse. We needed to send someone inside the palace, but I knew I’d never get one of my men past security. But a beautiful woman—” Broderick smiled at what he thought was such a clever plan “—that was easy.”
Dylan took a step toward his uncle, stopped when Cutter swung his gun back around. “Almost as easy as a jury deciding your fate. What do you think you’ll get for treason and attempted murder along with your other crimes?”
“Enough!” Broderick leveled a dark, icy gaze at his nephew. “All we wanted were the diamonds. We mined them. We are the rightful owners.”
“You mined them illegally, from a mine that belongs to the government of Penwyck.” Dylan had to get Olivia out of the way if he was going to make a move, but he didn’t know how without jeopardizing her life. “It’s already been decided the diamonds will be sold and the money distributed to all the charities on Penwyck.”
“Once your mother learns that I have her precious son,” Broderick hissed, “I’ll have what belongs to me within twenty-four hours.”
At the sound of gunfire from inside the house, Broderick frowned, then quickly glanced at Cutter. “Kill the old woman, then bring my nephew to the chopper pad. I’ve got a pilot waiting.”
Cold pleasure lit Cutter’s eyes and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he narrowed his evil gaze down the barrel and aimed—
“My heart!” With a strangled cry, Olivia grabbed her chest.
Cutter and Broderick both hesitated, then watched as Olivia crumpled to the floor.
The momentary distraction was all Dylan needed. In one swift, fluid motion, he pulled a knife from his boot and sent it flying directly into Cutter’s chest. The mercenary went rigid, then stared wide-eyed at the blade sticking from his chest. His face contorted with pain and fury, and he lifted his gun toward Dylan. Dylan dove, but the blast caught him in the upper arm. Pain and searing heat shot through his shoulder and chest. Behind him, the bullet exploded, then shattered the patio doors. Glass and wood scattered across the carpet.
Eyes still wide, Cutter went down on his knees, then fell back and lay still. Broderick turned to run, but two men, Logan and Monteque, stood at the door to stop him.
His heart pounding furiously, Dylan rushed to Olivia and gently rolled the woman to her back. “Mrs. Bridgewater!”
Olivia’s eyes popped open. “Is it over?”
She was alive! Thank God. “Are you all right? Your heart—”
She waved a hand and sat. “Of course I’m all right. A ruse, young man, to help you stop those blackhearts. Oh my heavens, you’re bleeding!”
“I’m fine.” Dylan ignored the intense pain spiral-ling up his arm and helped Olivia sit on the sofa. But when he stood, the room spun, while the walls seemed to close in. He tried to say something, but couldn’t hear his voice over the shrill ringing in his ears. A man’s voice, deep and blurred and very distant, said something to him.
Monteque?
He reached out a hand to steady himself, struggled against the black fog creeping over him. He thought of Emily, saw her face hovering above him, then her arms reaching out. He tried to lift a hand, but it was too heavy. His entire body was too heavy. And then she was gone, and only darkness was left.
“Please, come in.”
Emily held the cottage door open as the two uniformed men removed their hats and stepped into the living room. They stood in a military stance, their faces blank and unsmiling.
Oh, God. Something’s wrong, she thought, terribly wrong. Emily’s heart slammed in her chest, but she held herself steady and faced the men.
“I’m Lieutenant Randall Molson,” the taller of the two men said. “And this is Sergeant Quinton Cars.”
Emily nodded at the men, but did not offer her hand. “Lieutenant, Sergeant. Would you like to sit?”
“No, thank you, Miss Bridgewater. That won’t be necessary. But if you would…”
“No.” She prayed her legs wouldn’t give out on her. “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here, Lieutenant Molson.”
Emily swallowed the lump in her throat when the lieutenant hesitated and readied herself for the worse.
Please let my grandmother and Dylan be all right.
She fought against all the horrible scenarios that pinballed in her mind. They had to be all right, she told herself. She couldn’t bear it if they weren’t.
Since the last phone call she’d made to her contact at the Black Knights, there’d been no visits from Intelligence. Every time she thought of that phone call and the method by which she’d kept the man on the phone, her cheeks had burned. But she knew her vivid account of a fictional striptease had worked. They hadn’t needed to tell her that they’d finally managed to trace the call, she’d seen the elation in the men’s eyes.
Emily knew that if they’d found the location where the Black Knights were holding Olivia, a plan had been set in place. She also knew that any plan to capture the Black Knights was risky, that her grandmother would be in serious danger.
That Dylan would be in danger.
The past three days she’d paced the small cottage like a ca
ged cat, had sensed that something was happening, even though no one had said anything to her.
And now these men had shown up.
She drew in a slow breath and waited. The lieutenant cleared his throat, then quickly clipped out, “Miss Bridgewater, we’re here to drive you to the airport. At oh-ten-hundred, there’s a flight that will take you to Marjoco, where you will be met by a driver who will escort you home.”
Home? They were releasing her? Allowing her to go home?
“My—my grandmother?” She could barely get the words out, she was so frightened to hear the answer.
The hard set of the lieutenant’s jaw softened. “Mrs. Bridgewater is anxiously awaiting your arrival, Miss Bridgewater.”
She was alive! Her grandmother was alive!
“Is she—” Emily had to swallow the thickness in her throat before she could speak. “She’s all right?”
“Yes, miss.” The lieutenant smiled now. “Your grandmother is fine.”
In her happiness, Emily nearly threw herself at the man, wanting desperately to hug someone. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her.
“Thank you,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Thank you.”
And Dylan? Emily wondered. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come with this news?
She opened her eyes, nearly asked the question, then stopped herself.
Because she knew the answer. He could never for give her for what she’d done. Could never forget how she’d betrayed him.
It felt as if a steel band were squeezing her chest, forcing the breath from her. She’d never see him again, never touch him again.
The enormity of it, the finality, clawed at her insides.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. He’d never know. “I—I can be ready in ten minutes,” she said to Lieutenant Molson and the sergeant. She had nothing to pack. Nothing here belonged to her. Nothing at all. “Would you mind waiting outside?”
The men nodded, then joined the guards outside.
Royally Pregnant (Crown & Glory Book 9) Page 12
