Deadly Games

by Cherry Adair

  She started tugging at his clothing. The shirt was relatively easy—just a matter of disengaging long enough to deal with buttons and sleeves, and dispersal. The LockOut he wore beneath it required him rolling off her to strip. While he peeled off the skin-tight protective clothing, Michaela yanked off her drawstring pants and panties, and lay back to wait for him.

  “I can’t believe— Hmm.” Sebastian blanketed her body with his, cutting her off. The feel of him on top of her made Michaela want to freeze time and stay this way always. She couldn’t see him in the stygian darkness, but God, she felt every delicious battle-hard inch of him pressed against every sex-starved inch of her.

  He kissed her deeply, lips and tongue avid until her mind disengaged and all she could do was feel, all the atoms within her gone wild in a fission chain reaction to his touch.

  With surprise, she heard the rip of foil then felt him shift as he rolled on a condom. “You thought to bring a rubber on an op? On a rescue missi—”

  He pushed into her, his large body shaking with his attempt to control himself as he slid into her wet heat with ease.

  Michaela instantly started to move her hips. His penis was huge. Long and thick and incredibly hard as he pushed inside her.

  “Don’t,” he managed to grit out, “move. Need…a minute.”

  She was a nanosecond from the biggest orgasm of her life, and he told her not to move? A keening sound reverberated deep in her throat as she tightened her legs around his hips and dug her short nails into his shoulders.

  His entire body shuddered as he tried to keep control. But it was too late. With a feral growl, he thrust into her, hard and deep, unable to delay the inevitable. For either of them.

  Clenching around him, Michaela came hard. Once. Twice. Three times in quick succession, every nerve on fire, every pore open and saturated with the feel of him on her, in her, until her entire body was as nothing more than light, air, and energy. Her muscles and nerves caught in the nuclear explosion within her that torqued all her senses beyond bearing.

  Silently Sebastian came too. His face buried in her neck, his arms clamped around her body, his fingers gripping her ass. She’d have bruises there in an hour, but she didn’t give a damn. He cupped her to him so tightly, as if he never planned to let her go. The good news was it was a perfect fit. The bad news was that it happened too fast, for both of them.

  The darkness of the room filled with the sound of their rough breathing. Their bodies were slick with sweat; their heartbeats syncopated and still pounding at a wild pace.

  He started to pull out of her, but Michaela imprisoned him with her arms and legs. “Wait, not yet.”

  Reality would come knocking any minute, and after two miserable years, surely she was entitled to a few more moments of bliss.

  Sebastian in her arms was infinitely better than Sebastian in her fantasies . Yes, it had been wild and almost desperate. Yes, it had been pretty damn fast. But she’d loved every sweaty, pulse-pounding second of it, and she’d been the one who hadn’t wanted to hold on for even one more minute. It was almost unbelievable—she’d gone from thinking about having hot, breathless sex with Sebastian to having incredibly hot and completely breathless sex with Sebastian.

  Powerful and primal, he hadn’t “made love” to her. He’d mated with her.

  Michaela wondered if he’d know the difference.

  She’d love to find out. Sebastian in primal mode was amazing. Sebastian making love would likely be mind-blowing.

  Then, perhaps selfishly, she wondered if they could do it again before they both got back to the business of saving the world.

  CHAPTER FOUR - CHAMELEON

  Michaela slid an arm and shapely leg across his hip. The glide of her silky skin poured a rush of testosterone-fueled heat through every sensitized inch of Sebastian’s body. Catching her musky scent, his nostrils flared. The cheap soap from her recent shower smelled clean and fresh mixed with the natural fragrance of her skin. And far more seductive than a designer fragrance. The toothpaste she’d used reminded him of how she tasted as his body pounded into her.

  Fuckit!

  For those minutes, as her body clenched around him, as her arms and legs had drawn him harder and more tightly against her clenching wet heat, Sebastian had forgotten his directive. Allow Cohen time to use his unique powers to disable the nuke; find out what Michaela knew and why she turned rogue. Get names, places, and dates.

  Fuck her if necessary to allay any suspicions that he was aware she’d turned.

  Then kill her.

  He’d wanted to prove them wrong. The woman he’d known so briefly was incapable of pulling off a terrorist act so heinous.

  But facts, supported by intel, proved he was a fool. A wrong fool who thought with his dick. She was the lead physicist on this project. She’d done “excellent work, and was to be commended.”

  That was a direct quote from one of the messages Intel intercepted, a report from a Dr. Ackart to a Dr. Gangjon. The son of a bitch had gone on at length, describing the skills of the admirable, indispensable Dr. Giese and her immeasurable contributions to the success of the project.

  Fuckshitdamncrap.

  There were a thousand things Sebastian had wanted to do to Michaela. Killing her hadn’t been—still wasn’t—on the list.

  Bad enough the one with the bull’s-eye on her forehead was her, but he had serious misgivings when he’d insisted on coming on the op. Misgivings he’d kept hidden, because, fool that he was, he’d hoped…

  He was a seasoned T-FLAC operative. Hope was not allowed to play a role in his professional life, and he didn’t have a life outside of the profession these days. T-FLAC operatives were trained to do whatever was needed, anywhere in the world, to get the job done. They took out tangos to make the world a safer place. Michaela’s work was jeopardizing that safety.

  Sebastian was known as a disciplined man. He’d do what had to be done. He still had an erection. So what? He could still fire a weapon—dick be damned.

  Still, killing a woman, any woman, in cold blood went against the grain. Killing this woman who’d been an integral part of his fantasy life for the past two years…

  Stop whining and do your fucking job, Tremayne.

  She’d been so damned smart and funny, quick to catch his silly jokes. She’d shared his sense of humor…

  Reality check. She was responsible for the arming of the nuclear bomb.

  He wished he could see her. But he’d needed the element of surprise the darkness afforded him. Now he regretted removing the light bulb, because he wanted to see her naked. Wanted, damn it, just this once, to see each exquisite inch of the body he’d only dreamed about.

  Fucking her was his job. That’s all it was. Yeah, right.

  He’d followed her from the corridor to her room and, once he’d seen the towel and kit bag in her hand when she emerged, opted to search her room while she showered. A wise move as it happened, because seeing her wet and naked would possibly have changed the course of events irrevocably.

  There’d been nothing incriminating in the small, neat space. But then he hadn’t expected there to be. Michaela was brilliant as well as clever. She’d leave no trace of her defection on the off chance the good guys ever searched the submarine base for clues.

  She combed her fingers lightly through the mat of hair on his chest and brushed a kiss across his pec that shot like a bullet straight to his heart. “Are you sleeping?” she asked then kissed him again.

  “Just for a few minutes, then we can see if we can do that a little slower.” He kept the anger out of his voice with difficulty. “Shh. Close your eyes and rest with me for a bit.”

  “I have to— Sure.” He felt the flutter of her long lashes against his skin as her muscles relaxed.

  Damn it, Michaela—

  For a year after her “death” he’d held her memory on a pedestal. A fucking high pedestal. She was everything he wanted but couldn’t have. The Holy Grail who had broken his best fr
iend’s heart. For ninety days anyway. Cole had gotten over her betrayal and departure a hell of a lot faster than Sebastian did.

  Until Intel showed she’d crashed her Cessna intentionally.

  A year later, her defection had been proven by communiqués between the Chinese and Russian tangos indicating the terrorists were pleased with Dr. Michaela Giese’s progress.

  He’d mourned her death for a fucking year. Then spent the next year wanting to kill her.

  That’s why she’d broken off with Cole less than a month after their engagement. That’s why she’d fled without telling anyone. That’s why, without a fucking backward glance, she’d ripped out the hearts and souls of everyone who’d loved her. She sure as shit hadn’t cared about the mind-blowing kiss they’d shared. Hell, no. She’d probably forgotten that.

  And taking a stroll barefoot down the hot coals of the past was no way to do his job. He had to maintain a calm exterior and this wasn’t the way to do it. Back to the matter at hand. Literally.

  Sebastian trailed his fingers down the curve of her spine and up the swell of her ass. She shivered, shifting against him, her silky skin cool to the touch. Everything primal in him screamed to protect her, draw her naked body closer to his. But his intellect, his training, gave him a swift round kick to the head.

  She’s a tango. Don’t trust how you feel. Trust what you know.

  “Cold?” If this was the right thing to do, then why the hell did just doing his job feel like a betrayal?

  “No. Yes,” she said, nuzzling his chest as she shivered again. “It’s always cold here. But your body is as toasty—warm as an electric blanket. This is the warmest I’ve been in years. No, don’t move; I don’t need anything covering me but you.”

  Damn it. She was a snuggler. Her breath was warm on his skin as she dropped small kisses wherever she could reach. In another time, another place, it would have been perfect. He would have reveled in the feeling of her curling up against him like a kitten. Now it was torture because he wasn’t wishing he knew what her creamy skin or tight heat felt like; he God damn well knew.

  “How did you find me?”

  Like it or resist it, her kisses and petting touches had already given him a cockstand. “Intel between the Russians and Chinese,” he said flatly, willing the erection away. Once was for king and country, twice was a whole other ball game. “Your name was mentioned.” Seven times. In glowing terms.

  “How long ago?”

  How long since he’d known she’d turned was really what she was asking. “Year.”

  A few beats of silence echoed in the darkness as her finger traced a figure eight over his heart. “How’s Cole doing?”

  “Married with a kid and another on the way,” he told her boldly, capturing her hand to keep it still so he could concentrate on something other than the feel of her. “I’m godfather to his daughter?”

  “I’m glad he’s moved on.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.” She shook her head gently, and that silky chestnut hair teased his nipples. “I never wanted him to be unhappy.”

  If that were truly the case, she’d be married to the poor bastard right now. Not turned rogue and about to unleash a nuclear bomb that would flood the world and plunge it back into the Dark Ages. He couldn’t help it, he had to say something.

  “You not only ripped out his heart without anesthetic, you stomped on it for good measure when you walked out on m—him without explanation?” The memory snagged in his constricted throat. Cole, on the other hand, had moved on within months. Sebastian wished he could have fucking done the same.

  She turned her face into his chest and replied, her voice subdued, “I didn’t have a choice.”

  Yeah? How much did they pay you? “Everyone has choices, Michaela?”

  “Not everyone?”

  Sebastian wished this interlude were over. Her rubbing her body around his like a cat in heat wasn’t helping his resolve.

  He gauged the time and realized that he needed to delay her at least another half hour to give Cohen time to disable the nuke. Their encounter had been too fast.

  Cohen needed time, especially if part of the nuke was Chinese and the other part Russian. Cohen could manipulate both, but he had to speak the language of the original components to get them to respond, which took time.

  “They eventually found the wreckage? Her heat suddenly became like a brand to his skin. No longer sensual but caustic. He wanted to get off the bed. He wanted to be fully dressed and armed to the teeth. He wanted, God damn it, the light on and an ocean between them.

  What he really fucking wanted was a frontal lobotomy so he could forget she ever existed.

  “Everyone presumed you were lost at sea.” Except me. No. I was idiot enough to hold out hope that you were still alive. Picking up her hand, he kissed the center of her palm, and she sucked in a breath. “Cole and I went to your funeral, June twenty-eighth. Wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

  The two friends had gone to the crash site together. Been part of the search team. Her body hadn’t been found. In the end, they’d buried an empty coffin.

  For the first time in his life, Sebastian had drunk himself into oblivion on returning home. His binge lasted a week. The memory far longer.

  She raised her head, and the heat of her gaze bore through him even in the absolute darkness that engulfed them. “How did you get here, Sebastian—teleportation?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You couldn’t do that on your own.”

  She knew he wasn’t part of T-FLAC’s paranormal division. He had a power but not wizard-level powers.

  She was working the angles. Trying to figure out how to take the money and run.

  Not so fast, sweetheart. Without a submarine—and the one at the dock was decrepit and useless; they’d checked—the only way in or out was swim or teleport. Nobody would last ten seconds in the freezing Arctic Ocean without becoming an insta-Popsicle, not even with a full body LockOut suit inside a dry dive suit. There wasn’t anyone who would aid her when this particular shit hit the fan of her making. No one.

  She lifted her head in the darkness, her body tensing. “Cole?”

  The question was a gun to Sebastian’s head. Shit. He knew she still had feelings for Cole no matter what she said. He was still a fucking idiot.

  “Not the only wizard with T-FLAC. Anatoly Cohen teleported me in.”

  She shifted so her chin was propped on her palm, which lay uncomfortably over Sebastian’s churning heart. “I have some things I have to do before we can leave.”

  You won’t do either, Sebastian thought savagely, rolling over to cover her body and pin her where she lay. Not ‘do some things’ nor leave.

  Maybe, if he were very lucky, confirming her death for himself would eventually give him peace.

  God, he hoped so, because living without her had been purgatory.

  CHAPTER FIVE - CHAMELEON

  She’d fantasized about being with Sebastian for so long she was afraid this was too good to be true. Michaela knew she only had a few more minutes to bask in the amazing post coital glow of real sex with a very real Sebastian. A few more minutes to relish the lazy stroke of his hand caressing her skin, a few more minutes to listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

  The others expected her, More important, she had a job to finish. No matter how much she wanted to pretend everything was normal, it wasn’t.

  “How did they convince you to join them?” Sebastian asked, his voice noticeably cooler than moments before. “How long before you accepted Cole’s proposal did you decide you were going to screw him?”

  For several erratic beats of her heart, Michaela couldn’t understand his questions. The sound of her pulse was roaring too loud in her ears. Lifting her head from she tried to marshal her thoughts. Anger replaced the afterglow as his words dropped onto her heart like an anvil.

  “What?”

  Damn it to hell. Where was the light so she could see his face
? She shifted, her back against the icy-cold steel wall butted up to one side of the narrow bed.

  “Let me get this straight,” Michaela said through clenched teeth. “Are you accusing me of turning?”

  Was her heart beating? She sure as hell couldn’t feel it as her temper rose. “Of signing up with a group of known tangos? Assisting them in their attempt to melt the polar ice cap to— Do you think I came here willingly, you stupid son of a bitch?” Pitch—dark or not, she was seeing red.

  Tight fingers manacled her wrist as she struck out. Clearly, his night vision was excellent, because she couldn’t see him at all. Tears of fury and hurt stung her eyes, and she curled her fingers against her palm hard enough to feel the bite of her short nails.

  “Oh, I know so, sweetheart?”

  “Screw you!” she said, stung. Angry. Hurt. “Don’t—” Call me endearments with so much disdain. She shook off the prison of his fingers. He took up the whole damn bed. To leave the room—hell, just to get to her clothes—she’d have to crawl over him.

  Kicking him in the thigh, she snarled, “Get the hell out of my bed.” He sat up, but she could tell he was still blocking her way, intentionally. She kicked him again and he grabbed her foot. His hands were hot and hard, and he didn’t let go no matter how much she fought him. Fine. She stopped struggling and remained perfectly still.

  “Tell me you didn’t sign up for a fat paycheck.” How could he sound so…so callous, so uncaring? How could she have misread him so completely?

  “I didn’t sign up for anything?” She took pride in the fact that while angry tears streamed warm and salty down her cheeks, they weren’t evident in her voice. “I took a short flight out of Bozeman to clear my head. The next thing I knew, I was here.”

  “Except the Cessna was discovered on the rocky shores of Diomede in the middle of the fucking Bering Strait just a hop, skip, and jump from here! Explain that.”

  Hurt started pushing aside anger, forming a large, unswallowable lump in her throat. She liked the anger better. “Tongpan,” she answered simply. “Please let me up. I’m running out of time, and I don’t owe you any expla—”