Driven by Fire

by Anne Stuart

  The words shocked him. “For what? For being a pain in the ass? You can’t help it.”

  “No,” she said evenly. “I’m sorry you had to kill.”

  He shrugged, angry with himself that he’d given so much away. “It’s all in a day’s work.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she said. “And you killed for me.”

  He didn’t bother setting her straight. His job was to take out Soledad and any of her men he could, and to bring back the smartphone. Saving Parker was simply an added benefit, if you could call it that. He wasn’t even sure his boss, Peter Madsen, would approve.

  She looked up at him in the air-cooled darkness. Her body had softened beneath his, accommodating his bigger one, welcoming it, and he knew he was getting hard. She’d know it too, soon enough. “Do you want to get off me?” she said after a moment. “I don’t think now is the time for a quickie.”

  “We’re locked in here for the next four hours at least. I can’t think of anything better to do.”

  “You’re out of your mind! If you think I’d let you . . .”

  He covered her mouth with his, silencing her whispered protests, holding her by her wrists while he kissed her with slow, deliberate thoroughness, kissed her until she was breathless and panting and trembling beneath him, kissed her until she was pliant, and her wrists twisted in his hand until she held him and she arched up beneath him.

  He lifted his head. He had to stop this, he had to get away from her. But he stayed where he was, cradled between her legs. “This is a very bad idea.”

  “Yes,” she said, pulling her hands free from his grip and sliding them around his neck. “But we’re probably going to die tomorrow. Do it anyway.”

  He was a man of considerable resolve and willpower, but not, apparently, where she was concerned. He groaned, setting his forehead against hers for a moment. And then he sat back, reaching for the hem of her T-shirt and pulling it over her head with one swift motion.

  She had perfect breasts, full and high, and he stared down at them for a long moment as the moonlight filtered through the clouds, providing just enough illumination. He half expected her to try to cover herself, but instead she reached up for his shirt, tugging it free from his jeans, pulling at it, so he yanked it over his head and tossed it somewhere in the darkness.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said in a low voice.

  “I know,” she said.

  Of course she did, and she wanted this anyway. By now his hormones had gone into overdrive, sharpened by the danger and death all around them, and he could think of no earthly, practical reason not to take what she was offering, what he wanted so badly.

  He leaned down and caught one turgid nipple in his mouth, rolling it on his tongue, letting his teeth graze her, and he felt the start of desire shimmer across her body. He caught her other breast with his long fingers, pinching lightly, and she let out a silent gasp as her nipples grew even harder beneath his dual attentions.

  Last time had been fast and hard in the darkness, and he hadn’t had time to fully appreciate her. Now they were lost in a place with no present, no past or future, and he could take his time giving her the attention she so richly deserved. She was lithe and luscious and utterly delectable, and he wanted to drown in her scent, her taste, her sweetness.

  He licked his way down her stomach, tasting the sweat and fear and arousal, and he wanted nothing more than to give her what she’d suggested—a rough quickie, just to get the edge off so he could enjoy her in a more leisurely fashion. He wanted a fast release, for him if not for her, and leisure might be more than they could afford. He yanked her shorts down her long legs, bringing her underwear with them, and she was naked and vulnerable beneath him. He reached for his own belt buckle.

  But her hands were already there, unfastening him, and his hard cock thrust through the straining zipper once her deft fingers had managed to unfasten it.

  He knew he was big, intimidatingly so, and he half expected her to shy away, but her cool, long fingers encircled him, tugging slightly, and he uttered a soft groan in response.

  “Keep that up and this will be the quickie you were so keen on,” he warned her, and she immediately stopped her light, squeezing touch, much to his regret.

  He slid his hand down between her legs, wanting to ready her, but she was gloriously wet, and he felt his cock jerk in reaction. She reached up her hands, sliding them up his arms and then tugging at him.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I’m tired of feeling sick and frightened. Make me forget that we could die tomorrow. Make me forget everything.”

  He couldn’t have been gentle if he wanted to be, and he didn’t. Sliding his hands under her butt, he lifted her enough to bring her to the perfect angle for his sudden, deep thrust.

  She didn’t make a sound. She didn’t need to—he could feel the resistance and then welcome inside her hot, wet cunt, pulling at him, and he wanted to slam into her, to rut his way to the mind-blowing climax that was starting in his balls and spiraling outward.

  She’d already had a small orgasm—the contractions of her sex had stopped his forward progress, and he still had a good three inches to go. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he needed to get inside her, all the way in, to drown himself in pleasure and pain and forgetfulness, to wipe out the staring eyes of the dead men, to fill this woman with his seed, his life, to take back what he’d lost.

  He braced himself over her, kissing the side of her mouth, letting his tongue trace her lips, slip past her teeth to coax her tongue forward, kissing her as he’d never kissed anyone before. He moved his mouth to her ear, biting into the lobe, and she made a muffled sound of pleasure. “I need more,” he whispered. “I need you to take more of me.”

  He felt her hesitation, and he kissed her mouth again. “I’ll help you,” he murmured, licking the side of her neck, and he slid his hand down between their sweat-slick bodies to find the bud of her clitoris. She trembled in his arms as he slid his finger over that sensitive spot, and he pulled his cock out, then sank in again, a little bit deeper, but still so far from reaching home. He did it again, feeling the flutters along the walls of her sex, drawing him in deeper, and he couldn’t know whether that whimper was of pain or desire. He was almost home, and he knew he should hold back rather than risk making her uncomfortable, but need was raging through his body, and he needed his entire cock deep, deep inside her.

  He pulled out, pushing in gently, then pulled out again, and she reached up and caught his arms in her tight grip. “No,” she said. “I want all of you. Give it to me.”

  He couldn’t have stopped himself to save his life. He rubbed her clit, her vaginal walls grabbed at him, pulling him in deeper, and unable to help himself he shoved all the way in, slamming her hard into the mattress, drowning in her body.

  She hadn’t made a sound, and he was sure he’d hurt her, and a good man would have pulled away, but he was a bad man, a man burning with need for the surcease only she could provide, and with each hard thrust she answered him, her knees cradling him. He reached back and pulled her legs around his hips, and he sank in deeper still. He drank in her gasp of pleasure and pain, reveled in the feel of her fingers digging into his butt, pushing him, and then he was there, shooting into her, an endless orgasm milked by the trembling, grasping walls of her sex as she threw back her head in a silent scream.

  He didn’t have the wherewithal to cover her mouth, and he didn’t care. If they’d accidentally alerted Soledad’s two elite guards, then it would be as good a way to go as any. Sex couldn’t get any better than this, than the ridiculously innocent sweetness of her. He would die happy, but there were too many things they hadn’t done yet. He hadn’t taken her from the back, standing up, sitting down. She had barely touched his cock, and he needed her to put her mouth on him before he could die a happy man.

  He pulled out of her, and she made an unhappy noise. He was unhappy as well—despite the power of his orgasm he was still mostly erect, and he knew he
could keep on.

  She, however, looked as if she’d been hit by a truck, and he wasn’t about to push her any further. Instead, he rolled over and pulled her into his arms, and she lay sprawled on top of him, naked, limp, totally satiated. He brought her closer, as she snuggled up against him, and he could feel her warm breath against his skin, the pounding of her heart as it began its slow return to normal, the dampness of her face against his skin. She was crying, and he didn’t want to know why. Maybe for what could never be.

  It would be two thirty in the morning—he had an instinctive knowledge of the time of day burned into him. No one would come until at least six and with luck a lot later—he’d had enough time to watch the guards’ routine, and they wouldn’t bother to check in until later. He could afford to lie here with his woman in his arms, if only for a short while.

  Even if she wasn’t really his woman. Right then it felt like she was, when he’d never felt that way about anyone before. Dangerous thoughts, and he wasn’t going to pay any attention to them. Except for the next couple of hours, when he could be at peace.

  Until he had to rise and kill again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Jenny awoke she was alone on the thin mattress. The room was empty, and for a moment she wondered if she’d dreamed it all. Until she realized she was stark naked beneath the scratchy wool blanket and wet between her legs.

  She staggered to her feet, heading for the small toilet off the sparse bedroom, and managed to clean herself up. She lifted her head to look at her reflection in the mirror. Her brown hair was a tangle around her face, her lips were swollen, and she could see a love bite at the base of her neck. She was a woman in danger for her life, and instead she looked like a well-stroked cat, slumberous and contented. She had to be out of her mind.

  Where the hell had he gone, she thought as she swiftly yanked on her clothing, trying not to think about how they had come off the night before, trying not to think about him. She was infatuated with him, nothing more, and given the highly dangerous situation she was in, it was little wonder she’d clung to him like the savior she wanted him to be.

  Except she had the gloomy feeling she would have clung to him no matter what the circumstances. Her attraction to him went deep—it had been haunting her a long time—and whether they were safe in a hotel room or in imminent danger, she reacted to his touch as she’d reacted to no one else.

  Where the hell had he gone? Had he decided she was collateral damage after all? Why hadn’t he woken her, told her what his plans were? Now all she could do was hope Soledad wouldn’t notice the whole atmosphere of saturated sex in the room.

  She sat on the mattress, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees. She could still feel him inside her, still taste his skin on her tongue. Fuck it. If she was going to die she’d die with some of him still inside her, and she would revel in it.

  Could she trust him to save her? Could she trust anyone but herself? Clearly her instincts about people were dead wrong—she’d been so sure Soledad was an innocent victim, so certain Ryder was nothing but a danger. Was she wrong about her baby brother as well? Someone had tried to kill her back in New Orleans, and it couldn’t have been Soledad, who’d been put in almost as much danger.

  Someone had hired a killer to shoot at her. Someone had blown up her beloved cottage and almost taken her with it. While she could believe it of her unnatural father, it wasn’t really his style. Besides, a man like Fabrizio Gauthier, no matter how estranged he was from his children, would never endanger that child’s life. Blood meant too much to him.

  The workings of the Committee were complicated and devious enough to have done it, but again, they would have been more efficient. If they wanted her dead she’d be dead.

  Or it could be an enemy of her father’s, looking to hit him in a vulnerable place. But everyone knew they were estranged, and killing one of his sons and heirs would make far more sense.

  Which left one more possibility, one so unacceptable that she wasn’t even going to consider it. That kind of betrayal would be too awful to bear.

  She heard the sound of the door being unlocked, and she braced herself. Soledad had sent two guards, and despite her efforts at being cooperative, they dragged her back into the living room, shoving her down on the sofa.

  Soledad was sitting at a table, dressed in a pale designer suit, her hair in an elegant chignon while she sipped at a cup of coffee. She barely looked up when Jenny was hauled into the room, continuing to read the paper in front of her.

  The phone still lay on the coffee table. So did the baseball bat, a warning. At least it meant that Ryder hadn’t managed to get the phone and abandon her. She still had a chance.

  “I see you somehow managed to get your hands unbound,” Soledad observed in a cool voice.

  Shit, she’d forgotten about that. “I used my teeth.”

  “Very sharp teeth,” Soledad said. “I’ll remember that. Though if I’m any judge of character, and unlike you, I am, I’d say you spent the night with a lover, not worried about your very limited future.”

  Jenny managed a creditable laugh. “And just how did that happen? I’m afraid none of your thugs are my type.”

  “No, my men know better than to go against my wishes. I’m just wondering if we have another visitor at the compound that my men have managed to overlook. Ramón!”

  One of the guards who dragged her in immediately stood at attention. “Yes, Madam.”

  “Madam?” Jenny repeated with an unwise laugh. “Who do you think you are, Evita Perón?”

  Soledad’s smile was pure evil. “You really think you are wise to bait me?” She turned to the guards. “Go out and search this place. Check in with those useless outside guards to see if they’ve seen anything. Go now! This one will be no problem for me to deal with.”

  Jenny waited until the two men left. “I’m a lot bigger than you are, Soledad, and my hands are no longer tied. And I’m really pissed.”

  Soledad finished her coffee, then folded her hands on the table, giving Jenny her full attention. “Yes,” she said. “But I have a gun and no morals. I would kill you for the fun of it. You would hurt me only if it were a matter of life and death. Which, I promise you, it is.”

  “You want me to attack you?” Jenny said incredulously, trying to ignore the baseball bat that was just out of reach.

  “After you break into your brother’s fucking smartphone,” Soledad said sweetly. “And it depends on my mood and how long you make me wait. If you’re quick, then I’ll do the same, a single gunshot to the head. If you drag it out like you did last night, then I will smash every bone in your body. And if you think you’ll be in too much pain to talk, you’re wrong. No matter how much pain you’re in, there’s always more coming, and you’ll be able to tell me what I want even if I’ve broken every bone in your body.”

  “Might I suggest you leave my jaw intact? Otherwise you might not understand me when I spill state secrets.”

  Soledad shook her head. “Did no one ever tell you to watch your tongue when you’re in a dangerous situation? And trust me, your position is extremely precarious. If I get too angry I’ll simply shoot you and wait until I get back to Puerto Claro to have a professional hacker break into the phone. I have things to do up here, but I can change my schedule if you annoy me enough.”

  “Here’s an idea—why don’t you simply ask my brother. He’s working for you, isn’t he?” It was a wild guess, but closer to the mark than she would have wanted.

  Soledad looked startled for a moment, and Jenny felt her stomach tighten further, particularly when Soledad laughed. “You think your brother works for us? How delightfully naïve you are.”

  Sudden hope rushed through her. “You mean he doesn’t?” she said, not caring if she was letting Soledad see her vulnerability. “He’s innocent?”

  “You idiot. Your brother doesn’t work for us—we work for him. Though I can hope to change that in the near future, he’s a nece
ssary evil. He took over from the Corsini family, and he knows the routes, the connections, the players. With the information contained on the smartphone we can put him out of business, which obviously is not in his best interests. He wants this phone back as much as you and your Committee friends do. Maybe more.”

  It felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. “I don’t believe you,” she said, knowing in her heart that it was the unacceptable truth.

  “Don’t you? Well, you’ve always been good at believing what you want to believe. I’ll give you one hour to break the phone—otherwise I will begin to break you.”

  Jenny picked up the smartphone with real hatred. She had been so certain it would prove her brother’s marginal involvement with the human trafficking. Maybe Soledad was lying to her, trying to rattle her. But Jenny’s faith had been shaken.

  Jenny rose from the sofa, holding the phone in her hand. “Sit down!” Soledad snapped, and Jenny could see the small gun she held in a freshly manicured hand.

  “I need to pace,” Jenny said, edging closer to the row of windows. The air-conditioning had been turned off that morning, and one of the sliding doors was open, leading out onto a narrow deck that hung out over the deep ravine cut into the rainforest around them.

  “And I need you to sit down,” Soledad snarled.

  “Some fresh air,” Jenny pleaded. “That’s reasonable, isn’t it? After all, there’s nowhere I can go except down, and I’m not ready to give up yet. I’m going to stay alive as long as possible.”

  Soledad regarded her for a long moment. “You’re right,” she said. “There’s nowhere to go out there. Go and enjoy your last taste of fresh air.”

  Well, Jenny thought, she may be stupid when it came to trusting people, but Soledad had the foresight of a gnat. The cell phone was going to go sailing into the ravine, hopefully to smash against some rocks but at the very least to be lost forever in the tangled jungle. The moment she threw it Soledad would shoot her, and she wasn’t ready to die yet, but when push came to shove the phone was going over the edge, and maybe, just maybe, she’d go too, rather than give Soledad the satisfaction of killing her. And satisfaction it would be—she could practically feel Soledad’s murderous intent. The sweet young woman had disappeared, leaving a poised, beautiful monster in her wake, and Jenny wasn’t about to underestimate her.