Storm Gathering

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Greyson nodded. “I've seen you. You are pretty good.”

  Jameson feinted in and then back. Greyson waited. Jameson moved closer again, turning at the last second and slashing toward Greyson's arm. Grey dodged to the side and twisted, aiming a side-kick into Jameson's gut.

  Jameson leaned over with an ‘oof,’ no doubt already bruised from when Grey had punched him earlier.

  Greyson snarled. “Some of us don't need knives.” The man would've hurt Maureen if given a chance. “In fact, I believe my woman just kicked your ass. I should've let her finish the job.”

  “Your woman?” Jameson sneered

  “Yeah,” Grey said softly, not questioning his response. On the dark beach facing possible death, there could only be the truth.

  “I’ll make sure she blames you for what I’m going to do to her.” Jameson charged him, leading with the knife.

  Greyson pivoted and slashed his knife across Jameson's neck. Momentum pushed the man forward until he stopped, both hands going to his jugular. He turned, blood spurting between his fingers. He gurgled.

  No triumph rose in Greyson. Imaginary boulders landed on his shoulders, compressing his chest. Another one. He'd just killed another of his own men. What the hell was going on in Merc territory? How had he lost control so quickly?

  Jameson dropped to his knees and fell forward, scattering sand.

  Greyson looked down at his own chest, which had a spray of blood across it. Fuck. He motioned for the duo who’d been patrolling, and they jogged his way. “Throw the body in the ocean. Thanks.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and shucked his jeans, walking out and diving into the salty water.

  He washed off the blood, his emotions churning.

  The soldiers took the body farther down the beach toward the pier, and he ignored them, focusing on the mansion and Moe's closed door. Was she okay? His temper was still fired hot, and his vision hazy, but he needed to check on her.

  He moved against the powerful surf, reaching the beach and his jeans. Shaking them out, he examined them. No blood. It had all hit his chest. Wincing, he slipped into them and left them unbuttoned. He moved toward the deck and washed off his feet in a bucket of water before softly rapping on her door.

  She opened it, her face pale, her eyes wide. “Are you all right?” she asked softly, lifting a hand to his chin.

  He turned his face into her palm automatically, seeking comfort. The smell of wild bluebells surrounded him, and he breathed in deeply. “You're safe now,” he murmured. But was she? Every time he thought he had her secure, something went wrong.

  She slid her other hand across his chest. “Greyson?” Her voice was tentative, but her touch sure. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” He turned his head to face her, wanting nothing more in the entire world than for her to keep touching him. “It was a fair fight, Moe.” He needed her to know that. It was fair.

  She nodded, the hand on his jaw sliding down to his chest. “I know.” She eased him inside. “The boat you lost earlier. Are your people okay?”

  “Yes. Just dropped the walkie-talkie in the ocean,” he mumbled.

  Her scent filled the space, making it soft and sweet with a hint of wildness. The ocean crashed loudly outside, while peace drew him inside. The woman pulled him in.

  “Are you all right?” He should've asked that in the first place.

  “Yes.” She reached up to tangle her fingers in the hair at his nape. “You're wet.” Leaning forward, she kissed his chest. “And salty.”

  Her mouth on him sent him into overdrive. His vision finally cleared, and all he could see was her. His hands shook, and his blood pounded powerfully through his veins.

  He tried to focus and find control, taking her hands in his and removing them from his skin. Then he made the mistake of looking at her.

  Her eyes glowed in the candlelight, and the T-shirt left her legs bared down to her small feet. Her hair tumbled in curls down her back, inviting him to run his fingers through it. As she looked up at him, her slender neck elongated, which tempted his mouth more than he could bear. “This isn't a good idea,” he whispered.

  Hell yeah, it was a good idea. But he'd just been in a fight, and his adrenaline was still pumping. She deserved sweetness and flowers, and he wasn't there right now.

  The primitive drumming of his heartbeat was a warning.

  She curled her fingers through his. “I'm tired of dancing around this.”

  Swallowing, he tried one last fucking time to do the right thing. Whatever it was. She looked sexy and sweet, and so damn touchable his body ached. But he wasn't in control. “A lot has happened tonight. We should, ah, talk about this tomorrow.” His body didn't agree. At all.

  She studied him and then stepped right into him. Her hardened nipples were obvious beneath the cotton. “No.”

  He blinked and tried to rein in the raw lust pummeling through him. “Maureen.”

  She leaned up and bit him lightly on the chin. “I like the way you say my name. So sweet and with a hint of a Southern accent that I find intriguing.”

  Her name? Jesus. The woman had no clue what she was courting. When he saw Jameson come at her with a knife, everything inside him had stilled and then rushed forward, the predator inside him urging him to protect what was his.

  “Maureen,” he said again, his cock throbbing and his chest burning. “Are you sure?”

  She pulled her hands free, and he felt the loss like he'd been kicked in the head.

  Then she reached down and pulled the bottom of the shirt up and over her head, leaving her in pale blue panties. Her breasts were high and small with pretty pink nipples.

  His blood boiled.

  She was so incredibly tempting, his chokehold on his control loosened. A rush of desire hammered into him, and he moved for her, appeasing himself and sliding his hand into her thick hair. He made a fist and tugged her head back, giving him better access to her neck.

  She placed her hands on his chest and explored across his pecs with a soft murmur.

  It was the sound that finally snapped his control. The sweet, quiet, accepting noises she made as she touched him. He kissed her, holding her in place, seeking her taste like a starving man needed sustenance. Sweetness.

  This time, he held nothing back. A shudder of need shook him, and he went deeper, controlling them both as pleasure swamped him.

  She levered up on her toes to press against him, her mouth opening, welcoming him in.

  Holding her to him, he backed her to the bed, his mouth continuing to take hers. She moved easily, her chest bare against his, trusting him to get them there. Her hand tunneled into his hair, and she pulled, pushing her mouth against his at the same time.

  His girl was impatient.

  He lay her back and hooked his fingers in her panties, drawing them off. God, she was beautiful. The moonlight spilled into the room, making her skin almost glow.

  He dropped to his knees, his gaze on the prize. Grasping her thighs, he pulled her toward his mouth.

  She held up a hand to protest, but he wasn't having any of that. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the bed on either side of her hips. She wiggled and then stilled when she realized her position.

  He grinned. “You started this.” Then he leaned forward and placed a very soft kiss on her clit.

  She jumped. “Greyson?” she breathed, need and uncertainty in her voice.

  “Yeah,” he said, his mouth above her mound again. “You'll be screaming that soon.”

  * * *

  Maureen's legs trembled with need. Her entire body was on fire, and she couldn't move. He wouldn't let her move. That thought, that one tiny reality, burned desire through her with harsh flames. But this was too intimate. “Greyson,” she murmured again, fighting to free her wrists.

  He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her sex.

  Their one night together had been fast and explosive. The parts that she could remember, anyway. That bourbon had been strong. But now,
he seemed to want to know every inch of her. She opened her mouth to tempt him to move up the bed when he licked her, swirling his tongue around her clit.

  Electrical zaps arced through her. She gasped and arched against him, her eyes automatically closing. “Please,” she murmured, not sure what she really wanted.

  He licked her again, moving his hands from her wrists and onto her thighs, where he could spread her wide.

  She wanted to fight the intimacy, to hold her own, but he licked her again. Not slowly, and not gently. He went at her, mouth heated, tongue talented. It was as if he knew exactly what she needed, and he didn't make her wait for it. The orgasm struck, shocking her system, rolling fast and hard. She cried out, pushing against him, riding the waves one by one until they took everything she had.

  He finally released her and stood, slowly shoving down his jeans.

  Her breath caught. In the moonlight, nude, Greyson Storm was exquisite. The light from behind turned him into one long, dark line of muscle, ripped and predatory. Only his eyes gleamed in color. He was formed of fierce angles, deadly planes, and hard promise.

  Setting a knee on the bed, he moved up her, pausing to kiss her mound, belly, and both breasts before reaching her face.

  Then he kissed her again. Not softly with gentleness like before. Not asking a question.

  No. This kiss was a raw demand for surrender. His tongue pierced into her mouth, while his hard lips gave no quarter.

  Pleasure, hot and dark, wound through her along with a hint of warning, one it was too late to heed. Way too late.

  He pressed against her, his hard body pushing her into the bed. He tasted of salt and ocean, intent and man. His chest was harder than granite, and the erection rubbing against her clit felt full and demanding.

  She gasped, stunned by the shocking electricity between them. The desperate need she'd never felt before—ever. For him. Only him.

  He tugged off his necklace and placed it on the bedside table, quickly returning to kiss her again. Then he released her mouth to nibble along her jawline and up to her ear, his talented hands stroking her breasts. His touch was everywhere, and she wanted more. “Greyson,” she murmured, her body on fire and needy. Now. “Explore later. Now, fast.” Her body rioted with a sensation that was almost pain. She wanted him so badly. Inside her. Now.

  He leaned up, his gaze intense. Whatever he saw in her face must've made up his mind. His mouth curved slightly, and he pressed inside her, going slow.

  She caught her breath and stiffened, clutching his arms with her hands, her nails digging in, not letting him go. She didn't care if the entire mansion exploded. He wasn't leaving until he was inside her. She widened her legs to take more of him, the emptiness inside her actually scaring her. “Please, Greyson.”

  He leaned down and nibbled on her lips. “Patience, baby.” Then he pushed in another inch.

  Her thighs trembled. He was already stretching her, the pain slight but somehow delicious. “Were you this big before Scorpius?” she blurted.

  He paused and then barked out a laugh, his hard body moving against hers. “Yeah. I don't think Scorpius changed dick size.”

  Her face heated. Who the hell knew? She drew in air and relaxed her lower half to ease his entrance. “Have you always had this control?” she asked, curious even though she felt as if her body would die if he didn't get a move on.

  “Yes.” He lowered his forehead to hers and pushed inside more, caressing nerves inside her she hadn't known she had. “I don't want to hurt you.”

  The sweetness in Greyson caught her off guard every time. The complexity of the man would take eons to unravel. “You won't. Unless you stop,” she murmured. Then she'd have to kill him, and he probably wouldn't like that.

  “I won't stop,” he promised, moving down her face to kiss her again. Hard and deep. His arms bunching on either side of her, he pressed into her in one long, hard stroke.

  The final invasion shot erotic pain through her every nerve, and she arched against him, expelling shocked air. He was inside her completely. All of him. Her body struggled to adjust to his size, even while those nerves inside her implored her to start moving. To feel the friction and the burn.

  She caressed down his sides and over his tight ass, squeezing.

  “Wait a sec,” he ordered, holding perfectly still. He leaned over her, backlit by the bright moon. “Give yourself a minute.” His body was rigid as he controlled himself, but the hint of danger, the indication of the edge that lived in Greyson was there on the slight wind.

  His caring, his very gentleness when his body was fighting him, wound right into her heart and settled. She caressed up his back to his hair. “I trust you, Greyson.”

  He tightened somehow, his light gaze on her face. “I'll take care of you, Moe. I promise.”

  She lifted her thighs and pressed against his hips. “How about now?” she murmured.

  He nodded and then pulled out to shove back in. The feelings were delicious. He watched her carefully as if seeing everything, increasing his speed and the strength of his thrusts, until she forgot everything but the exquisite pleasure shooting through her body.

  She rose quickly, her body hitching, and exploded with his name on her lips. The orgasm blew through her, forcing her higher, taking her away for the moment. With a mumble, she came down, her body flattening into the bed.

  Greyson's mouth found hers again, and he kissed her hard, his body shuddering with his own release.

  Finally, he lifted up.

  She gave a relaxed sigh and stretched happily. Her eyelids fluttered.

  Another hard kiss, and her eyes focused.

  “Get ready for round two,” he said, his body already moving inside hers.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The woman has turned into my woman, which I wanted to happen from the first time I saw her. In this post-Scorpius world, I don't think either of us realizes what that means. The primitive side of me was there before Scorpius, but it's stronger now. Darker and more absolute.

  —Greyson Storm, Letters to Miss Julian

  Greyson drove in silence and scanned outside the SUV, having chosen the smaller one for a fast getaway if he needed it. He had a Hummer in front of him on the 405, a truck behind him, and four motorcycles with armed men riding at various locations. He'd give his right arm for air support, but that wasn't gonna happen anytime soon.

  Maureen sat beside him in the passenger seat, her gaze troubled and focused out the window.

  He swallowed. They'd only gotten about an hour of sleep because he'd been busy memorizing every inch of her body the entire night. He didn't regret a second, but he should've given her more time to rest. They'd been on the road for about thirty minutes. “You up for this?”

  “Definitely,” she murmured.

  He smoothed her hair away from her face. What was going on inside that brilliant head of hers? “There's an organic farm inland in Goleta. My scouts found it a few weeks ago, but I haven't had time to make contact. Want to go there before we drive down to the Bunker?”

  She nodded, not looking at him. “That's a good idea. Let's do that.”

  He eyed her. Having her out of a secure environment made him twitchy, and he didn't like it. “You sure you're okay?”

  “I'm fine,” she said, not sounding fine. “There's a lot in my brain, and I'm thinking, and I want to share it all with you.” She turned, her eyes a sparkling blue in the daylight. “How about when we're safely at the Bunker, we have a talk?”

  He frowned, driving around a stack of bricks and down an exit ramp. What looked like windows were stacked on each side, and he stiffened, not relaxing until they'd made it through. “Why not talk now?”

  “We're almost there,” she said. “Right?”

  Was she going to give him the brush-off? Great. He was probably the only guy after the damn apocalypse who got dumped. “Yeah.” He followed one of his trucks because Bob, the driver, had been the one to scout out the farm.

  The l
and quickly flattened out on either side, and a large entryway with logs proudly proclaimed Tall Tree Farm.

  The Merc truck in the lead pulled to the side, and Greyson drove up to the gate.

  Armed guards, boys really, flanked the entryway. One had a rifle, and the other a handgun. They both frowned and tried to look tough.

  Greyson rolled down his window. “I'm the leader of the Mercs, and we're interested in a trade, if you are. If not, we'll be on our way.” He paused and then nodded toward Maureen. “We've brought our own horticulturist with us.” With all of her degrees, that had to be close to one of them. “She can take a look.”

  One kid glanced at the other.

  Finally, the first one opened the gate. “Ask for Lou,” he said.

  This place had terrible security. Greyson nodded. “Got it.” He drove down a thin dirt road, his SUV bouncing along, and finally approached a huge, white clapboard house. Rows of trees and gardens stretched out behind it. “This is nice.” He'd like to deal if possible.

  A rifle poked out of the house.

  “Stay in the car,” he said grimly, stepping out and keeping his hands up. “I'm from the Merc territory, and we just want to deal. If not, we'll leave.”

  A round barrel of a woman came out of the house, wiping her hands on a towel. In her early fifties, she had gray hair and sharp blue eyes. She approached. “I'm Lou.”

  “I'm Maureen.” Moe jumped from the car, already moving toward the back of the house. “I'd love to see what you have.” She stepped carefully over a huge sleeping tabby and kept walking over the dirt.

  Greyson sighed. He'd told her to stay in the car.

  Lou hustled after her. “Do you know about farming? We don't know much. Just took over this place because everyone else was dead. There are about thirty of us.” She kept rattling, following Maureen, while Greyson watched the rifle. It slowly disappeared.

  He moved after Moe, his hand itching for his gun. But that would just spook them.

  They turned the corner and ran into a young guy of about twenty holding a baby in one arm and a gun in the other.