Circle of Desire

by Carla Swafford

  “How about letting me out of here? Whatever you want to discuss can be done in the comfort of my home.” She pulled at the hospital gown. “I could put on some decent clothes too.” Sounded reasonable to her.

  “We already have your possessions.” He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one leg, settling in for an argument by the looks of it.

  “My possessions?” she asked.

  How did they know where she lived? What about her art? Her stash of weapons? Some of them were antiques. She treasured every one. Someone had gone through her things! Touched her stuff? Invaded what little privacy The Circle allowed? Enough was enough.

  “You. Put. Them. Back.” She pointed a shaking finger at him and then quickly pulled it back and stuck her hand beneath the sheet. Show no sign of weakness.

  Her head pounded and her stomach bubbled as her mind shifted gears and tried to figure out how to escape. She concentrated on regaining control of her breathing. Otherwise, she might as well roll over dead. Or beg for crumbs of mercy.

  Closing her eyes, she took long, slow breaths. Anything to regain control of her temper.

  “Forget about your old life. They’ve received news you’re dead now.” He leaned over her, placing his hands on the pillow, his arms and body trapping her against the mattress. “Your life is with the OS and if you fight me on this, you’ll force me to end your contract before it truly begins.”

  The way he said contract warned her he wasn’t referring to anything truly written. The gist of his nicely worded threat was her life would end.

  Think. She needed a little bit of time to figure her way out of this jam. No matter what was thrown at her, she was a survivor.

  “Well, now. What good will I be to you if you keep me locked up?” She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Unless you can think of something I can do to prove how valuable I really can be.”

  She fell back on the pillow and grinned. His eyes flared amber, the only sign he wasn’t unaffected by her play. That was more like it. A man interested in the promise of a willing woman.

  “You do have a one-track mind.” He leaned in a little closer. The warmth from his body drew hers toward him. “You’ll find we’re looking after your best interests.”

  Her nostrils flared as she caught the scent of his cologne. The aroma was as intoxicating as the man. She wanted him more than she ever imagined.

  How irrelevant was that?

  Here he was threatening her life and instead of protecting herself, she wanted to rub up against him like a cat in heat. Every time he came close to her—hell, in the same room, her thoughts went haywire. He was right. It did appear she had a one-track mind.

  He added, “Your chances of survival are greater with us.”

  “Ha! Let me pull on my waders.”

  While he’d spoon-fed his propaganda, she reached up and slid her hand across his cheek, letting it fall to the top button of his shirt and caress the opening with a finger. A slight hesitation was the only sign he gave acknowledging her brazen touch. She liked how hot his skin felt.

  Leaning forward, her lips almost touching his moving ones, she half-closed her eyes. Her tongue licked her lips and brushed his at the same time. The hand not drawing circles on his chest slipped into his pants’ front pocket, hoping to reach the cell phone she’d seen him drop in there earlier.

  “Olivia.”

  “Yes.” Fingertips touched the smooth metal surface.

  “Get your hand out of my pocket,” he said in a firm tone.

  Her tongue traced the seam of his lips as her fingers changed course and traveled toward what leaned heavy and thick against his left thigh. She grasped him through the thin fabric and purred. Oh, yeah. He felt good and hard.

  Before she could give a good pump, he clasped her wrist and squeezed. Fire shot through her muscles until numbness took over. Refusing to release her hold and let him know how much it hurt, she absorbed the pain and used it as the emotion for her kiss.

  His lips remained together for a few seconds, resisting her demanding tongue. Then he accepted what she offered and took control. He released her wrist and dug his fingers into her scalp, keeping her head still for his pleasure as his mouth covered hers. Each thrust of his tongue brought a mimicking thrust of her hand. When she became too involved in the kiss and forgot to move, he would remind her with a shift of his hips against her palm.

  Tired of the juvenile heavy petting, she pulled her hands away and fumbled with his zipper. Only a millimeter from her goal, she opened her eyes as he jerked his mouth away. He grabbed her arms and pushed them above her head. His weight landed across her torso, holding her down. His face was above hers, but too far for her to reach and return to their kiss.

  “Stop it.” His face flushed with desire and the same measure of anger. “Dammit. What’s it about you that makes me forget—” He took several deep breaths, his lips drawn tight.

  Oh, Lord, he was a fine-looking man. He needed a woman to challenge him, loosen him up, and she was the perfect one to drive him into a sexual frenzy. Until she could find a way to escape, she would enjoy tormenting him. He wanted her. Yet he resisted. All so interesting.

  He was unlike any man she’d met. Maybe she was hanging out with the wrong kind of men, men who took what they want and more and damn the consequences.

  “What? Do you need to tie me up to get off?” She waited for his reaction. That was, if he would let her see it again.

  He released her and stepped back. “You’ll cooperate or you’ll cause a lot of undue harm to those you care about,” he said. His warning hung in the air.

  “What do you mean?” She didn’t like the sound of that. Only a handful of people had any claim to her affections and no one knew who they were.

  So far his threats hadn’t bothered her—well, not that much—but the way he worded this threat told her it was different. More serious. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. Why did a chill run down her back?

  “St. Vincent’s Dower Orphanage,” he said simply.

  A wave of dizziness came over her. All of the fight drained out of her. She closed her eyes, refusing to look at the triumphant glimmering in his.

  He picked up a folder sitting on a nearby chair and threw it on her lap. Inside were pictures of children and teachers walking from one building to another. Their smiling faces shining up for the photographer to take a shot.

  Included was the orphanage’s budget with several lines of the most sizable donations highlighted. The name Olivia Roth Foundation was quite prominent on the columns. How did he know? No way could he search her cover name in one day. They’d been working on this for months. Her stomach turned. She swallowed. She’d only used the name Roth during her off time, never tied to her work. And there were several orphanages named after Saint Vincent.

  The orphanage where she’d lived the first ten years of her life after the authorities plucked her out of a trash bin averaged an infant a month without a surname. The Mother Superior believed using a saint’s name helped the child to stay on the righteous path. When Olivia was brought to St. Vincent’s, it had been a cold January morning, the day after the blessed saint’s day. Little good her name did her.

  “I don’t have to tell you, if we notified the authorities about your contributions, you know what would happen. The government frowns on organizations that receive money from known illegal activities. They’ll shut the place down. Many of the children would be placed in less desirable facilities,” he warned in a cold, hard voice.

  She covered her eyes. Her body felt as if she was on a runaway roller coaster. They had her. She’d never jeopardize the orphanage. Because of her money, they could afford food, clothing, and a good education for the children, and just as important, the proper staff to search backgrounds on the couples coming to adopt or willing to foster.

  She dropped her hand. “Okay.” She didn’t give a damn if he saw the tears pooling in her eyes. “Just remember, if anything happens to the orphanage
or anyone involved with it, all deals are off and I’ll kill your ass. I’ll not rest until your whole organization is destroyed, person by person. So what do you want?”

  Her stomach rolled again with the thought of what would happen to the orphanage for sure if she refused. She tried to ignore the throbbing above her right temple.

  He eyed her for a few seconds. “First, you’ll follow orders without question. Second, you’ll fill us in with all the work you’ve done since being recruited by The Circle eight years ago. Third . . .” His voice changed to a buzzing in her head. Frustrated with his long list as she wanted him to go away, she resisted the temptation to close her eyes and sleep. “. . . sixth, you—”

  Holding up her hand, she interrupted him just as a pinprick of pain shot into her skull. “Wait! You’re giving me a fucking headache.” She’d never been good at taking orders.

  He stared at her, probably trying to figure out her angle. Only this time, she was telling the truth. A massive headache had hit about the time he’d finished saying “fifth.”

  Maybe it was the drug he’d used or the hit she’d took, but the bright sharp pain nagged at her to throw up and she wasn’t sure how much he would like his shiny black loafers after she finished with them. Maybe the green tint of her face gave it away, but he handed her a gray plastic pan just in time.

  Talk about embarrassing. How could she be sexy and dangerous and threatening when he’d seen her throw up her guts? Vomiting like a little wimpy girl.

  She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillows. In seconds a cool cloth landed on her forehead. Cracking one eye open, she found him watching her with consternation. He handed her a small paper cup filled with a blue mouthwash. After a quick swirl in her mouth she spit it out into a new clean pan. Who would ever guess the head of the OS made a decent nurse?

  When would the embarrassment ever end? She hated being weak in front of the enemy. What had he expected after all he’d put her through?

  “Hey, quit looking at me like that. I’m human. Anyone would be sick after . . . ah, hell, leave me alone.”

  Unable to take any more of his dark eyes measuring her, and her coming up short, she turned her back to him, hugging herself and bringing her knees up, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “Sleep and we’ll talk later,” he said as she heard his footsteps move away.

  She hoped sleep would come and give her a break from the pain. Between her head and bruised and aching body, it was no wonder she was sick. Maybe the drug still in her system would keep the night-terrors away. It had before. Then again, she never gambled for a reason. She always lost.

  The nightmare started as it always did. She was playing on the floor with her one and only baby doll in the middle of a large room. Sunshine streaming through a tall window warmed her cheeks.

  A shadowy figure walked into the room, towering over her, blocking the sun. In a booming voice, he said, “You’re too old to play with dolls. Come with me, child. I got a more interesting toy for you to play with.”

  He grabbed her arm and lifted her until only her toes reached the floor as he marched toward a door with bluish light emitting around the edges. She knew if she let him take her into the room, he would hurt her. But no matter how much she screamed, scratched, or kicked, he still opened the door and threw her inside. His high-pitched laughter bounced against the walls. She could beg him not to hurt her again but she knew he would.

  Please don’t. Please. Please stop.

  “Olivia, wake up.”

  Her eyes popped open at the same time her right hand shot out, lower palm forward, stopping an inch from shoving Collin’s nose into his skull. He’d grabbed her wrist.

  “Careful. You were asking someone to stop.” The concern in his voice she didn’t need or want.

  “You know, you’re no prince charming, but I would hate to accidentally kill you. I have a feeling Big Foot would object and then I would have to kick his fat ass.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “Fat ass, uh?”

  She wiggled to a sitting position after he released his hold. When a little sting on her arm caught her attention, she looked down. A new red dot on her skin explained why her headache had faded away. They’d shot her up with something. She hoped that was all they’d done while she’d been out. “By the way, you’ve got a bad habit of waking me up.”

  Though he didn’t smile, a little crinkle at the corners of his eyes told her he liked her spunk. That was interesting. No concern about her almost killing him or threatening his buddy. Was he already so sure of her? Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

  “What do you want?” she asked. Had he stayed with her the whole time she slept? “How long was I out?”

  She stretched, lifting her arms above her head and pressing her toes against the covers.

  His eyes flared amber. She liked that. Responding to her was good. Hell, it was only fair. He was quite aware of her response to him.

  “You’ve been asleep for a couple hours.” He folded his arms. “And not a restful sleep at all.” One dark eyebrow lifted.

  So he wanted to know what she’d dreamed. No way. How often had she tried to forget after waking? She wasn’t like most people, forgetting as soon as she opened her eyes. Boy, that would be nice. Considering she’d actually lived the nightmare that made it harder to forget.

  Finally coming to the conclusion she wasn’t about to explain, he picked up a large camo bag and handed it to her.

  “Get dressed. Time for you to start earning your keep.”

  “How about a shower? Toothbrush? Hair brush? You get the idea.” Her mouth tasted like an old shoe and she bet her hair looked like a stack of straw.

  “You’ll find everything you need in your room. I’ll take you there as soon as you get your clothes on.”

  Before she could say anything about privacy, he walked into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  Well, that was easy. Of course, she was stuck in a room without windows, and she had a good feeling the next room he placed her in would be no different. The bag had a pair of her sweatpants she used to exercise in and a sports bra for running. No thong. His choices were rather fascinating. Or was she over-examining everything?

  She glanced at the door and jumped off the bed. A wave of dizziness forced her to hold the footboard until she regained her balance. Then she slithered into the sweatpants, jerked off the hospital gown—ugly thing—and pulled on the bra. She wasn’t surprised to see him walk in no sooner than she finished. In vain, she ran her fingers through her hair, patting down the strands.

  “Lead the way, master,” she quipped.

  “I prefer sir.” He looked serious, not a grin or flare of amber to tell her different.

  Sir, huh? Yeah, right, like that would ever happen.

  She watched his tight ass move down the hallway. Tight and uptight. Did the guy ever let loose? He stopped in front of elevator doors and pressed the down button.

  As she stepped into the car, the red numbers overhead dropped quickly until they passed G and started with B numbers. It finally rested at B10. Where were they? Hell? She’d already been there once and had plenty of souvenirs etched onto her body to prove it.

  Of course, he already knew that.

  Whatever he dished out, she would protect the orphanage. She’d endured before, and compared to Theo, Mr. Uptight was a walk in the park.

  Chapter Four

  The elevator paused and a red light bathed the small enclosure before the doors opened.

  Grinning at the thought, Olivia stepped out. Ten? She still couldn’t believe the size of the building hidden beneath the street level.

  Within feet from the metal doors, a large open area revealed soft natural-colored walls with plants and a waterfall tinkling into a small pool focused in the center. Each step as she followed Collin revealed overstuffed chairs in little nooks, perfect for small-group meetings, and two exercise rooms with what looked like a cafeteria in between.

  “What is this? A s
pa?”

  As she expected, he ignored her question and turned into a short hallway. Beautiful, expensive looking artwork hung at the end of the hall. They stopped in front of a steel door that wouldn’t look out of place in a prison. He punched a long list of numbers into the stainless steel keypad and a series of clicks emitted from the lock. The door swung open. He stepped to the side and waited for her to enter first.

  “It’s your new home,” he said.

  Go figure.

  She walked into a spacious living room. The flashing red lights in each corner warned her of cameras watching her every move. She wondered how many more were hidden. An apartment tastefully furnished with 24/7 surveillance.

  Collin stood back as she examined the kitchen and the archway leading to a bath and bedroom. With each step, her blood pressure rose. Flushed and sick to her stomach, she hoped she was wrong until she noticed the small chip on a corner of the coffee table. It was her furniture. The entire apartment was filled with her personal effects. Sure he’d told her they had gotten her things. But she’d thought clothes, makeup, maybe even her deodorant but not everything.

  “My clothes and my furniture?” She paused in her examination. “Why?”

  “We want you to be comfortable.”

  “More like that you hoped I would stay, refusing to leave my possessions behind.” She suspected material things would never stop him from escaping.

  “Maybe.”

  Furious and trapped, she stood in the middle of the room with her hands on hips. How had he known the odds and ends she’d collected over the years represented her home? Her first home.

  She threw back her head and blinked several times. Dammit. A red glow caught her attention. She hated the beady little lights taunting her from every angle.

  “How did you get through my security system?” Her gaze narrowed onto him.

  “Nic had a hell of a time. Who set up the security at your house?” Collin sat in the middle of her couch, placing an ankle on one knee and stretching his arms along the back.

  “I did.” She’d worked months getting the traps set. Anyone who broke in would regret it pretty quick.