by Lisa Childs
They had hung on his every word, and so had she. Was this community of people living in the sewers some kind of criminal cult, and he was their leader?
She had made love with this mystery man, with this beast. She’d been such a fool. Again. But this time the man she’d trusted wasn’t going to just take her heart; he was going to take her life.
Careful to draw no attention to herself, she moved cautiously, rising slightly to peer around the barrels. But the light was too dim for her to get a good look at the men who’d gathered around him; she could only see the torches that flickered in the annex, casting shadows against the rough cement walls. The sewers were old, the tunnels nearly as crude as caves.
How could anyone live down here? More importantly, why would anyone? Because they were hiding from something or someone. That had to be why he wore his mask, too. Was he that wanted? That bad a man? Was he a killer?
He had promised her that Tabitha wouldn’t be hurt. But his plan was to destroy Tobias St. John. She doubted he would care if a child was hurt in the cross fire of the war he waged.
For what? Money? Possessions?
She ducked back behind the barrels. Her elbow brushed against one, and it teetered from where it perched precariously atop the others. She held her breath, waiting for it to fall and draw attention to her hiding place.
But a gloved hand touched the barrel, steadying it. Her gaze traveled from his hand, up his heavily muscled arm, to his broad shoulder and then his face. His very angry face.
Because of the mask, she could see only the line of his mouth, his eyes. But she saw his anger in the tautness of his strong jaw and the intensity of his dark gaze.
Trapped in the depths of his gaze, she didn’t doubt that she’d misinterpreted what he’d told his men. Even though he had made love with her, he would kill her before he’d let her go again.
Chapter Ten
Pulling the key from his pocket, St. John breathed a sigh of relief. It didn’t matter what the masked man had done, what he had destroyed. He couldn’t have touched this. The locker, in the crowded bus terminal, was undisturbed. The lock secure, clicking open only after he slid the key inside the tumblers.
The phantom didn’t know about this—about the money, the gold and the stocks that St. John had hidden away. His hand shaking in anticipation, he lifted the handle and opened the locker.
The empty locker.
Son of a bitch…
How had he known? How had he found this, too? Did they have some damn special connection? How could they, when he hadn’t even known St. John existed?
Now it was too late for St. John. Rage coursing through him, he slammed the metal door with such force that it bounced back open. And he realized it wasn’t empty.
The folded paper on the bottom of it was no bomb. He wouldn’t have wired the locker with a bomb; he wouldn’t have wanted to endanger any innocent people in the bus depot. But even knowing that, St. John’s hand trembled as he reached for the note. In addition to a map and a meeting time, handwriting eerily similar to his own spelled out the terms of an exchange. “I have what you want. You have what I want.”
It wasn’t that simple. How did his enemy not know that? How did he not understand that St. John didn’t want to just take what mattered most to him, he wanted everything—including the man’s life.
Only then would St. John be satisfied.
“ARE YOU GOING to kill me?” she asked as he carried her through the doorway into his private rooms. He kicked the door shut behind him, but it wouldn’t matter if he locked it—not if she still had the key she’d used for her escape.
“Answer me!” she demanded, but her voice quavered with fear.
He shook his head, disgusted with himself and her. “I don’t have to kill you—you’re going to get yourself killed. St. John’s men want you dead. If you leave here, they’re going to kill you for sure. And I won’t be around to help you.” Not once night fell; he had a very special meeting to attend.
“I heard you…what you told your men,” she said, her breath hitching. “That you’re not letting me leave here, that I won’t be a problem…”
Yet she hadn’t fought him back in the annex. She hadn’t resisted when he’d closed his arms around her and picked her up. He’d been relieved, as he was too tired and distracted to fight with her.
“If you heard that, then you heard the plan, too,” he said with a weary sigh.
Her eyes wide with fear and confusion, she nodded.
“I can’t let you interfere with that plan.” He had to make damn sure she didn’t get away again.
“You’ve never told me why you’re going after St. John,” she said, her green eyes narrowed with suspicion and confusion. “Why?”
Anger and impatience sharpening the tone of his voice, he told her, “It’s none of your concern.”
He did not have time to explain things to her; he didn’t have time for her at all. But yet he was stuck here, in the sewer, until night fell. Until the power was cut and St. John’s escape route blocked.
“Do you know how crazy it was to try to escape?” St. John had a kill-on-sight order out on her. And him.
She shrank away from him, as if she actually believed he would hurt her, even after they’d been as intimate as two people could be. His bare hands shaking slightly, he reached for her. But she stepped back.
“Jillian…” Regret tugged at him, soothing his anger. He hadn’t wanted to scare her.
Then she moved again, flying at him. She pummeled his chest with her fists and kicked at his legs.
“Damn it, woman!”
But as angry as she made him, he would much rather see her like this—fighting—than cowering with fear. He lifted and tossed her onto the bed. And before she could roll off the mattress, he covered her. The weight of his body stifled the movement of her limbs. She couldn’t fight; she could only arch her body into his. Her breasts pushed against his chest. Her hips ground against his erection.
He uttered a groan of desire at the contact. “Jillian, stop fighting me….”
“I’m not going to make it easy for you,” she said, wriggling beneath him.
She hadn’t made anything easy for him since he had first grabbed her in front of that exploding building. Hell, maybe he should have left her up there with the real monster.
“The one you’re making it hard for is yourself,” he cautioned her. She was making him hard, too, with all her squirming.
God, the woman drove him insane….
JILLIAN SHIVERED in his arms. She was both scared and excited. His hard body betrayed his passion for her while his eyes still burned with anger and frustration.
His hands rough with impatience, he covered her body, checking the shallow pockets of her skirt. Not satisfied that he’d searched thoroughly enough, he unclasped the skirt and dragged it off her, shaking out the material before dropping it onto the floor. “Where is it?”
“What?” she asked, even though she knew.
“Where’s the damn key?”
“You’re going to have to find it yourself,” she taunted him.
His eyes gleamed. “Gladly.” And he reached for the buttons on her blouse, tugging them free. Then he pulled the blouse from her shoulders and tossed it onto the floor. “No key.”
She shook her head. “No key.”
She could have lied and told him she had dropped it somewhere in the tunnels. But no matter what she’d heard him tell his army, she wanted him to keep looking, to keep touching her. Because his touch told her more than his words. He wanted her too much to hurt her.
His gaze, hot with desire, traveled the length of her body, from her toes up to her eyes, lingering on the curves in between that were covered, but only with thin black lace. “Where could you be hiding that key?”
She bit her bottom lip, passion igniting inside her from just the heat of his gaze. Her legs shifted as she rubbed her thighs together, tension building. A tension only he could relieve.
He groaned, then
ordered, “Damn it, give me the key, Jillian!”
She wouldn’t blindly obey him like his other followers. She shook her head.
Sliding his hands beneath her back, he unclipped her bra and slid the straps from her shoulders. As he dropped the lace onto the floor atop her clothes, he chuckled, and his dark eyes glittered with triumph. His fingertip flicked over metal, where the key nestled between her breasts. But he didn’t pick it up. Yet. Instead, he leaned forward, nuzzling her breasts with the leather mask, and lifted the key from between her breasts with his teeth. Cold metal grazed her sensitive skin.
At the erotic sensation, a moan slipped from between her lips. “Ohhh…”
He teased her again with the key, pressing the metal against her nipple.
She arched beneath him. “Please…”
Disappointment filled her when he pocketed the key. He had what he wanted. So he probably intended to leave her locked inside the windowless room. But he stared down at her, his gaze intense—and conflicted.
“Damn you,” he groaned, cursing her even as he lowered his mouth to hers. His kiss was hard, punishing.
She parted her lips for the bold invasion of his tongue, moaning as it slid inside her mouth. He tasted dark and rich—and as mysterious as the face he hid behind a mask. He pulled away and tore off all of his clothes—everything but that leather mask. And she trembled again, not in fear but in anticipation of the pleasure she knew only her mystery lover could bring her.
He made love to her with a passion she’d never felt before—from a man or for a man. But along with desire, she sensed desperation in them both. His plan was dangerous; he’d nearly died once executing it. He had to be as aware of the risks as she was.
But as he thrust deep inside her—to her very core—she was aware of another risk, of falling for this mysterious stranger. He kissed her lips, her throat, the curve of her breasts…edging her closer to release from the pressure building inside her. Then he moved again, rolling onto his back so that she straddled him, and sank deeper inside her. Pleasure so intense that she screamed crashed over her. But he held her hips, driving deep until she shattered with ecstasy. With a guttural groan, he joined her.
“I thought you were going to kill me,” she said as she curled into his shoulder. Satiated and secure, she pressed a kiss against his chest where his heart pounded hard.
He stroked a hand down her side, over the curve of her hip. “I never said that.”
“But you implied it,” she pointed out, “when you were talking to your men. You told them a lot of things.”
His arm tightened around her. “You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”
“Sometimes it’s the only way I can learn things,” she admitted. “What’s going on? Why did you order those attacks on his airfield? And the power station? You’re going to cause a citywide blackout.”
He expelled a ragged sigh. “I’m not going to give you a story, Ms. Drake.”
A smile tugged at her mouth over his reverting to using her surname…after what they had just done.
“I don’t want a story anymore,” she admitted, surprising even herself. “I don’t want to be here, but you won’t let me go.”
“I can’t.”
She understood that, too. She was safer in here, with him, than she would be out there alone. Even as scared as she’d been when she had overheard what he’d told his men, she’d instinctively known that. That was why she hadn’t fought him when he’d found her. While he refused to admit it, he was protecting her. From St. John and maybe from being caught in the cross fire of his plan.
“You’re sure Tabitha won’t be hurt?” she asked, fear for the child knotting her stomach. “You’re sure she’ll be safe during the blackout?” As a kid, she’d been terrified of the dark. But she’d forced herself to face that fear, as she’d faced so many others.
“I’d die before I’d let any harm come to her,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Jillian shivered at the intensity of his claim. “You know her, don’t you? But then you must—this thing between you and St. John, it’s personal.”
He didn’t reply, but that muscle twitched along his jaw again.
“How do you know him?” she asked. She’d checked into St. John’s background, but had found no mention of anyone like her mystery lover. A dark-haired giant of a man hadn’t been on his list of enemies or friends. “When did you two meet?”
“Give it up,” he warned her.
As she lifted her head from his chest to study him, she noted the tattoo on his arm, an eagle with the words Semper Fi beneath his wings. “You were a marine, too. Is that how you know him?”
“I’m not telling you any of my secrets, Ms. Drake, so you might as well get some sleep,” he advised her, stroking his hand down her side again. “Maybe by the time you wake up, it’ll all be over.”
She tensed in his arms. “You’re leaving, then?” She wasn’t the only one in danger. St. John had to want him dead a lot more than he wanted her dead.
“Not yet,” he said. “I have a few hours before dark. A few hours to sleep. I won’t be distracted again.”
“Have I distracted you?” she asked, suspecting he wasn’t referring to just her questions.
That slight grin curved his lips again. “You know you have.”
“Has saving me or seducing me been the distraction?” she teased.
Beneath the mask, his grin widened. “I’m not sure who seduced whom anymore.”
Neither was she. But she had no doubt that he had saved her.
“I won’t distract you again,” she promised. Because he had rescued her so many times, she owed him that much, even though she didn’t understand what he was doing or why.
He sighed. “If only that were true…”
Jillian dropped her head back onto his shoulder and lay quietly in his arms, unwilling to distract him anymore. But she was too frightened to close her eyes. Not only would she see Tabitha silently pleading for help, but she might see Dante—what she feared would happen to him when he took on St. John again. This time he might be the one getting zipped into a body bag.
Why was he willing to risk his life to destroy Tobias St. John? What had the man done to him? All those questions burned in her mind, but she kept them from leaving her lips.
He needed sleep for the mission he had planned that evening. Finally he succumbed, his dark lashes brushing against the eyeholes in the mask as his eyes shut.
Who was he, this man she was beginning to fall for? A hero or a villain? A knight in slightly tarnished armor or a ruthless killer?
It wasn’t the reporter in her who had to know. It was the woman, the woman who feared she had fallen in love with another man unworthy of her trust.
Fingers trembling, she reached for the straps at the back of his head. She held her breath as she fumbled with the snaps. The metal emitted a soft click with each release. And she stilled, watching those eyeholes, checking to see if he watched her.
But he didn’t move. Until she lifted the leather from his face. Then he met her startled gaze.
“No…”
He couldn’t be. She could not have just made love—not once but twice—with Tobias St. John.
Chapter Eleven
Her green eyes wide with shock, she murmured, “You’re not a monster.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She didn’t sound all that certain, either, he noticed.
Tobias rubbed his hand over his naked face. He had worn the mask for so long that it had nearly become a part of him. His skin tingled as air rushed over it.
Since the mask was gone, his secret out, he lifted the contacts from his irises. He hadn’t needed them as anything but a disguise. A disguise he’d hated wearing. Maybe that was why he hadn’t stopped her when he’d felt her fumbling with the straps—because he’d wanted it off. Maybe that was why he wasn’t mad that she’d gone for it the minute she’d thought him asleep. He should have been furious, but he was only disa
ppointed that he’d been right not to trust her.
“Your eyes…” Jillian gasped as he met her gaze. “You really are Tobias St. John.”
At this point, he wasn’t sure who he was anymore, so he said nothing.
She shook her head as her eyes filled with horror; apparently she would have rather slept with a faceless monster than him. “But how…” she sputtered. “How could you be in two places at once? Up there and down here? Is there a tunnel under the estate?”
“I haven’t been in two places at once,” he said. But he had been careful to conceal his identity so that no one would suspect that the man who claimed to be him was actually an imposter.
“But you were at the police station,” she said. “They called you there when they were holding me….”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”
“At your house…”
“It wasn’t me.”
“I don’t understand.” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I’ve done an extensive background check on you. I know you don’t have any family. And no one could get plastic surgery that good that would fool so many people.”
Nearly everyone. But his daughter. Thank God Tabitha had never believed that monster was her daddy.
“Get dressed,” he said as he rolled out of bed himself. Sleeping had been impossible even before she’d pulled off his mask. He was too close to rest now. And she was too close. She’d figure out everything soon enough.
“I don’t understand,” she repeated. “Why would you want to live like this?”
“You think I want to be down here?” he asked. “You think I want to live like this?” He reached for the mask, taking it from her slack grip. He had to put it back on; not everyone in his underground army knew his real identity. So he had to wear the thing a little while longer—until the exchange, until Tabitha was safely back in his arms.
He jerked his clothes on, impatient for night to come. Making love with Jillian Drake hadn’t relieved any of his tension; it had only added to it. If he’d locked her in the room alone…
If he’d walked away from her…
He watched with regret as she covered her curves and alabaster skin. She was too beautiful for him to ignore or forget. Her fingers trembled on the buttons of her blouse and the clasp of her skirt. “Are you going to let me go now?” she asked.
