Spider Game

by Christine Feehan

  What are you doing? I can't combat this, even with my voice. I could have made him stop. You know that. He's very susceptible to my voice. Trap, I can't make him forget this and he'll come after you. He's a coward and he'll sneak.

  He comes after me, he'll die. You should have just come to my table. He pulled her front to his side, clamped her there with one arm tight around her and walked her back to the table in the shadows where he'd waited for her. He kept his eye on the Comeaux brothers as he did so. Both turned to watch her progress across the room. Then again, he noted, most of the men watched the sway of her beautiful ass. Pascal caught his eyes and drew a line across his own throat. If that worked to intimidate others, it didn't Trap.

  Trap halted at the table, curled his hand around the nape of Cayenne's neck and drew her to him. She was significantly shorter than him. Touching her bare skin sent tiny electrical charges firing through his bloodstream in a rush of heat. He took the beer bottles from her with one large hand and set them on the table.

  She frowned as he drew her right up against him. Both hands framed her face, tipping it up toward his, holding it still as his head came down. His mouth moved over hers. Gently. Seductively. Coaxing her. Her lashes fluttered. Covered the brilliant, shocked green of her eyes. Her lips parted on a gasp of protest. He took full advantage, his tongue sweeping into that heated moist paradise. Tasting her. Taking her inside where he needed her. Stepping back into the shadows, taking her with him now that he'd made his statement to the other men in the bar, sheltering her from the room with his much larger body.

  He kissed her thoroughly, starting out gentle and sliding right past gentle to savage. Claiming her. He kissed her like he meant it--and he did. He caught fire, and she ignited right with him. He knew she wasn't experienced because her response was tentative at first, but then the heat rushed through her, the same current of electricity, and instantly her mouth moved under his.

  He poured himself into her, kissing her hard. Wet. Long. Her body melted into his and against his chest, he felt her nipples harden into tight, inviting peaks.

  Are your panties wet yet? You're so fucking beautiful and you taste so good I want to spend all night eating you.

  You have to stop. I can't do this with you. But she didn't pull away. One hand crept into his hair, her fingers twisting deep.

  We're in the shadows. We're both GhostWalkers, baby, and we can hide when we want to. None of them get to share our moment.

  One moment. That's all we get. Then we're done, Trap. You have to leave me alone. I mean it. You don't and it's going to be war.

  She still kissed him back. Feeding his hunger. Feeding her own. Once they started they couldn't get enough of each other. That had never, not once in his life, ever happened to Trap. He didn't lose himself in a woman. He found release, but just kissing her--her mouth moving under his--was better than whatever any other woman had given him. Because Cayenne gave herself to him. Completely. Holding nothing back in that moment. She wanted him to have this with her. To remember it. She wanted to have him like this, hot and wild and belonging only to her. She stored every second in her mind to take out over and over because she didn't believe for a moment she would ever have it again.

  CHAPTER 3

  Trap raised his head, breathing hard. Breathing for both of them. He waited until Cayenne's long lashes fluttered and then lifted. Her eyes were a little dazed, and the sight sent blood pounding through his cock. He smoothed one hand gently over her cheek. Her skin was softer than anything he'd ever felt.

  "Don't ever tell me you don't belong to me, Cayenne, because you do. You know you do." He knew better than to claim a woman for his own, but there was no denying the pull between them. It wasn't just strong. It was savage. Relentless. He didn't even care that it wasn't logical, when he was a man all about logic. He was cynical and believed in nothing but his team--and the fact that Cayenne was meant to be his.

  Her gaze searched his. She swallowed. "Trap. You don't know me. You don't know anything about me. There's a reason I was in that cell where you found me. I would have killed you if I had to in order to get out of there. This stops here."

  He heard the brutal honesty in her voice. She was trying to save him from himself. From her. From whatever it was between them. "Sit down for a minute. Drink the beer. We'll talk. Talk. That's all." He had to find a way to reach her. She had become the most important person in his world. He didn't care why. He just knew that if he couldn't have her, he'd never have anyone. Whatever that relentless pull was, it had a hold on him and would never let him go. He would never again be able to be with another woman without wishing she were Cayenne. Without thinking of her, or fantasizing about her.

  She shook her head, but she couldn't tear herself away from him. Cayenne put trembling fingers to her lips--lips that looked as if they'd been thoroughly kissed. Trap slid his hand from her neck, down her arm to capture her wrist. He kept the movement gentle, knowing she was like a wild animal, trapped in a corner and ready to run.

  "Come on, baby. Just sit a minute. I want to fill you in on a few things going on you may not be aware of," he coaxed. He had to spend more time with her, get her to see things his way. She couldn't be robbing people to find the money for food and clothes. He could easily provide for her if she'd let him. She was afraid. He didn't blame her for that, but she had to get over it. "Just sit down, Cayenne. I'm asking for a minute."

  "It's a bad idea."

  Her voice was beautiful. Soft. Melodious. Even though it was low and soft, her tone felt like velvet brushing over his skin. He knew her voice carried power. That exact pitch could slip inside a man and influence him to do all sorts of things. He was one of the few that could fight the pull of her compulsions, but it was difficult. Like others, he was susceptible. He just had to keep the logical part of his brain uppermost and he'd manage to escape her influence.

  "Maybe," he agreed. "Maybe it is a bad idea. But let's do it anyway."

  Cayenne pressed her lips together, but she allowed him to hold out a chair for her, hesitating only a moment before she slipped into it, mostly, he was sure, because he made certain her back was to the wall. He toed his chair closer to hers on the pretense of not wanting to be overheard. He knew he could keep their conversation private, but he wanted his thigh pressed tight against hers.

  He needed to touch her. That need was on a primal level and impossible to ignore whether it bothered him or not--and it bothered him. He never allowed himself to need anything or anyone. Up close, her fragrance teased his senses, inflamed them until every nerve ending in his body came alive.

  She picked up her beer and took a small sip. Not enjoying it. She didn't like the taste. Her expression didn't change, but he knew. He saw her. Or maybe he was locked somewhere inside her mind, because when they spoke telepathically, a part of him had remained in her. More than likely, when he'd rescued her from her locked cell, he'd been nearly as vulnerable as she was. Going through walls, changing molecular structure left him weak and shaky. He'd already done it several times, rescuing Wyatt's little girls before he'd gotten to Cayenne.

  He removed the beer from her hand. "What would you prefer to drink?"

  Her eyelashes fluttered. "Trap," she protested, glancing around the room at the others drinking the brew. She reached for the beer.

  He held the bottle out of reach, an easy feat since he had long arms. "What do you prefer to drink?"

  She pressed her lips together and gave in. "Water."

  "The entire point of freedom is to do whatever the hell you want. You don't like beer, Cayenne, then you don't drink it."

  "I'm fitting in," she hissed.

  She didn't sound nearly as annoyed as she wanted. He was looking into her eyes and there was just the smallest hint of fear, as if he could take her hard-won confidence and destroy it. And she did appear confident, breezing into the room and flirting outrageously, aware the men were leering at her. Because her poise was an act. The knowledge clicked into place.

>   "When did they start caging you?" he asked gently, needing to know more. He was fumbling around in the dark when it came to him. If he was going to convince her she belonged to him and needed to trust him, he had to know as much about her as possible. "You've had combat training. You're fast and smart. You know what you're doing. When did they decide you were too flawed to live?" He couldn't keep the edge from his voice or the opaque shimmer from the air.

  Long dark lashes drifted down, veiling the expression in her eyes for a brief moment. Hiding from him. Sexy, but still hiding from him. She swallowed, and he watched the motion at her throat. Even that was sexy. His cock jerked hard, straining against his jeans. He nearly dropped his hand into his lap to try to give himself a little relief. Up so close and after kissing her, with the taste of her still in his mouth and her elusive scent in his lungs, blood pounded through his veins, rushing to collect in his groin.

  He had a powerful sex drive and was not in the least modest, but he had to go slow with Cayenne. Careful. She was skittish. He had no idea what she did or didn't know. She appeared confident. She was beautiful and sexy, but up close, he got the feeling that she wasn't nearly as experienced or self-assured as she portrayed.

  Her tongue touched her lips, drawing attention to that perfect bow. She had red lips naturally, no makeup at all. With every breath she drew, her breasts rose and fell. He remained silent, willing her to tell him. He didn't push, giving her the time needed to make up her mind. Her gaze searched his for a long moment while he heard the clock tick and his heart beat. He was an observant man. The minutest detail didn't escape him, and he noted the fingers twisting in her lap beneath the table where she thought he couldn't see. There was a slight trembling to her lips and shadows in the green of her eyes. She didn't know it, but when she was afraid, her eyes changed. The brilliant green became multifaceted. Just like now.

  Cayenne took a deep breath and pushed back the dark mass of hair spilling around her face. Instantly Trap reached over and tucked strands behind her ear. His touch was light, but she felt it all the way to her toes. He was so large. A giant of a man and far too gorgeous to resist.

  She loved everything about him. His rugged face, all man, the darker shadow along his jaw, blond like that thick mess of longish hair. His eyes, so blue they took her breath. The confidence. The aura of danger surrounding him as if he could explode into violence in a heartbeat. Yet under all that, he had something much deeper she couldn't resist. That man who had done her that first kindness.

  She had been so terrified, and she hadn't been nice. At all. That hadn't mattered to him. She'd threatened to kill him and still, he'd given her freedom. When she was close to him like this she felt vulnerable and exposed. Raw. If she gave him what he wanted, she would be completely stripped bare.

  He remained silent, and she knew she would give him exactly what he wanted. That compulsion was there. So strong. There was no resisting no matter how terrified she was. She took a breath, again dropped her hands into her lap where he couldn't see them and closed her fists until her knuckles were white.

  "I was a test-tube baby. I think they were terrified of me almost from the moment I was born. I've never really been out of a cell. Most of my schooling was done with me in a cell and teachers outside a thick sheet of glass. Or computer screens, simulators and books. When they did remove me from my cell, they darted me first to transport me. My combat experience was usually in the form of fighting for my life."

  She did her best to sound matter-of-fact, not at all like telling him about how much her life hurt. It did hurt, and that was unexpected. She hated telling him the truth because she didn't want him looking at her as if she was less than human. He never had, yet knowing her handlers were terrified of her had to make him think exactly what she did--if they were monsters, what was she? She might be beautiful on the outside, and she was very practical about her looks, she could see that she had an impact on people, even when she was in her cell, but inside she was murderous, and she didn't trust herself.

  When she was frightened--and Trap scared the crap out of her--she was at her most lethal. She shouldn't be anywhere near him, but she couldn't stop herself. He knew it. She saw the knowledge in his eyes. and that scared her even more. He had power over her. She didn't like that at all. Still, even knowing it, she had gone to the Fontenot home and stayed in his bedroom while he slept. She moved through the building he'd renovated and familiarized herself with it, knowing she was going to stay in the same place because she had to be close to him.

  It didn't make sense that she wanted to be there with him when he was the very person who had disturbed her home--essentially taken it from her. He wouldn't see it that way, but she knew she had no rights. She wasn't even a person. She had no birth certificate or identity outside her cell. She knew that, because growing up, she'd been taunted with that fact often.

  "Baby."

  Trap's voice was soft. Gentle. She shook her head, afraid something inside her was breaking at the sound of his voice. She couldn't take it. Not when she'd revealed so much of herself in that brief summary of her life. She kept her gaze fixed on the table, on the origami crane folded so perfectly and set in the center of the table.

  "Cayenne," he said again. "Look at me, baby."

  She didn't want to, because if she did and he saw her the way others did, she wouldn't be able to live with herself. There was no refusing him. She didn't know why she couldn't when her entire life had been devoted to refusing orders. Reluctantly she lifted her gaze to his.

  Those beautiful blue eyes stared back at her--caught and held her gaze, refusing to allow her to look away. He didn't look the least bit as if he wanted to "squash her like the bug she was," a familiar taunt she'd come to despise. Instead, she could see a blue flame burning beneath the glacier-cold of his eyes. As if he was enraged on her behalf.

  "What do you mean, you had to fight for your life?"

  She shook her head. She didn't want to tell him that either. She'd killed men. She remembered the feel of their bullets striking with such force her body flew backward. The pain spread through her like wildfire. That feeling was still so vivid it woke her at night. She clenched her fist and pressed it between her breasts where the majority of the time the bullets struck.

  "I would wake up inside a maze and have to work my way out. There were no advantages for me, no vents, no place I could fit myself into to hide. Men hunted me. Men like you." Her gaze swept the room, and her chin indicated the other GhostWalkers. "Like them." Her eyes came back to his because he had that much power over her. She couldn't help herself. It was a compulsion to do the things he wanted and she had to fight hard to keep herself from letting him have everything.

  He leaned closer. So close she breathed him into her lungs on her next inhale. It felt too intimate, but still, she couldn't pull away.

  "Are you telling me those fuckers pitted you against an entire team of Whitney's supersoldiers?"

  "They were enhanced, if that's what you mean. And each time I came out the victor, they would enhance others using the knowledge they'd acquired of their weaknesses in the battle."

  Trap shook his head. "A team? As in how many?"

  "Each time there were five."

  There was silence. She swore the walls of the room contracted and the ceiling creaked. Around them, the air grew dense and difficult to breathe in. The temperature definitely dropped a couple of degrees. She knew because she didn't have a sweater or jacket and her arms and body chilled.

  "Each time," he snarled. "How many times did they do that shit to you?"

  "Trap," she protested. "It's in the past. It isn't like this just happened to me. Why are you getting upset?" She glanced around the table, and put a hand to her mouth and nose. "The air gets very thick when you're upset. I can not only visibly see and smell your rage, but I can feel it too. Yet you look as cool as ice."

  "I'm not as cool as ice, baby, so answer the fucking question." He leaned so close he nearly touched her lips with
his. "How many times did they do that shit to you? How many teams were you pitted against?"

  Cayenne pressed her fist tight into the valley between her breasts without noticing that she did it, but Trap noticed. He scowled. "Fucking answer me."

  "Seven times. Okay? If you have to know, I wiped out seven teams of men."

  She pulled back in her chair and lifted her gaze to his. She didn't have a clue that she looked agonized, not defiant. He wanted to hold her. To pull her into his arms and shelter her there.

  Her lashes fluttered. She took a breath, steeling herself. He saw that too. "Trap, I could smell their fear. In that maze, all of them were afraid of me."

  Trap swore he could feel Cayenne's fingers trailing over his skin with just the sound of her voice. She was very petite, but perfectly proportioned with an hourglass figure. Her size and shape made him aware of being a man, physically stronger, supposedly giving him an advantage. They had forced her to fight men larger and stronger than she was, yet somehow, she'd come out victorious. That should tell him something, but all it did was make him want to strangle Whitney with his bare hands and wish Braden were still alive so he could kill him all over again.

  She leaned close to him. "You should be afraid of me too."

  "Why would that be?"

  "I don't like anything that threatens me."

  "I haven't threatened you."

  "You're the biggest threat of all, and don't pretend you don't know it. I react badly to threats of any kind."

  "You didn't act so badass when fucking Pascal Comeaux put his hand on your ass." He leaned very close to her, stared straight into her eyes so she could see the flame that burned icy hot under all the blue. "The ass, by the way, that is mine. No one else puts their fucking hand on your body."

  She didn't flinch away from him.

  "And don't think I don't know you've been coming into my room at night." He took a shot in the dark. If she was really coming into his room and he wasn't insane, that meant she got through their security and quieted the hunting dogs Nonny kept in a kennel and running yard. If Cayenne could get into the house, someone else could.