Heart of Danger

by Lisa Marie Rice

  He attacked, over and over, mindlessly, eyes trained on Lee’s.

  He was beating himself to death, killing himself with his own ferocity.

  With a swipe of a finger, Lee switched on the sound system. His eyes widened slightly at the noise level. Number Eight’s snarls and howls were loud in the large room and made the other animals stir uneasily. The bonobo next to Number Eight, Number Nine, had been sitting listlessly with a straw in his mouth, but at the howls he stood up unsteadily, turned to Number Eight, the straw dropping, forgotten, to the bottom of the cage.

  Lee watched, unmoving, as Number Eight battered himself to death against the blood-spattered wall, finishing himself off with one final blow to the head as he tried to ferociously butt his way through to Lee, breaking his own neck.

  He dropped instantly to the ground, body nearly unrecognizable. So many bones were broken that the body looked like a hairy, shapeless sack filled with marbles.

  The other bonobos turned, restless, some trying to scratch their way out of the Plexiglas cages but none with the ferocity of Number Eight. Nothing Lee had ever seen matched the ferocity of Number Eight. It was unprecedented, and artificial. Induced by SL-59.

  The interesting thing was that Eight had managed to control himself for the first few minutes, even though his limbic system must have been screaming attack! He hadn’t, not right away. Perhaps he’d tried to reason it out and had then been overwhelmed by the attack imperative infused in him by the drug.

  But that time gap was interesting. So there was some kind of trip wire that had induced the out-of-control violence. Find the trip wire, modify it, and they would be well on their way.

  Lee studied the battered body for another few minutes, then swiped a finger for the recording function.

  “I want an autopsy with toxicology and hormone levels. I want the exact level of SL-59 in the blood-brain barrier. I want a brain dissection and analysis of neuronal connections. I want it all.”

  Another flick and the recording function switched off.

  That had been interesting, he thought as he exited the lab.

  And promising. Very promising.

  Mount Blue

  Yes.

  She’d said yes, when she was hungry, when delicious-smelling food was right there, all she had to do was reach out her hand, when she’d already had more intense sex than she’d ever had in her entire life, when she was a little sore, feeling unused muscles stretch every time she moved in the bed.

  She said yes when she thought she’d need at least a day to recover and feel desire again.

  Oh, how wrong she’d been.

  She’d said yes because she couldn’t resist. There was nothing in her that could resist this man, standing half-naked in front of her, intensely aroused. She could tell not only by the steel rod prodding at the front of his jeans, but in the slight red tingeing the sallow skin over his high cheekbones, the flaring nostrils, the tense cords of the tendons of his neck.

  And of course she could tell by his touch. His desire flowed straight into her, hot waves of his heat piercing her skin.

  At just the touch of him, feeling Mac’s heartbeat against her hand, feeling how much he wanted her, needed her, desire rose again like water rising to replenish an empty well. Coming from him? Coming from her? It was impossible to tell and it made no difference because now it was inside her. Part of her.

  “Come to me,” she whispered, or maybe she thought it in her head? No matter. He shucked his jeans and moved to her, over her, settling on her heavily, yet she welcomed his weight, welcomed him as another wave of burning desire swept over them.

  “Make me go slow,” he whispered in her ear, and she shivered as his breath washed over her. He took her lobe and gently bit. Goose bumps broke out all over.

  She held on to his shoulders, something to cling to in this new world where desire rolled over her in hot waves. She was bobbing in this sea of desire and needed something stable. She clutched him, those extra wide shoulders.

  If ever there was a man built for hanging on to, this was that man. Everything about him spoke of strength and stability. That he was the one making her feel unsettled, rushed away in a liquid sea of desire, was ironic.

  “Slow,” he insisted, even though his stiff penis was prodding her thigh, then her stomach as he settled more completely over her.

  “Slow,” he moaned, and kissed her.

  It was slow, his mouth, his tongue moving slowly, the rest of him still. In the end she was the one who started moving. Her legs opened, lifted, settled against his back, and he was naturally there, the hard tip of his penis right at her opening.

  It felt so huge and she had to remind herself that they’d done this twice before and he hadn’t hurt her. He wasn’t moving, though, wasn’t shifting to enter her, and all of a sudden she felt empty. Her sex felt empty, an organ that wasn’t filled with what nature intended. Like a stomach with no food, lungs with no air.

  It was as vital as that. A yawning, searing craving for him to enter her, take her because that’s what her vagina was for. It wasn’t pleasure so much as need. Just feeling him there, not in her but against her, made her clench so hard even her thigh muscles pulled.

  And still, he didn’t move, just kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.

  Catherine dug in her heels against the small of his back and lifted herself. He slid in a little and stayed there, unmoving.

  “Mac,” she sighed.

  He certainly wasn’t moving out of a lack of desire. He was hard as a club. He was sweating all over his back.

  “Foreplay.” He lifted his mouth just enough to talk. She opened her eyes and saw him, face pulled in lines of pain, nostrils thin and white with tension. “I can’t keep doing this to you. To you, of all women. I want to take an hour just to kiss those pretty breasts. An hour kissing your feet and sucking your toes. You have gorgeous toes, did anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Honestly?” She smiled. “No.”

  “That’s because most men are idiots.”

  “True.”

  “And then I want to take an hour just to touch your hands. You have the most gorgeous hands I’ve ever seen.”

  She laughed. It wasn’t a big laugh because he was lying on top of her, nearly squeezing the breath out of her, so it was more a huff of breath. It was okay. She loved his heavy weight bearing down on her.

  Something magical was happening and his heavy, earthy presence kept her grounded, reminded her it was real. There was magic but there was also reality. That weight, the bite of his beard while he kissed her, the sweat that plastered her breasts to his chest, the heavy mat of hair on his chest rubbing against her, the hair on his legs abrading the skin on the inside of her thighs. The earthy smells of sex and sweaty man. His heavy heartbeat, slow and strong, the heart of an athlete, beating against her breasts, against the palms of her hands as she moved her hands down over his back . . .

  That was all real.

  Then there was the magic.

  Feeling his heart beat against hers, as if they were two organs beating in the same body. Being under his skin, knowing what he felt, sometimes what he thought. They couldn’t be more different. She had no idea what his background was like—that wasn’t her gift. But she knew what he was like because that was.

  Knowing his bravery, his essential goodness, his loyalty. Knowing there was violence in him, feeling his toughness, knowing this was a man who would never break.

  What he felt for her was right there, right under his skin. The heat of sex, the warmth of affection, the iron grip of his desire to protect her, keep her safe.

  “But the thing is”—Mac sighed, and slipped in her just a little farther, just enough to open the lips of her sex and make her writhe with desire—“the thing is I keep getting sidetracked, by this.”

  He slid into her, inch by slow inch, carefully, every muscle tense with effort. He stopped when he was fully inside her, panting a little. His heart had stepped up its rate, as if he w
ere running.

  She felt that heartbeat in his penis, pulsing gently inside her.

  “Now, Mac,” she groaned, shaking. “I don’t need foreplay.” Every touch of his was foreplay.

  It was such overkill, holding that huge body in her arms. So utterly male, so utterly tough, so utterly hers.

  Every touch told her he was hers. Every touch, every kiss was for her.

  He started moving and it was a luscious dance, skin on skin, beating heart against beating heart. Hard to soft. Meltingly tender this time. Every inch of her was taken up by this man.

  Her hands and legs followed that huge bowed back as he thrust in her so carefully, smoothly, movements controlled. It was like being on a sea, waves rocking her, and she lost herself in the rhythm, in the heat. Her senses blanked out, one by one. She closed her eyes and couldn’t see. The beat of her heart and his filled her ears until she heard nothing. She couldn’t feel her limbs anymore, all she felt was the center of her being, filled with him rocking into her, rocking, rocking . . .

  She pulled into herself until there was only that small center of white-hot heat, incandescent as the sun, and it went nova.

  Mac held himself still inside her as she writhed around him. It felt like that sun was bursting out of her body and she had to let it go in wild pulses of heat and light.

  “God,” he muttered as she slowly relaxed. Under him, and against her arms and legs, she felt him explode into action, hips pumping as he moved in and out of her, so fiercely it almost—but not quite—hurt. It would have if this had been any man other than Mac. With anyone else it would have felt like a battering invasion of her body but she was with him every step of the way.

  It wasn’t an invasion. His body was trying to get as close to hers as it could. If he could have, he would have crawled inside her, and if she could have, she would have let him.

  This was the next best thing, this utter and complete claiming of her, making her completely his.

  When he collapsed on her, face planted on the pillow next to hers, she felt as wrung out as he was.

  The room was so quiet, the only sounds their heavy breathing. His heart was pounding as if he’d run a hundred miles. She felt it—both their hearts. His thudding in a heavy, rhythmic beat, hers lighter and faster. She lay under him, eyes closed, drinking in this moment of utter closeness and listened as their hearts synchronized, beating together.

  Everything about them was coming together. She felt stronger and was aware that his energy was sapped. She was inside his body, feeling the currents of wonder and joy coursing through him. The same currents swirling in her.

  Her arms had gone lax in the thousandth orgasm—well, maybe that was an exaggeration but they had been too numerous to count, tripping from one straight into another. Suddenly, her arms and legs tightened around him, wildly, as if she suddenly had to hold him to her, but that was crazy. Mac showed no signs of wanting to get away. If anything, he seemed settled on top of her as if he was never going to move again.

  It was just that she wanted to hold on to this. It seemed such a rare, such a unique moment. Something wondrous, magical. By definition fleeting, over almost as soon as it began. This couldn’t last. How could it? What good ever lasted in this world? It was—

  Mac lifted his head and gave her a huge grin and she was startled right out of her thoughts. The grin was wide. He was smiling with his entire face and every line in his skin told her it was unusual. The lines in his face naturally went to gravity, to grimness and frowns. This stretched everything out of shape and looked like it actually hurt his scars.

  He smiled down at her and she swallowed at what she saw. She saw—so clearly—what he felt for her. Saw how new it was for him. And felt—deep down where there was no possibility of hiding—felt that he would undoubtedly die for her.

  Her gift, her curse, told her this, told her that for the first time in her life she was loved. She was loved deeply.

  “Wow,” he said. “That was—” He broke off, the smile wiped from his face. He scowled down at her, wiping a tear away from her face with his thumb. “What’s the matter?”

  All of a sudden he looked appalled, actually frightened. He lifted up off her, pulled out from her, leaving emptiness and coldness behind. “Did I hurt you?” he demanded. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” Catherine sniffed, ashamed of herself. She’d suddenly been swamped by her emotions, and his. And she’d scared him. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that—”

  Her stomach rumbled, loudly, and she laughed, wiping away another tear with the heel of her hand. Laughing, crying, hungry . . . she was a mess.

  Mac was sitting up, a little calmer, eyeing her cautiously. He visibly relaxed when she smiled at him. “If you’re crying because you’re hungry, I have the answer right here.” He nudged the cart with a big bare foot sticking out from under the covers. “It’s all cold but I’ve got a microwave. How does that sound?”

  Catherine sat up in bed, grateful for the mundane thought of food. Her stomach rumbled again and she giggled, feeling calmer. “Sounds wonderful. I think I could eat a horse.” A second ago all her emotions had been churning but now she was calmer and, upon consultation with her stomach, starving. “Raw. I hope I won’t have to.”

  “No, Stella doesn’t do raw horsemeat.”

  “Carpaccio,” Catherine said, smiling. She leaned against the headboard and watched with interest as a naked Mac rose and started ferrying dishes over to a huge microwave against the wall. The back view was astonishing. Wide, thickly muscled shoulders tapering down to a lean waist, hard dimpled buttocks, long, hard thighs, the individual muscles visible.

  He threw her a startled glance over his shoulder. “Carpo what?”

  Catherine laughed. “Carpaccio. Raw meat or fish, thinly sliced.”

  The microwave was the new kind that heated in a second. He was already coming back with the tray full of food, placing it back on the cart.

  The front view was as enticing as the back one with the addition of a still semi-erect penis.

  “Nothing raw that doesn’t have to be,” he said, pulling out legs from the tray and placing it on her lap. He leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Now pay attention here because this is a surprise.”

  Catherine sat up straight, wondering what he meant. “There’s hardly anything here that isn’t a surprise.”

  “No, this one’s really good. Voilà.” Mac touched something and Catherine gasped.

  It was magic.

  Three walls, to the right, to the left and straight ahead . . . disappeared. Simply vanished. In their place was an amazing nighttime view of the mountain as if they were on a platform jutting out from the mountainside. Snowy slopes of white firs swooped down to the valley bathed in moonlight. Far far away down the mountainside, almost in the valley below, a few lights twinkled.

  Had they been outside all this time and the windows blanked?

  It was impossible to tell. Every silvery moonlit detail was sharp and clear.

  Mac reached out gently and closed her jaw with a finger and only then did she realize she was staring slack-jawed.

  “What—what is this? Are we outside?”

  He piled food onto a plate and set it in front of her. “Eat. I think we’ve burned about a billion calories. You’re going to kill me, Catherine.”

  “Ha!” She jabbed him in the side and nearly sprained her hand. Rocks were softer than his muscles. “Not likely. So what is this?”

  “Holo. We have security cameras ringing the property and Jon set it up so we can project it in our rooms, give us a view. Because it is a view—just not right outside the window.”

  “That is really amazing but so’s this. Wait a second.” She held up a hand, closed her eyes, savored the big bite of pumpkin ravioli with chanterelle sauce. Oh God. Heaven. The wild sex, the God’s-eye view that appeared in the blink of an eye, the stunning food. This was sensory overload. “Okay.” Her eyes popped open. “Ready for the vie
w again now.”

  She looked around the three walls. A rabbit crossed a small, snowy meadow and stopped, nose wrinkling, sniffing the air. Satisfied, it hopped away. Off . . . screen?

  Mac was chomping on a pulled-pork baguette and smiled secretively. “Watch long enough and you’ll see a deer. I saw a coyote the other day. That’s not all we can do, though. Watch.”

  He touched something on the bedside table and all of a sudden the room was filled with sunlight, so blinding Catherine had to shield her eyes.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed. It was a slightly different view, but the shape of the mountain and the valley below were the same. A blindingly bright sun rose over a hill, making the landscape glow. The sky was the brightest blue in the history of blue skies and there were only small patches of snow on the ground.

  “Sunrise, three days ago,” Mac said, and picked up another sandwich.

  She watched, amazed, as a hawk flew high in the sky, elegantly gliding on thermals. The sun crossed some invisible barrier and shot light down to the valley in glowing beams coming straight out of Hollywood. Except CGI could never make this stuff up.

  “How can you afford all this fancy stuff?” Catherine asked. This was at least several million dollars’ worth of technology, shining into Mac’s bedroom. Then she realized what she said and clapped a hand over her mouth, appalled. “I’m sorry!” she gasped. “So sorry! It’s none of my business and—”

  Mac calmly reached over, pulled her hand away from her mouth, kissed her knuckles. “Don’t be sorry about anything, honey, ever. This is your community now, your people. Ask anything you want. And the answer to how we can afford it all?” Those dark eyes gleamed. “We steal it.”

  Another bite of that glorious ravioli stopped on the way to her mouth. “You steal it?”

  He nodded, popped a slider into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “Yeah. Or rather, Jon does. He was on a six-month mission to the Calderón clan in Colombia, undercover as a California dealer. He came away with a lot of intel, enough to hack deep into their systems. When we need something he just creams it off their accounts. Last week, for example, we bought a ton of seeds and fertilizer for Manuel, a new forklift and a crash cart for the infirmary. We’ve got a shopping list a mile long. Jon delicately goes in, takes the money and transfers it to a bank account in San Francisco in the name of a shell company, and we all have black credit cards. So far several Calderón lieutenants have been accused of embezzling from the boss and have been hung out to dry. Literally, with meat hooks. They ran the child prostitution business for the cartel. Couldn’t happen to nicer guys.”