by Lark Brennan
“No problem. I’ll get the supplies first.” Henri sauntered toward the boat, halting at the rim where the rock dropped off fifteen feet to the sea. He hailed the sailors in Creole and they laughed at whatever he said. The jovial exchange continued as plastic supply boxes were passed up from the boat.
The sailors’ easy camaraderie set Oxley’s teeth on edge. He knew the difference between paranoia and perception. Without the Boss’s protection, he’d be dead. As it was, the sailors sent here with supplies always crossed themselves whenever he looked their way. Almost funny, given most practiced Santeria, Voodoo, or even, like Henri, Candomblé. Henri had made it clear that superstition about Oxley’s albinism ran deep in their African roots and his tall skinny frame added to the impression of a walking skeleton.
He turned from the Haitians and picked his way along the rocky surface toward a hatch camouflaged a hundred yards away at the edge of the drop-off. The mechanism that opened it had stuck just before dawn, delaying the next phase of testing. He didn’t trust Henri with fixing it, and exposing his own ultra-sensitive skin to the tropical sun for more than a couple minutes wasn’t an option.
Pulling a mag light from his pocket, he clicked it on to examine the hinge for corrosion. What he saw stopped him cold.
He glanced back at the others. He knew Henri wanted off the island ASAP and that wasn’t going to happen until the Disruptor was fully operational. Besides, Henri’s assignment was to gather the energy for the laser with dark majik and the Boss didn’t tolerate insubordination. But if this wasn’t Henri’s work, then whose was it? The island’s sophisticated surveillance system couldn’t be circumvented.
He turned his flashlight back on the hatch. Only a forceful blow with hammer or a heavy rock could have mangled the metal so badly—a disturbing observation, but not what made him shudder. A white dove lay on the lens cover, its neck broken. He was certain white doves weren’t native to this part of the Caribbean.
Chapter Thirteen
Lex woke in the living room chair with her book on her lap and glanced at her watch. Not quite midnight. The house was silent, the same lights were on as when she fell asleep. If Bodie was back, he was in his room and probably asleep. Part of her wanted to knock on his door but she had no idea what to do if he opened it. No, a hot shower and a good night’s sleep were more sensible if she was going to wake early and fly him back to Road Town. With a little luck and good weather, she’d be back in Little Harbor checking on the dolphins before the Ariel arrived.
After turning out the lights and locking the front door, she headed for her room to get a towel and shampoo.
A cacophony of insect and gecko chirps greeted her when she opened the French door from her bedroom into the walled garden behind the cottage. Like many islands, Jost Van Dyke had no natural fresh water sources so residents collected rain from their roofs and stored it in cisterns and tanks. The sun-heated water was stored in a black tank on the roof of the house. Gravity then delivered it to the stone shower room in the garden.
With low, sparsely placed lights marking the edge of path, she wound her way through the dense foliage. The sweet fragrance of frangipani blossoms filled the warm breeze that caressed her skin in the moonlight. Only when she approached the wooden door did she spot a blue beach towel hanging from a hook on the outside wall and hear the quiet splash of water on stone.
Her pulse spiked. She should turn back to the house. Now. She took a couple of steps further. He’d left the damned door open. Her tongue ran over her lips which had suddenly dried out.
The full moon illuminated his profile as he stood under the rain-dome, his face angled to the sky. With one hand he pulled the chain that turned on the water. With the other, he splashed his body until he was drenched. Releasing the chain, he reached to a shelf in the wall, grabbed the bar of soap and rubbed it between his hands.
She forgot to breathe. Being here was a gross invasion of his privacy and yet her feet were rooted to the ground. In her world of boats and diving, nudity had never been a big deal. This man—wet and glorious—turned her reality upside down.
Transfixed, she watched him lather his neck, shoulders, arms, and chest. With each stroke of his hand over his skin, the heat pooled deeper within her. Muscles flexed and relaxed as he made his way down powerful thighs and calves. Pale suds gleamed on smooth tanned skin and slid sensuously down his body to the floor.
She should slip away back to the house, now before she was discovered. But she couldn’t move. Steam filled the air and rose into the night carrying the scent of sandalwood soap. She inhaled deeply, mesmerized by the perfect sculpture of muscle and flesh.
He straightened, lathered briskly again and dropped one hand between his legs while the other slid down the length of his heavy cock.
She gulped for air.
A second stroke sent her pulse into warp speed. Oh, yes. Her faint moan escaped into the night.
“Go away,” he growled without looking up.
Her stomach flipped and she fought the urge to slink further into the shadows. How long had he known she was there?
“I, ah… I’ll just wait until you’re finished,” she croaked.
Cock still in his hand, he turned his head and shot her a stare so intense her heart backfired. “And watch?”
That would be her preference but her mouth stayed open and treacherously silent.
To her disappointment, he turned his back and yanked the chain. Water streamed over his glistening bronzed skin, creating rivulets that wound down broad shoulders, past his tapered waist before narrowing to rinse the two perfect dimples on the small of his back. She gazed unblinkingly as the last of the suds slid over the curve of tight buttocks and sculpted calves to swirl around the drain between his feet. All too soon the water stopped. He whipped a hand over his closely cropped hair and droplets of water pelted her.
“You missed some soap on your left leg,” she offered, pleased at the nonchalance in her voice.
Those powerful shoulders rose and fell once as he breathed deep and then he swiveled slowly to face her. Instinct took over and her gaze dropped. Her mouth went dry.
Fully aroused and unsmiling, he crossed the twelve feet of stone tile that separated them. The top of her head barely reached his stubbled chin and she felt tiny and fragile—another foreign sensation that shook her to her core and knocked everything off-kilter.
“What do you want?” His voice was low and husky.
Her gaze involuntarily flipped south and up again. Magnificently aroused. Her cheeks warmed. “A shower?”
Without breaking eye contact, he brushed his knuckle gently over her nipple. “Really?”
A gasp caught in her throat and her heart pounded. Her breasts ached for his touch.
“You know where this is going?” he asked.
Lust washed over her. Her head bobbed once. Nothing in her uninspired experience with men gave her more than a generic idea, but she was dying to find out.
Their faces were inches apart and drops of water still rolled down his cheek, curving along that flexed jaw and dripping to the stone. She longed to lick the wet paths, feel the force of his mouth on hers but as a point of pride, making the first move was out of the question. She willed him to kiss her.
Instead, deft male fingers peeled the bathing suit straps from her shoulders and down her arms. With one swift pull her breasts burst free, the nipples hard and begging for his attention. His silver gaze devoured them, caressed them, but he didn’t touch. Her shoulders drew back instinctively, thrusting her breasts up and forward. Offering.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his thumbs grazing her wrists before freeing her hands from the straps.
She stood rigid, need welling in her chest, between her legs. Only stubborn pride prevented her from pleading with him to kiss her, to use his mouth and teeth on her aching nipples, to put his hands all over her body. She bit her lip and waited.
Dropping to one knee, he tugged the pink tank to her ankles in a single sl
ow unveiling. He lifted one foot and then the other, his mouth dipping so close she could feel his warm breath on her sex. It would be so easy to rest her hands on his shoulders and lean into him. To show him what she wanted him to do to her. Hands fisted, she remained perfectly still. She refused to let him know how desperately she wanted him.
He rose and nudged her to the spot directly below the rain dome. A firm grasp on her shoulders turned her away from him to face the stone wall of the shower.
She stiffened. What the hell was he doing? Had she misread his intentions? Waiting for his next move became seconds of sheer torture.
He reached around her and pulled the chain and water flowed deliciously over her flushed skin. She tilted her head back letting the warm water wash her face.
Seconds later it stopped and she heard movement behind her. The soap lathering briskly in his hands again, the sound itself filled her with anticipation.
The first firm slide of his slippery hands on her shoulders sent an electrical charge through her that almost knocked her off her feet. Wide palms stroked her neck, her shoulders, then joined together down the narrow of her back. They kneaded the tense muscles along her spine, his thumb massaging the knots from her back. With steady efficiency, he crouched and continued down her waist, her ass, her legs, never hesitating or lingering or fondling. She wanted to scream with frustration.
His knees creaked as he stood and she smiled, knowing he now had to turn her to face him. She couldn’t stand this game much longer. If he didn’t get down to business soon, she wasn’t beyond a little encouragement.
The sound of soap between his palms again. She drew in a deep breath, quivering in need and anticipation. Here we go…
His powerful hands slipped around her waist and split in opposite directions, one slid under her breasts, the other to her crotch, and drew her gently back against his body. His erection, huge and rock-hard, pressed from the slit in her ass up the small of her back. Blood drained from her head and she gasped in surprise.
His lips grazed the side of her neck drawing a shiver from deep within. “You’re making me crazy,” he groaned.
Crazy wasn’t cutting it. She wanted him to need her as much as she needed him. Wordlessly she ground against him but he immediately pinned her to his hips, stilling her as easily as he might restrain a small child. The heat of his hard body dizzied her.
Expert fingers went to work rolling her nipples and sent a charge of pleasure directly to her core. She clasped his biceps and arched into his hand savoring the delicious roughness of calloused fingertips caressing her flushed skin.
The hand between her thighs began to play her. His thumb circled her clit and his long fingers explored, stroking around and within her slowly and masterfully. Legs trembling, she clutched her hands over his, whether to stop them or urge them on, she had no idea. And in the end it made no difference. Bodie had complete control and she surrendered to him.
Her hips bucked against his hand wantonly, knowing only that she wanted what he alone could give her.
“Come for me,” he rasped in her ear.
She did. Wave after wave of intense pleasure rolled through her. Her throaty cries echoed in the night as she gave herself up to him until her knees finally buckled. Heart racing and breathless, she collapsed against his chest, enfolded tightly in his massive arms.
He held her trembling body tenderly for a full minute then brushed his lips across her shoulder. “Open for me, princess.”
Need surged through her core. Need to feel him inside her. She spread her legs and leaned forward slightly. Her breath caught when fingertips feathered down her ass and tested her slick heat.
“Come on, Bodie,” she ground out.
A laugh rumbled in his chest. “Yes, darlin’.’”
He seized her hips and positioned himself at her opening. Impatiently, she pushed against him. That was all the enticement he needed.
In a slow powerful thrust he entered her, stretching and filling her until she didn’t know where she ended and he started. Closing her eyes, she felt his pulse through his cock and flexed her inner muscles to grip him.
He groaned. His palm slipped to her breast and caressed it, his thumb circled her nipple. They seemed frozen in time in a place too intimate to bear.
He started to move. Slowly at first and when she caught his rhythm he moved faster, the sweet friction of him hard within her soft slickness set every cell in her body on fire. The hands on her hips tightened as his thrusts grew harder and deeper. She braced her hands against the stone wall and rode him. Every stroke drove her higher until she exploded with a rush that lit up her body, her mind, and the tropical night around her. Moments later his fingers dug into her hips and he bucked within her, groaning his release.
He drew her back against his body. Panting, blood pounding, she remained perfectly still. His ragged breathing rasped against her neck. His arms held her so firmly she felt his heart racing in time with hers. He still filled her and she didn’t want to let him go. Resting her arms on his, she leaned into his damp chest. She wanted to say something but no words came.
A moment later, his hands dropped away and he slipped out of her. The wondrous spell broke.
“I’ll rinse off and let you finish your shower.” His voice was gentle, but distant.
She turned to him and searched his face. Surely he’d been as blown away by this as she was. In the glow of the moon his expression was shuttered and his silver eyes unreadable. He moved past her and pulled the chain, keeping his back to her as water splashed over him.
A vise squeezed her chest. Was that it? His tender washing and caressing had been so intimate, and nothing in her experience compared to the erotic thrill of him claiming her body with his.
The water stopped and he headed for the doorway to the garden. “All yours,” he said, reaching for his towel.
“Bodie…” she began then stopped.
He flashed her a questioning glance as he wrapped the beach towel around his hips. “Yes?”
The realization struck her like a right hook to the jaw—she’d been in the throes of passion, had felt a raging desire for him she’d felt for no man before, and he’d just been horny. He’d never even kissed her, just washed her and fucked her. It had meant nothing to him. Nothing. A sudden chill made her shiver. Just like that he was going to walk away and leave her. Damn him.
Naked and wet, she cloaked herself in her last shred of dignity. “Be ready to go at seven. If you get up first, make coffee. The stronger the better.”
He had the nerve to salute her. “No problem. Sleep tight, Lex.”
And he was gone.
• • •
Bodie shoved the door of his room shut and sagged against it. Jesus Christ. He’d just fucked Mark Durand’s sister. Had he lost his goddamned mind? Chills covered his body, the result of the overhead fan stirring the night air on his wet skin. Drying off quickly, he pulled on a pair of clean boxers and dropped his ass on one of the narrow twin beds.
It didn’t take a genius to memorize Durand’s last text message: Anything happens to Lex—I’m coming for you. Shit. And the S.O.B. always seemed to know everything.
Gee, so how would the conversation go? Hey, man, I was minding my own business jerking off in the shower when your sister showed up so I nailed her. Yeah, Durand would be cool with that. Christ. More likely he’d rip Bodie’s heart out and feed it to him.
He heard Lex’s bedroom door slam. She was probably pissed and he didn’t really blame her. He hadn’t exactly been his most chivalrous, but how was he supposed to act? He wasn’t used to being with someone like her. “Thanks, baby. That was great” just didn’t seem to cut it.
And it had been great. The blood rushed from his head directly to his cock. He looked down at the tented boxers and shook his head in resignation. She was Lex Durand and he was a junkyard dog with a price on his head and some serious baggage where women were concerned. He might get hard every time he got close to her, but his dick su
re as hell wasn’t getting an encore performance, not if he intended to stay alive.
• • •
Stretched out on the double bed, Lex stared at the patterns of shadows on the ceiling and listened to the scrape of a bed being dragged across a wood floor. She wondered if her door was locked. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t opening it and not much chance he would either.
“Damn you, Bodie,” she muttered softly. What had she expected, that he’d go down on his knees and pledge eternal devotion?
She smiled. The guy had very talented hands. And the way he’d thrust into her… Heat pooled between her thighs. Shit. Now she was getting turned on just thinking about the sex. She was so in trouble.
The heavy crash of metal on metal jerked her back to full consciousness. The entire house reverberated with the pounding of the massive front door knocker. Her thoughts flashed to Bodie and the people who tried to… no, they had killed him. Had they tracked him down already?
The door of her room flew open and Bodie burst in.
“Stay here,” he ordered. “Do you know how to use a pistol?”
“Of course.” Now wasn’t the time to explain her Protector training.
He handed her a small Beretta and two clips, then yanked an evil looking weapon from the waistband of his cargo shorts. “It’s loaded. If anyone comes in, shoot.”
“I’m coming with you.” She scrambled out of bed, glad she’d decided to pull on a tank top and yoga pants to sleep in.
He strode to the door leading into the living room and cracked it to check for intruders. “No, you’re not.”
She jammed a magazine in place. “You think they found you already?”
“No, but I don’t want to have my head blown off if they have.”
The knocker pounded again.
“Not very subtle for assassins,” Lex observed, following him into the darkened front room.
“They weren’t last time either.” With weapon in hand, he approached the heavy mahogany door then glanced back at her and swore. “Listen to me. You need to take cover.”
