Dangerous

by Jacquelyn Frank

  But here she was asking him if he detested her. She was wondering if he would shun and repel her just because she was…

  She was a Morphate.

  It actually made sense, he thought. She was stronger than the average woman. She had that wicked sex appeal that seemed to cling to Morphates both male and female, and she had sensed trouble tonight well before he had, even though he was highly trained for it. She’d done a fair job of covering her own tracks, too. He might have figured it out eventually, but now he’d never know for sure. Did this mean Carter Spencer was a Morphate? The household staff? Maybe not the staff, but Spencer sure had that holier-than-humans attitude.

  He realized he was taking far too long to respond to her query when she took a step away from him, her expression struggling for impassivity but her hands shaking tellingly. Liam reached out without thinking and caught her at the small of her back, dragging her forward between his knees. She bumped breastbones with him and it forced her to exhale in a warm breath that spilled over him. He hadn’t quite intended such a macho gesture, but the minute she was there, her warm breasts and softly curved body dragged up tight between his thighs, he realized it wasn’t at all a bad experience. Neither was having her fine mouth so close to his as he looked into those sweetly surprised eyes of hers. She held her hands away from him, protecting the sterility of her gloves, and the gesture made him smile. Damned if he knew why, but something about the restriction imposed on her had the strangest effect on him.

  “Now, I’m going to answer that question,” he said, intentionally drawling out his words as he took his time openly inspecting her mouth. She instinctively parted her lips and licked them. “But I’m only going to do it once. You understand me? I won’t answer it again, because I’m going to make damn sure you comprehend me.”

  Plotting his actions carefully, Liam used his injured arm, now dressed and cleaned of blood thanks to her care, sliding his fingers around the curve of her waist with a slow, purposeful caress. She glanced down as his fingertips stroked the skin left bared by her short sweater. Once he held her firmly with his wounded arm, knowing she wouldn’t make any sudden movements that might hurt him, Liam then withdrew his healthy hand and reached to palm the nape of her neck. She stood there held in his hands, motionless, her hands spread away from contact, and her breath coming just as fast as his was.

  “Are you surprised I’m touching you?” he asked, anticipation roughing up his voice. “Now that I know?”

  “I don’t …”

  “Some believe that your kind can suck the life out of a person just by touching,” he interrupted when it was clear he wasn’t going to get the yes or no he wanted. “Are you sucking the life out of me?”

  “No,” she ground out, telling him she’d heard that ridiculous idea before.

  “Yeah. If you ever suck the life out of me, I imagine I will be very much aware of it,” he mused.

  Her gasp was quick and soft, her formerly irritated gaze widening into shock first and then a confused sort of amusement. She didn’t know what to make of what he was doing.

  Gently, ignoring the cramps and aches it caused him, he slid his fingers under the hem of her sweater. He watched her face very carefully as he traveled over the silken skin covering her ribs and touched the incredibly soft underside of her breast. She made another of those breathy sounds of expectation and Liam relished it. He drew her so close to his mouth that they had to turn their heads to avoid bumping noses. Their rapid breath exchanged quickly as he slid one large hand around the full weight of her breast. She was heavy in his hand, her nipple instantly standing to attention at the stroke of his thumb. She exhaled the tiniest sound of pleasure and he felt it vibrating against his lips. His body exploded in response.

  “When you said I wasn’t your type,” he growled abruptly, his lips nipping at hers as he spoke, “did you mean it because I wasn’t your type, or because I was a human?”

  “I meant because I was a Morphate,” she breathed.

  The distinction made sense. To her. It wasn’t a matter of her not wanting to be with a human. She’d simply believed a human wouldn’t want to be with her. Not if they knew what she was. And clearly, she wasn’t the type who would pretend or lie when it would matter most.

  “Why did you kiss me?” It was what he liked to call a dumb-ass question, but he had his reasons for asking.

  “Because I wanted to.” She reached to lay her hand on his face, remembered her gloves at the last moment and pulled back away. She made a sound of frustration as she turned to sweep her lips damply across his.

  Liam let her invite him with the light teasing touch and taste, neither accepting nor rejecting. Just feeling her irrepressible need as it overcame her thinking mind. She pulled back suddenly, a gasp escaping her so softly it was barely audible.

  “Did you … are you angry that I kissed you?” She found his eyes, bravely needing to know his true feelings on the matter. “That I didn’t tell you what I was and let you—”

  “Let me!” Liam pulled back to bark out a brash male laugh. “Sweetheart, there wasn’t any let in that kiss. I took.” His hand at her breast squeezed firmly around her, his thumb and forefinger tugging at the gorgeous crest of her nipple. Let him? Christ, didn’t the woman know he was only two minutes shy of molesting the hell out of her? Man, she felt sweet in his hand. He itched to have more of her under his touch. To lower his mouth to her sweater so he could taste her right through it. And when he felt these things, as heat and hormones swept through him, pain and tension disappeared to a dull spot far behind his awareness.

  It didn’t calm him down any when she responded to his manipulation of her body with an eager groan and an undulation of her body against his. Her breast came to snuggle forward into his palm, her thighs shifted between his as she used her body to do what she couldn’t do with her hands. She used her mouth to take what he wouldn’t give.

  She surged forward to catch him in a kiss so much deeper than the teasing touches they’d been torturing themselves with these past minutes, and Liam groaned with the relief of it when her sweet tongue finally returned to his mouth where it belonged. She was so damned aggressive, so hungry, it was more than he could resist in his weakened condition. Or so he told himself when he impulsively slid his palm down the long line of her spine and cupped a fine, firm cheek of her ass. He made another throaty sound as he drew her closer and tighter against himself. A pulse pounding erection was probably the very last thing he needed at the moment, but he was fairly certain he didn’t give a damn.

  Devon went to touch him, to hold him to her mouth and taste him so deeply he would never escape, even though he hardly seemed to want to. She was drawn up short by her gloved hands yet again and she jerked her mouth free of his with a gasp.

  “Liam! Your shoulder!”

  “Fuck my shoulder,” he growled. “Give me your mouth, Devon.”

  But the doctor in Devon was already overriding her hormones. She wriggled in his hold, trying to escape him, but having little luck. In fact, Liam seemed to be enjoying her struggles. He even chuckled.

  “Liam, please. Let me stitch you. You’re getting blood everywhere. All over me.”

  It was as though she’d spoken a secret code. His arms unlocked from around her so quickly that she stumbled back. He caught her by her waist though before she went any further than his knees, his darkened eyes inspecting her rapidly. He frowned when he saw his blood smearing her sweater in places. She smiled to comfort him and leaned for the curved needle and silk she’d set up. She picked up forceps for herself and handed him a pair of surgical scissors.

  “Hold those for me,” she said, somehow managing to sound steady in spite of the fact that the feel of the fingers still against her bare waist was driving her nuts. He had such rough, capable hands, and he sure as hell knew how to touch a woman. The way he stroked her and clasped her with such proprietary need made her feel wildly wanted. And she was wildly wanted, she thought breathlessly and with wonder. He
knew she was a Morphate, and Liam Nash wanted her. He wanted her to help him, to touch him, and …

  She shivered and took a deep breath. If she was going to stitch him without butchering him, she needed to calm down and stop the shaking in her hands.

  “Liam,” she said after a rocky breath, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth when you took this assignment. I would understand if you withdrew NHK services.”

  The jab of the needle into his wounded flesh kept him from turning on her furiously, but she felt his hand grip into her soft skin intensely.

  “Why in hell would I do that?” he demanded, looking like he would turn her over his knee if he thought he could pull it off at that moment. “Being a Morphate instead of a human doesn’t change a damn thing about your needs and our services. You made sure we knew the score up front, and keeping your race a secret doesn’t nullify a contract. It doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

  Devon bit her lip, chewing it in thought for a moment.

  “Actually, it does in a way,” she argued. “There are quite a few Morphates in this world that would consider me a traitor, Liam, for taking part in the construction of the weaponry to subdue and kill our kind.”

  “Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” he said sharply. “There are gun and ordnance manufacturers all over the world, Devon, and plenty of people who don’t like the fact that those things are made to kill humans, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to hunt and kill the creators. Especially not in this country. We aren’t always stellar in our behavior, and your people know that better than any, but our intentions as a society are generally good and sound. Unfortunately, society is made up of all kinds and like I said before, some people can be damn stupid.”

  She nodded and paused in her work to clean the wound of blood. The bleeding had slowed considerably, but she knew he’d already lost too much. Any was too much when it came to fighting off venom. She didn’t know what he was using to stay upright at the moment, but when it wore off he was going to crash extremely hard. For the moment, though, she relaxed against him.

  Devon felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from her. She felt she was a terrible liar, mainly because she hated deception so very much, and she’d despised lying to him. But he was quick to reassure her that he understood on a professional level and that it didn’t matter one way or the other to him or affect the contracts they had signed.

  Did that mean his touches and kisses meant the same thing, but on a personal level? Lord, were they having a personal level? It was a terrible idea all around, and they both knew it. They had both said as much only a few hours ago, but since that kiss in the limousine, and just now when he’d held her …

  Devon snuck a peek at him through her hair, only to find him completely focused on her face and now looking dead into her eyes. She licked her lips and turned her attention back to her task, pretending she hadn’t seen him smile with a rather male smugness. The man was far too confident and outrageous for his own damn good. He never seemed at a loss for what to do in a situation. How did someone so young manage to pull that off? Well, not so young by human standards, she supposed, but it had taken her a couple of lifetimes, a few careers, and a drastic genetic alteration to find the kind of confidence he exuded.

  Liam now understood the medical kit and the efficient care she was giving him. Even her manner as she worked was subconsciously full of that arrogance that only an experienced medical professional acquired. She had been a doctor.

  A doctor and who knew what else. Christ, she was an older woman. A much, much, much older woman. He swallowed hard against the tension in his throat as he thought about that for a moment.

  She was a Morphate. An immortal. Her body perpetually healed itself and shed all signs of aging so that she remained forever young and forever beautiful. It was Paulson’s ultimate achievement. Because of it, she might have had half a dozen careers. An untold number of lovers.

  The lurch of hot, negative emotion surging to life within him at the thought of Devon in bed with a parade of other men had him sucking in a hard breath through flaring nostrils.

  “Sorry,” she murmured soothingly near his ear, mistaking his tense reaction as a sign of pain. “You’re lucky. She didn’t get you too far beyond the fascia. No muscle damage and the tendons and ligaments were all spared, otherwise you’d be in surgery right now. In the end, all you’ll have is a nice macho scar to tell stories about.”

  He already had enough of those. He didn’t give a damn about scars or injuries.

  Not his own.

  Liam suddenly reached for the hem of her skirt, his palm dragging the material up high along the warm skin of her thigh. He heard her gasp, felt her jerk, but her hands were completely occupied and there was nothing she could do about it.

  “Liam!”

  He ignored her protest, took a moment to enjoy the tremble that shuddered through her as he gathered the material up against the curve of her bottom, and then leaned as far as he could around her to see her opposite thigh where she’d been shot.

  “Liam, sit still! Let go of my skirt!” She squirmed a little, and then when he let go of her skirt so he could slide his hand around the smooth skin of her previously wounded leg, feeling for remnants of the injury, she squirmed a great deal more.

  Liam didn’t blame her. He wanted to do a bit of squirming himself. Her skin was on fire, but that was nothing compared to the heat of her nearby sex. She was mere inches and a turn of his wrist away. Suddenly he could smell her as well as feel her, his senses knowing without a doubt that she was wet and musky hot from their earlier play. She wore no panties, he realized as his thumb strayed over the contours of where her ass blended into her thighs.

  Devon fell heavily against him and moaned close to his ear. “Please, Liam,” she begged him, “I can’t help you like this.”

  “Answer a question, Devon,” he instructed her as he drew back to stroke her over the mildly safer territory of her thigh. “Did they shoot you with mercury? Is that why the wound still wasn’t healed when we first met?”

  “Yes,” she replied quietly, her smooth thighs shifting restlessly against his hand and arm.

  Liam tightened the grip he had around her legs and bottom for an instant, closing his eyes as his teeth clenched in spasm. “Through and through?” he demanded roughly. “Is that why you survived? It went through and the mercury didn’t have a chance to discharge?”

  “Yes. Only small traces were left. Enough to hinder healing. Please sit up and relax, Liam. Let me finish this. It’s okay now. As you can see, I’m perfectly healed.” He did as she asked so easily that she was surprised, but after smoothing her skirt back into place, he returned a possessive arm around her waist, fingers pressed into her side firmly. “Liam,” she scolded with a laugh, “this is a little awkward.” She indicated how he was keeping her cuddled close like some kind of favorite toy.

  But when she met his eyes and saw the cold glitter within and the thin line of his compressed lips, her amusement floated away. She held her hands poised mid stitch as she stared at his black expression and tried to understand it.

  “How much does it take, Devon?” he asked in a low, flat voice that seemed so alien coming from him when she was used to the depth and richness of his normal speech.

  She blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Mercury. How much does it really take? What’s the process? The science? We put about a half a cc in our bullets, and we haven’t had enough experience to really figure it out, but I know you know, and I want you to tell me.”

  Devon felt an icy chill walk her spine and she turned to look at her hands, though she was too blinded by emotion to move them. “I’m not supposed to—”

  “Don’t spout that confidentiality bullshit to me, Devon. I’m the one who figured this out in the goddamn first place! Now answer me! How much does it take? I know one bullet isn’t usually enough, unless maybe it’s the luckiest shot in a lifetime. Tell me.”<
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  “It varies, depending on the sex and size of the Morphate,” she said quietly, “but fifteen milliliters will guarantee death in any Morphate.”

  “A tablespoon?” he said almost numbly.

  “Yes, but … bullets are also doing damage and spreading the contaminant, so it can take less in those circumstances. For instance the damage you did to kill your original Morphate. The mercury and glass went straight into his brain, that was why it worked so fast and so thoroughly even though there wasn’t all that much in the vial.”

  His hand slid from her waist, down the curve of her buttock and curled around her formerly injured thigh once again, the stroke all about tenderness and nothing sexual. It stole her breath away and she looked down on his bent head with bemusement. She automatically continued her stitches as she waited to see what he would do next. He seemed to shift in such odd directions so suddenly, she simply couldn’t figure him out.

  “What happens if it’s not enough mercury? Poisoning?”

  “A tablespoon brings instant vaporization once it floods the major organs. Just about anything less than that simply kills more slowly with poisoning. It would have to be less than a teaspoon in order for the Morphate to survive.”