by Dawn Ryder
“It sure as hell was,” he growled.
So close to him, smelling him, getting more turned on by the second by the sheer overwhelming presence of him, she didn’t react well to the rejection. She reached out and tried to shove him back.
“Fine. Just…”
Saxon captured her wrists, jerking her to a standstill when she’d intended to push back from him.
“Because there is nothing I want to do more than play husband.”
She was frozen in place as he leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers. She felt like a live current was moving between them, like jumper cables were bringing her to life. Her breath caught at the sheer intensity as she struggled to accept that it was truly happening. Saxon closed that last step between them, encasing her in his arms, trapping her completely as he kissed her like he owned her.
It was hard and carnal, sending a jolt through her system that left her unable to think. Oh no, there was nothing in her brain except impulses. She craved him, wanted to kiss him back with every bit of demand as he was unleashing on her.
But he recoiled, setting her back with a solid grip on each of her biceps.
The moment felt like an eternity, like they were poised on the crest of a rollercoaster, just waiting for it to drop as she listened to the way both of them were panting. Her belly was twisted with anticipation, and she saw a glitter in his eyes that let her know he felt it as well. Need was a pulsing, tangible thing between them, something with the power to enslave both of them. She had never needed to have sex before. Now, it felt like a necessity. A vital one.
“And that’s why,” he retreated, stepping back from her as he tightened his jaw.
Her brain wasn’t making the switch back to logical thinking very smoothly, leaving her trying to understand what he meant.
“Is there someone else in your life?” It was way late to be asking, but at least she was getting around to it.
His lips slowly curved into a smile. Only it wasn’t a happy expression, oh no, not from Mr. Agent man. Nope, this was a sensual, arrogant, solidly confident grin, one that made him devastatingly good looking. In the same way that an Orca was attractive—sleek, intelligent, but when you got close to one in the wild, you realized just how deadly they were.
“No,” he offered in a tone that sent a shiver down her back. She realized right then and there that he’d been using his professionalism like a shield. “I’m not a nice guy, Ginger,” he spoke in a tone that was edged with warning. She felt it rippling across her skin, awakening a thousand little points of recognition. In short, it scared the wits out of her because of the intensity level, but it also thrilled her to the core.
“There isn’t anything in my world for you except danger. You believe in happy-ever-afters, honey. Those don’t exist in my world. I have a list of friends with benefits because I take sex when I’m between cases. I’m no good for you.”
He went through the doorway, intending to leave her with those little gems. For sure, she should have left it there, but she’d heard the lament in his tone again, and it needled the shit out of her.
“You kiss good.”
He heard her. She watched his shoulders tighten, his body flinch, before he turned into the hallway and disappeared. It most likely wasn’t the wisest thing to have said, but she ended up behind the closed door of the bedroom, slipping down the door to sit against it in a puff of netting from her wedding dress as her lips tingled.
Oh yeah, she shouldn’t have told him that, but she just couldn’t seem to resist the urge to push him around. Maybe she wasn’t as goody-two-shoes as he thought because at least when it came to Saxon, she had a real streak of devilment in her.
And Saxon Hale liked what he saw. Now that was a hell of a long way from vanilla.
CHAPTER FIVE
Playing with fire.
It was a fascination man had dealt with since the dawn of time. Kagan grinned as he walked through the halls of the Capitol building. He didn’t go unnoticed. No sir. He expected it because the crowd inhabiting the walls of the Capitol knew they had to look out for themselves. Everyone was replaceable and anyone with any sense knew they could be taken out by someone willing to go the additional mile, even if that took them through the muck and gutter.
Carl Davis fit into that category well. In fact, he thrived, feeding off the adrenaline rush. Kagan had watched him for years, noting the alliances he formed and the way he made friends with the right people. Tonight was no different. He was shaking hands and stopping for pictures with certain groups, while others went completely ignored.
Carl Davis offered his hand to Kagan. “Good to see you again.”
“Happy to be of service.”
Kagan knew how to play the game. He detested the way Tyler Martin sold out, yet it was also something Kagan understood. Tyler was right about certain facts. Men like Carl Davis held a great deal of power. You could only dick with them so much and a wise man did so only as a last resort, which meant it was smart to try a private approach first. He moved down a hallway beside Carl as the man smiled and nodded.
The moment they were behind a sealed door, Carl abandoned his happy-go-lucky expression.
“You’re a dedicated man, Kagan, I admire that.” Carl leaned against his desk. “I am very busy.”
“I never waste my time,” Kagan replied. It was a calculated risk, trying to make Carl Davis think he was unconcerned about the warning he’d just issued. Carl milled it over for a moment, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he decided Kagan was worth listening to.
“Whatever it is, I’m glad you decided to come to me first,” Carl said by way of an invitation to continue.
That was another warning. Kagan settled into a chair without an invitation. “Agent Hale has a witness who can identify the Raven.”
Carl’s face settled into a very practiced neutral expression. “Is that so? We need more men like the Hale brothers out there.”
Carl was nervous. Kagan picked up the tiny details that confirmed his words were striking the target. The way Carl was tightening his grip on the armrest of his chair, the increased number of times he blinked, the tightening of his jaw were all signs.
Kagan sat forward. “The thing is this, the Raven has been causing too much trouble to ignore. The alleys have been full of bodies this year. The media is making a fuss over it. My superiors want someone brought in before they look too bad. Election year, you understand.”
Carl slowly nodded. “I suppose things like that have to be dealt with.” Carl dropped the act. “Cut the smoke screen. You have my attention.”
“Tyler Martin has shown up twice on Saxon Hale’s tail and tried to take out the girl with the aid of a very … Federal-looking team.” Kagan stood up. “He’s your man.”
“He is.” Carl made no apology.
“If you want to keep him, pull him in.” Kagan advised.
“What makes you think your opinion matters to me?” Carl’s complexion was darkening.
“I don’t think it does,” Kagan spoke softly. “But here’s the thing; Hale is my man. If I have to start digging up how Martin keeps finding my agent team, well, I have a hunch that might matter to you, and I don’t need to be on your bad side any more than you need me probing your private affairs. I think we’re both better off staying on friendly terms. The Raven has attracted too much attention for me to ignore. Your choice is whether or not you want to keep your man.”
“And remember that you let me have the choice,” Carl cut back.
Kagan drew in a stiff breath. “He keeps killing my men. Normally, I’d just take him out. I had the opportunity.”
Kagan gave Carl Davis a long, knowing look before he left the office. He knew he’d just painted a target on his back, but, honestly, he felt a little naked without one. He’d been in the Shadow opps for too long to start playing safe now.
* * *
“Your man missed her again.” Marc Grog didn’t mince words. “I should put a bullet through his
skull.”
“That would be a little harder than you think.” Carl wasn’t going to remain silent.
“I’ve brought down harder targets.”
“And yet you were seen by a librarian,” Carl countered.
There was a grunt on the other end of the line. “Know something? I don’t have to back you for president.”
“And I don’t have to make sure the tax laws favor your business,” Carl fought back. “Was there a reason for this call?”
“I’m getting an outside man. Contract killer. Someone who has the balls to do the job even if it means getting seen.”
Carl stiffened. “That’s a very bad idea. As fucked up as you sending Pratt after the Ryland girl. Do you have any idea how hard it was to bury the tie between the two of you? The scent is what drew Hale and his men down to the Quarter. If anyone gets wind of you putting money down on that girl, you are going to have a full-blown Federal investigation down there. Police department, everything. They will take it apart. You’ll be useless to me with that sort of stink clinging to you.”
“That’s your problem. The girl is mine.”
Marc hung up, leaving Carl glaring at the screen of his phone. It was a burner phone, untraceable to him so long as he didn’t use it too much and got rid of it before too long.
It seemed the moment had come to part ways with Marc. He grunted out a word of profanity before he started to break the phone into pieces. He made sure to crush the data card and grind it a few times before putting it in a bin that was bound for the incinerator.
A contract killer was something he couldn’t risk getting involved with. A good one was a man for sale and that meant he’d turn evidence on anyone. Carl pulled another phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and dialed up Tyler Martin.
“Yes?”
“Marc is hiring a contract killer to go after the girl. We’re done supporting him.”
“How done?” Tyler Martin asked.
“I need him to never be a problem again.” Carl explained.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Carl killed the call, pissed at the turn of events. He paced in a circle, leaving footprints in the plush carpet of his office. He needed to make up those votes. It wasn’t going to come easy either.
* * *
Marc Grog didn’t get told what to do. His empire was exactly that, an empire, and he was the emperor.
Everything in his world revolved around him. Anyone who wanted to stay around needed to know that.
“It’s time to take matters into our own hands,” Marc informed his son Pulse. “We need someone to put a bullet in that little mouse.”
His son nodded. “I’ll find you a mouse hunter.”
Marc didn’t delegate easily, but there was one thing that helped keep people quiet even better than threats, and that was making sure they all had dirt on their hands. Didn’t matter that it was his own flesh and blood and maybe, in some ways, it meant even more. Pulse stood and left while Marc struggled with the urge to do the job himself. No, he needed to let his boy shoulder the burden. Of all his offspring, Pulse was the one who had the balls to run the empire. His mother was a bitch, one that was only still alive because she’d raised up a man instead of a whelp like his other mistresses had. More than one of them hadn’t been heard from in a very long time and they never would be again for their failure.
Yeah, Pulse would do what was needed.
And Marc could get on with making sure Carl Davis regretted his words.
* * *
Ginger slept like a baby.
Meaning she woke up every two hours and wanted to scream until someone removed all of the things around her that were making her uncomfortable. By the time the sun rose, her neck was knotted, her back ached, and there was something going on with her right arm because she’d slept on it wrong. She walked around the suite, opening and closing her hand as she tried to banish the tingling in her fingertips.
At least her surroundings were perfect. As in seriously, they were blissful. The lodge itself was a sprawling complex that was likely double the size of her parents’ house. The suite she was in had a huge master bed, outfitted with what had to be the best set of sheets she had ever slept in. The bed frame was made of iron and had brass flowers in it, that were all gleaming she might add. The thing was a California king if not a custom size. There was a delicious comforter that had welcomed her into it with a little poof but she’d still rolled around like she was sleeping in the back of a beat-up truck with nothing more than a sweatshirt.
She was in a pissy mood to be sure but smiled when she made her way into the retreat the suite offered. Between the bedroom and the bathroom, there was an entire room outfitted just for relaxation, and one of the amenities was a little kitchenette. It made her morning because the last thing she wanted to do was set eyes on Saxon.
You mean your husband?
She filled the small coffee maker with water and grounds, inhaling the rich scent of java as it brewed and did her best to forget the word “husband.” Honestly, she’d had much different expectations of what her wedding day would be. Such as a groom who wanted to be there.
Still got the hots for him?
Ginger snorted, pouring herself a cup of coffee and moving along on her tour of the suite before she followed that thought bunny down a path that promised her grief.
As in the sexual frustration sort.
Friends with benefits. She’d heard the term tossed around, usually by guys that looked at it as some sort of free pass to unlimited nookie. Not Saxon. She slowly drew off some of the coffee, hearing the tone of his voice again. Saxon saw it for what it was. A shallow substitution for the intimacy all humans craved.
He was a good guy.
As in golden, hero sort of material. She really should scrounge up some self-discipline, if for no other reason than he’d saved her life. There was one solid rule she had taken to heart from her grandmother and that was don’t try to change a man. Saxon Hale was an agent. A really good one who deserved to be respected for the path he walked. He was the sort who would feel a twinge from his conscious when he moved on.
Yeah, he kissed you first …
You wanted it …
Well, she was an idiot sometimes. The coffee was warming her up, helping her fingers feel normal. The day crawled by. She read and paced and started to know the time by the routine checks in on her by Saxon’s men. She didn’t see him, though. He was a nocturnal animal to be sure. She fought the urge to nap because she didn’t need to be wide awake when he was.
Truth was, she didn’t trust herself.
By the time the sun set, she was bored off her gourd. She moved around the suite again and stopped in the doorway of the bathroom. She’d been too exhausted the night before to enjoy the splendor of it. Now, the mug of coffee was forgotten as she peered into the expanse of marble-floored delight. Every one of her feminine senses was sighing. There was a large tub, like a vintage one you expected to see in an upstairs room of a historic brothel. A slipper tub with a high back and all covered in creamy enamel with brass claw feet. It sat with a view out a huge, floor-to-ceiling window that had gauze curtains drawn over it for privacy but still afforded a view of the forest and mountains. Next to it was a fireplace that lit with the simple push of a button, sending blue and orange flames licking up and over a set of glass logs inside it. The lights adjusted so that she could see the stars through the skylight. A full moon was just beginning to brighten one corner of the glass, and there was no shade to be closed tight against her seeing into the world beyond the suite.
It was exactly what she needed.
Ginger stripped. There was a bench next to the tub that held a selection of oils and bath salts. She happily selected one and opened it up as she turned the water on and the tub started to fill. It really was like a spa. There were all the little grooming tools a girl could dream of, and she happily settled back into the warm water as she giggled and added some bubble bath. White, foamy su
ds were soon filling the tub and covering her completely. She scooped a handful up and blew them, indulging completely in a moment of much needed playfulness.
Reality could go suck it for the next hour.
* * *
“You’re beginning to get on my nerves.”
Saxon turned and thought for a moment as he stared at Dare Servant. His fellow agent only looked back at him with a steady, confident glare that made it clear he didn’t give a rat’s ass for how insubordinate his words might strike Saxon.
“I don’t know,” Bram Magnus spoke up from where he was stretched out on a sofa where he’d settled in after Dare officially relieved him of duty. “It’s entertaining to watch him pace.… and twitch.”
“You’ve been deployed too long,” Saxon informed Bram.
Bram lifted his hand into the air and offered him a thumbs up.
“There are plenty of beds around here,” Saxon suggested.
Bram let out a groan and rolled onto his feet. “Yeah, Dunn knows how to live.”
“He knows how to do more than that,” Dare said as Bram headed off to catch some shut-eye before he had to take another shift. “The man brings in some serious cash to afford a place like this.”
“Guess I should try not to burn this one down.” Saxon replied. He was contemplating Dunn Bateson, or at least he was trying to keep his thoughts on the elusive Scot in the hope it would help him stop thinking about Ginger.
His wife.
It was a hell of an idea, one he really doubted he was up to the challenge of leaving alone. He needed an annulment to keep her at arm’s length, and that was a fact, because she wasn’t helping the situation by giving him encouragement about how much she liked his kiss.
Hell, he’d known she’d enjoyed it. The feeling of her moving closer to him, reaching for him, kissing him back was like a red hot coal just twisting around in the gray matter of his brain. The carpet was marked from his pacing, and the damned idea was still glowing fiery red.
He needed that annulment like a vaccine. Otherwise, he was going to end up with a massive case of need for more of her.
