Captive of the Beast

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Her fingers slid through his hair, over his head. “I want you, too,” she answered. “I…” She pulled back, tried to see through the thickness of the darkness, to see into his eyes. “Tell me this is real, that you don’t have some ability to control my desire.”

  Guilt twisted in his gut. They were mates. The passion between them was natural. But he couldn’t say that. Not now. Not without scaring her. But he couldn’t lie, either. “I can’t control you any more than you can me,” he answered truthfully. “And right now, you’re doing a damn good job of it.”

  “Promise,” she ordered. “Say it.”

  “I promise,” he said, knowing she was reaching inside him, deciphering his emotions, separating truth from fiction.

  Her chest rose and fell, the tight peaks of her nipples beckoning to him. He wanted to touch her all over, to taste all of her. His hips slid deeper inside the V of her body, his cock throbbing with the heat radiating off her. His lips brushed hers; his tongue delved just past her teeth.

  She started to respond, her tongue flickering against his a second before she tore her mouth away. “No. Not yet. You confuse me, Rinehart. Turn on the light,” she said. “I need to see you. I need to see your face.”

  Reality sliced through his mind. “I would like nothing more than to see you, Laura. To give you the satisfaction of seeing how much I want you.” His voice deepened with arousal. “To see your face when you come.” He hesitated, a combination of passion and guilt working a number on his judgment as he blurted the truth. “But there are cameras everywhere. Walch can see every intimate moment of our lives.”

  “What?” she gasped. “No. No. How? Are you sure?” She’d known her work area was monitored, but never considered something as unethical and invasive as what Rinehart suggested now.

  Damn it! She was upset, and trying to sit up. He was aroused, struggling for control. He sucked in a breath, willed his body to calm itself, and somehow he rolled off of her. He lay on his back, fighting to restrain the lust pulsing through his body. Trying not to think about how sweet she’d felt beneath him. She was sitting up; he could feel her straining to see through the darkness, staring at him; he could hear her silent demand for answers.

  “Walch installed a monitor in my room,” he reluctantly admitted. “I guess he assumed everyone is as twisted as he is.”

  A shocked sound slid from her lips, and she jerked toward the edge of the bed. Instinctively, he reached for her, shackling her wrist.

  She yanked at it. “Let go!”

  “You think I watched you,” he growled between his teeth, his anger spiking as he recognized that he, not Walch, had become the enemy.

  “What do you expect me to think?”

  “Why would I tell you if that were the case?” he demanded. “I thought you sensed things.”

  “Emotions,” she spat back, tugging at her wrist. “I don’t read minds. I get what you give me and right now, that’s a whole lot of guilt.”

  Guilt? She was convicting him over fucking guilt? He ground his teeth, pulled her flat against his chest, and pressed her close. She made a frustrated sound. “Let go!”

  “Not yet,” he declared, holding her easily though she was shoving at his chest. “You say I am putting off guilt. You know why? Not because I watched you like some sort of pervert, but because I tried to get rid of those cameras. I tried to protect you. My mistake was that I didn’t believe Walch would do anything about it. I thought he needed us too much for the cloning program. But I was wrong. He did do something. He tortured Lucan to make me pay for crossing him. A man who trusts me. One of my men, whom I’m responsible for protecting.”

  She stopped fighting him. “Oh, God. Oh, God, Rinehart. I’m so sorry. I…Where is he? Does he need medical attention?”

  “He’ll survive,” he said, shrugging off her touch and sitting up. He ran a rough hand through his hair, then shifted his weight up the mattress so he could lean back on the headboard. The need for privacy had passed; the mood had swung from passion to anger in a matter of moments. He flipped on the bedside lamp and blinked into the light.

  Laura’s disheveled appearance punched him in the gut: she sank to her knees, her eyes stormy, her hair a wild, sexy, mussed-up silk. Her feet were tucked beneath that perfect ass he’d been touching only minutes before. His cock pressed painfully against his zipper. Why did he still want her? Why? No. He would not be foolish over a woman again.

  “They tortured him because I let whatever the heck it is you do to me cloud my judgment.” Those words burned with far too much reality; long ago, he’d gotten his men killed by the Beasts over a damn woman.

  Shock filled her eyes. “Don’t say that!” Pain laced her words, washing over her features. He cut his gaze away from her, fighting desperately to remain detached. He could not allow himself to be sucked back into the spell she cast on him. She repeated her words, softer this time. “Please don’t say that.” She hesitated. When she spoke again, defeat colored her words. “Everything is so out of control. I don’t know how to fix it.”

  Guilt. More guilt. It rushed through his veins and twisted his heart. His gaze lifted to find her knees curled to her chest, arms wrapped around them, her hair hiding her face. His actions came without thought, driven by pure instinct. He found himself once again moving toward her, sitting beside her, hip to hip so that he faced her. He tilted her chin up; she was fighting tears. There were a million promises he could have made, but not the one she wanted to hear, not the promise of a place called Normal that he knew didn’t exist. And she couldn’t promise him what he wanted to hear. Couldn’t tell him she could leave her fantasy of that normal life behind. So he said nothing, asked nothing. Instead, he eased her into his arms and pulled her down on the bed with him.

  Chapter 12

  When Rinehart’s strong arms surrounded her, Laura melted into him. He was a stranger, a man she had thought was an enemy only hours before. Yet she was warm in places she didn’t know could be warm, aching in places she instinctively knew only he could soothe.

  Blinking into his hot stare, she searched for the anger she’d seen moments before, the accusation he’d thrown her way, but she saw neither, felt neither. Still, she couldn’t let it go without some resolution, not after the conviction his words had held, not when she knew that Lucan had been tortured because Rinehart had tried to help her. She’d spent her entire adult life trying to make a difference, trying to do the right things. But everything seemed to be falling apart. Her kids were in danger. She was in danger. Now it appeared others, too, had faced danger on her behalf.

  “I didn’t mean for Lucan to get hurt,” Laura whispered. “I…wish you wouldn’t have tried to help me. Not at someone else’s expense.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, took a short, hard breath before his gaze fixed on hers, the depths of his stare like dark pools of dire emotion. “It is I who didn’t mean to hurt you, Laura.”

  She touched his cheek, her fingers trailing to his strong jaw. The rasp of stubble against her skin sent a dart of awareness through her body. “Yes,” she murmured, “you did.” She swallowed against the ache he’d created. “And it worked.” He started to object and she pressed her fingers to his lips. “But you had good reason. I misread your guilt and judged you. I’m sorry.”

  He grabbed her hand, curled her fingers around his, and kissed the tips. He stared down at her with so much passion she could hardly breathe. “Laura,” he said huskily.

  The deep, dark pools of his eyes filled with desire, lust, hunger. Little darts of fire licked at her limbs in response. This was what she needed, this escape. A shelter in the midst of a firestorm that wouldn’t stop raging.

  It was true, there were still unanswered questions between them, but they were alike in some way she had yet to identify, alike in a way that drew her to him. One night, she told herself. One night. That was all this had to be. One night to let go, to be touched, to be held. God, it had been so long.

  “I want you,” she c
onfessed, boldly staring into his eyes, boldly asking for what she wanted—and what she wanted was him.

  Fire lit his gaze, and a low growl escaped his sensual lips. His head lowered, his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue pressed past her teeth and found her own. Hot strokes of that velvety tongue followed, answering her declaration without words, telling her that he, too, needed this escape. He needed her.

  They went from slow sensuality to raging desire in all of thirty seconds. His hand rode beneath her dress, beneath the thin strap of her thong. He nipped her bottom lip and gently eased her backward, pressing her shoulders to the headboard. His hot stare stroked hers before he ripped away her panties and spread her legs. Her dress was high on her hips, and remotely she thought of the cameras. That worry was quickly dismissed as Rinehart positioned his big body in front of her, a protective wall hiding her from anyone else who might be watching. She was exposed to him, Rinehart, and no one else. Exposed to the heated inspection he cast upon her spread legs, lust radiating off him with such force she shivered with the impact. The primal, almost animalistic need in him bit at her senses, telling of the depth of his desire and stirring her own. Her nipples tingled; her core ached. Never had she felt so intimate with a man, so fearlessly exposed to a man.

  When his head slowly lifted, the depths of those dark eyes drew her in, pulled her into a hypnotic spell. She was sinking deeper and deeper into the recesses of sensual escape, and she didn’t fight it—for once, she was ready to let go.

  As if he welcomed that silent declaration, he spoke then, his voice gravelly. “You’re beautiful.”

  His fingers climbed up her thighs, his callused prints rasping at her skin with erotic results, teasing her with where he was going, what would come next. She gasped as his thumb found her clit, biting her lip as pleasure charged through her body, moaning as he used the other hand in combination, expertly caressing the slick folds of her sensitive flesh. He leaned forward, kissed her neck, nipped her ear. Whispered, “Forgive me, Laura, but I have to see you come before I turn out that light.” With that declaration he kissed her, his tongue delving into her mouth at the same moment his fingers slid intimately inside her core. With long, sensual strokes he caressed her to the edge. Caressed her to the point where she clung to his neck, her hips arching into his hands, her mouth begging for more of his taste. The buildup was fast, intense, overwhelmingly hot. She shattered with such intensity, her mouth tore from his; her head fell back against the headboard, and her breath lodged in her chest. She shook with the impact of pleasure each spasm delivered. And he expertly stroked the spasms, stroked faster and then slower, into waves of gentle completion, easing her into blissful satisfaction.

  Her body eased into the mattress, and she blinked up at him. A rush of newfound heat flushed her cheeks, this time borne of how easily he’d taken her completely over the edge, how easily he’d made her forget everything but pleasure. And she’d done nothing for him, leaving him on the brutal edge of arousal without release. She could feel the impact of that neglect, the hunger eating away at him, the need.

  Suddenly, she burned to pleasure him. In one quick act, Laura adjusted onto her knees, leaned forward, and tugged on his shirt. The buttons snapped and flew, scattering here and there, from the bed to the floor. Her gaze raked his broad chest, her fingers touching the taut skin that covered sinewy muscle. Perfect amounts of light brown hair sprinkled across the expanse and teased the sensitive flesh of her palm. She lifted off her heels, and her gaze collided with his. Holding his stare, she peeled his shirt off his shoulders, the act pushing her body close to his, her chest into his. Heat radiated off him and enfolded her.

  He shrugged away the shirt and brought his hands to her hips. Face-to-face, on their knees, their lips lingering a breath away from a kiss. A moment, two. His mouth touched hers, sensual, slow, a caress that lingered, erotic, compelling. He leaned back just enough for his eyes to search hers, his hands inching again beneath her hemline, up the back of her thighs. His palms cupped her backside, a finger sliding intimately along the crevice.

  Her lips parted in a gasp. “Rinehart.” She spoke his name, not even sure why, only that she wanted this man more than she remembered ever wanting anyone before.

  Satisfaction flared in his eyes for a moment before they darkened with challenge. “What happened to me being the enemy?”

  What did happen? A question easier answered if his fingers weren’t exploring with such delicious precision. She swallowed hard against the pleasure, somehow finding a desire-laden whisper. “You said to keep my friends close and my enemies closer.” Laura traced the flexing muscle of his bare shoulders. “But I’m not sure you’re close enough yet.”

  His eyes narrowed in response, his hands stilled where they had been caressing, teasing. Something in the air shifted—no, something in him shifted. She felt it the way someone might a storm blowing in over the open sea, swift and intense. Wildly evident. “What if I don’t want to be the enemy, Laura?”

  Emotion welled in her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was his or hers, maybe both. I don’t want you to be. But she couldn’t say that. Not without exposing herself in a way she wasn’t prepared to do, a way she had vowed to never do, ever, with anyone.

  He stared at her, willing her to answer, willing her to say what he wanted to hear, eyes probing with such intensity she thought they might set her on fire. But she couldn’t give him what he wanted. Take her body, her passion, but she couldn’t give beyond that.

  A barely perceptible growl slid from his lips a second before he moved, the heat of his body gone from hers, leaving her exposed in an entirely different way. Not sensual, but cold. Alone. It was over. He’d wanted something she couldn’t give, and now he was leaving.

  She sat up, swallowing hard against a new wave of emotion. But she was proven wrong. Her eyes went wide as Rinehart’s boots disappeared, followed by his pants and boxers. And all that was left was one gorgeous hunk of naked man.

  Rinehart had felt how much she wanted to open up emotionally, felt how she’d fought to keep up her walls. How he had felt these things, he could not say, but he had. If she could not pull down the walls herself, he would do it for her. If not forever, then for at least this one night. Rinehart stood before Laura naked and aroused, ready to give himself to his mate, a silent message in his actions. There were no barriers between them tonight, nothing to separate them.

  Her gaze traveled his body, exploring, making him hotter with every touch of her eyes. Making him burn for the touch of her hands, the taste of those lips against his. Her eyes lifted to his, desire burned from her to him. And she responded to his silent invitation. She raised up on her knees and reached for the hem of her dress.

  With one agile move, Rinehart’s knees pressed down onto the mattress, his hands stilling hers. “No,” he warned. Uncertainty flared in her eyes that he quickly answered with explanation. “No one sees you naked but me.” It was one thing for him to be naked on camera, another thing altogether for her to be.

  Understanding settled in her features, and he leaned over and flipped off the light. Darkness surrounded them, a seductive blanket growing warmer with each passing second. His hands found the bottom of her hem; his lips, the gentle curve of her neck just below her ear. He nibbled and she sighed with pleasure. He smiled against her soft skin, pleased at how easily she responded to him.

  Together their hands slid the hem of her dress upward, and he helped her maneuver it over her head. His erection settled between her legs, the wet heat of her core invitingly hot. He helped her remove her bra, covering her full breasts with his hands. Her nipples pebbled against his palms, and he yearned to see them, to know the color—pink? red? a rosy color, perhaps? Without the ability to see, he used his hands and mouth to drive a sensory exploration—one where her moans were erotic bliss; her sighs, erotic taunts that drove him to elicit another. He kissed her, touched her nipples with his fingers and then with his tongue.

  Laura answered his seducti
on with one of her own. Her teeth found his shoulder, scraping it lightly; her lips found his arm, his stomach. She pressed him backward, urged him to lay down. The wet heat of her breath brushed his cock; her tongue lapped at the tip. He bit back a groan, feeling as if a leash had snapped, and the Beast inside him suddenly flared to life. He reached for her, pulling her up his body, tight against his side, and willed himself back under control.

  “I wanted to do that to you,” she said, her breath warm on his neck, her lips delivering a soft caress.

  Primal burn set him into action again. Rinehart rolled her to her back, spread her legs and settled between her shapely thighs. “I need to be inside you, Laura. I need…” He slid his cock along the slick center of her body, aroused, hot. “I need to be inside.” He sank deep into her body.

  “Yes,” she whispered, arching upward, breasts pressed into his chest as she tried to pull him in deeper. He rotated his hips, easing to that deeper spot he longed for, that pocket of wet heat that would consume him fully. And when he found it, she moaned, “Yes.”

  Several seconds ticked by as they lay there, bodies joined, his head buried in her shoulder. How long, he didn’t know. But slowly, they shifted into motion, mouths melding in a scorching kiss, a kiss that devoured, a kiss that provoked. They were hungrier now, their bodies pumping, swaying, clinging. Hands all over each other.

  Suddenly, he wanted to claim her, wanted her to know that in every possible way, she belonged to him. A primal burn evolved, a demand to ensure that she knew what he already did—she was his. He arched his back, thrusting harder, faster. Possessiveness flowed through his veins like molten heat through his body. He had to have her. Had to take her. She was saying his name, calling out to him. She wanted him to claim her. She was telling him to with each pump of her hips, the muscles in her core taking him deeper.