by Lora Leigh
“And you think handing her over to you will complete that healing?” Noah snorted. “Hell, from what I’ve seen you can’t keep a woman past the time it takes to fuck one, Micah. You’re like a robot, man. That’s fine with a woman that’s not looking for anything more.”
“Noah, you are becoming a mother hen,” Micah sighed. “You remind me much of one here of late. I need to discuss this with Sabella. She’s becoming a bad influence on you.”
Noah grinned. Damn, his Sabella was his lifesaver.
“She’ll just laugh at you,” he promised the other man.
“I have no doubt she will laugh, simply because she knows you’re a lost cause.”
Noah let the argument go. There was obviously no convincing Micah that charming a woman took more than an invitation to his bed. Especially a woman like Risa, one who had known the horror she barely remembered. She may think she had forgotten details and faces due to that fucking Whore’s Dust, but Noah knew her mind remembered, her body remembered.
He knew because he had been there. For nineteen hellish months he had been pumped full of that shit. He knew what it did to a body, to a mind. What it would do to the child she had been, and to experience the humiliation and pain of a rape on top of it wouldn’t be that damned easy to get over.
Risa hadn’t been as lucky as the other victims pumped full of the date rape drug. She hadn’t completely forgotten that night, nor had she forgotten the endless months she had been held in the asylum. She sure as hell hadn’t forgotten that it was her father who had consigned her to both hells.
The bastard Jansen Clay. Noah prayed he was burning in hell now.
“Live Wire, be advised, mark is bearing on your location,” he spoke into the mic attached to his wrist as Risa’s cab patted into the predetermined checkpoint. “Maverick is four doors down and coming in cold.”
Four cars back and cold as ice. The man had to be made of computer chips.
“Ease in,” Jordan ordered softly. “Let’s see we have interest.”
“Orion wouldn’t be that sloppy,” Micah stated as the cab turned into the club’s receiving area and drew to a stop.
Seconds later Noah pulled in behind the cab, and he and Micah watched as Risa stepped from the vehicle.
Micah saw her face, each exquisite detail, and felt his body tense in familiar, but unwanted arousal and interest. It had been happening ever since they had started this op and he had been ordered to tail her. She’s a mark, he reminded himself. A very vulnerable, very innocent mark, he had to remember that.
But the mark looked like an earth angel. Dressed in the bronze and brown, her sun-lightened hair swaying about her shoulders, her expression equal parts fear and valor.
He fought his body’s reaction to her, fought his interest in her. He was here for one purpose: to capture that bastard Orion, and Risa Clay was a means to that end. As he had told Noah, tonight was a meet and greet, nothing more. A little chitchat, a dance or two, and tomorrow she would be forced to realize her world was changing. She had become the hunted, and Micah was her only chance at survival.
As she entered the club he stepped from the car, adjusted the black evening jacket he wore, and followed behind her at a sedate pace.
She was simply beautiful. Micah had seen her before, several times, though she was unaware of it. She was friends with the wives of the Durango team, all of whom were based in Atlanta.
Each time he had seen her, he’d been interested, attracted, but in a very objective manner. Her innocence and vulnerability touched something in him that hadn’t been touched in years. She made him ache to take the pain from her eyes, and that was very dangerous for a man like him.
“Maverick, mark is in place,” Jordan announced. “Go in naked. Black Jack in place to take your cover.”
Micah slipped the receiver from his ear unobtrusively and unclipped the mic from beneath his jacket sleeve. Palming them, he slid in close to Travis Caine, the former MI6 agent, dropped them into the pocket of his jacket, and continued across the room.
Micah paused before heading to the table. Standing at one of the support columns several feet from the table when Risa was now taking her seat, he let himself draw in perhaps the final moments where he would see her expression unguarded.
There was fear in her eyes. Her body was stiff with it, and her gaze shadowed with it.
She looked around the room, glanced over him, and Micah waited.
Her gaze passed by him again, then again. On the third pass she lingered as he continued to watch her, allowing his gaze to memorize those features just before her eyes met his.
A jolt of power flashed through him. Her light blue eyes flickered with interest, fear, then interest again, as though she wasn’t certain which she should feel.
He let his gaze continue to hold hers, let his mind reach out to her, soothe her, ease her. He used his eyes rather than his expression to calm the fear that he knew would be rising within her.
Micah knew the power of a look. When two people touched from across a distance, that touch could be frightening, wary, or a stroke of gentleness. He stroked her gently. He never let his eyes dip below her chin; rather, he let himself take in every nuance of expression, every shift of each facial motion, the flicker of her lashes, the shadows in her eyes, the tension in her small body.
She was like a bird ready to fly. Poised at the edge of her seat, her body stiff and prepared to run.
Easy, little bird, he thought, letting his thoughts touch his gaze. There’s no pain here; there’s no fear.
He stroked the delicate line of her jaw with his gaze, then came back to her eyes. He let her inside him, let her see into the soul and the parts of him that were just a man, just a lover willing to touch her in gentleness. He let her see there was nothing to fear if she let him close to her.
Eyes were more than the windows to the soul. They could lie as well. And Micah was a consummate liar. But as he stared into her wary gaze, he found himself wishing he could be more. That he could be the man she needed in truth, rather than in deception.
She blinked, and he saw the minute softening in her gaze. It wasn’t surrender and it wasn’t desire, exactly. It was a hint of interest mixed with caution and resolution. She had made a decision. Now he wondered what that decision was.
He moved forward slowly, holding her gaze, too aware of the eyes that were watching. There were four members of the Durango team here along with their wives. Clint and Morganna, Reno and Raven, Kell and Emily, and Ian and Kira, who spent part of the year in Atlanta or wherever they were needed with the team. The other part they spent at their home in Texas. Macey was currently doing something somewhere with his fiancée, Emerson.
The couples pretended to be unaware of the tension that sizzled across the distance between him and the very delectable Risa Clay. He saw concern in their gazes, though, protectiveness in the shifts of their bodies.
This woman was their friend, and one they worried about. They were as uncertain about this mission as Noah was, and Micah understood that concern. What they didn’t know was that the wary little creature watching him so closely had nothing to fear from him.
He realized in that moment that Risa Clay had become more than the means to an end for him. She was a tool created for his hand. A weapon he would mold to respond to his every move. She was the very path he must walk in order to exorcise the ghosts that haunted him. And for that reason alone he would see that she came to no harm.
She was bait. He knew it. Tomorrow she would know it. And tonight would be his only chance to ensure that he was there when his enemy attempted to strike.
Micah had sworn years before that he would be the one to wield the weapon that would bring Orion to his death. Six years Micah had been haunted by that vow. Haunted by the death of his mother and, six weeks later, the death of his father.
Risa was his chance to cut the heart from the assassin who had destroyed his family and ruined the life Micah had dreamed of for himself.
> It was time for payback, and Risa was his only connection to the bastard.
Orion had been hired to hunt her. Maverick would protect her. And when the time came, he would be there to kill the hunter.
CHAPTER 2
“THAT’S MICAH.”
Risa heard Morganna’s statement at her ear, but she couldn’t turn away from the black eyes that held her. Eyes as deep, as dark as the night, yet there was something that sparked with warmth, that kept those eyes from being cold.
His expression was still. There was a hint of hardness, a suggestion of danger carefully leashed. But she couldn’t expect anything less from a friend of four former Navy SEALs.
Still, the very stillness of expression was comforting. As though he knew himself, his strengths and weaknesses, and had learned to live with his own demons. He wouldn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, or on his face. He was reserved. She understood reserved.
His entire body reflected his expression. He didn’t move as though he were in a hurry. There was no anticipation, no sense of urgency. His body was coordinated, lean, tough. Fit.
Black slacks conformed to his muscular legs and hips. The white shirt beneath the black jacket was a hint of color in an otherwise dark ocean of still emotions and graceful male confidence. His hair was cut close to the scalp, but still the thick black strands would be long enough for a woman to thread her fingers through.
And what made her think of that? she wondered. Why did her fingers suddenly clench on her purse as she wondered what his hair would feel like beneath them.
It was his eyes that held her, though, that called to her. They stroked over her face, always came back to her eyes, and some softening within them, a hint of male interest, of determination, had her heart racing through her body with a force that left her trembling.
She had expected him to be strong, powerful. He was, yet it was a subtle strength and power. His body wasn’t bulky with muscle and straining against his clothes. He was lean, corded. Male power shimmered around him, but it wasn’t heavy and wide such as Kell’s was. Kell Krieger was tall, his shoulders like a football player’s, padded with muscle. Even Reno and Clint were like towers of muscle and strength. Micah Sloane was just as tall as they were, but the bulk was absent. Some might suspect the strength was absent. She had a feeling whoever made that mistake would come to regret it.
“It’s about time you arrived,” Clint drawled from the other side of Morganna as Micah Sloane moved to the vacant chair across from her.
He shook Clint’s hand as the other man rose, repeated the move with Reno, Kell, and Ian. His eyes didn’t leave Risa’s.
“Micah, would you like to meet our friend Risa?” There was a hint of amusement in Morganna’s voice now.
“I believe I just have.” His words didn’t rise above the music. It was as though the music paused for him alone, certain it would regret foiling his wishes if it didn’t.
“Mr. Sloane.” Risa nodded, barely able to swallow past the nervousness that rose in her throat.
His hand moved across the table. She had no choice but to loosen her fingers from her purse and allow him to take them. She expected a handshake, firm and determined. She didn’t expect his hand to encase hers, his fingers to stroke against her wrist for one brief second, as though to ease the pulse pounding out of control there.
Then the warmth of his hand was gone, leaving her to regret the brevity of the contact as he loosened the button on his jacket and took his seat.
He leaned back in the chair and answered some question Kell had asked. His gaze came back to her, though it was never gone for long.
He didn’t demand that she stare into his eyes. The caress of his gaze was subtle, slow. It wasn’t enough to draw others’ interest, it was shielded by thick black lashes, but nothing could dim the effect it had on her.
“Risa Clay, meet Micah Sloane, a SEAL assigned to Durango team,” Clint introduced them.
Micah never once looked below her chin, but she swore she could feel the warmth of that look flowing over her body. His attention wasn’t crude; it wasn’t obtrusive. It was simply there. A stroke along her brow, along her chin. It touched her hair, her ear when she tucked the strands nervously behind it.
“Risa, Micah likes to play with cameras as well.” Kell leaned forward to speak to her, his green eyes bright in his somber expression. “The man carries a camera with him everywhere he goes.”
Risa’s heart was pounding; she felt flushed, frightened. She needed to get away from the careful stroke of his eyes on her.
She couldn’t answer Kell. She couldn’t form a reasonable reply. Pushing to her feet, she tried to form an excuse to escape to the ladies’ room, but Micah’s eyes were on her, probing, questioning. She couldn’t form a single reasonable sentence. She turned and rushed from the table, weaving her way through the crowd and escaping to the dimly lit corridor and the tastefully appointed ladies’ room beyond.
She pushed through the door, let it swing closed behind her, and felt like crying out in relief that the room was empty. The velvet and tasteful walnut chairs sat in several groupings outside the main stall area. A long counter of sinks could be glimpsed on the other side of the wall, the bright lights picking up the forest green and amber gold color in the walls and floors.
It was cool, soothing, and she felt like a complete fool. Her heart was racing, perspiration dotted her forehead, and fear was like a maniacal pulse of searing heat burning inside her veins.
Pressing her hand to her stomach, she breathed in deeply and straightened from the wall. She was going to get a handle on this, she promised herself. She wouldn’t run again.
Turning on the cold water in one of the faucets, she held her wrists under the stream of soothing water and berated herself for her reaction. What the hell was wrong with her? She was going to do this. Micah Sloane was a damned good-looking man. He was safe. He wouldn’t hurt her. And he was interested.
She might be a plain Jane, but he was a man, and she wasn’t stupid. There had been interest in his eyes. Sexual interest.
One night, she wailed silently. Just one night. God, please give me the strength to make a memory instead of a nightmare. Her breathing hitched at the need burning inside her, the electrical pulse of feminine need, a woman’s need just to be held.
Pulling her wrists back from the water, she shut the stream off, then dried her hands. Straightening her shoulders, she stared into her reflection. She wasn’t ugly, not as she had been as a teenager, when her face had been all angles and sharp lines. It had filled out, softened. He wouldn’t have to push her face into the blankets—
She broke off the thought as sickness roiled in her stomach and nightmares threatened to replace determination.
He had been interested. She could do this. God, just one night.
Licking her lips nervously, she blew out another hard breath, then turned and moved to the door. Pulling it open, she stepped out, then came to a hard, shocked stop.
Micah stood propped against the wall across from her, his hands shoved negligently into the pockets of his slacks, his jacket falling open, his shirt lying against what appeared to be lean, hard abs.
“Morganna wanted to race after you.” His voice was black velvet, dark, whispering with magic and sexuality as she finally stared into his dark eyes and felt that pulse of need throbbing between her thighs.
“I needed…” She waved her hand to the door and swallowed tightly. “A moment.”
“The crowd out there can get overwhelming.” He spoke and his lips were firm and full. Wide, tempting lips. What would it be like, she wondered, to kiss a man? She hadn’t been touched since she was eighteen years old. The kisses she had known before then had been sloppy, inexperienced. What would it be like to kiss a man? A man who knew a woman’s body.
And this man would know. Sexual experience oozed from his pores in a subtle aura that had drawn the glance of every female who could see him as he walked toward the table earlier.
S
he licked her lips again. She should speak; she knew she should. She should say something.
“I’m sorry.” Her smile was nervous; she was shaking on the inside, equal parts fear and the flush of need racing through her. “I must seem like a lunatic.”
His head tilted to the side, his black eyes watched her with a hint of fire. “On the contrary,” he stated as he pushed away from the wall and drew his hands from his pockets. “You seem like a lovely young woman uncertain with the animal your friends have introduced you to.” For the first time a smile touched his lips. It was wry, a bit mocking. “They’re used to dealing with testosterone overload, I believe. Those men of theirs are like teenage boys pushing and shoving at each other for dominance. They don’t consider the effect it would have on someone unused to the phenomenon.”
She almost laughed. The sound stuck in her throat as her gaze slipped to his lips again. Her breathing was rough, heavy. She didn’t understand the sensations suddenly rioting through her, and they were frightening. Terrifying.
He moved closer, a subtle shift of his body, and only inches separated them as she stared up at him, aware of too many things at once. The feel of his body, the heat surrounding her. The strength of him. The clash of need and fear inside her.
“I’m sorry.” She brushed at her hair nervously, then watched in shock as his hand lifted.
Like a frightened doe she stared up at him as though expecting the bullet at any second, Micah thought as he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear for her.
The strands were as soft as silk, warm beneath his fingertips.
Risa froze at the light caress, and he was aware of the conflicting emotions, the fears that were tearing through her. Beneath her makeup her face was pale; he could see the hint of panic in her darkening eyes, as well as the arousal.
Yes, arousal. Her body, awakening and demanding touch, comfort, ease. But there were also the lingering effects of that fucking drug they had pumped her full of. Whore’s Dust didn’t just flush from the system. The synthetic drug attached to the brain, forced the body to feel arousal at the most inopportune times.
