by Lora Leigh
Because he couldn’t have her, not forever. She would never carry the false name he had taken, she would never know what they could have had, because he could never let her know of the feelings that rose inside him whenever he saw her.
He hadn’t just seen her last night.
No, he had seen her before. Many times. Leaving her friends’ homes as he was arriving in the past year or so. The few times he had gone out of his way to find her during the times he had worried that he hadn’t seen her in a while.
Yeah, he’d done that a time or two. Watched for her. Waiting for her. Always knowing, like a damned buck in rut, whenever she was near.
He pushed his fingers through his hair and blew out a hard, weary breath. He was damned tired himself, and sleeping next to her tempting heat was going to be hard.
“Hard” didn’t come close to describing it. And even worse? Damned if he wasn’t looking forward to it.
He took a moment to adjust his stiff cock in his jeans before moving around the apartment. He checked the door and the dead bolts, then the windows. The security system the apartment used was state of the art, but John and Nik had added a bit before Micah arrived at the apartment with Risa.
The advanced electronics now installed would detect a fly if it managed to slip past the seal.
Pursing his lips, he blew out another silent breath before he headed for the bedroom door. She’d finished her shower long minutes before. She was either in the bed or hiding in the bathroom attempting to come up with an argument that would keep him out of her bed.
There was no argument sane enough, he thought. Because the hunger to sleep next to her wasn’t in any way logical.
He opened the door, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim room and finding her shape in the bed.
Closing the door behind him, he moved to the bed and sat gingerly on the mattress to pull off his boots.
“You didn’t get your pajamas,” she informed him, her voice trembling a bit.
Micah closed his eyes. Did she have any clue how much he hated doing this to her? Could she sense in any way his reluctance to frighten her, or to force her to face her demons?
“I don’t sleep in pajamas, sweet,” he said quietly as the last boot dropped to the floor and he picked it up to set it next to the other before pulling off his socks.
Rising to his feet, he shucked his jeans and underwear first, then his shirt.
“I don’t think I can do this.” She sounded breathless but not frightened. She sounded aroused, and fighting it oh, so hard.
“Do you have a choice?” He didn’t give her time to think.
Flipping back the sheet and comforter, he moved into the bed beside her, almost grinning at the small amount of space the bed afforded both of them.
He pulled the sheet over his hips, adjusted the pillow, and closed his eyes. He didn’t have to see her to sense her. He didn’t have to look at her to feel the warmth of her body next to him.
She was stiff, silent. Micah could feel the tension moving around her, and that tension would keep her from sleeping.
“Are you so frightened of me, Risa?” he asked quietly. “After last night, isn’t there some semblance of trust that will allow you to share this bed with me? Something that tells you I would lay down my own life before I’d harm yours?”
There was nothing, no one, that could convince him to harm her. That could make him further wound the spirit that fought so desperately to survive within her.
“It’s not a matter of trust,” she finally whispered into the darkness.
“Then what’s it a matter of?” He turned to her then, letting his hand uncurl, allowing his fingers to curve over her hip despite the flinch that jerked through her body. “Tell me, Risa. Why deny yourself when you don’t have to?”
She was still and silent, her breathing jerky.
“Because,” she finally whispered. “The night will come that you won’t be here any longer. And then I’ll have to face reality rather than the illusion. And I don’t think I want to face either.”
Strangely enough, he understood that comment. The reality that he would leave, the illusion that he could stay. Yes, facing either would hurt them both. But Micah was a man who never allowed himself illusion. He knew only the reality, and the reality involved one simple fact.
“Memories can warm you in the cold of the night,” he told her softly. “I know this well, sweet. If you want to make those memories, you have only to let me know.”
SHE HAD ONLY to let him know.
Risa stared into the darkness for several more long moments before she turned slowly to her side, feeling his hand lift, only to return to the opposite hip as she faced him.
There was a sliver of light falling from the bathroom, just enough to make out his shadowed features. He was just as roughly handsome in the dark as he was in the light. His strong jaw was clearly defined, the fullness of his lower lip prominent despite the thinner, brooding upper curve.
And he had the rasp of a beard covering his face.
She wanted to touch it, yet she was too frightened. She wanted to run her fingers over it, feel it against her palm.
Who was she kidding? She wanted to feel it all over her body. She wanted it stroking against her breasts, her belly, her thighs.
“Making memories is a lousy excuse,” she finally whispered, her breathing short and choppy from the mere thought of having his body cover hers again.
He was warm and hard, muscular and so intensely male that he made her mouth water.
“Is it?” His fingers moved against her hip. It took her several seconds to realize he had pushed his hands beneath the loose hem of her long T-shirt. It rested on her bare waist, the calloused flesh of his palm warm and decidedly inviting against her sensitive skin.
“You should think about it,” he whispered, his head moving closer, his lips holding her attention, his need driving spikes of hunger through her system. “Remember how hot it was, baby? How the sweat built on our flesh? How we strained together?”
How he didn’t come?
Risa closed her eyes, her head shaking as her hand pressed against his chest while she fought to hold her hunger at bay.
It was the Whore’s Dust; that was what they said. But was it? If it was related to that damned drug, wouldn’t it happen at a time other than when Micah was near? Why burn her now with such depth when it hadn’t before? Not like this. Not until she wanted to throw caution to the wind and beg him to bury himself inside her.
“Don’t.” She finally managed to push the words past her lips: “Please, Micah.”
His lips brushed her forehead instead and she wanted to cry out with the need to feel that caress against her lips.
“I won’t hurt you, Risa.” His voice caressed her senses, stoked her desires. “I promise you this.”
A whimper of need passed her lips. “No, Micah, you’ll destroy me, and we both know it.”
But he was a man a woman couldn’t help but fall in love with. The type of man a woman could never hope to hold.
She forced herself to turn her back on him once again, to lie alone, except for the touch of his hand against her hip. And it wasn’t the fear of his touch that drove her. It was the fear of learning his touch, craving it, and never having it again.
CHAPTER 8
TWO DAYS OF HELL.
Risa stepped from her bedroom two days later, feeling the lack of sleep that had haunted her, the exhaustion edging at her mind.
She couldn’t sleep with Micah in the bed with her. He slept naked. He crowded her in the bed. His arm always ended up against her, over her, something. At one point, his fingers had curled around her breast, his palm searing her nipple.
It had taken everything she had to remove his hand, the bastard. It didn’t matter what she slept in, he ended up finding bare skin to touch. She was terrified to go to sleep. She knew if she did, she would awaken to find herself draped over him, probably begging him to fuck her.
That was all
she needed to round out the most humiliating week of her life.
“Breakfast and coffee, sunshine,” he called out from the kitchen as she paused in the living room and glared at him in irritation.
“I told you”—and she had, just the morning before—“I don’t do breakfast.”
“And I told you”—no, he had badgered her—“breakfast is the most important part of the day.”
She wanted him, bare-chested, wearing nothing but low-slung jeans, his feet bare, his hair damp, for breakfast. Rather than fighting another useless battle, she moved to the kitchen table and gratefully accepted the coffee. She stared at the eggs, bacon, and toast he set before her. Hell, she might as well eat. She was too damned tired to fight with him.
“You didn’t sleep well last night,” he commented as he carried his own plate, minus the bacon, and cup to the table. Swinging his leg over the chair, he sat down and sipped at his coffee. “I hope I’m not distracting you.”
He was so damned cheerful she wanted to snarl at him in violent irritation.
“I’m used to sleeping alone,” she reminded him for what had to be the hundredth time. “I don’t sleep well with you in the bed with me.”
“You’ll get used to me.” He nodded as though it were a foregone conclusion.
In his dreams she would get used to him.
“We have to go out today,” he informed her as she bit into her toast. “We need to take you clothes shopping.”
“I have clothes.” She sipped at her coffee to wash down the toast.
“New lovers always go clothes shopping,” he told her. “Morganna circled it at the top of the list of things we should do immediately. If Orion’s going to strike soon, then we need to control each time he has that chance. So we’re going shopping.”
She shrugged. Fine, they’d go shopping. That didn’t mean she had to actually buy anything.
“You can throw out those baggy-assed clothes before we go and make room for the new stuff I’m buying you,” he told her, causing her to pause, her fork inches from her mouth, to stare back at him in surprised anger.
“I don’t need new clothes.” The fork clattered to her plate. “Don’t get out of hand in this, Micah. I can’t afford a new wardrobe, and what’s more, I like my clothes fine.”
“But I’m your new lover and I don’t like them,” he informed her as he swallowed his eggs. “You hide in those clothes, and as your lover, I’d never allow you to hide that gorgeous body of yours.”
Her lips thinned. “Look, let’s not play games here.” Her fingers gripped the edge of the table. “My body doesn’t concern you one way or the other. Neither do my clothes. We’ll go through the motions and leave it at that.”
His expression was composed, cool. It was always composed and cool. He hadn’t gotten angry in the past two days; he hadn’t argued with her. He had been like a steamroller just pushing her where he wanted her to go.
She pushed her plate back and opened her mouth to argue when his gaze lifted.
“Do you really want to turn this into a battle?” he asked her carefully.
Did she? There was something in his eyes the past two days that had made her wary of pushing him.
“Fine,” she snapped. “I didn’t have anything else planned. If you want to waste your hard-earned cash, that’s your business. As long as we don’t use my money for a bunch of clothes I neither need nor want.”
He nodded. “Agreed. Finish your breakfast so you don’t collapse on me, then. You look sleepy, sweets. Drowsy and sensual. It looks good on you. If Orion’s watching, maybe he’ll at least suspect I’m fucking you.”
A flush washed up her cheeks at the thought of the dreams she had had during the few hours she had actually slept.
Dreams that were vivid, sexual. Dreams where he demanded she fuck him, ride him, where he spoke to her in explicit, naughty words that only made her wilder.
“Let’s hope he tries to kill me soon then,” she said in irritation. “Or I might kill you while we are waiting.”
“Didn’t your grandmother say you were even-tempered?” he asked her suspiciously. “I could have sworn she mentioned that when she was here yesterday.”
Risa really wanted to forget that visit. Her grandmother had watched them both suspiciously, as though trying to decide if they were actually having sex. It had been embarrassing. Before her grandmother finally left, she had glared at Micah and fretted over Risa as though she were an invalid. Risa didn’t want to remember it, and she didn’t want to discuss any portion of it.
“My grandmother doesn’t live with me,” she informed him. “She wouldn’t know if I was even-tempered or not.”
“Did she know you very well before the kidnapping?” he asked as he lifted his cup to his lips again. God, she wanted to be the cup.
“No. Jansen didn’t visit much and he didn’t like for her to visit. I’ve only gotten to know her in the past six years.”
Abigail had been a very infrequent visitor when Risa had lived in Virginia with Jansen and Elaine.
He nodded at that. “Jansen would have wanted to keep you from anyone who would have influenced you in any way counter to his wishes. I can see Abigail definitely protesting his treatment of you.”
She thought about that, then shrugged. “Until the kidnapping, he wasn’t cruel. Just rather strict.” He had been verbally abusive. He had made certain she understood that her lack of beauty placed her at a disadvantage. He had been mean. He had been hurtful.
“He convinced you that you had no worth, according to your psychologist’s reports,” he stated. “That’s untrue, Risa. You have much worth.”
Risa took another drink of her coffee before forcing more of her eggs down along with part of the bacon. She knew cruelty now. Nothing she had experienced before her kidnapping had prepared her for the true monster her father had been.
“I heard you talking to Reno last night when he came over,” she commented, refusing to acknowledge his topic of conversation. “You said you’d take Orion down with your last breath if you had to. Why?”
He leaned back in his chair, his bare shoulders flexing beneath the dark skin as he inhaled deeply.
“He killed someone close to me six years ago,” he finally stated. “A Mossad agent. She had been missing for more than twelve hours before her husband and…” He hesitated. “Before her husband and son were contacted and told her location.” His black eyes flashed for a moment with rage. “Six weeks later her husband was involved in a confrontation with a suicide bomber in Tel Aviv. He attacked the bomber, threw himself on top of the young man. I consider Orion responsible for both their deaths and Reno knows this.”
“Why their son?” she asked faintly. “What happened to him?”
He was silent for long moments. “He continued the investigation. He thought he was getting close when he was betrayed by a friend. He drowned.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “They must have been very close to you. Did you ever know why your friend’s mother was targeted?”
He shook his head. “She was involved in an investigation into the rumored sale of a biological weapon by an American scientist. She thought she was getting close to his identity; then she disappeared. I suspect it was tied to that.”
“So you went back to Israel to investigate?” She frowned.
He shook his head. “I’m American. There was little investigating that I could do.”
But that hadn’t stopped him, she guessed.
“I can hear the accent in your voice sometimes,” she told him. “Your parents were immigrants?”
He nodded sharply before picking up his cup and finishing his coffee. “There, I’ve answered your questions. Now we discuss what I want to discuss. Jansen Clay.”
“Jansen has nothing to do with this.” She couldn’t discuss the man who had donated the sperm to her birth. He had destroyed parts of her. There were still areas of her soul that were blackened with what he had done to her and the hatred she felt fo
r him.
“Jansen has everything to do with this, Risa.” Bare arms folded on the table as he pushed his plate away and stared back at her. “The FBI has been tracking your progress with the psychologist, going over the recordings made of your sessions, as well as the doctor’s notes. You gave them permission to do that, remember?”
“I’m not a moron,” she snapped back at him. “Nor am I so simpleminded that you need to patronize me. Yes, I remember giving them permission to follow my progress. But I haven’t remembered anything.”
“You haven’t remembered faces or names, yet, but you have remembered things,” he said gently. “You remember the rape now.”
She cringed, her arms going over her breasts as she fought to hold back the horror of what little she did remember.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “I can’t talk about this to you.”
“Why? What better person to discuss it with, Risa? Whatever they did to you doesn’t affect what’s between us. There is nothing you could remember that would change my perception of you.”
She shook her head, a mocking laugh passing her lips. “Well, isn’t that incentive enough to discuss it,” she stated bitterly. “Let it go, Micah. I talk to my psychologist and you are not my psychologist.”
“What you’ve remembered in the past months is the reason this assassin has been called out to kill you. If we could identify whoever it is hiding in your subconscious at the moment, then we could put a stop to this now. Orion never completes a project if his pay is jeopardized. His reputation is exacting; he never deviates from it. If we knew who hired him, we could stop this now.”
“But it’s Orion you’re after.” She forced the words past her lips. “How would that serve you, Micah? You wouldn’t have the hold card you need to trap him.”
He wouldn’t be here with her any longer. She was pathetic. She wanted him away from her, and yet she didn’t want him gone. The appearance of a lover was a salve at least to her public ego.
