Privilege: Special Tactical Units Division: Book Two

by Sandra Marton

  “I am,” she said dreamily, “sated and happy.”

  He chuckled, nosed a strand of hair from the side of her throat and kissed the tender flesh.

  “Sated. A shrink word if ever I heard one.”

  She sighed and traced her hand over his shoulder.

  “Chayton?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “This tattoo.” Her fingers danced over the small, elegant bird in flight. “A hawk?”

  “A falcon.”

  She replaced her fingers with her lips. “It’s beautiful,” she said against his warm golden skin.

  Chay gathered her closer. “He’s been with me a long time. Ever since that Sun Dance.”

  “Is he a vision figure?”

  Chay rolled her onto her back and grinned as he bent over her. “Have you been doing a little Indian research?”

  She blushed. “No. Yes. All right. I did a little reading after—after that night.”

  “The night on the beach.” His kissed her. “Sweetheart. If I could take back—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “It was—it was an amazing night. I was just so, you know, so shocked at what I’d done…”

  He kissed her again. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that night. About you.”

  “Mmm.” She reached up, stroked her hand through his thick, dark hair. “So is the falcon a vision figure?”

  “Yes. And no. I did have a vision, and it involved a falcon.” Chay smiled. “But that wasn’t a complete surprise, because of my name.”

  “Chayton?”

  He nodded. “It means ‘falcon’ in Lakota.”

  “It’s a wonderful name. It’s just right for you.”

  “It was my grandfather’s gift to me. He chose it when I was born. My mother said he told her he hoped I would grow up to be as brave and strong as a falcon.”

  Bianca smiled. “He must have been very wise.”

  “He was old-school. A man of another time, you know? I’m sorry I never got to know him.”

  “But he’s part of you. Not only did he name you, you grew up to be the man he’d wished you would be.”

  “That’s a good way to think of it. But…” Chay lowered his mouth to hers. Touched the tip of his tongue to the seam of her lips. “But,” he said in a low voice, “as much as I care for his memory, I have to be honest.”

  “About what?” she whispered, her breath catching as he tongued her nipple.

  “I have no desire to have grandpa in this bed.”

  She giggled. “No?”

  “No,” Chay said, and he gathered her in his arms and eased her on top of him.

  His erection pressed into her.

  She moaned and, God, he loved that sound. Loved this. The wet heat of her surrounding him in.

  “Take me in all the way,” he whispered. “Take me deep, sweetheart.”

  “Chayton? Oh God. Chayton…”

  She slid down his hard, hot length. Her lashes swept her cheeks. Her head fell back. “Yes,” he said thickly, “like that. Like that…”

  He clasped her hips, helped her rise. And fall.

  Rise. And fall.

  Until the rhythm was hers, the pace was hers, and they lost themselves in each other as she rode him into the darkness of the night.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Chay slept fitfully.

  His dreams were filled with broken images. Bianca, dancing in the rain. The tall guy, Noah, trying to restrain her at Cuppa Joe’s. The condom. The malevolent phone call. The man on the street last night.

  He had endless questions with no answers, and a plan that needed implementation. Lying in bed with Bianca nestled against him was wonderful, but it wasn’t going to change what some bastard was trying to do to her.

  At four in the morning, he eased his arm from around her shoulders. She sighed and stirred a little and he held very still. He didn’t want to wake her until he had to. Once he had everything in place, she’d be less likely to give him a hard time.

  At least he hoped so.

  Carefully, he rose from the bed, found his smartphone, pulled on his jeans and made his way quietly to the sitting area. An ornate screen partially separated it from the rest of the room. He sat in the love seat that stood before the screen, turned on his phone and punched in a number. It rang once. Twice. Four times, and just when Chay figured that he was going to end up talking to voice mail, a male voice barked out a harsh “Yeah?”

  Chay gave a soft laugh. “Hello to you, too, Sunshine.”

  “Listen, whoever this is, I’m not in the mood for… Olivieri?”

  “Good morning, Sanchez.”

  “Man, you have any idea what time it is?”

  “One in the a.m. your time. Don’t tell me you’ve turned into a believer in that early-to-bed-early-to-rise thing. No way that will make you wise.”

  “Very funny. Anyway, I was up. I’m just, you know, kind of…busy.”

  “Declan?” a soft voice said in the background.

  Chay bit back a groan. “Dude. My apologies.”

  “No. It’s okay. Just let me…” Sanchez’s voice grew muffled. “Okay,” he said a few seconds later. “What’s doing? Hey, man. Aren’t you in New York?”

  “Yeah. That’s where I am. And I need a couple of favors.”

  Declan Sanchez laughed. “I didn’t figure you were callin’ to say hello. What can I do for you?”

  Chay took a long breath. “I need some computer magic.”

  “For instance?”

  “Would you be able to see if somebody’s put a GPS app into a smartphone?”

  “You mean, find out if the phone contains tracing software? So whoever loaded it in could follow the movements of the phone’s owner? Sure. No big deal.”

  “And if I gave you a list of names and told you I needed deep background checks on all of them—”

  “No problem.”

  “Or maybe you’d have to tap into a laptop, get the names that way.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Really deep checks. Medical records. Criminal records. Whatever.”

  “Chay. My man. We’re talking child’s play here.”

  “Great.”

  “Am I gonna do this long distance? Or are you bringing me the hardware?”

  “I’m bringing it, and that takes me to favor number two. Is your brother still flying for the opposition?”

  “Is he still a Marine pilot, you mean?” Sanchez chuckled. “Trust me, bro. Liam’s in for life.”

  “Any chance he can pull some strings and get me a ride back home?”

  “What, you run out of frequent-flier miles?”

  Chay laughed. “Yeah, right.” He hesitated. “I’d like to avoid leaving names in some commercial airline’s database.”

  “Dude?” Sanchez’s tone turned crisp. “You okay? I mean, you want to tell me what’s goin’ down?”

  Chay got to his feet and paced to the window. The lights of the city glowed like a galaxy of stars against the still-dark sky.

  “I’ll explain everything when I see you. For now, if Liam can come up with something.”

  “I’ll get right on it.”

  “That’s great. And Dec—one last thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “There’ll be two of us. Me…and a woman.”

  Sanchez grunted. “I can hardly wait to hear the details. Whatever it is, good luck, bro.”

  “Thanks,” Chay said, and ended the call.

  Okay. Excellent. Progress, at last. There were few things as bad as knowing you needed to put a plan into action and not being able to do it. Now, in a single call, he’d implemented steps one and two. A way to get to the coast without leaving footsteps—he had little doubt that Sanchez and his brother would be able to come up with something. And t
he assurance that he’d be able to get the information he needed from Bianca with or without her cooperation.

  Declan Sanchez was the best when it came to computers. He didn’t talk about it much, but over drinks in a shithole bar on the other side of the world, Dec had admitted he’d been something of a hacker in his teens.

  “Illegal when I was a civilian,” he’d said with a grin, “but my ticket to success in the service of Uncle Sam.”

  Sanchez would get into Bianca’s phone and see if someone had planted a bug in it. Even better, he’d find whatever info Chay needed about Bianca’s patients, her doctoral study subjects, even her family and friends and co-workers.

  Nobody could be safe from scrutiny.

  The law said you were innocent until proven guilty, but men in Chay’s profession knew reality was exactly the reverse. People were guilty until proven innocent if your goal was to keep your balls from being blown off.

  Chay headed for the shower.

  • • •

  Twenty minutes later, he sat down on the bed next to Bianca.

  She was lying on her side with the duvet covering her from the tips of her toes to her chin. All he could see of her was her forehead, her nose, and the curve of her mouth.

  The lovely curve of her mouth.

  The desire to peel back that duvet and get into the bed with her was almost overpowering, but he’d let her sleep as long as he could and he knew it.

  He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder. “Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

  Bianca murmured something, rolled onto her belly and tugged the duvet over her head.

  “Honey,” he said. “It’s time to start the day.”

  “Mmmf.”

  He smiled. “Sorry, baby. Mmmf isn’t gonna do it.” Chay pulled the duvet down, just enough to expose her creamy shoulder, bent over and pressed his lips to it. “It’s wake-up time.”

  “Not,” she muttered, trying to wrest the duvet from him.

  “Yes,” he said gently, rolling her onto her back.

  What a wonderful sight to start the day.

  Tousled blonde curls. Pink mouth. Thick, dark lashes lifting to reveal spectacular blue eyes… Thick, dark lashes slamming down like shutters against the intrusive glow of the lamp on the night table.

  “Wha’ time izzit?”

  “Early.”

  “How early?”

  “Early,” he said again, and brushed his lips over hers.

  Bianca opened her eyes. She looked past him, at the windows where the vertical blinds were half open.

  “Chayton. It’s still night.”

  “It’s morning.”

  “But it’s dark out.”

  He kissed her again. This time, her lips clung lightly to his.

  “It’s five,” he said softly.

  “In the morning?”

  The disbelief in her voice made him laugh. “Yup. That’s what it is. Five in the a.m.”

  “Please don’t tell me this is your idea of when to start the day.”

  “Certainly not.” He paused. “I usually don’t get moving until five-fifteen.”

  She groaned. He laughed, nuzzled a soft spray of curls away from her shoulder and pressed his lips to the side of her neck.

  “I hated to wake you, sweetheart.” He sat back. “But we have lots to do.”

  He saw the change steal over her face as she remembered what was happening and it damn near killed him.

  “I know,” he said gently. “Not the best way to start a Sunday. But we don’t have much choice, honey. You know that.”

  She looked into his eyes. Then she sighed, held the duvet to her breasts and sat up.

  “You’re right. You want me to phone the psychiatrist treating John Cartwr—Treating my former patient.”

  He wanted more than that. For starters, he wanted the name she’d almost let slip, but this wasn’t the time to get into that.

  “Yes,” he said, “I do.”

  “And I will, but, mannaggia, not at five a.m. Nobody’s going to talk to anybody at this hour.”

  “True.” His gaze dropped to her hand, clutching the duvet to her, then rose to her face. “But we have to go over what you’re going to ask him. And we need to do a couple of other things.”

  “What things?”

  His gaze fell to her hand again. Slowly, he reached out and tugged the edge of the duvet from her grasp. It fell to her waist. She made a grab for it.

  He stopped her, and his eyes met hers.

  “You have to provide me with lists of names,” he said, and, Jesus, how could he sound so calm when all he could really think about was the sweet taste of her nipples?

  “Chayton.” She swallowed hard; he could see the action of the muscles in her throat. “I told you—”

  “Your patients,” he said. “The subjects in your study.”

  He ran the tip of his index finger lightly over one pale pink nipple and then the other. She made a little sound, a soft hum of desire, that sent a quick flash of heat straight to his dick.

  “Chayton. I can’t think when you—when you—”

  He dipped his head, licked the pearled nipples.

  She gasped and made another of those sweet sounds.

  “Chay. If you do that…”

  He looked up. Her eyes were wide and luminous. Her cheeks were pink. Her lips were parted.

  And he—dammit, despite their conversation, he was swelling inside his jeans.

  “I have to know about the people you deal with,” he said, still calmly, still evenly, though he could feel his heart starting to race. “I can’t protect you unless I know who they are and what they’re like.”

  “But it is my duty to protect them, Chayton. Surely you are a man who understands duty…”

  He framed her face in his hands.

  “What I understand,” he said, his voice gone rough and hot, “is that if I’m not inside you soon I’m going to go crazy.”

  She smiled.

  It was a smile that spoke of everything he had ever dreamed, everything he had ever wanted.

  “Good,” she whispered.

  Chay brushed his mouth over hers. “Good that I’m going to go crazy?”

  Her hands danced up his chest. Except for the jeans, he was naked and she loved the feel of his muscled body, his warm skin.

  “Good that you need to be inside me,” she said. “Because I’m going to die unless you—”

  He pulled down the duvet.

  She sank back against the pillows.

  His hand moved down her body. Over her belly.

  To her thighs.

  “Open for me,” he said gruffly.

  Her legs parted. He grasped them and pulled them wider.

  Then he stroked his fingers over her.

  Ah, Jesus. She was wet. Soaked. She was ready for him. So ready, but he wanted her desperate. Pleading. He wanted her world narrowed down to this bed, to this moment, to him.

  “Bianca,” he said, and he ran his thumb over her clitoris.

  She cried out.

  “Look at me, Bianca.”

  She brought her gaze to his face. The hard, beautiful bones. The eyes as dark as emerald fire. The strong, straight nose with the little bump in it. The sculpted mouth.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “Chayton…”

  His fingers moved against her. She moaned. Her body arched towards him. Towards that exciting, possessive touch.

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “Chay.” Her voice broke. “I want you.”

  “More than that.”

  “I want you inside me.”

  “More still.”

  “I need you inside me,” she said, sobbing.

  Quickly, he unzipped his fly and freed
himself. Took his erection in his hand and rubbed it against her wet, welcoming heat.

  He moaned at the feel of her. At the roll of her hips.

  He rubbed the head of his penis against her again, and she cried out. She wept. She sighed his name.

  He could feel everything inside him tightening, but he wanted more.

  Wanted to give her more.

  He pulled back.

  “No,” she said, reaching for him, but he clasped her shoulders and pulled her up.

  “On your knees.” His voice was a low growl, almost unrecognizable even to himself. Her eyes widened. “Do it,” he said harshly, “and turn your back to me.”

  She obeyed his command.

  Ah, dear God.

  She was so beautiful.

  The long, graceful line of her spine. The delicate shape of her backside.

  He leaned forward, pushed her hair aside and bit the nape of her neck in the most primitive declaration of ownership. She cried out, but there was no pain in the cry.

  There was only acquiescence.

  And desperate desire.

  “Chayton,” she said brokenly. “Please-please-please…”

  The headboard was mahogany, a series of narrow sculpted posts.

  “Lean forward,” he whispered. “Wrap your hands around those posts.”

  She complied, and he put his hand between her thighs again, exulted in the feel of all that hot sweetness.

  Then he clasped her hips and drove into her.

  She cried out in ecstasy, and he drew back and thrust into her again.

  She was sobbing.

  He could feel her vaginal muscles starting to contract around his swollen penis.

  She was on the brink of orgasm and he was there with her, but he didn’t want to drop over it, not yet, not yet, not yet.

  He grunted. Gritted his teeth. Rocked into her once. Twice. Three times…

  She cried out, her muscles convulsed around him, and he threw back his head, gasped out her name, and lost himself on an endless wave of pleasure.

  She fell forward and he fell with her.

  It took a long time until he could think again. Until the world stopped spinning. When finally it did, he gathered her in his arms, collapsed against the pillows and held her tight in the curve of his body.

  “Okay?” he whispered.

  She gave a little laugh. The sound went straight through him.