Taken

by Lora Leigh

  She needed her clothes, fast. She needed to shower, to wash the scent of his body from hers, and get dressed.

  “Do you really think I’m going to just walk away from you, Em? For any reason?” Quiet understanding. It was in his voice, in his eyes as he stood up and walked over to her. “Did you think a one-night stand was all I wanted?”

  “What else am I supposed to think?” Her heart was racing in her chest, her mouth dry with a sense of panic now. “You’re not exactly known for your monogamous lifestyle, Macey.”

  “And you still went to bed with me?” He tilted his head, his gaze gentle as he smoothed his hands over her bare shoulders. “Why did you do that, Emerson?”

  “I wanted you.”

  “Do you just go to bed with every man you want, Em?”

  No. She stared up at him, mesmerized by the softness underlying the steel in his gaze. He was a SEAL; she knew what that meant. Filled with purpose. Determined. Slick. He knew how to get what he wanted and he didn’t stop until he got it.

  Emerson licked at her lips with trepidation. She could feel a trap, she just couldn’t figure out where that trap lay.

  “I don’t sleep around.” She tried to pull away from him and put distance between them.

  Macey wasn’t having it. His hands held her close to him, the warmth of his body enfolding her, making it harder to think, harder to resist.

  “Then why a one-night stand with me? What made me so special?”

  chapter 9

  macey felt his heart melt, right there in the underground living room. His gaze locked with Emerson’s, seeing the conflicting emotions in her eyes that shadowed the rest of her features. Panic, fear, hope, and hunger. Not sexual hunger, though that was there as well, but a hunger for more. A hunger to see where the emotions building between them would go.

  He knew where they would go. He knew that within the year he’d have his ring on her finger and her soul melded with his.

  But he swore he could spank her for being so damned stubborn, so unaware of her own fierce heart, and so frightened of her own emotions.

  “You’re not answering me, Em,” he pointed out, making certain he kept his hands on her. “If you don’t have one-night stands, what made me so special?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like, sweetheart?” He lowered his head, touched her lips, kept his eyes on hers. “I love you, Emerson. Do you really expect me to walk away now that I’ve found the woman I’ve searched for my entire adult life?”

  He loved her? How could he love her? She was gawky, accident-prone, and she didn’t know how to love. She would mess it up. Just by being her, she would exasperate him, frustrate him, until he didn’t love her any longer.

  “You’re wrong.” Her heart was racing in her chest, making it hard to breathe. “It’s just sex. It’s always just sex with you. Everyone says it is. All your lovers—” She shut up, her hand clamping over her mouth as a wicked smile bloomed across his lips.

  “You bothered to check me out with old lovers? I’m impressed, Emerson. I really am. Tell me, how close were you to clawing their eyes out?”

  So close it had terrified her each time. But she wasn’t about to admit it. “You’re crazy.”

  “I’d hate to run into one of your past lovers.” He was stalking her now, drawing closer. “I know who each one of them is, where they live, where they work, and what could destroy them. If I had to meet one of them, I’d break their bones.”

  Her eyes widened. He couldn’t be serious. It had to be a game.

  “Macey.” She held one hand out as he drew closer and she blinked back her own tears. “Don’t. Please. I can’t handle this.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Em. You have to face it, and you have to handle it. Because you’re going to have to look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing for me to stop this. Can you do that? Can you tell me that all you wanted was a one-night stand?”

  Her lips parted, the need to tell him just that, to take the escape he was offering. But she was staring in his eyes, saw the pain in them, and the hope.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Her hands fisted in the sheet as her control broke. Years of control, the determination to never cry or ask for love again.

  Her parents had always given her that vague pitying look whenever she cried, whenever she asked for hugs as a child. As though they weren’t quite certain what to do with her.

  “Because I won’t watch you run away from me.” He moved too quickly for her to avoid, pulling her into his arms before she could retreat further.

  “Put your arms around me, Em.” He lowered his lips to her ear as he held her against his chest. “Hold on to me. Let me hold on to you. Don’t you know, when you’re in my arms, I finally feel like I belong to one person rather than just having parts of me allotted out to family, friends, and the Navy? When I hold you, Em, I’m whole.”

  “Don’t do this to me,” she whispered against his chest, and wrapped her arms desperately around his neck, terrified of falling.

  She was strong on her own, she knew how to do that. She knew how to be alone. She didn’t know how to be a part of a couple, she had proved that.

  “What am I doing to you, baby?”

  “You’re making me weak, Macey.” Tears slipped from beneath her lashes. “Don’t make me weak. I won’t survive when you walk away.”

  “I won’t walk away, Emerson.” He leaned back, one hand threading through her hair to draw her head back, allowing him to stare into her eyes. “Don’t you know that about me? I never walk away.”

  She did know that about him. Everyone knew Macey was stubborn, hardheaded, and he didn’t back down.

  “Why? Why do you love me?”

  His lips quirked. “Why do you love me?”

  Because he was funny, flirty, strong, and certain. Because looking at him made her soul ache and her heart hope. But she didn’t say that; she couldn’t say that.

  “I love you, Em, simply because you’re you, and you belong to me. Your heart belongs to me. I want your kisses and your touches, your laughter and your fantasies to belong to me.”

  They had belonged to him for years.

  “Give us a chance, Em.” He touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, brushed her lips with his thumb. “Just a chance for more than a one-night stand. Can you do that?”

  She would give him her life if he needed it.

  “I don’t know how to do this.” She swallowed, the movement difficult with the emotions clogging her throat.

  His smile was rough, rugged, and filled with sensual, wicked certainty.

  “We’ll learn together. Learn with me, Emerson. God, baby, learn with me.”

  The kiss took her by surprise, as did the roiling emotions that fired in his eyes a second before he took her lips. It was fiery, demanding, hungry. So hungry it seemed to feed her own hunger, to stoke it with ruthless licks, rough nips, and pure demand.

  The sheet fell away from her body and within seconds they were back in bed.

  chapter 10

  drack was an unfeeling creature. He had no emotions, no loyalty, no sense of honor or dishonor. He didn’t care what day it was, what part of the day it was, and he had no particular feelings for the creature that he shared his space with.

  He knew he was strong. He knew that pitting his own strength against his wasn’t advisable because he would only lock him into the cage when he wanted to be free to roam rather than giving him the freedom to come and go as he pleased.

  He wasn’t a thoughtful creature. He didn’t think, plot, or plan. He didn’t particularly care about anything but where the next meal was coming from and the occasional need to mate.

  But there was one thing Drack did hate. Drack hated guns. He hated the scent of them, he hated the feel of them, and he particularly hated the nasty wounds they had once torn into his body. He hated them to the point that even when the creature who housed him carried one, he felt n
othing more than the overriding instinct to kill. To destroy. Pain was the one memory, the one instinct that held sway when he felt the vibration of the small door open in the bathroom.

  That door led to dark places, places where he could depend on a source of food if he ever reached it. Not that the creature didn’t keep him well fed, but he loved the hunt.

  Tonight he would hunt more than rodents or lizards. His slitted eyes narrowed, his tongue tested the air, and a hiss of rage left his throat as he butted against the glass that held him confined.

  He wanted out. Why wasn’t the creature who slept with his mate in the soft nest moving? He should be awakening. Didn’t he smell the death moving in, the weapon held by the creature that moved into the room?

  Drack watched from his glass-enclosed cage, hissed and slithered to where the door latched. His tongue flicked, testing the air, and he smelled the offensive scent of evil.

  Instinct and rage converged as he lay coiled, tense, waiting. The door would open, and when it did, he would be free. When it did, the evil that had stepped into his lair would die.

  He knew it would open. It always opened. No one entered for long without detection. The creature who housed him, he would give him his chance. When he did, he would kill.

  * * *

  Macey came awake certain in the knowledge that somehow, some way, he had managed to fuck up. How had he done it? Had he set the security parameters wrong? Had a power supply failed?

  It didn’t make sense. He was careful, he was always careful, especially when it came to his cave. He had one main entrance, blocked by pure steel and set with enough alarms to bring down the house. There was a bolt hole, just as heavily secured, that led to a sewer drain beneath the streets and any number of manholes scattered throughout the city.

  The bolt hole should have been even harder to find than the main entrance, but someone had managed to not only find it, but to crack his security as well. And that someone had managed to slip into the bedroom where he slept with Emerson.

  He could hear Drack scraping against the door to his glass cage. A door that should have opened when either entrance was activated. But Drack was scraping against it, which meant he was still locked in. There were no alarms screaming through the cave, no lights flashing, no hard rock blaring. And he was defenseless.

  “Come on, Lieutenant Junior Grade Mason March. Wakey wakey.” Amused. Familiar. Deadly.

  Macey opened his eyes and prayed Emerson would stay asleep just a few minutes longer as he stared into the shadowed face of the admiral’s executive aide, Pierce Landry.

  Hell, he had never had liked that weaselly little bastard. Macey especially didn’t like him holding that automatic weapon to his head.

  Macey sighed in resignation and hoped he could manage to get under the former Green Beret’s guard for a second to reactivate security and release Drack.

  The anaconda could smell the weapon Pierce was carrying, and he hated guns. Hated guns so much that Macey had to bar the few friends allowed access to the basement from carrying weapons.

  “How did you get past the security?” he asked, hoping to stall, to find that window of opportunity. Unfortunately, he knew Landry’s service record.

  “All it took was finding the entrance; the security wasn’t that hard. After all, I’ve read most of your mission reports, March; I’ve studied your file and your abilities. Reasoning your system out wasn’t that hard.” Pierce’s gaze went to where Emerson appeared to still sleep against his chest. “You must have fucked her half to death. She hasn’t moved.”

  Macey smirked. He could hear the vein of jealousy in his tone.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Landry?”

  “What am I doing here?” Landry’s large white teeth flashed white in the darkness of the room. The son of a bitch, Macey had always hated that smile. “Why, Macey, I’m here to carry out my assignment,” he continued. “I’m here to kill Admiral Halloran’s goddaughter since you so kindly fucked up the last plan to do so.”

  Son of a bitch. He’d missed Landry. All these years, all the leaks they were searching so hard for, and he had missed Landry.

  “See, this is why I didn’t just kill you when I stepped into the room,” Landry sneered. “Where would the fun have been in that? You wouldn’t have known who took the shot. Who got past your security. The admiral’s golden child wouldn’t have known who was smarter and better than he was.”

  Macey arched his brow mockingly despite the violence slowly gathering inside him. Emerson had woken, too, and he could feel her tension, her fear.

  “You must have me mistaken for someone else, Landry. If I’m anything, it’s the pain in the admiral’s ass.”

  Landry chuckled at that, but the gun never wavered.

  “He played you, Macey. He marked you for Miss Delaney’s bed years ago. Though, to be honest, I believe he was hoping for a wedding ring for her rather than a romp and play between the sheets.”

  Macey managed to slip his hand beneath the pillows beside him to the alarm switch just below the headboard of the bed and the knife strapped to the wall. He could distract Landry, but Emerson would have to release Drack.

  “The admiral’s learned to accept what he can get from me.” Macey tsked. “Too bad he didn’t know what he was getting with you.”

  Macey tightened his hand on Emerson’s wrist beneath the sheets, a warning he prayed she was paying attention to. When he flipped the internal alarms, Drack’s cage would open. The anaconda would go for the gun. He hoped.

  Macey tripped the switch. Immediately the raucous blare of sirens, screaming music, and flashing red lights tore through the room.

  Landry jumped, and Macey knew the instant surprise was the only opening he would get. He tore from the bed and tackled the other man at the waist, taking them both to the floor as Emerson shot up from the bed.

  Landry was strong and well trained. Macey had sparred with him on more than one occasion and had learned the other man couldn’t be anticipated. He was a gutter fighter, and he was mean.

  But Macey was mean too. Mean enough to slam his fist into the other man’s upper thigh, his aim off just enough to distract Landry rather than curling him up on the floor.

  It wasn’t enough. Landry managed to roll, kick out, and throw Macey back. The gun discharged, shooting wild before Macey was on him again.

  “Emerson, the cage,” he screamed out as he glimpsed her from the corner of his eye. “Open the fucking cage.”

  Because Drack might be their only chance. The gun had shot wild, but Macey could feel the sting of a flesh wound in his side and the blood saturating his flesh now.

  He was wounded and it wouldn’t take him long to weaken. If they were going to survive, they just might need all the help they could get.

  * * *

  Open the cage? Emerson’s panicked gaze swung to the glass-enclosed tank that held the anaconda. Over the past days the snake had stayed hidden amid the thick plants and shallow water basin in the stone floor, but he was out now, butting against the glass, tongue flickering, slitted eyes dilated. He looked pissed. He looked dangerous. And she was terrified of snakes. She hated them. But she loved Macey. Loved him. Trusted him.

  The sirens and music were blaring through the cave. Red lights were streaking through the room. It was disorienting, as she was sure it was meant to be.

  She scrambled across the room, shaking, shuddering. The anaconda was huge. If he managed to wrap around Macey rather than Pierce Landry, then he would be dead.

  Snakes had no loyalty. They couldn’t be trained. They were driven by instinct, nothing more. Drack wouldn’t know to attack Landry rather than Macey.

  “The cage. Now!”

  Her gaze swung to Macey where he struggled with Landry for possession of the gun. The other man still had it clenched in his hand, fighting to bring it around to bear on Macey.

  Her gaze swung back to the snake. He was pressing against the seam of the glass door, butting against it, demanding his f
reedom. Emerson imagined she could feel the rage pouring from the creature.

  Macey had warned her that the anaconda hated guns. Hated them so much that he had to keep them in a specially designed safe and he couldn’t carry one himself within the basement because of the snake’s instinctive need to kill whoever or whatever carried the weapon.

  With a trembling hand she lifted the latch to the door, swung it open, and jumped aside as Drack immediately pressed out of the opening.

  Drack wasn’t a fast creature, but he knew where he was headed.

  Pierce. Her godfather trusted him, loved him like a son. He was always extolling the warrant officer’s virtues. He hadn’t mentioned deceit and treason as any of those virtues, though.

  She couldn’t just stand here, but she couldn’t look away. The anaconda was making his way across the room toward the two men struggling for the gun. Emerson was terrified the snake would go for the scent of blood rather than the scent of a weapon.

  The two men were cursing, delivering hard, powerful blows even as they fought for the gun.

  Emerson considered attacking Landry herself, but if he got hold of her, she knew Macey would sacrifice himself to protect her. Instead, she ran to the other side of the bed and the phone that sat at the side of it.

  She glimpsed the anaconda drawing closer as she skirted the side of the bed. Had she been insane to let the creature free, despite Macey’s orders? She hadn’t even told him she loved him, she thought frantically as she reached the table and jerked the cordless phone from its base and began to dial.

  It was ringing. Ringing. Emerson stared across the bed, watching as the two men struggled on the floor now. Macey was gloriously naked, Pierce was dressed in a black mission suit.

  Macey straddled the other man, one hand locked on Landry’s wrist, trying to dislodge the gun as the other hand delivered a blow to his face. Landry returned with a blow to his side, throwing Macey off as he nearly lost his grip on Landry’s wrist.