“Yes,” he said, poking a big fat hole in her balloon of indignation. “But no one ever called me stupid—just thickheaded.”
She raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn’t punched the air right out of her.
“Maybe,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides and moving closer, “I realized my mistake.”
“Did you, now?” She shook her head. “Stop right there, wolfie.”
He actually obeyed. Hmm, the leopard thought, perhaps they might forgive him after all. But it wasn’t yet a fait ac compli. “And what,” she asked, “did you realize?”
He folded his arms.
“Body language,” she pointed out with a—just slightly—gleeful smile.
“You’re not making this easier.” He kept the arms folded.
Stubborn wolf. “If I did, I wouldn’t be me.”
“Yeah.” A slight smile curved his lips as he dropped those arms.
And for now, for the cat in her, it was enough. She had no desire to humble him—this, what he’d said, what he’d done, it was a big step. “So, you leaving now that you’ve done a half-assed job of an apology?” It was very deliberate provocation.
“Invite me in and I’ll give you a massage.” It was a playful offer from a man who, she was learning, rarely played. “I’ll attempt to turn half-assed into full.”
“I got that last time.” She put the towel around her neck and swung around to walk to the cabin. “What else you got?”
He prowled behind her. “The ability to give you mind-blowing orgasms.”
“Let me think about it.” She was playing, too—he had to have scented her readiness by now. It was getting to the point that simply being around him aroused her, and wasn’t that a kicker since she’d first bitten into him to assuage her hunger? “Amuse yourself while I shower.”
“Okay.”
She was a little suspicious of his ready agreement—Riley was practical, focused, honest, but he was no pushover. It made complete sense to her that they called him the Wall—this man wouldn’t budge once he decided on something. He’d fight for it to the death. That’s why, despite everything, she liked him.
And right now, it was obvious he wanted her. He’d come down here with the intention of smoothing matters over between them—and she knew full well that if she’d made things easier, he’d have taken it. Hell, he was a man, a proud, dominant man. But he’d been ready and willing to have her carve out a pound of flesh, which was why she hadn’t clawed him as much as she’d thought she would.
But she wasn’t in any way mistaken about the fact that Riley was who he’d always been. Smart, rooted in earth, and very, very determined.
So when he got all meek and compliant, the hairs on her arms rose in suspicion. Still, he seemed to be genuinely relaxed as he grabbed a beer out of her eco-cooler and sprawled on the sofa. Deciding that maybe he was trying to charm his way into her good graces—not that it would work if she didn’t want it to work—she walked into her bathroom, stripped, and entered the shower.
The door opened a minute later to expose Riley standing there, beer in hand.
Scraping damp strands of red off her face, she glared at him. “I don’t remember giving you an invitation.”
“You said to amuse myself while you shower.” A slow, slow, deliciously slow smile.
It said gotcha.
And Mercy realized that when a man who rarely played, played with a woman, hell, it was better than any kind of sophisticated charm on earth. Sniffing as if she wasn’t completely delighted, she turned her back to him and lathered up her hair. She could all but feel his gaze sliding over her body.
Rinsing out her hair, she felt it slick down her back, pasting itself to her skin. Riley’s arousal wrapped around her, vivid, strong . . . familiar. Her body responded, echoing and strengthening the erotic fusion of scents. It was another level of pleasure, a soft, invisible sea that caressed and tempted.
“Turn around.” It was a husky request.
She glanced over her shoulder to meet his eyes. “Alright.”
He didn’t bother to hide either his surprise or his appreciation when she gave him the view he wanted. Those dark chocolate eyes had gone wolf on her—a stunning amber full of heat. “Pretty,” she whispered, fascinated all over again.
He didn’t seem to hear her, his eyes following the lazy movements of her hands as she used the fluffy loofah to lather herself up with peach-scented soap. Just because she was a sentinel didn’t mean she wasn’t also very much a woman. His eyes followed her every movement as she stroked the loofah down her neck, over her breasts, and across her nipples.
The beer bottle hung forgotten from his hand, his erection pushing so hard against his jeans it made her want to lick her lips. But she kept up the slow, seductive show. Because—and quite aside from the fact that he’d acted like an ass, but then turned up to take the heat—it was Riley’s turn. He was an incredibly generous lover. She knew if she walked out to him and whispered an erotic request in his ear, he’d give her exactly what she wanted. Of course, his generosity also allowed him to retain control.
Mercy wasn’t planning on letting that happen tonight. Because if they were doing this—and it appeared they were—then they were doing it together.
Stroking the loofah over her stomach, she spread her legs just a fraction . . . and dipped between.
He breathed out something that turned the air blue and placed the bottle on the ground before putting his hands on the bottom of his T-shirt.
Her eyes narrowed as he ripped it off to expose that mouth-watering chest. “You’ve got new bruises.”
“They’ll heal. And I wanted a fight.” His hands went to the top of his jeans.
“I didn’t say you could touch,” she murmured, watching him toe off his boots.
“Yeah, you did.” He unsnapped his jeans. “I scented it bright and clear.”
She stroked herself between her legs, aware his eyes hadn’t moved off her hand. “Ah, the good behavior’s over?”
“Something like that.” The jeans and underwear were kicked aside and he was walking over, stark male demand in every step.
He took the loofah from her hand. “Put your hands above your head.”
The command in his voice curled around her, making her center throb. She’d always known she’d need a strong man so that didn’t worry her. As long as what went on in bed, stayed in bed. Or in the shower. “Are you going to break my trust again, Riley?” There could be no mistakes, no blurred lines here.
He met her eyes full on. “Not on purpose. Never on purpose.” He took a deep breath. “But I’m likely to fuck up when the wolf’s riding me.”
It was her turn to be surprised. “I should kick you out of this shower right now.”
“Probably.” Then he kissed her. “But you don’t seem like the kind of woman who’d let fuckups ride.”
She smiled. “No.” Raising her hands, she crossed them above her head. “But, Riley, I’ll only bend so far. You can’t meet me halfway, this will end.” It wasn’t a threat. No, it was something far more important.
And he understood. “I’ll try, Mercy. I’ll give it everything I have.” It was a raw promise, from the heart of the wolf, from the soul of the man.
It would do, she thought, her own heart clenching. It would do. Because Riley would honor that promise with everything in him. And if it didn’t work, if they were both too strong-willed, too stubborn, to meet in the middle, it wouldn’t be because they hadn’t tried. And it would hurt like hell. She knew that. Accepted that. And decided to give it a shot. “Tell me, Riley,” she said, teasing, “what would you do to me if there were no boundaries?”
He dropped the loofah and replaced it with his fingers. “Tying you up sounds like a good idea.”
“So, staid Riley Kincaid has a kinky secret.” She moved on his fingers, relishing the building tightness in her body, the sheer pleasure on his face. “Do you have a whip?”
“With you, it might come in handy
.” His fingers slid inside her.
And she came.
Just like that.
A wild burst of ecstasy that swept over her in short, jagged waves and left her breathless. Chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm, she looked up through lids gone half-mast. “You didn’t even kiss me properly. What kind of a woman do you think I am?”
“The kind that means trouble.” But he bent his head and gave her a kiss straight out of her hottest dreams, all tongue and demand and sex. When they parted, he put his hands on her hips, as if to lift her up.
“Wait.” Pushing him back until his body blocked the water, she shook off his hands and sank down to her knees.
His hand fisted in her hair, and when she looked up, it was the wolf’s eyes that she met. She knew hers had gone cat at orgasm, and she let them remain that way. Gaze locked with his, she put her hands on his thighs . . . and used her mouth on him.
His grip on her hair tightened almost enough to hurt before he let go, slamming both hands palms-down on the tile in front of him. “Mercy!”
Smiling, she flicked her tongue along the underside of his erection, and purred. Debauching Riley was the most exquisite task she’d ever had. Now she let the cat out to play, stroking him with quick, feline flicks of her tongue before sucking deep and hard.
His hips jerked. Once. Twice. And then he froze. “Mercy.”
She didn’t release him, didn’t submit to the command in that tone. Instead, she ran her nails deliberately down the backs of his thighs. He swore a blue streak, but managed to hold on. She refused to let him—no way was Riley getting out of this without surrendering to her, at least this little bit. It mattered. Wasn’t just sex. They were changeling—if he trusted her physically, he’d eventually trust her with his thoughts and secrets, too.
But first, she wanted his beautiful body to come apart for her. Taking her mouth off him, she looked up, met his gaze . . . and licked her lips. He shuddered. And this time, had no hope in hell of holding back.
It was well after midnight when they fell into bed. She was almost asleep when Riley said, “I dream only good dreams when I sleep with you.”
Breath catching in her throat, she pressed her lips to his heart to tell him she was there, that she was listening. He didn’t say anything for several minutes, but when he spoke, the undisguised emotion in him tore her to pieces.
“Brenna was so small when our parents died. She couldn’t even walk properly, just do that grab-anything-and-hope-I-don’t-fall wobble.”
Mercy smiled at the image. “A baby.”
“Yeah.” His voice dropped, grew husky. “And she was my baby. You wouldn’t believe how possessive I was over her and Drew.”
She rubbed her nose against his chest. “That’s the one thing I have no difficulty believing.”
“Cat.” A squeeze. “We were adopted into another family, but the whole pack looked after us. We were almost spoiled with all the attention we got. But even then, I always knew Drew and Bren were mine to take care of.”
Conscious of what was coming, she stroked her hands over his chest, pressing another kiss to his heart. Skin privileges of the most tender kind. Her cat wanted desperately to protect this wolf, but knew this poison had to come out, had to be purged.
“But,” he said at last, “when it mattered, I wasn’t there. The things that bastard did to her—” A sound that held indescribable pain mixed with absolute rage. “It destroys me that the girl I cradled as a baby had to suffer that. She must’ve cried for me, but I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there.”
“You were,” Mercy said fiercely.
“The rescue was—”
“I’m not talking about that.” She pulled herself up on the bed until they lay face to face, side by side. “Sascha said that Brenna’s will was a steel flame, so strong, so beautiful.”
Violent pride in Riley’s eyes. “I know.”
“But, Riley”—she cupped his face in her hands—“where do you think she learned that strength, that will? Who do you think taught her that she was that tough, that she could beat anything?”
Flickers of understanding in his gaze, but he shook his head. “I always protected her.”
“But you didn’t cage her,” Mercy said, knowing he’d only tried to do that after the rescue. “You brought her up to be a proud, strong wolf. You gave her that foundation, Riley.”
A long pause and the wolf glimmered in his eyes. “I need to think about this.”
She smiled. “You do that, wolf.” Part of him would always worry after Brenna. That was normal. But perhaps, in time, he’d stop being haunted by a monster’s crime. “And remember, Brenna made it.” A brush of fingertips against his lips. “She’d probably like her big brother back.”
He dropped his forehead against hers in unspoken affection. Stroking her hand through his hair, she decided that was enough for one night. But she didn’t want him to fall asleep with such solemn thoughts on his mind—she wanted to give him a smile, guarantee his dreams would be pleasant. “Still want to know about the Bikini Babe contest?”
Chocolate brown eyes that were suddenly alert. “Hell, yes.”
She came so close their breaths mingled as they spoke. “Needless to say, you repeat this, I’ll sharpen my claws on your ribs.”
A slow blink. “It won’t leave the room.”
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “When I was fifteen and very stupid, I had a crush on this other cat.”
“Who?”
“Not important. And I mean that,” she added to make sure he’d drop it. “I was already stronger and faster than most boys my age. I thought this boy could handle that—he certainly seemed confident. Turned out he was a snotty-nosed twerp.”
“You going to tell me what he did?”
“If you stop growling.”
A startled pause. “Sorry.”
“It wasn’t that big a deal,” she said with the maturity of age, though it had devastated her at the time. “I gave him a Valentine’s Day card—he opened it in front of his friends, and made sure my friends and I were nearby, too. He laughed after he read it out, said he’d never go out with another boy.” The insult had spread through the school like wildfire, savaging Mercy’s fledgling feminine confidence.
“I’ll kill him.”
She nipped at the wolf growling in her bed. “No need. I took care of it.”
A gleam of interest.
“At first I was humiliated.” She’d cried on her mom’s shoulder until Bas and Dorian had both been ready to do murder. “Then I got mad. I decided to show him exactly what he’d missed out on.”
Amusement had his mouth curving. “I’m liking this story.”
“Knew you would.” It released the tension in her soul to see laughter in him again. “You can guess this part—there was a Bikini Babe contest that summer to publicize this new line of swimwear for teens. You had to be sixteen to enter and then only if you had parental permission—I was a few weeks too young, but Dorian hacked into the computers to get me entry.”
She couldn’t help the truly gleeful smile that spread across her face. “After I won, I printed up this poster of me wearing the winner’s sash—and a truly tiny bikini—and pasted it on the twerp’s locker, with the words ‘Dickless wonders need not apply’ at the bottom.”
Riley burst out laughing. “You’re fucking amazing.”
“Thank you. I was also grounded for months, along with Dorian. And I got detention for the poster prank, too.” She grinned. “I didn’t care. I was the hottest property on campus. You’ve never seen a more miserable face than the twerp’s—he looked like he was about to cry every time he saw me at the beach that summer. And I made sure to be at the beach a lot.”
Riley’s smile hadn’t faded. “Why don’t you like people knowing about this? He messed with your cat, you took care of business. Where’s the shame in that?”
“I was an idiot, Riley—I let that moron influence how I saw myself. I lost interest in tormen
ting him pretty fast once I saw how weak he was. Then I was mad at myself.” A pause, and without warning, the wickedness in her took over. “You know, I can still fit into the winning bikini . . . though it’s gone from tiny to microscopic.”
“You’re tormenting me now.”
Chuckling, she kissed him. “Sweet dreams, wolf.”
CHAPTER 38
The Information Merchant walked to his meeting in a deserted boathouse off a private marina with steady steps. Perhaps other men might have had concerns about coming to such an isolated area to meet individuals who’d already proved willing and able to kill, but he was a high-level telepath. He could and had crushed human minds with a single focused thought.
And, he was an information seller. That was his trade, and people paid him well for it. Clients seldom wanted to kill the golden goose. If they did, they’d discover their mistake. Reminded, he pressed a preprogrammed code on his organizer, utilizing the wireless link to his home computers, then slid it into his pocket.
Taking a last look around the dark, fog-shrouded street, he opened the small side door and walked in.
The bullet hit him hard, shoving him against the wall.
Staring down in disbelief at the . . . dart lodged in his chest, he attempted to gather his psychic resources for a deadly blast.
Only to find his mind mired in ice.
“Consider the experiment successful, gentlemen.” A voice from the shadows. “We’re all still alive.”
The Information Merchant gripped the dart and tugged it out. “Why?” The agony of the loss speared down his spinal column, spread through his nervous system.
“You know the answer—information. Unfortunately, you know too much.”
Steps coming in his direction.
Then a burst of pain inside his heart and everything stopped.
CHAPTER 39
Just after nine the next morning found a sleep-deprived but otherwise happy Mercy sitting across from Hamilton, the SilverBlade sentinel she’d had some fun with many, many moons ago. Staring at him, she suddenly realized he was a very good-looking man. Okay, she’d known that already, but only as an adjunct to his strength and speed. But today, she really saw his face—the chiseled planes, the luscious sun-kissed skin that had come by way of a Mediterranean ancestor, the vivid topaz eyes and jet-black hair.
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