Nauti Angel

by Lora Leigh

  The last bullet she’d taken had nearly taken her life. She remembered that place where she’d slipped into after losing more blood than her body could tolerate. She’d stayed there too long, she thought, frowning, and the dreams she’d had while she was there hadn’t been comfortable.

  The fact that she’d had them again several times in the last week was worrisome as well.

  Scanning the other camera views she sipped at the whiskey again. There was a time when she would have simply drunk from the bottle and not worried about the job if she drank too much. A time when Tracker and Chance had railed at her, worried about her, and watched her with increasing concern. A time when she’d cussed worse than a sailor, fought like a demon, and stayed well away from polite society whenever they weren’t on a job.

  A time when she’d often wondered if she had a tomorrow to look forward to.

  Then she’d become trapped in that hospital. She’d screamed for her momma. . . .

  Tipping the glass to her lips she finished the drink, slapped the glass to the table, and rose quickly from the chair. She didn’t allow herself to think about that, not anymore. It wasn’t productive and it only led to heartache.

  Stepping to the couch she stretched out on the surprisingly comfortable cushions and stared up at the ceiling for long moments. Her eyes were just drifting closed when she heard the door to the suite open, the momentary murmur of conversation, then silence once again as Duke entered.

  He paused at the side of the couch, muttered something she didn’t catch, then continued on to the bathroom as she let herself slip into sleep. He was there; she could let down her guard enough to rest, knowing he’d be awake for a few more hours at least. By then, she’d be awake. She always was. She rarely slept more than four hours without dreaming, so she’d learned to awaken herself before that point.

  • • •

  Duke sat in the recliner in the sitting room and dozed. He wasn’t about to sleep in that big-assed bed while Angel slept on the couch. Somehow, the thought of it just seemed wrong.

  He’d been certain she’d be awake when he came into the suite, and he’d had every intention of convincing her to share the bed with him, despite Natches’s orders to the contrary. He had made certain he’d locked the door when he entered, though. The last thing he wanted was Natches walking in on something that might get Duke killed.

  He palmed the heavy erection beneath the light cotton pants he wore whenever he wasn’t actually in the bed.

  He’d been so damned hard since that kiss yesterday that the jeans he wore had become torturous. Didn’t matter what Angel did, all he had to do was look at her and his dick throbbed harder, became more demanding.

  He could have blamed the sexual hunger on simply being a Mackay—they were highly sexed and sometimes far too dominant in that sexuality. Combined with it was the fact that when they found that woman who managed to steal their sanity, they were incredibly faithful to them.

  For all the merciless evil that filled his parents, they had loved each other. They had loved their sons.

  Duke remembered his father’s firm guidance, the way he taught Duke and Ethan to work on a car or a tractor, to plant, and to nurture. Their mother had laughed and spoiled them. She soothed them when they were sick and helped them with homework. Their parents had attended their ballgames, had raised them without once abusing them.

  And all the while they’d been hiding a monster inside them. A monster had lurked in his father that was capable of coding in the command that sent a drone’s missile slamming into a hotel, knowing it would kill two children. Two tiny, defenseless little girls. They probably hadn’t cared. Craig had become a liability when he contacted Dayle Mackay at the time and threatened to tell everything he knew if someone didn’t help him escape.

  The fact that Angel had survived amazed Duke. The fact that she’d escaped without an all-out manhunt ordered by the Freedom League confused him. Why would Trent Mackay have allowed one of those little girls to roam around alive? He would have had to have known there were two children with Chaya’s ex-husband, not just one.

  Or had Craig hidden Jenny from his traitorous friends just as her mother had hidden the child from her sister?

  Those were the questions that were thrown out during the hours he’d spent in the crowded kitchen with Natches and the rest of the family. All but Dawg’s sisters were agents or members of law enforcement and all of them had their own opinions, their own questions as they hashed out what little evidence they had managed to pull in.

  Not that there was much. The fact that Angel’s picture had been found with a notation that she’d have to be taken care of first bothered him, though. If they didn’t know she was Bliss’s sister, then why would she matter? Just because she knew the family wasn’t enough reason. The fact that she was part of a highly trained extraction/rescue team wasn’t enough because Tracker and Chance weren’t with her. And only her picture had been found.

  Rubbing his hands over his face Duke blew out a hard, deep breath.

  He was going to have to discuss it with her and he hated the thought of it. If she knew she’d brought danger to Bliss, it would kill her. Telling her meant risking her leaving. She’d call Tracker and Chance in a New York minute to protect Bliss and she’d be gone.

  Hell, he was surprised she hadn’t already called them.

  As he watched her, she shifted in her sleep, kicked the blanket from her legs restlessly, and he nearly groaned in torment. Those damned boy shorts and tank tops. They shouldn’t be called sexy by any stretch of the imagination. But on Angel, they were fucking damned erotic.

  One arm lifted to curve behind her head, raising those perfect breasts and causing sweat to pop out on his forehead.

  Maybe sitting here watching her wasn’t such a great idea. He had the hard-on from hell demanding they ride, and there Angel was—sleeping.

  Amusement curled at his lips and he leaned his head back, forcing himself to stare up at the ceiling rather than at the woman. The view wasn’t as good, but it was damned sure safer. . . .

  The moan that whispered from her lips had his gaze jerking back to her. That wasn’t a sound that denoted a pleasant dream.

  The sound came again, and he knew what was coming if he didn’t wake her. The question was, where the hell had she hidden that knife she always slept with?

  He wasn’t a foolish man and he’d already had that damned blade at his throat once before when he tried to wake her.

  “No . . .” she whispered, shaking her head. “Please . . .”

  Hell no.

  He moved quickly from the chair and before she could reach for that damned knife he had her wrists between his fingers, pulling them to her as her eyes flared open and she tried to ram her head into his.

  “Hold up, dammit,” he hissed, pulling back just in time to keep his mouth from being bloodied. “You were dreaming, Angel. It was just a dream.”

  He pulled her to his chest, careful to keep her wrists restrained, holding her close to him as she shook whatever nightmare tormented her away.

  “I’m good.” Settled against his chest, no longer struggling now as she let herself calm after the dream. “How long did I sleep?”

  She didn’t move when he released her wrists but lay against him, allowing him to comfort her as he wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back gently.

  “A few hours.” She hadn’t slept much, but then, Angel rarely slept for long periods because of her nightmares.

  She’d conditioned herself to wake after four hours, Tracker had told him. The only time she slept so deeply she couldn’t wake herself was when recovering after a serious wound. And he knew the nightmares always came then. Hell, he was usually the one with her.

  “Come on.” Rising, he picked her up in his arms and strode the short distance to the bed. “I can’t sleep in this damned bed while you’re on the
couch, and I’ll be damned if I’m sleeping on a hard couch when a soft bed is just a few feet away.”

  She didn’t argue when he laid her in the middle of the blankets he’d turned down earlier. It would be hell sleeping next to her, but better to suffer the arousal than sitting in that damned recliner staring at her all night.

  “And you think this is a good idea?” The amusement in her voice had him grinning.

  “I locked the door,” he assured her. “The bastard comes through it and I’m shooting him.”

  Her soft laugh only made his erection harder, if that were possible. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever been so damned hard in his life.

  “Chaya needs to get him on serious meds before Bliss gets much older. Or a leash.” She turned to him as she settled against the pillow, watching as he slid into the bed and turned to her enough to flip the sheet over his hips, careful to keep his erection from making a tent.

  “It wouldn’t help,” he assured her ruefully. “There’s not enough Valium in the world to make Natches forget his sexual past. He lives in mortal fear of some pervert corrupting his baby girl now.”

  Soft laughter drifted through the room.

  He rarely got to hear her laughter, and he realized that moments like this, in the dark, while they talked alone, were probably the only times he’d heard it.

  While on missions, surrounded by danger, standing watch together, or when she got cold and he’d tease her into sharing his blanket for a few minutes to warm herself so she could sleep.

  For five years he’d fought beside her, tried to protect her, and squelched his fears each time she was wounded. And he realized, he’d lived for moments like this.

  “She thinks she’s in love,” Angel sighed in the dark. “Fifteen going on thirty.”

  The edge of sadness in her voice had him staring at her intently through the darkness that filled the room.

  “My cousins say the same things about their girls,” he agreed, remembering well Janey bemoaning the fact that Erin was growing up too fast.

  “Why did he hit you?” she asked, throwing him off for a moment.

  “Why do you think he hit me?” He laughed. “He caught me with the young woman he claims as a daughter now, all but fucking her against the wall. He was pissed and now he’s scared I’ll break your heart.”

  She didn’t say anything, but he could see enough of her expression to see the confusion in it, just as he could see the conflict she had in accepting his explanation.

  “Two days ago, he threatened to kill me,” she pointed out. “Yesterday he’s hitting you for touching me. Does that make sense to you?”

  Unfortunately, it did.

  “It’s a Mackay thing.” He chuckled, bunching his pillow beneath his head as he fought the need to touch her again. “Two days ago, he was in the middle of a nightmare, just as you were, honey.” Reaching out he brushed the hair back from the side of her face, his fingers lingering for a moment to caress the soft skin. “He only knew what Chaya knew. The DNA testing they’d done came back as a positive match as Craig’s child. No one knew Jennifer existed. Everyone thought you were dead, but there you were, claiming Bliss, but not Chaya.”

  She was silent, and he ached for her.

  “Did you stay with the team to prove who I was for Natches?” she asked him then, a hint of vulnerability in her tone. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  He was quiet for a moment, watching her closely, trying to remind himself that he couldn’t blame her for believing that. Yet he couldn’t hold back a flare of anger.

  “If that was the only reason I was there, Angel, then you would have had Natches and every Mackay he could pull in surrounding your ass no matter where you went,” he growled. “I didn’t know who you were when I first showed up. It was when you were recovering from being buried beneath that hospital that I began to suspect. But I could have found the truth far quicker by leaving and backtracking your life. So no, that wasn’t why I stayed.”

  Silence filled the room as he watched her, the tension gathering, questions raging between them until she finally asked the one question she never should have asked.

  “Then why did you stay?”

  He came over her, aware of her rolling to her back, staring up at him, not in surprise, but in interest and hunger.

  “Because of this,” he said. “I stayed because of this.”

  NINE

  And she couldn’t escape him, Angel knew, couldn’t escape the need that only grew with each breath.

  “It’s a bad idea,” she said as his head lowered, his lips almost brushing hers. “You know it is.”

  “Trust me, baby,” he whispered. “We got this.”

  His lips covered hers and he stole her mind with his kiss. Angel didn’t protest. She didn’t want to protest.

  God, how she had ached for his presence after she’d left the marina. Ached for his warmth, for the sound of his voice.

  As his lips moved over hers, his kisses rough, hungry, he pushed the blankets from her, his hands touching, stroking. He released her long enough to strip her tank top from her, only to bend to the tight peak of her nipple and suck it into his mouth.

  “Oh . . .” The expulsion of breath came as a delirium of pleasure cascaded through her, shaking her body and her senses.

  Her lips parted, hands lifting until they lay against his sides, feeling the strength and the warmth of him against her.

  She had to do something, she thought, or he was going to quickly realize just how inexperienced she was. She didn’t want that. He was soothing that horrifying darkness inside her and filling her with pleasure. She didn’t want to just take. She wanted to give as well.

  She let her palms caress up his sides, then his back. Powerful muscles flexed beneath the tough skin, tensing against her touch. Curling her fingers she wanted nothing more than to rake her fingers down his back and test the strength and power of it.

  “Softest hands,” he said softly, the fingers at her hip just rubbing gently. “But don’t be scared to use your nails, darlin’. It’s all good, I promise.”

  It was like his eyes smiled, encouraging her, teasing her gently, just before his lips slanted over hers and his tongue pushed inside her mouth.

  Her fingers curled, nails pressing into his tough hide in reflex as pleasure enveloped her body. The hand at her hip stroked from her hip to her breast. Cupping the sensitive mound, his thumb stroked over the aching tip, sending streaks of pleasure straight to her vagina.

  An involuntary gasp escaped Angel’s lips as her hips arched and her hands gripped his back. Her nails pricked then scraped over his upper back as her head tossed against the mattress. Through each kiss, each incredible plateau of pleasure he eased the boy shorts from her hips and down her legs until she could kick them off.

  Until she was naked. Until there were no clothes between his touch and her flesh, between sensation and pleasure.

  Those experienced, drugging kisses moved from her lips to her jawline, kissing and tasting her, nipping gently before moving along her neck, over her collarbone, spreading a heated pleasure that began building, spreading rapidly through her senses. Waves of it were washing over her, stealing thought, stealing hesitation, and filling her with a rapidly building need for more.

  This was incredible.

  Hungry, heated lips stroked over the mound of her breast, brushed over her nipple.

  Arching into the sizzling flash of sensation, her senses suddenly overloaded, overheated. The moist heat of his mouth surrounded the engorged tip, drawing firmly with deep, hungry pulls.

  Forcing her eyes open Angel stared down at him, aware of his gaze locked on her. His cheeks hollowed, lust and pleasure filling his expression, a ruddy hint of color flushing his features.

  As she watched, feeling him sucking her nipple, his tongue flicking against the tip, rasping over it, Angel
felt herself sinking deeper into the chaotic storm building through her body and overtaking her senses.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered as the suction eased, his lips releasing the tortured point.

  “I don’t intend to stop,” he assured her, his voice a deep, dark growl of male pleasure.

  Moving to the opposite peak his lips covered the sensitive bundle of nerve endings, tormenting it, pleasuring it as he had the other. As he sucked at her hungrily his hand stroked down her side, her hip. Caressing, exciting her flesh, his hand eased between her thighs.

  Calloused fingertips slid through the heavy moisture gathered along the narrow slit, easing through the aching flesh to find the swollen bud of her clit. There, he circled the throbbing flesh, rasped around it, over it.

  She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe.

  As his fingers played, stroked, rubbed, Angel lost all sense of place and time. Her fingers buried in his hair, clenched, desperate to hold on as the hot press of his lips moved lower.

  “Damn, you go to my head faster than liquor,” he groaned, easing between her thighs, spreading them wider as a mewling cry escaped her lips. “I have to see if this pretty pussy tastes as sweet as I’ve always imagined, spilling with your juices.” His fingers eased back, his lips brushing against the bare mound.

  His head lowered. . . .

  “Oh my God!” Her back arched, her shocked cry more a breathless gasp as she dug her feet into the mattress, her hips lifting, her need for more the only thought, the only reality she could comprehend.

  His tongue slid slowly through the folds of flesh, licking and stroking, his rumbled groan of pleasure a delicious vibration against her aching clit.

  All her nerve endings were clamoring to get closer to him, throbbing just below her skin, demanding the exquisite caresses and kisses now tormenting her aching sex.

  “I knew you’d be just as sweet and hot here, too,” he groaned, his fingers parting the plump inner lips, opening her further to his touch. “So sweet and juicy and I think I’m gonna be damned greedy.”