Terms of Attraction

by Kylie Brant

  She wasn’t a woman who indulged in pretense or coyness. With something so important to hide in her life, it seemed imperative to be up-front in all her other dealings. Sex was a simple, natural act, and if it was one she hadn’t bothered to indulge in recently, that was by choice. It was easy to turn away from the urge when it didn’t rage like a fire through her system, a burning demand for release.

  She tore her mouth from his, took a deep breath. And lost it in the next moment when he cupped her breasts in his hands, fingers teasing her nipples. Leaning forward, she dragged her sensitive lips over the stubble on his jaw, enjoying the slight abrasion. Her fingers traced the triangular patch of hair across his chest, to where it narrowed to a thin trail on his belly, then skated to his sides, exploring the smooth skin stretched over muscle.

  His mouth lowered then and took one nipple in his mouth, his tongue lashing it before he suckled her strongly. Colors wheeled beneath her closed eyelids, sensation bursting forth in a tidal wave of need.

  Ava arched her back, exulting in the freedom afforded by raw unvarnished passion. There was no room for pretense here, no deception. He touched her like he was staking a claim, as if he sought to brand himself on her memory.

  She felt him drawing her panties down her legs and he raised his head long enough to rasp, “Step out of them.” She obeyed, even as she took his heavy masculinity between her palms and lingered to caress.

  Cael’s breath hissed in and his eyes slitted closed and she tortured him with long, slow strokes, fingers tightening in a motion meant to drive him just a little mad. She enjoyed watching him as passion worked over him. Enjoyed seeing hunger stamp itself on his tough warrior exterior. He looked no less savage lost in passion. And she exulted in that, too, the image releasing fireballs of lust through her veins.

  He was no different in need than he was in battle, she thought dimly, as his hand slid up her thigh, cupped her feminine mound. Tough, aggressive and slightly ruthless. She didn’t know what that said about her to find the combination so arousing.

  She traced his collarbone with her lips, exploring the intriguing hollow where sinew met bone. There was pleasure to be had in just looking at him, broad and hard, with faded scars scattered over his chest. His mouth left her breast and she felt his lips on the still pink and puckered scar above her left breast. Knew he’d recognize it as a gunshot wound. Would acknowledge it without the fascinated horror most would react with.

  And in that way they were alike. Their lives, their choices on the job put them in danger, which was accepted rather than feared.

  Then conscious thought deserted her as his touch grew more intimate. His voice in her ear was ragged, and the evidence of his fraying control would have been exhilarating if hers hadn’t fragmented already.

  “You’re like wet silk here.” His fingers parted her folds, rubbed against the taut bundle of nerves hidden there. “And here.” One finger stroked inside her, and Ava gave a little cry as her knees went to water. “Tight and hot.” His forehead rested against hers even as his arm tightened around here, taking more of her weight. “I want to be inside you. But not before I see you come apart for me.” He probed more deeply, while his thumb rubbed rhythmically at her clitoris.

  Every teasing stroke sent sensation arrowing to her womb and desperation clutched there, mingled with desire. She wanted him with her, every inch of the sensual journey. Wanted to see him staggered and shattered, as defenseless as she against the sensual assault.

  Her touch became less teasing than demanding, and a part of her thrilled at the low groan coming from his throat. But in the next moment he drew her hands away from him with his free hand, keeping them clasped easily.

  A surge of frustration pierced her. “You don’t play fair,” she gasped.

  “Just evening the playing field,” he muttered, his mouth stringing a line of stinging kisses up her jaw. “There’s been nothing fair about my reaction to you from the beginning. You make me crazy.” He drew her earlobe between his teeth, worried it gently. “I’m just returning the favor.”

  She twisted ineffectually against him in an attempt to free her hands, moaned when the motion embedded his finger even more deeply. His touch grew more deliberate, his thumb tapping at the tight bundle of nerves between her thighs. And when he took a nipple between his teeth, scraped it intentionally, sensation rose up and slammed against sensation, catapulting her to a bone-shattering release.

  Long moments later she became aware of the band of steel at her back where his arm braced her. Still dazed and trembling, she slid her freed hands around his neck as he withdrew his touch. Shudders were racking his powerful body like a stallion on the scent. She dragged her lips across his mouth even as she felt him lifting her.

  Legs folding around his waist, Ava dragged her eyes open, fighting off the stupor of satisfaction to watch him. Her pulse stuttered to life again. His face was flushed with arousal, the skin pulled tightly across his cheekbones. And his eyes…the heat there sent little flickers of answering flame licking through her veins again.

  The water coursed over them, leaving tiny streams on his cheeks, which could have been carved from granite. She was half surprised when it didn’t leave a trail of steam in its wake. And when she lowered a hand to touch his manhood again, it strained to her touch.

  She shifted in his arms, guiding him to her softness, intent on drawing it out. But Cael grasped her hips in frantic hands and surged upward, seating himself fully inside her with one desperate stroke.

  Impossibly, the fire began again in her blood, in her pulse. He was all she was aware of, this man and each individual sensation he elicited. Desire, so recently satiated, leapt forward like an uncaged tiger. Ava wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her lips searching for his as he began to thrust within her.

  Heels digging into his hips, she joined him in a race toward satisfaction. Sensation collided with sensation. The water pouring over them, doing little to cool their fevered flesh. The slickness of their skin as their bodies pressed together. The wild pounding in her blood that threatened to erupt with every deep thrust.

  Their bodies strained together, each movement aimed at getting closer, deeper. And she felt a clutch of satisfaction when she saw his face as he crested. His fingers grasped her hips more desperately and he pounded into her as the madness took him. And when she heard his ragged groan, heard her name on his lips, the sound triggered her own release and she followed him headlong into pleasure.

  CHAPTER 13

  At Cael’s suggestion they didn’t fully dress while they rested. And it was much more comfortable to sit on the bedding he’d constructed of cut ferns with the gillie suit on top, dressed only in a tank and fresh underwear.

  It also felt a bit decadent to lie there against his bare chest in the dim sunlight of the jungle around them, feeling at one with the primitive surroundings.

  Cael was propped up against the pile of boulders with one arm around her waist, keeping her close to him. Ava had never been a cuddler. And sex this mind shattering left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, scrambling for defenses. But they were difficult to summon with her head lying on his chest. Listening to the strong thud of his heart beating in her ear. The position was too intimate. Too tempting to believe there was more between them than the act that had left them shaking and breathless.

  His breathing was deep and even. He was silent so long she thought he slept. But then he spoke, and his words had ice abruptly forming in her veins. “I’ve seen your father on TV. Heard bits of some of his speeches. You’re nothing like him.”

  Tension shot into her muscles. She stiffened, meaning to move away, but his arm kept her close.

  “Not for lack of trying on his part. He raised me, or tried to, in his own image.” And that’s what had the shame rearing its ugly head. Recalling how she’d made the posters. Typed the speeches he’d dictated. Accepted as truth the hatred he’d spewed with little question.

  “So he’s always held those views?�
�

  “Always.” She thought, she hoped, that her terse answer would stem any more questions. His next words proved her wrong.

  “You said once he’d taught you to shoot.”

  “We were living on a white supremacy compound in Montana,” she recalled quietly. Surrounded by people who shared the same beliefs. Espoused the same views. “We used to have competitions. As I got better he started enrolling me in contests all over the state.” It was the most normal memory she had of her childhood. Striving to improve in the one area in which she could impress her father. Winning, if not his love, at least a measure of respect.

  “When I was in eighth grade I started riding a bus to public school.” It was then, she recalled, that she first started experiencing questions about all she’d learned from her father. For the first time she began forming some of her own opinions. And she’d paid, dearly, every time she dared utter them at home. He’d once given her a black eye for daring to disagree with him about biracial dating. “I started seeing him differently. Questioning his views. He didn’t like that. And when I got pregnant at fifteen he beat me so badly I almost lost the baby. Then he threw me out. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Every muscle in his body seemed to tense. “He deserted you?”

  “I’m lucky he didn’t kill me. Alex’s father is Hispanic.” And Eduardo had been the first human being in her life to offer her love, or what she’d interpreted as such. From the distance of age she could see now how panicked he was when she’d told him. How afraid for his own future. At the time she only felt deserted and betrayed.

  And completely alone.

  His voice sounded strained. “How did you manage?”

  “A guidance counselor helped get me placed in a foster family. Assisted in getting services for me and the baby.” And it was through going to church with the foster family that she’d met Danny. Two years later they were married and moving to California where he was going to seminary.

  As always the ancient history left her feeling depressed. “I’m not proud of the fact that I spent two years trying to get my father to see me. Even convinced myself he’d want to have a relationship with Alex, since he was a boy. I should have known better.” And what a narrow miss that had been, she thought with an inner shudder. How horrible it would have been for Alex to have been exposed to the same sort of intolerance she’d been raised with. To have been made to feel that he was somehow less simply because of the color of his skin.

  “It worked out for the best.” At least she’d always thought so. Had often congratulated herself on how she’d kept the Julson name from ever tainting her son. Her career. Her life.

  Until now.

  Earlier thoughts of the future had seemed distant and foreign. Now the worry crowded in again, insistent and troubling. She tried to sit up, to edge away. Cael kept her firmly in place.

  “I won’t use him against you,” he said quietly. “Your father. After what I imagine you went through with him, I could never do that to you. But I still believe Samuelson will. And I’ve had a couple ideas, but still don’t have anything foolproof planned that will protect you from him.”

  Lead coated the bottom of her stomach, and a feeling of resignation filled her. “I know. I called Alex before I left.” And he’d been angry, vehemently so, when she confessed she’d lied to him all these years. But even in the face of his fury, the disappointment in her that he hadn’t tried to mask, she hadn’t disclosed her father’s name. She needed to be there with him for that. Ava couldn’t stand the thought of her son researching Calvin Julson on his own and discovering what the man was. “I’ll tell him everything when I get back. He’s furious with me right now. I hope he’ll come to understand. He’s pretty great.”

  “I’m not surprised. His mother is rather outstanding herself.”

  Ridiculous to feel this warm glow at his words. Ridiculous when so much between them was tenuous and built on misunderstanding and distrust. Because she didn’t know how to respond to his words, was afraid to read too much into them, she continued. “Alex made it easy. He hasn’t ever been much of a problem. He’s scary smart. Athletic.” She gave a little laugh thinking of their last argument before she’d left. “The biggest problem he gives me is getting all weird about being seen in public with me. He has a fit about going to the mall. Something about his friends calling me a MILF. I figure that’s probably some derogatory teen slang for cop or something.”

  When Cael made a choking sound, she turned in his arms to look up at him inquiringly. “What? Do you know what it means?”

  “I do. And it most definitely doesn’t have anything to do with your occupation. At least not with the department.”

  She didn’t trust that light in his eyes any more than she did the humor in his voice. “What’s it mean, then?”

  He ducked his head to drop a kiss under her ear. “MILF, my naive Ava, stands for Mothers I’d Like to…” The last word was whispered in her ear, and had her jerking upward in indignation.

  “You’re making that up!”

  “I most definitely am not. I believe the term was coined in a movie, one starring a bunch of horny teenaged boys.”

  Fuming, she gave in to the gentle pressure he was exerting to get her to relax against him again. “The little jerks. If I ever hear one of them saying it, I’ll slap cuffs on him and throw him in juvie.”

  Laughter sounded in his voice. “Just more fodder for an adolescent boy’s porn-filled fantasies, but hey, whatever works.”

  She reached behind her and grabbed a tuft of chest hair, gave it a tug, satisfied when he gave a quiet yelp. “Your whole gender is seriously depraved. Maybe I should lock my son up before he gets corrupted by it.”

  “Believe me, if he’s…what? Fifteen? He’s corrupted already.”

  She didn’t share his amusement. What mother wanted to think about her son’s development into a man? Although she had the sneaking thought that if Alex grew up with a few of Cael McCabe’s qualities, he’d be quite a man indeed.

  “Better try to get some rest.” He stroked a hand down her back. “We’ll take turns.”

  “I can take first watch,” she objected even as heaviness began creeping into her limbs.

  “I need to finalize the plans for the rescue.” As if in recognition of the questions on her lips, he soothed her. “Go to sleep. We can talk about them later.”

  It was a measure of her exhaustion that she put aside the nerves and uncertainty about the night ahead. She felt herself sliding down the slippery slope toward sleep. Dreamless except for a green-eyed man who was ruthless and tender by turn.

  * * *

  Although the sun hadn’t completely slipped behind the mountains, the jungle was already shadowy with the approach of night. “We need to discuss this further.”

  Cael finished donning the gillie suit and bent to inspect his pack. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  Ava stared at the back of him, her teeth grinding with frustration. “We could start with this idea of yours. And your totally incomprehensible refusal to use the military for assistance.”

  “We can’t trust them.” His voice was the measured one an adult used with a child who refused to take no for an answer. And made her want to smack him for it. “We don’t know who all Ramirez has gotten to. We can’t afford chancing that someone will tip him off about the raid tonight. We’d be walking into a trap then.”

  “So it’s a risk.” With furious movements she finished dressing, any lingering softness she’d felt as he’d slept with his head in her lap long since gone. “It’s also a risk to depend on Reynolds and Perez being in good enough shape to help you once you release them. Hell, you’ll probably be killed trying to get to them. Not to mention how you figure on getting out with all the hostages.”

  “I’ve explained the plan. It has a fair chance for success. The military should be standing by, per Quintero’s orders. When everyone is safely released we’ll arrange a diversion and radio for help. Chopper should b
e here in fifteen, twenty minutes.”

  Every time he mentioned the plan her veins filled with ice. “That can be a lifetime when we’re being chased by over a hundred soldiers!”

  He rose, shot her a feral grin. “Well, I’m gonna try to make sure most of them are otherwise occupied.”

  “It’s too risky,” she said stubbornly. The thought of him sneaking into the camp, alone, had panic slicking down her spine.

  His expression sobered. “If you can’t do this, you need to tell me now. I’ll have to think of another way. But I still won’t alert the military until it’s too late for the commander of that camp to get tipped off.”

  She stared at him in frustration. It was like trying to reason with a slab of granite. Her logic bounced ineffectually off him. And she didn’t like walking into any assignment with this fear circling frantically in her belly. Fear for him.

  “If things look impossible we’ll abort,” he said, his voice muffled as he squatted to the ground and started rubbing mud on his face. “And if things go FUBAR, you know what to do.”

  The nausea that rose at the thought nearly choked her. Fade back into the jungle. Make her way to safety and radio Quintero with the coordinates to chance a military rescue.

  Leave McCabe’s body where it fell.

  Just the thought was very nearly paralyzing. He thought she was considering the risk to herself. Ava didn’t bother to inform him the thought of him dying in the attempt was closing her throat with fear. It was impossible to consider how she could feel so deeply for the man when she hadn’t even known him two weeks ago. When the majority of their relationship had consisted in subterfuge and deception.

  She watched him numbly as he made his preparations, trying to calm the nerves jumping and skittering inside her. She was of no use to him with this kind of emotion roiling inside her. Her experience on SWAT had taught her that. If she couldn’t reach for calm, she could endanger him with an overreaction. She could get him killed.