by Lora Leigh
Dangerous Games
Lora Leigh
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright (c) 2006 by
Cover photo (c) Shirley Green.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-93992-2 EAN: 978-0-312-93992-2
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / February 2007
St. Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
10 9876543
For Dad and Mom, because they put up with endless hours of listening to the stories; and my husband, Tony, for always believing in me.
For Patricia Rasey, Beth Anderson, Lyn Morgan, Mama Sue, and Stacey, because they were there in the beginning and helped immeasurably; the Ladies of the Forum; and the readers who have e-mailed and written; you keep me going.
For my advanced readers, for putting up with more than one copy of the same story and for kicking my butt when it was needed.
For Scheme, my music finder, idea instigator, and chocolate source. Thanks for everything.
And for my editor, Monique, thanks for the chance.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Diva's, Merlin's, and the Roundtable and their adjoining underground clubs are all a product of my imagination only. Within the Tempting SEALs series, I've tried to set up what I would envision as the most interesting fringe clubs rather than what my research has found for BDSM (Bondage-Domination-Submission-Masochism) clubs. Male dominance, a hyper sexuality, and an awareness of a woman's pleasure are what my heroes have in common, and it's what the members of the clubs within my books have in common as well, no matter their extremity. And I hope you enjoy reading Clint and Morganna's adventure as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Prologue
TEN YEARS BEFORE
CLINT MCINTYRE, TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD. A Navy SEAL. A fully grown, sensual, dominant male. He was a man whom other men looked to in respect. A man who had grown in confidence and in power. He wasn't a child fighting to hide the abuse he had suffered any longer. He was a man who tolerated nothing less than his best from himself and the men he fought alongside.
But he was a man who nearly came to his knees that night at the sight of one small teenage Lolita decked out in a short skirt, a thin pale blue blouse, and high heels. Dark brown hair flowed around her in a multitude of curls, and gray eyes sparkled back at him with a hint of laughter and interest. Too much interest.
He was a grown man, aware of his sexuality, his tastes, and his hungers. To even consider the beginning pulses of awareness he could feel moving through him was a crime. One he refused to allow to take hold.
She was his best friend's sister. She was his sister's best friend. And normally she was the bane of his existence.
Morganna Chavez had been tormenting him in one form or another since the day she learned how to walk and toddled to him to smack him on his eleven-year-old head with her bottle to get his attention. She had been getting his attention in one form or another ever since.
He hadn't expected this, though. That glimmer of awareness. The way he noticed the full, high breasts beneath her thin blouse and the long, shapely legs beneath the short skirt. Pink lips glistening with a soft gloss and gray eyes that looked smoky, seductive, rather than immature and filled with childlike wonder.
He deserved to be shot.
"So, are you going to stand there like a knot on a log or are you going to dance with me?" She propped one hand on her hip and smiled slowly. "It is my birthday after
all."
His lips twitched at her flirtatiousness. She had been flirting with him for as long as he could remember, too.
He stared around the backyard; the lights strung through the trees cast a soft glow over the thirty-some teenagers enjoying the party her brother had allowed.
Reno had lost his mind this year. Clint glanced across the yard to where his best friend, Morganna's brother, was testing the punch bowl for alcohol, to the laughing amusement of the kids gathered around the table.
They were kids. Morganna was a kid.
"Go dance with one of your friends, brat." Clint smiled to soften the rejection. He didn't have to fake his affection for her; she was as much a part of his life as his sister was, when he was home. He did care for Morganna. Deeply.
"Coward." She flicked him an amused look from beneath her lashes. A look far too mature for her years and far too
knowing.
No man he knew would ever call him a coward. He was fierce. Strong. Deadly. He was scared to death to be within a hundred feet of her.
He shook his head and laughed at her. A soft, indulgent laugh that had her brows drawing together and her gray eyes dimming with a hint of vulnerability.
"Go play, Morganna," he told her gently as he turned away. "Leave the grown-ups alone."
He should have never agreed to chaperone the party. He wouldn't have if he had known what he would face, if he had even suspected that for even a second in time he would see Morganna as anything other than his best friend's sister. Or his sister's best friend.
TWO YEARS LATER
She was eighteen. Tall and lithe, a gypsy, a hellion, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on; Two years, a multitude of lectures, and endless nights of dreams he should have been shot for, and the awareness of her had only grown.
Sexy, sensual Morganna.
"When are you leaving?" They were on the back porch of her home, the home she had shared with her brother, Reno, since the deaths of their parents.
The elderly aunt who had once stayed with Morganna while Clint was on assignment hadn't arrived, but there was no reason to wait for her. Was there? Yet Clint was standing there waiting on her for Reno, who had been forced to leave earlier than usual to take command of the small force of Navy SEALs he was leading into a mission. Reno was comfortable leaving Morganna home alone this time. Clint wasn't.
He also wasn't comfortable sitting on the back porch, his jeans tighter than normal, his skin too sensitive. The situation was getting out of control. Two years he had fought this awareness of her, and it was only growing rather than dimming. He was only growing hungrier, and that scared the hell out of him.
"Earth to Clint," Morganna announced when he hadn't answered her, waving her hand in front of his face as he shifted in his chair and thanked God she couldn't see the erection swelling mindlessly beneath his jeans.
"I head out day after tomorrow." He shot her an irritated glare as she leaned against the post directly in front of his porch chair.
Right in front of him, where he could see the rise of her full breasts against the soft cotton shirt she wore and received the full effect of those long, gorgeous legs encased in snug denim.
"Everyone's leaving me," she said softly, staring over his shoulder with a wistful expression. "Raven's got her internship in the art design school this fall; she'll not even be in the state. You and Reno will be gone. It's going to be lonely here."
Morganna had accepted a scholarship at Atlanta University to stay close to home.
"You have your friends," he reminded her, forcing back a grimace at the thought
of the pimple-faced boys she ran with in that crowd.
"Yeah." She nodded firmly. "I do. I'll be fine."
He watched her inhale slowly, deeply, and tightened his jaw at the realization that he had managed to hurt her. Though how he didn't have a clue.
"Aunt Beth remarked that this is the last time she'll have to stay with me," Morganna said then, her tone a little too bright. "Reno was a little slow on this one. I think he's afraid I'll burn the house down or something."
"Reno worries about you being alone." Clint worried. God, did he worry.
"You could stay with me," she said softly. "You have two more days before you leave. I could call Aunt Beth. She would be happy to be able to stay home with her flowers and her neighbors."
His gaze sharpened on Morganna's face as he swallowed tightly and rose quickly from his chair.
"Won't work, brat." He forced the words past his throat. "I have to get ready to head out."
"Yeah. Sure." She nodded quickly, pushing away from the post as she moved to go around him. "Look, head on back to that rinky-dink little apartment of yours and whatever flavor of the week you have in your bed. I'm sick of watching you track each vehicle down the road praying it's Aunt Beth. I'll be fine without you."
He caught her arm as she moved for the back door, pulling her around and making the biggest damned mistake of his life. Because he saw her tears. Because he saw the hurt in her eyes as she turned away.
"I know what you're doing," he said softly. "I know what you're offering, Morganna. Don't make me hurt you. I don't want to do that."
Her expression twisted, determination, defiance, and, God help him, adoration filling her eyes. She saw him as some damned knight there to fulfill all her girlish dreams. He was a bastard for even daring to consider touching her. And he wasn't, he assured himself. He wanted to touch her, but he was old enough that wants wouldn't hurt him.
"I love you," she whispered. "I've always loved you, Clint."
"No." He shook his head firmly, maintaining his hold on her arm as his other hand lifted to touch her cheek gently. His thumb slid over her lips, just because he needed to know if they were as soft as they looked. "You have a crush on me. I'm the only man you can't twist around your little finger." He smiled gently. "That's all, Morganna. And nothing can come of it. Nothing can happen but the loss of something I cherish. Your friendship."
"I can't pretend," she whispered passionately. "You still see me as a child. I'm not a child."
"Then don't act like one," he suggested in return.
Pain flared in her eyes a second before he saw something more. Determination, yes. But something shocking, something almost frightening. He saw hunger. Sexual, intense, and more than he ever wanted to see in her eyes.
"Just kiss me good-bye then." Her breath hitched. "Just a little kiss."
"Morganna." He held her still, staring down at her in regret. Regret for more than she could ever understand. Then he made the mistake of stroking over those soft lips once again.
They parted, the warmth of her mouth searing his flesh as her tongue peeked out to swipe over his thumb before her lips parted and her sharp little teeth nipped at the pad.
And he lost his mind. Hell, he couldn't even claim insanity, because even a crazy man would have walked away. Instead, in less than a second he had her in his arms, his hand snagging her hair at the back of her neck to pull her head back and his lips covering hers.
She was innocent. He tasted it in her kiss. Felt it in the shock that stiffened her body as he gave her a man's kiss. A man's hunger. Slanting his lips over hers, he fought to consume, in one kiss, all the hunger, the sweetness, and the insane need possible. To hold inside his memories.
Sharp, hard kisses parted her lips. His tongue licked over them, before thrusting inside, before possessing her in a way he knew he should have never attempted.
Because she was sweeter than sweet. Hot as hell. And the pleasure ripped through his senses like a cascading explosion as she moaned against his mouth.
As quickly as he had taken her lips, he released her, jerking back to glare down at her as she stared back in shock, in a pleasure that darkened her gray eyes and flushed her heart-shaped face.
"It's never going to happen," he snapped, gripping her shoulders to give her a little shake that he prayed would instill some common sense inside her. "Little party girls and Navy SEALs don't work out, Morganna. Stick to the little boys you run with and leave the men alone. You'll be a hell of a lot safer that way."
Before she could argue, and he knew she would argue, he turned and strode quickly from the porch and across the yard to the car he had left parked in the back lot. Staying with her any longer was out of the question.
MORGANNA AT TWENTY-ONE
Being alone sucked. Morganna stared around the living room of the house she had once shared with her parents and her brother. Her .parents were dead, her brother was gone more often than he was home, and one day he wouldn't be here at all.
Her best friend, Raven, spent most of her evenings and nights studying the graphic design she had grown so adept at, and Morganna was stuck in an office job she hated.
And she was alone. Because she didn't have the common sense to let go of a dream and a man who didn't want her.
She walked through the living room, moving to the shelf of pictures she kept and the memories they brought.
Clint was in most of them. With her, her brother, and her parents. Handsome. Tough. Hard. Clint had always been harder than he should have been, tougher than anyone else around him. And he had ruined her heart for any other man.
But she was still alone.
Tucked between two of the pictures were the pamphlets she had kept from the Academy. The Law Enforcement Academy was accepting applicants.
She had meant to discuss it with Reno when he was home the week before, but the stay had been a brief one, and he had been exhausted. He had slept the two days he had been home, only to have to leave again.
She laid her head against the shelf and closed her eyes. He would worry if he knew anyway. And Clint, jerk that he was, would do everything to stop her. And he could stop her. He had connections in Atlanta, connections she couldn't afford to let him use. As long as no one knew she was Reno Chavez's sister, then there wasn't a chance of anyone saying anything to Clint. And what were the chances that the guys at the Academy would really care to call Reno and let him know jack? Especially if his name wasn't on her list of contacts.
She tapped her nail against the papers.
She was bored and she was alone. She wanted more than a secretarial job going nowhere and a silent house every night. Like Reno, she wanted to make a difference. She wanted more than to keep dreaming of something that didn't exist.
She sighed wearily. Restlessly. She was tired of just being Reno's sister. Or Clint McIntyre's responsibility when Reno wasn't around. She was tired of being put on a shelf and taken down to perform when they decided to visit.
She was strong enough to be who and what she wanted to be. And she didn't want to wait for Clint any longer.
She pulled the papers from the shelf, shoved them in her purse, and grabbed her car keys. She wasn't waiting any longer.
Chapter 1
FIVE YEARS LATER
CLINT STOOD IN THE SHADOWS of one of his favorite clubs, his eyes narrowed on the dance floor. He liked Diva's for a variety of reasons. The music was a mix of tracks. A little hard rock, a little Goth, a little pure fun. The women were the same mix, but he had found they all went for one thing in particular. The darker edge of sex. The dominance games, the harder, powerful sensations to be found with a man willing to push their limits. He hadn't expected to find Morganna here.
The music playing now, he imagined, was meant to be pure fun. It should have been causing a riot.
A mix of fury, disbelief, and wild hunger filled him as he watched the witchy little woman on the dance floor strut some daring stuff. She had his body tense, his cock engorged. A man only thought
about one thing when he watched a woman dance like that, and it wasn't how concerned he should be with her safety. A man thought about sex when he watched her, and when he watched her dancing like a wanton, the need for sex overrode all else.
The song was a fast-paced rock version of a messed-up line dance, he guessed. The dance floor was packed with women and a few men, laughingly following the singer's direction. Hell if he had ever heard of the guy. Casper? Clint shook his head in disgust. Diva's had an interesting mix of music some nights. The point being to get the women on the dance floor. On display.
This music wasn't his thing, but Morganna was.
Unfortunately.
There she was, dressed in a little hip-hugger girls'-school skirt that barely covered her curvy little ass. Her ass nothing, the top of the skirt barely kept her decent. He swore if it dipped just a breath, then there would be no secrets left to bare between those pretty, shapely thighs.
The white tank top she wore might at first thought have been considered demure. On the rack it might have been decent. On Morganna, it was a crime. It barely reached her belly button, flashing an indecent amount of skin, not to mention that damned gold belly ring he didn't know she had. When the hell had she had her belly button pierced? Raven hadn't said anything about that, and his sister was usually a font of information where Morganna was concerned.
The top was thin; thankfully, it looked like she might be wearing a bra. He couldn't be sure from this distance. She wore a pair of black-and-white girl's shoes on her dainty feet but a pair of over-the-knee white stockings on her sexy legs. Those stockings were going to be the death of him. He could see her stretched out on his bed, her hands tied to the headboard with the silky hose while he stretched between her thighs and drove her crazy with his mouth. The image almost had him panting in anticipation. Oh yeah, he knew exactly how to use those stockings.
