Dangerous Games

by Lora Leigh

  ROBERTO WATCHED THE COUPLE AS he stood in the shadows of the private hallway that led to the window rooms. He had been finishing the little bitch he had leashed several nights before when he saw her in the hallway.

  Morganna Chavez. She had witnessed his men spiking the woman's drink last week and was the reason they now sat in jail, a threat to Diego Fuentes and all he worked for.

  Morganna should be dead. If the bastard moving to follow her, his expression enraged, hadn't interrupted them, then she would have died beneath Roberto's knife.

  He watched them leave, his eyes narrowed, a sneer twisting his lips. McIntyre wasn't known for allowing a woman to tell him no. He employed every trick he knew to gain his women's cooperation and sexual submission before turning from them to find another.

  But none of them had been Morganna. They had resembled her, but they weren't her. Clint McIntyre obviously lusted greatly for this woman.

  Diego would be very interested in this, Roberto decided. It was something they could use. McIntyre was known for his sexual excesses; the drug would not offend a sense of morality that wasn't present.

  Perhaps it wouldn't be so hard to get rid of the Chavez girl. A smile twisted Roberto's lips as he moved into the reception area and headed for the elevators himself. He must meet with Diego and see exactly how they should handle this development.

  Killing two birds with one stone may well please his boss.

  Chapter 15

  HE KNEW THE PARTY WAS a mistake; thankfully the small gathering hadn't been too important and Morganna had played her part excellently. Perhaps too well.

  She had silently challenged and defied every unwritten rule that governed the Dom(me)/sub lifestyle. And in doing so had every fucking male in the room panting after her. Clint had had to tamp down every possessive instinct he knew to keep from slamming heads together and shoving their eyes back in their heads.

  Clint led Morganna into his apartment later that night as he ground his teeth together, fighting to keep his temper.

  "That went very well," Morganna commented as she moved to the side of the room, watching as he made his way through the apartment to check it out carefully. "And Manuelo was there. I'm sure I saw him in the other hallway just before we left."

  Clint wasn't going to say a damned word. If he did, only God knew what he would say or how he would say it. She made him crazy. How the hell was he supposed to work with her when all he could think about was fucking her? Proving to those jackasses drooling after her exactly who she belonged to.

  He stalked into the bedrooms, checked the windows, made sure the clear tape he kept over the seals was still in place. It was. No prints marred it, and the wood around it hadn't been disturbed.

  She didn't move from her position beside the door until he came back into the main room, his jaw bunching with the effort to keep his mouth shut as she straightened from the wall and arched her brows at him.

  A beer. God, he needed a beer. He stomped into the kitchen, jerking the refrigerator door open and pulling one from the interior. He twisted the cap off with a savage motion before tilting it to his lips.

  "So, did you get your cock pierced the same time you got the vasectomy, or did you have to wait?"

  He snorted his beer, choking on the bitter dregs as the words slammed into his head. The minute he managed to get his breath he leaned his head against the freezer door, grinding against it as his arms hung slack at his sides. God save him.

  He had known she wouldn't be able to hold it in long. He was amazed she had lasted this long.

  "The piercing came first. A drunken night in Bangkok with the guys after a mission." He shook his head as he straightened. "Can I take a drink of this beer now or do you have any other questions?"

  Her lips pressed together as she glided into the living room. A flip of her wrist tossed her purse to the nearby chair as she moved to where she could see him more clearly.

  "Did Raven know about it?" Morganna's eyes were narrowed, her chin lifting defiantly as her gaze met his.

  "It didn't exactly come up in conversation," he assured her. "As far as I know, she's unaware of it."

  He took a fast draw on the bottle, praying Morganna kept her mouth shut. He needed something stronger; too bad he didn't keep it on hand.

  "Why did you do it?"

  "That should be obvious," he said as he faced her. He felt like a man facing a firing squad.

  He watched as she swallowed tightly, not from nerves; there wasn't a hint of nervousness in her.

  "I don't believe you never wanted children," she stated fiercely, her expression tight with suspicion. "You're too good with them."

  "I don't want any of my own." He tried to keep his voice calm, casual. Despite the lie. He would have loved to see her carrying his child, her belly ripe with pregnancy. A perfect little form created from what he knew burned inside him for her. And all he could hear was that child's cries.

  "Don't make me ask why again," she warned him softly. "I'll start guessing soon, Clint, and you won't like what I'm coming up with."

  He lifted a single brow easily, forcing mockery to his expression, watching the hurt that flashed across her eyes.

  "There's no mystery, Morganna," he finally sighed, hating the shadows in her eyes. "I'm rarely home and my job isn't exactly the safest one going. I don't want to leave a child of mine an orphan. Condoms aren't always effective to prevent pregnancy-"

  "I hate it when you lie to me," she said, anger thickening her voice as he stared back at her in surprise. "You know, Clint, I overhead Reno and Dad talking one night, a few months before Mom and Dad were killed."

  He flinched. "Yeah?" He smirked as he lifted the beer again.

  Thankfully she gave him time to fortify himself before she continued.

  "Reno thought your father was beating you before he died. Was he?"

  Clint stared back at her silently. He hadn't known Reno had suspected. He had thought he kept it hidden so well.

  "Every time your father came home and caught your mother out, you would stay 'sick' for days. He was beating you, wasn't he?"

  Clint kept his expression bland, his face relaxed. He didn't grit his teeth; he didn't let the fury claw at his guts. He couldn't. Not in front of Morganna.

  "Oh God...." Her voice sent a chill up his spine, but her eyes broke his heart. They filled with pain, with tears.

  "Don't you fucking cry," he suddenly snarled desperately. "You cry and by God I'm putting you on a plane straight to Hawaii. You can crash Reno's fucking honeymoon with my damned blessings."

  It broke him, those tears. Morganna couldn't cry. And by God, he would not let her cry over him.

  "He was beating you." Clint watched her fight for control. "That's why you would spend days in bed. Raven would worry herself sick because you never seemed to run a fever, but you didn't want to move."

  He couldn't move. There were times he wondered if the old man had broken bones. Raven, thank God, had been too young to realize exactly what was going on, and Clint's father had always made certain she wasn't home when the beatings took place, and the belt marks were never higher than his shoulders or lower than his hips, so she had never seen them. As young as his little sister had been, she had no idea the hell her teenage brother was enduring at the time. And he wouldn't have had it any other way. He was older by ten years, and at that age he had always feared his father would strike out at the delicate sprite Raven had been if Clint hadn't been there to take his rage out on.

  "I couldn't figure it out." Morganna shook her head slowly, her face pale, her eyes like storm clouds, swirling furiously as she stared back at him. "Raven would come to my house when they started fighting, but you stayed. Why? Why didn't you come to Dad?"

  "At what cost?" He set the beer on the table before crossing his arms over his chest and staring back at her. He let the ice that filled him each time he thought of the beatings reflect on his face. "He was Rory's commander, Morganna. What would your father have done?"
/>   "He was beating you," she cried furiously. "Dad wouldn't have stood for it."

  "He didn't have a choice. And I survived it."

  "Did you?" The bitter mockery in her voice sliced across the shield he used to hold back his own rage. "Did you survive it, Clint? You're thirty-five years old. You aren't married, you have no children. You have nothing but an apartment that doesn't even belong to you. You push Raven as far from you as you can, and you screw women you don't even like. What does that say for you?"

  "I like you," he pointed out calmly.

  He could control this, he assured himself. She would run out of steam soon. He knew Morganna; she blew up like a mini-volcano, then settled down. As long as she didn't cry, he could get through it without losing his mind.

  "You love me." He flinched at her declaration, watching warily as she moved closer. "You've always loved me," she said. "I bet I know when you got that vasectomy. Let me guess, Clint, the week after I turned twenty. After you walked in on me in the shower while you were visiting."

  He had stood shell-shocked, staring at her wet body, hunger eating him alive. Furious, burning lust had torn through him, and he knew he had nearly lost the battle. And if he had, he wouldn't have stopped. He would have pushed her against the wall of the shower and fucked her until he spilled himself inside her.

  No condom. He always knew that he would never be able to bear a condom between his flesh and hers.

  "Let it go, Morganna."

  "Let it go?" she cried out, incredulous.

  "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "You loved me and you walked away from me. You did something to ensure you were always, always alone and you ran from me every chance you had. Admit it."

  "I told you years ago you were chasing rainbows," he yelled back, his control snapping. "Damn you, Morganna, if I wanted you that bad, don't you think I would have taken you?"

  She stepped back, almost stumbling.

  He raked his fingers through his hair as he glared into her face. "God, I didn't mean that," he finally whispered wearily. "Don't cry, Morganna. I won't make it if you cry."

  He moved to her, pulled to her by the pain blazing in her expression, the tears filling her beautiful eyes.

  "Look at you, baby. So sweet and innocent, crying over something that wasn't your fault. That you couldn't stop. That you can't stop." He ran his thumbs beneath her eyes, reeling the dampness that marred them as her breath hitched in her throat. "You're right. I've always wanted you. I've wanted you until the want has eaten me alive. Until no matter how many women I had, it wouldn't ease. Until I thought I'd die if I didn't touch you just once. Taste you just for a second."

  "Then why?" Her lips trembled as she stared up at him, her eyes darkening with everything he knew she thought she felt for him.

  "Because I needed to protect you from myself. Because I'm my father's son, just as he was his father's son, and on through the line. Mom was luckier than Dad's mother was. He didn't beat her, too. Raven was even luckier. Dad would have died and gone to hell before he hit her."

  "Clint, you've let him steal your life," Morganna cried hoarsely. "Don't you know you aren't like your father? God, if you were, you would have beaten me and Raven years ago."

  "You don't know that. And neither do I," he told her gently. "Accept what we have, Morganna, for now. That's all I can do. Don't ask for things I can't give you."

  She pushed back from him, painful anger contorting her features as her gaze raked over him. "Your love? Something more than a hot little fuck whenever the urge hits you?" She laughed, the mockery twisting her face held no amusement, though, only the anger, the fury, he had felt so many years himself.

  "Morganna, please-"

  "You didn't even say anything." She slapped at his chest, pushing him back as she whirled away from him. A second later she was in his face again, angrier than ever. "You suffered. You never said anything when you could have, when you could have gotten help. Where the hell was your mother?"

  He tried to turn away from Morganna. To keep her from seeing, from knowing. Damn her, she was killing him here.

  "Oh my God. She knew," Morganna whispered, horrified, her hands reaching out for him. "She knew."

  Her fingers trembled as they touched his face, his neck, then moved to his chest. She touched him as though afraid he would break, as though afraid she would hurt him anew.

  "Morganna ... it's over." It didn't hurt him anymore; he refused to let it hurt now.

  Her tears fell. "Oh God, how could she let him?"

  Clint had to stop her. He couldn't let her cry like this. He wouldn't allow it. Not over him. Not for him. He had spent too many years protecting her to allow this to happen now.

  Clint jerked her into his arms, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her head back to cover her lips with his own. She tasted of sweet passion and salty tears. Her lips parted beneath his, her hands pulling at his shirt, popping buttons, touching heated flesh.

  "Don't cry, baby," he whispered against her lips. "It's all over, Morganna. See? I'm fine."

  He shrugged his shirt off, allowing her hands to whisper over his torso, the soft pads of her fingers glancing his hard, flat nipples. God, she felt good. Like an angel touching him, all silken fire and sweet passion as she made him burn.

  "You're not fine." She stared up at him, her eyes misty, cloudy with sadness. "And you never will be, until you let yourself love. Don't you see that?"

  He couldn't afford to love her. For both their sakes, he had to protect her. No one had won; they had all lost. Clint had realized that years ago. That didn't mean she was going to keep the upper hand on him. And it sure as hell didn't mean she was allowed to cry for him. He had spent too many years keeping the tears out of her pretty gray eyes to allow them to fall now.

  "Come here, baby." He lifted her into his arms, ignoring her little gasp as he strode quickly into the bedroom and to the large bed he had dreamed of seeing her in. He was going to have some set ground rules. He was going to have to get control of her before she sent him into cardiac arrest. "I'll show you just how 'fine' I really am."

  Morganna stared up at Clint as he laid her carefully in the center of the big bed and proceeded to strip her of her clothes, leaving her clad only in the black fishnet stockings.

  She knew what he was doing. Knew he was playing her need for him, his need for her, avoiding the truth at all costs. It just wasn't the time to tell him just how full of crap this whole deal was. He was running scared and she knew it. Not because of his parents, not because he was afraid he was like his father; Clint was running because sometimes being alone a hell of a lot easier than taking that final risk. "Damn, you're beautiful." He straightened from the bed, staring down at her, his midnight eyes glowing with hunger as he pulled his boots and socks from his feet. Her mouth watered as his long fingers moved to the clasp of his belt, working it free before loosening the waist and drawing the material down his legs. When he straightened, his cock stood out stiff and hard from his body, the wink of gold that pierced it flashing beneath the darkly flushed crest.

  Morganna came to her knees then, casting him a hungry look from beneath her lashes as she crawled to him, licking her lips in anticipation. She wanted to taste him again, feel him throbbing between her lips, filling her mouth as she held his big body prisoner with a flick of her tongue.

  "You wish." He caught her before she could touch him, flipping her to her back once again as he came over her.

  "That's not fair," she panted, struggling against him as his muscular legs trapped hers between them, his hands catching her wrists and stretching them above her head.

  She watched his face, saw the heat and hunger, and gloried in it. He was arrogant, totally dominant, and all hers, whether he liked it or not.

  "This is my bed," he murmured, his lips quirking with an inherent dominant sexiness that had her nerve endings sizzling.

  "So what?"

  Her eyes widened at the feel of cool silk and
metal snapping around her wrists. She twisted, staring in surprise at the length of chain coming from the headboard and the padded cuffs now imprisoning her wrists.

  "So we play by my rules."

  Morganna shivered as he pulled his gaze from hers and let it travel over her body. Her upthrust breasts, the flushed mound of her sex, her legs, still encased in the fishnet stockings.

  "It's time to set some rules in place." He sighed as his eyes met hers once again and he shook his head as though in chastisement. "You were very naughty today, Morganna."

  Okay, that shouldn't turn her on. It sure as hell shouldn't have her womb clenching, knotting like a fist as pleasure rocked through her body.

  "I'm always naughty," she informed him, tugging at the cuffs as she stared back at him suspiciously. "It's part of my nature. And this is not gaining you brownie points, Clint. I'm already upset with you."

  "You stay upset with me, Morganna," he said as he cupped the breast nearest to him, his thumb flicking over the hard peaks, catching the little gold rings there and tugging at them as heated pleasure rushed from the tips.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She was not going to get turned on over this "Me Dom, you sub" stuff, she assured herself. But she could not help but admit she was so turned on, so wet and close to orgasm, that it would take very little to set her off. Swirls of sensation pulsed from her nipple to her vagina, breathtaking jumps of electric hot pleasure that had her eyes threatening to close weakly.

  "This is no way ..." she gasped as his fingers moved to her other breast, tweaking at the nipple there. "No way to

  soothe my anger, Clint."

  "Who says I want to soothe it, sugar?" he asked, his voice impossibly gentle despite the fire burning in his eyes. "Maybe I want to see it burn hotter, brighter. Maybe your anger turns me on."

  That she didn't doubt. ;

  "It's just the challenge." She tried to control her breathing, but it was a hopeless battle. "You're a control freak, Clint. You can't control me."