Seduced by the Storm Page 2

  She fingered the black velvet choker that hid the thin scar circling her neck, before catching herself and dropping her hand to his shoulder. “I’d love it if you’d play along, for just a bit.”

  One corner of his made-to-please-a-woman mouth turned up like she’d picked the right answer, and suddenly she was experiencing just how much that mouth was made to please.

  The contact was gentle, more a brush of lips than anything, but her body’s response was immediate and alarming. A blast of heat that had nothing to do with the Florida autumn temperature licked at her breasts, her belly, her inner thighs. When the expert sweep of his tongue opened her mouth, her legs opened too.

  At least, as much as they could open with her caged between his jean-clad thighs.

  This was not good.

  Mustering all her self-control, she concentrated on Marco, using her unique form of telekinesis to probe his aura with her mind, searching for a weakness, a chink in his armor. On average, it took her thirty seconds to penetrate the protective weave of energy around a human, but in the heat of battle, thirty seconds was about twenty-nine and a half seconds too long—which was why she’d honed her hand-to-hand combat skills to a machete edge. Fortunately, she had time now, but this wasn’t going to be a thirty-second jobber. It figured that Marco’s aura would be the psychic equivalent of Kevlar.

  “What’s your name?” the stranger murmured against her lips, and for a moment, she forgot about Marco.

  “Faith Black. Yours?”

  “Wyatt.” He dragged his mouth across her cheek to her ear. “What did he do to you?”

  Marco sauntered toward them, his khaki business-casual out of place in a rough crowd like this. Men jeered…until Marco shot them a dark look that shut them up in an instant. Even predators recognized when they were in the presence of something higher on the food chain.

  His flat, black eyes remained trained on her as he took a seat at a nearby table.

  “Nothing I want to talk about,” she said finally.

  Wyatt pulled back as though he wanted to say something, but the bartender, a pit bull of a man with gray hair pulled into a low ponytail, interrupted.

  “Can I get you anything, lady?”

  Taking the opportunity to peel herself off Wyatt, she sank down onto a bar stool. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  The bartender palmed a highball glass. “Jack neat with a beer back, coming right up.”

  “So, Faith,” Wyatt said after the bartender slid her drinks to her, “where in England are you from?”

  She sent out another probing pulse toward Marco, and—thank God—found the chink in his aura. “All over, really.”

  Standard answer. She’d spent a lifetime cultivating an accent that wouldn’t reveal a background from any particular region, especially Devonshire, where she was born, or Yorkshire, where she grew up after her parents were killed. In order to blur the lines even more, she threw German inflections and American phrasing into her speech.

  Blending in helped keep a secret agent alive.

  One of Wyatt’s hands came down on her knee, but she felt it to her core. Moisture drenched her panties. Her head felt light, her breasts heavy. The sensations breaking over her body were strangely intoxicating, and she had to give a little shake of her head to clear it. No man had ever affected her like this. Not even Sean, the one and only man she’d ever loved.

  It had been a year since she’d last seen Sean, since they’d played cat and mouse, pain and pleasure. He couldn’t resist her even when his job was to kill her.

  She was counting on his predictability once more, because this mission could get her very dead if Sean’s love for her had finally taken second place to his job with Itor.

  “It’s a little hot to be wearing leather.” Wyatt’s gaze took in her goth attire, which went against the whole blend-in thing—her black leather pants, the crimson silk-and-lace corset top and her leather jacket—his appreciation obvious in the way his lids grew heavy.

  “The heat doesn’t bother me.” Neither did the cold. She’d always been able to regulate her own body temperature, though that was the extent of her powers over her own bodily functions. She could, however, do anything she wanted to anyone else.

  Sliding a glance at Marco, Wyatt downed the whiskey in his glass. The fine muscles in his throat worked beneath the golden, whisker-roughened skin there, holding her gaze for a moment. When he finished, he spun the glass across the polished bar top and nodded to the bartender for another.

  “Think the heat will bother khaki-boy?” he asked.

  She grinned. “It might,” she said, knowing full well that nothing would deter Marco from his goal, but needing time to finish breaking through his aura.

  “Let’s find out, because the way he’s looking at you is bugging the shit out of me.” He palmed the back of her neck and slanted his mouth over hers once more.

  Even though she’d anticipated the kiss, her breath caught. The way he maneuvered his lips, teeth and tongue with gentle, dominant skill…Christ, the man could probably make her orgasm from kissing alone.

  “We’ve got to be convincing, right?” he whispered, and then licked the swell of her bottom lip, and a ragged moan escaped her. “Open for me.”

  She didn’t hesitate, welcomed the slide of his wet tongue against hers. He tasted like whiskey, smelled like earth and man, a potent combination that made her loosen up more effectively than if she’d poured the entire fifth of Jack Daniel’s down her throat—her throat that throbbed in a grim reminder that Marco wanted to slit it.

  Again.

  Doing her best to ignore what Wyatt’s hand was doing to her thigh, she used her mind to pluck at the weak strings in the weave of Marco’s aura. Finally, with Wyatt trailing kisses along her jaw, visions of the internal workings of Marco’s body filled her brain.

  Marco still watched, but had leaned forward, elbows propped on knees, enjoying the show. The dozen or so patrons in the pub could care less, too fascinated by the two scantily clad women near the pool table who were doing a lot more than kissing the four guys they were with.

  Marco’s heartbeat gave nothing away. Slow, steady, strong. She could stop it in an instant, give him an aneurysm, or boil his blood.

  But all of those things would attract attention. Besides, killing one of Itor’s men when she would be meeting with a top Itor operative tomorrow was not conducive to a good working relationship. Even if—or especially because—she was going to be faking the relationship.

  In the back of her mind, she knew Wyatt was nuzzling her ear, knew he’d pulled her nearly into his lap and that he had a monster erection nudging her hip. She knew her fingers were gliding over his hard, bunched biceps, and that her sex had flooded with silken cream.

  If Marco weren’t a threat, she’d drag Wyatt No Last Name to her hotel room and rock his world.

  But she wouldn’t put it past Marco to try to take them both out before they made it to her bed.

  A psychic flare-up drew her to Marco’s stomach, full after a meal. In her mind, she reached for his pylorus, the ring of muscle that separated the stomach from the small intestine. With a mental nudge, she opened it, allowing unprocessed food to spill through.

  Marco winced, rubbed his belly. He’d cramp up soon, but she needed something more immediate to distract him until the cramps started.

  “Wyatt,” she gasped, when she felt the slide of his palm beneath her corsetlike top.

  His tongue swirled against her neck. “Do you think he’s convinced?”

  “I don’t know, love, but I certainly am.”

  His smile tickled her skin, and before she became distracted again, she dropped south inside Marco’s body, located his bladder, and gave a mental squeeze.

  The expression of horror on Marco’s face as his pants darkened with urine brought immense satisfaction. He looked around wildly for the toilet, and then, clutching his gut, he ran for the Men sign near the back of the pub.

  “Brilliant,”
Faith said, pulling away from Wyatt and ignoring her body’s protests. She slid the bartender a sultry smile. “Wyatt’s picking up my tab. Cheers.”

  She darted out the door, Wyatt’s curse following her. She’d nearly made it the three blocks to her hotel when she realized someone was following.

  Spinning, she threw out her fist. Recognition bloomed, but she pulled her punch too late. Wyatt blocked the strike, lightning fast, and then she found herself against a building, Wyatt’s body pressed against hers.

  Sloppy work on her part, letting it happen, but a small part of her had wanted this from the moment she recognized his face beneath the streetlight.

  Relaxing, because doing so rolled her hips into closer contact with his, she dragged her gaze up from his broad chest, past the dazzling white teeth that flashed in a smile, as though he knew she was taking his measure now that they were alone.

  The look in his eyes confirmed it. Amusement swirled there in the green depths, amusement and wariness and a touch of wild, as if he’d seen one too many horror movies.

  Or had lived them.

  “Tell me to back off and I will.”

  “Back off.”

  Grinning, he tugged her hard against him so she had to crane her neck to look up at him. Oh, my. She’d known he was tall, but at five-ten, she wasn’t short herself, and he topped her by at least five inches. For all that height, he moved like a cat. Powerful muscles sang with reserved energy while in motion, went loose-limbed at rest.

  A flicker of unease made her tense. This man was even more dangerous than he’d appeared to be in the pub. Prior military, maybe a merc.

  It worked for her, the whole danger thing, since that was her life, but on the eve of what might be the riskiest mission she’d ever accepted, she didn’t need any extra stress.

  “You didn’t back off,” she said.

  “Because you didn’t mean it.”

  No, she supposed she hadn’t. Sex oozed from every pore in his smooth, tanned skin, the promise of eroticism so tangible she could feel it rumble through her like a purr.

  “Did you want to go at it here, then?” She skimmed her thumb over the massive ridge in the fly of his jeans, and he arched into her palm. “Where anyone driving by can see?”

  His hand dropped to grasp her ass and hold her as his hips undulated against hers, driving his cock into her belly. “I’m not into exhibitionism. No one sees my woman but me.”

  “I’m not your woman.”

  Dropping his head, he nipped at her earlobe, held it between his teeth as he growled, “Tonight you are.”

  Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to protest, but when her mouth opened, only one word came out.

  “Yes.”

  Her voice sounded husky, needy. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself an indulgent night of pleasure. Normally, sex was a tool, whether she offered her body or merely the promise of her body. Seduction played a big part of her job as a special operative for TAG, and tomorrow it was back to the job.

  Tonight…tonight was for her, because if her mission aboard Itor’s oil platform met with success and she nabbed the weather machine, someone she loved might die. If her mission failed, someone else she loved would die.

  Either way, she’d lose Sean or Liberty, and either way, she didn’t have a lot of time left for pleasure.

  Reaching up, she took Wyatt’s face in her palms and captured his gaze with hers. “Your room or mine?”

  CHAPTER

  Three

  It was definitely going to be Faith’s room. Wyatt’s own was a piece of shit off the side of the highway. Most nights, he slept outside, on the beach, until the cops rousted him and called him a vagrant. Besides, they determined that Faith’s room was the closest, and he let his body send out enough pulsating mojo to make her realize they needed privacy—and fast.

  He’d slung his arm around her as they walked past the snooty desk clerk, to the elevator. They rode up to her floor with an elderly couple, who smiled at them—as if they knew what was going to happen once he and Faith reached her room. Or what would be happening right here in the elevator if they were alone, based on the way Faith was rubbing against him.

  When Wyatt’s hormones called out, they called out, brother. Even the old lady was edging closer to him, on what seemed like the slowest ride ever to the top of a building.

  “This is us,” Faith said, tugging him along by the front of his belt. Wyatt felt the older woman caress his lower back as he left the elevator, towed along by Faith, and he tossed her a wink over his shoulder as the elevator doors shut.

  That old man was getting lucky tonight, on him.

  “Come on in,” Faith said, holding the door to her room open for him. She was staying in a suite, very posh, and fitting of her accent.

  “Fancy,” he said, noting the ratty stuffed animal sitting in the middle of the plush bedding, out of place and somehow strangely comforting.

  She wound her arms around his neck, looked up at him as she pressed her belly against his erection. “Yes, well, work is paying for it all, so I figured I deserved the splurge.”

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “Nothing special.” She sucked lightly on the skin above his collarbone.

  “So you dress in leather and run from ex-boyfriends on your time off to spice things up,” he said.

  “Anything to keep it exciting. What about you?”

  “You didn’t invite me here to talk work,” he said.

  “Actually, I wasn’t going to invite you at all.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured against his neck, her lips hot against his already overheated skin—and, oh yeah, they were going to have fun tonight.

  He turned the lock on the door to Do Not Disturb mode with his mind and kept on kissing her.

  She was so enthralled, she didn’t notice that he was unbuttoning her leather jacket with his fingers and unzipping her leather pants with his thoughts, pulling them down and ripping off her corset top.

  She’d made short work of his T-shirt, yanked it off impatiently and nibbled along his shoulder as she unbuttoned his jeans. He wasn’t wearing underwear, found that in most cases it wasn’t necessary, and this was definitely one of those cases.

  “God, this is crazy,” she murmured. Her nipples were dark pink and already stiff, begging for his touch, and he knew, just knew that if he reached between her legs right now she’d already be wet and ready for him. One long stroke and he’d be fucking her.

  He wondered what it would be like to actually make love, when things weren’t at such a frenzied, fever pitch, thanks to his mojo. The times he did slow it down, the women he was with would have a complete fit, practically force themselves on him.

  No, slowing down wasn’t worth it, and from the looks of things, this night with Faith wouldn’t be any different. Her pupils were already slightly dilated, her lips fuller, her scent calling out for him.

  His head was getting fuzzy, a side effect of turning another person on this much. But he wanted her to want him badly, even though she hadn’t been drawn to him originally because of his sexual pull.

  He hadn’t realized that back in the bar, but he’d been concentrating too hard on his past to put anything else out there. And he was nearly beyond concentration now and she was completely naked, save for the black goth choker she wore. He was going to make sure she kept that on, since it was sexy as anything.

  He walked around her body, surveying, taking it all in. She turned her head to watch him circle. He stopped at her back, rubbed himself against her, his jeans brushing the bare backs of her thighs, his cock brushing her high, tight ass.

  She’d let him fuck her this way, he thought, caressing a butt cheek in each hand as she continued to watch him over her shoulder.

  He noted a scar on her right shoulder, his sex-addled brain not registering it as anything important as he ran his tongue over it, back and forth. She shivered at that intimacy, as if the s
car was something she’d tried to keep hidden. Nothing could stay hidden from him for long, not when his hormones were calling out to hers, begging her to unveil everything to him. She was powerless.

  And when she turned toward him and took his cock in her hand, so was he.

  “You’re a big man,” she murmured.

  “Compliments will get you everywhere. And I mean that literally,” he said, letting her drag him down to the most comfortable bed he’d been on in months. Years, maybe.

  She made short work of his jeans and he could see her assessing his body, looking at the various scars that graced his chest and thigh—remnants more of his SEAL days, less from ACRO work—but not really taking them in because she was completely focused on sex.

  She crouched, on all fours like a stalking panther, above his jutting cock and nuzzled it with her cheek. He put his hands behind his head, content to wait and watch for the moment.

  She ran her tongue up the length of his shaft, stopping to swirl the broad head and then gently suckle the bead of pre-cum before sliding her tongue along his slit and, Jesus Christ, his hips bucked up with a force of their own.

  “You like that, Wyatt?”

  “Yeah, baby. I like.”

  Another beautiful smile before she slid him into her mouth. His back arched, his eyes closed, and for a few merciful minutes his mind went completely blank of anything but the incredible pleasure she was giving him.

  He wanted to do the same for her, curved his long body sideways in order to grab for her thigh. She understood what he wanted immediately, let him pull her hips toward him, even as her mouth formed an O around the outer ridge of the head of his cock. The dark hair of her sex was manicured into a neat triangle, and he angled his neck so he could get his mouth on her. He blew softly on her center and then gave a long lick down her wet, hot folds, imbibing her sweet scent like a mark that would follow him for life.