Unleashing the Storm Page 2

  “Is that a lynx?” he asked, as they walked inside and shut the door, only to be surrounded by several happy dogs and one extra-large cat.

  “Yep. That’s Rafi.” She crouched on her heels to scratch the lynx behind the ears. “He was on a butcher table, about to be skinned alive for his fur, when he was rescued.” Her stomach churned, as it always did when she thought about how close he’d come to an excruciating, lingering death. “The people who rescued him from the fur farm only had enough money to buy him and one other cat. The rest…” She trailed off, unable to talk about it.

  She straightened, waved the animals away, and they bounded off like a bunch of kindergarteners released for recess. “So this is where I live. Nothing fancy. Thrift store furnishings.” She gestured to the left, where the only pieces of furniture, a stained blue love seat and a tiny television she never watched, made the room seem bigger than it was.

  “Living room there, dining room to the right, my bedroom and den in the back. Those stairs ahead lead up to your room, but like I said, you’ll use the back entrance.” She took a key off the rack on the entryway wall and handed it to him. “The door on the right is yours. Derek is on the left. You’ll share a kitchen and a bathroom. Sheets and towels are in the wardrobe next to your bed, which is a twin, so don’t expect to have any comfortable nights with guests.”

  “Comfort isn’t usually a concern.”

  He swung his gaze back to her, blatantly taking in her body from her lips to her thighs, as though the mention of a bed had made him picture her in his. She could certainly picture being there, could imagine his lean, hard body against hers. The potent energy surrounding him, the aura of power and eroticism, promised that time shared between the sheets would be something to savor.

  “Anything else, Kira?”

  “Yes. We start work at six A.M. You can break for lunch anytime between eleven and two. We work until around six, but we sometimes go later. You and Derek can each have one weekend day off. Work out between yourselves which day you want, Saturday or Sunday. I work both. If you need to run to town for anything, groceries or whatever, you can take my truck parked out back. Just ask first. Ditto with my computer. You can use it, but ask. And there’s no Internet connection.”

  “Why not?”

  Because Big Brother watches your every move. “I like my privacy.”

  He gave her the usual you’re-a-nutcase look, and then rubbed the back of his neck. “Is that all?”

  The words, spoken in a flat and emotionless drawl, sounded innocent. But she suspected that inside he was bucking her authority as fast as she could throw it at him. This man did not like being told what to do. How odd that he took this kind of job—when he’d called this morning about a position, she’d been pleased with his credentials, but now she had to wonder if his farm background, typically a male-driven trade, made him a little edgy when a woman called the shots.

  So it was with great pleasure that she said, “There’s one more thing. Under no circumstances will you consume meat on this property or in my presence. I’m a strict vegan, and while I won’t begrudge you eggs and dairy products, I will not tolerate the offensive consumption of animal flesh by humans at this refuge. Understood?”

  A vein popped out on his forehead and began to pulse. Though there were no other outward signs of his annoyance and unease, she could smell the potent mixture coming off him in waves.

  He smiled, hefted his bag high on his shoulder and said, “That’s cool.” And then she watched his fine backside while he took the stairs three at a time, as though he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

  But she knew better. Because along with the other smells, she’d caught the scent of lust, pure and simple.

  Closing her eyes, she allowed the tantalizing aroma to invade her senses and trigger systemic responses she should be trying to suppress—for a couple of hours at least, because after that, there would be no suppressing anything.

  But Tom…there was something different about him, an earthy animal magnetism she’d never encountered. After eleven years of suffering for a few weeks a year, she knew her body, and she’d been sure she had a couple of days to prepare for this, but it seemed as though Tom’s presence had brought the fever on early. Fighting it seemed pointless.

  Clenching her fists at her sides, she threw her head back, let her heart rate double, let it flush her body with blood that had heated up a couple of degrees. Her nervous system sparked like someone had struck a match to it, and every nerve ending tingled with hypersensitivity until her skin was on fire. Deep, frequent breaths brought crisp scents and life-giving oxygen into her lungs, and she could almost feel each individual cell distribute the fuel to the pleasure centers that had begun to swell and pulse and crave what only a man could give her.

  It had begun.

  CHAPTER

  Two

  TUESDAY 5 P.M. MST

  Kira was a ballbuster. Again, unexpected. Ender, who didn’t do unexpected unless the surprise came from his end, planned to get up to speed immediately and get back to the comfort of being the cleanup end of the job. He also planned on eating a nice juicy steak, or two, right under Ms. Greenpeace Tree-Hugging Doolittle’s nose. And he was going to enjoy every bite too.

  But this Derek thing was going to be a problem—a big one. And Kira had a lot to learn about whom to trust.

  Paint the house, my ass.

  That phrase, and its ultimate meaning, was one of Derek Martin’s specialties. Ender’s too, and he’d never had a problem admitting it. When Derek and Ender were members of the same Delta Force unit ten years earlier—a team Derek had eventually quit—Derek used to tell Ender that his father had coined the phrase, which really meant to kill a man, when he’d worked for Jimmy Hoffa. Ender couldn’t be sure if it was the same guy until he came face-to-face with him, but his gut told him it was.

  Derek wasn’t anywhere to be seen when Ender found the empty bedroom meant for him, went in and shut the door behind him. It was hot as hell up here, and when he opened the windows in a useless attempt to catch a breeze he heard the sounds of children laughing. He looked out to see a busload of preschool-aged boys and girls running through an open field to get to the main part of the refuge, and he sighed. Like this job wasn’t enough trouble already.

  Kids, animals and women. Someone owed him big-time.

  Using the small device that hooked into the button on the front of his jeans, he made reluctant contact with the Comms Division of ACRO, lowered his voice and spoke rapidly.

  “Bryan, I need you to pull the W2s on the two guys who worked here before me. Names are listed in the psychic’s report.”

  “Why? What happened?” Bryan asked immediately. Ender was sure the guy never slept, but as head of Communications, he couldn’t afford to. He also heard muffled female giggles in the background.

  “I’m betting they were executed. By the guy who I’m going to be working with,” he said.

  “Sucks to be you. Stay tight, bro.”

  Yeah, sucks to be me.

  He slipped his mini-scope and knife into his pocket—the small pistol he always carried would be discovered by that goddamned goat sniffing around him—and slid out into the hallway. He opened Derek’s locked door easily enough and did a quick scan of the area.

  No weapons, but he didn’t figure the guy would be stupid enough to leave them lying around. But he did immediately hone in on something shiny and metal sticking out from the bed. Careful not to touch anything he could leave prints on, he pulled on the blankets until he saw the handcuffs lying against the sheets, and his blood ran hot and cold at the same time.

  If anyone was going to use handcuffs on Kira, it would be him. Because he had no doubt in his mind that Derek planned on using stronger restraints, and more, when he kidnapped her—these were just for fun.

  It was time to get his ass down to the barn. He’d wire the room for sound and video later, because his plan had already taken form.

  He went down the stairs
, swearing under his breath the entire time. He hit the barn from the back entrance, taking only a second to create a distraction that would ensure Derek leaving him and Kira alone for a few minutes at least.

  He heard Kira’s laugh, saw Derek helping her balance—yeah, right—on the ladder that led up to the loft. He took a long look at her legs, the casual way Derek had his hand on her hip, and he knew he wasn’t getting out of there before giving that guy a good old-fashioned piece of his fist before he killed him. Literally.

  All’s fair in love, war and the world of rare operatives.

  “I’ve got you,” Derek was saying, his voice a combination of big city, old money—too well cultured to be a farmhand, and Ender wondered why Kira wouldn’t have picked up on that.

  Kira climbed down from the ladder and Derek kept his goddamned hand on her hip. That is, until she spotted Ender and moved away from Derek’s touch. Derek turned and frowned at him for the briefest second before putting on a fake glad-you’re-here-man smile.

  “Derek, this is—”

  “Tom,” Ender said, at the same time Derek said, “Tommy,” and continued smiling. It didn’t reach his eyes, and from what Ender remembered, it never had.

  Kira looked back and forth between them, and Ender noticed, with no small satisfaction, that her gaze settled on his when she spoke. “You two know each other?”

  “Farming community’s not that big,” Derek said, and Ender grudgingly gave him points for the nice catch. Interesting that he chose to admit that they knew each other at all. It was a way Ender would’ve preferred not to go. But he’d run with it.

  Another operative in the mix always made things more interesting.

  “Good to see you again,” he said to Derek before turning his full attention to Kira. He was finding it hard to think straight or concentrate on anything but her, like she was throwing scent around or something. From the way Derek looked at her, he could tell the guy was feeling it too. “Are you going to get me up to speed?”

  “I figured Derek could show you around this evening,” she said, and fuck, no, that was not going to happen. Not when, according to the urgent file the psychic had put together, Kira’s spring mating ritual was about to begin and there was one too many choices of mates.

  “Cool. But first, want me to take care of the horses that broke loose? Unless they’re supposed to be wandering,” Ender said.

  “I thought you tied them well?” Kira asked Derek.

  “Shit. I did,” Derek muttered.

  “Well, you need to get them back. And then you might as well finish repairing the fence on the west side of the compound before it gets dark,” she said. “Tommy can finish helping me around here.”

  Ender bit back a smile, because Derek would be gone most of the evening and there was nothing he could do to protest without arousing suspicion. Especially when Kira had already turned her attention firmly to Ender, giving off a powerful vibe that made his balls tingle.

  Oh, yeah, he was going to help Kira. Right out of her damned shorts.

  “Sorry about that. I’ve got it covered, boss,” Derek said. He walked past Ender, gave him a nod that meant I’ll kill you the first chance I get, and Ender watched him get into a truck and drive off in search of the errant horses.

  “Guess it’s just you and me,” he said, and Kira smiled at him in a way she hadn’t at Derek. He wasn’t sure why that mattered so much, but it did.

  KIRA HAD WATCHED DEREK saunter out of the barn, taking his fierce sensuality with him. Still, he was nothing compared to Tom, whose seductive, primal pull electrified her, spun her off balance and left her grabbing blindly at the air for a handhold.

  She’d never experienced anything like it, and she trembled with the massive exertion of restraint she had in place right now.

  “You certainly settled in fast,” Kira said with a casualness she didn’t feel. She propped one foot on a bale of hay to tie the loosened laces of her bright pink hiking boot. “Quite the eager beaver.”

  Tom smiled, likely the first genuine smile she’d seen since they’d met. He also stared at her legs and butt for the hundredth time. Thankfully, men were predictable.

  She got the impression, though, that Tom had a few curveballs up his sleeve, and she’d be an idiot to underestimate him. Then again, she’d gotten that same impression about Derek. Both men exuded confidence, power and raw sexual energy, and both shared a quality she rarely encountered in humans: a subtle, almost gamey scent she could describe only as danger. She’d bet her last dollar—which she’d be down to soon—that they’d both spent some time in the military.

  Or prison.

  She cocked her head and studied Tom studying her. “Ever been in jail?”

  “Nope.” He reached down to pet Morris, one of the barn cats, who had been rubbing on his denim-clad leg. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.” She watched him a moment longer, wishing his big hand was stroking her instead of the cat. Heat worked its way through her veins at the thought, and before she pounced on him in a lust-induced fit, she glanced up at the loft.

  “I need to store this riding gear. Would you mind handing it to me and keeping the ladder steady?”

  “Like Derek was doing?” he asked, his steely blue eyes glittering in the sunlight that streamed in through the dirty windows.

  She smiled. She’d known exactly what Derek had been doing, and she hadn’t minded. She’d long ago stopped trying to fight the animal instinct that came over her at this time of year, the frenzied desire to mate often and urgently.

  Never had any single man been capable of satisfying her during what she thought of as her heat cycle, and now it seemed that with two virile men within reach, her prayers had been answered.

  “Yes,” she said, “like Derek.”

  She grabbed a few frayed nylon halters and started up the ladder, which desperately needed to be replaced. When she’d almost reached the top, she tossed the gear onto a pile she’d started there.

  “Okay, I’m ready for more.” She turned, and the ladder wobbled.

  Tom swore and grabbed the ladder, his big body tensed, the muscles in his arms flexing. “Let me do this.”

  “You’re too heavy.”

  “If I had a dime for every time a woman said that to me…”

  She laughed, because she’d love to feel his weight on top of her and decide for herself whether or not he was too heavy. “Just hand me the bridles, smart-ass.”

  Grinning, he did, then braced the ladder as she placed them in an old wooden chest. “So, uh, do you want the whips and riding crops?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yes. I’m going to lock those things up here where no one will find them.”

  “You don’t use them?”

  “Never. Horses will cooperate without being beaten.”

  He reached for a crop, a thick-handled stick with a leather paddle at one end, and slapped it in his palm. “They are good for…other things.” His voice was deep and dark and so sexy she wanted to melt into a warm puddle and let him lap her up.

  “Like what?” she asked, aware that she was stirring up a hornet’s nest, and she could only hope he’d sting her.

  One tawny eyebrow arched, and a wicked smile turned up his sensual mouth. Bracing the ladder with one hand, he stretched upward with the crop until the soft strip of leather touched her skin just above her boot. A shock of desire shot straight from her ankle to her crotch, where moisture began to pool as he slowly traced circles higher and higher on the inside of her leg.

  His gaze caressed her leg along with the riding crop, and then his eyes caught hers, darkened to a stormy blue as he pushed the stick up to stroke and tease the leg opening of her denim shorts.

  “This is wrong,” she said, her voice sounding a little winded to her ears.

  The flap of leather slipped beneath the material, and pleasant tingles dispersed over her suddenly inflamed flesh. “Why’s that?”

  She bit her lip when the tip of the crop tickled the crease of
her sex. “Because you aren’t using it right.”

  That wicked smile of his became even more so, sending a hot rush of blood surging through her body. He pulled the stick from her shorts and slapped her lightly on the back of her bare thighs. She nearly groaned.

  “Better?” he asked.

  Better? She had no idea how to answer that, because her need had deepened, focused so her world had become her body and that of the man standing at the base of the ladder.

  “Again. Harder.”

  The leather cracked across her skin. The sting of pleasure shot straight to her sex.

  “Better?” Tom repeated, his voice husky.

  Her restraint dimmed, flickered, then finally snuffed out.

  Impulsively, she shimmied down the ladder to stand facing him on the bottom rung, which put them eye to eye. Crop in hand, he watched her with half-lidded, inquisitive eyes. She could feel his heat, could smell his arousal, which was obvious in the bulge in his jeans.

  “Better,” she murmured, “would involve a lot fewer clothes.”

  Unconcealed hunger burned in his gaze, and she got the feeling that under any other circumstance he wouldn’t hold back, but in the middle of the day in a barn where anyone could walk in—not to mention the fact that she was his boss he’d met barely two hours before—he was conflicted.

  Conflict was not something with which she had an issue. Not during this time of year when she’d be perfectly fine having sex on a football field during halftime.

  “You saying you want to drop in the hay and go at it right here?”

  “Dropping into the hay would take too long.”

  She didn’t have time to blink before he surged against her, pressing her back against the ladder rungs. His mouth came down on her throat, and she threw her head back, let his teeth rake her skin. One of his hands tangled in her hair, holding her for his demanding lips, and the other, the one clutching the crop, dropped to her ass as he pulled her mound against the hard ridge of his cock.