Seven
“Are you all right? You jumped out of bed as if someone shot you, but my sensors say you’re uninjured.” Recognizing Baran’s deep, sleep-roughened voice at last, Jane slumped.
“I’m fine. Just a nightmare.” The oldest one in her collection. She supposed it wasn’t surprising she’d had it, given the circumstances.
Particularly since after Jeanine Colby had walked out the door that night, Jane had never seen her again. Her father had told people for years his wife had left to take care of her sick mother. When Jane had questioned him as a teenager, he’d produced letters addressed to Jane he’d claimed were from Jeanine. The handwriting had matched what she’d found in the family Bible, so Jane had decided her mother had simply gone into hiding.
But the doubts had lingered, so as an adult, she’d hired a private detective to search for her mother. He never found anything.
Maybe Jeanine had done a very good job of covering her tracks from the husband who’d abused her. Then again, maybe William Colby had carried through on his threats. A year ago Jane had finally decided to tell the police about her suspicions, but before she could go through with her plans, he’d suffered his fatal stroke.
Now she’d never know if her father had been a murderer.
“Is there anything you need?” Baran asked, jolting her out of her preoccupation.
“No.” She laughed shortly. “Well, maybe a good therapist.”
“Why don’t you come back to bed?”
She eyed him as he sat against the head of the bed, his glorious bare chest silvered in a shaft of moonlight. He looked big and strong and safe. And just then, she was in desperate need of safety.
Jane crossed the bedroom to slide under the covers he lifted for her. He curled onto his side facing her, silently offering her the shelter of his body. His skin seemed to radiate a seductive heat, as though his natural body temperature was high. She felt too battered to refuse. She eased into the curve of one muscled arm. A hand came up to rub her back, so big it almost spanned the width of her torso.
“Your skin is cold,” he said softly, drawing her farther into his arms as he rolled onto his back. The movement draped her over his chest like a scarf. “Let me warm you.”
Yeah, I’ll bet you’d be good at that, she thought with weary cynicism. The thing was, she felt so traumatized she’d probably let herself be seduced, if only for the illusion of safety she’d find in his arms.
But he made no further advances, instead rubbing her back in slow, gentle strokes. His chest felt broad and strong and hard under her cheek, and his heat enveloped her. Gradually she began to relax.
As she settled into him, Jane realized he had an erection. The long shaft pressed gently against the curve of her belly through her sweatpants. She tensed, but he did nothing more. Demanded nothing more.
And he felt so safe. Jane had experienced so damn little safety in her life, she found it difficult to resist. So she stayed where she was, despite that silently tempting erection, and savored his warmth.
She could feel the sculpted ridges of his muscles, the faint tickle of his body hair against her skin. He even smelled delicious. Every time she inhaled, her head filled with the spicy male musk of his scent. His arm lay curved around her shoulder, a comforting weight. She let her eyes close. Surely now…
Red splattered the walls. Eyes opened wide in shock, a screaming mouth…
Jane’s screaming mouth.
Or was it Jeanine’s?
She jerked upright out of his loose hold. Sitting up with a gulping sob, she buried her face in her hands. “You were right. I shouldn’t have looked at that damn recording. I’ve tried, but I can’t stop thinking about it….”
“Yes, you can.” Sheets rustled and the bed shifted under his weight. Warm hands closed over her wrists, pulled hers away from her face. “I’ll help you.”
Jane looked up blindly in the darkness, saw the shimmer of his eyes an instant before his mouth came down over hers. She tried to pull away, startled, but long fingers tangled in her hair and held her still. The kiss was an easy, practiced slide of his mouth against hers, carefully undemanding.
Jane had expected skill, but Baran’s tenderness took her by surprise. His tongue caressed her lower lip, then entered her mouth in a long erotic stroke. His mouth tasted of a sweet, spicy something she couldn’t identify. Strong hands closed gently around her shoulders, turned, and lowered her to the mattress. She cupped her palms around the curve of his shoulders. They more than filled her hands. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“Probably not,” he murmured. “But it seems we’re going to do it anyway.”
“Yeah,” she said, and sobbed in a breath as he cuddled her breasts through her shirt. “Just help me not to think. Just keep me from seeing…” Mother. “…Mary die.”
“I can do that.” Strong teeth closed gently over her lower lip, gave it a cool tug, then scraped softly against the curve of her jaw until they found a tendon. Stopped to nibble. “Just concentrate on this.”
His hands slid up under the hem of her T, pushed it upward. She felt the cool draft on her erect nipples for only a moment before Baran’s warm, long fingers covered one breast. Cupped lightly.
You don’t know him, sanity whispered.
I don’t care.
His long hair tumbled across her skin as he lowered his head to find one nipple. The heat of his claiming mouth made her spine arch.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for hours,” he rumbled against her skin, and licked the pointed tip. “Ever since I scented your heat in that pretty red silk gown.” He groaned. “God, that book of yours made you wet.”
She inhaled sharply. He gave her nipple a delicate rake with his teeth. Pleasure danced up her spine. “You…you could smell that? On my clothes?” She knew she should be outraged, but just now she was too grateful for the distraction.
“Mmm,” he said, and laughed, soft and dark. “My nose is almost as good as Freika’s. In fact, it tells me you’re creaming now.” He suckled, making her squirm.
“I can’t believe you sniffed my nightgown”—she had to stop to gasp—“when you’d never even met me.”
That dark laugh rolled over her again, making her shiver. “I not only sniffed it, I seriously considered wrapping it around my cock.” Another wicked almost-bite sent delight throbbing through her nipples as his long fingers squeezed and teased. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve ridden a woman, and you tempt me.”
Something about the rough, dark way he phrased it sent a quiver through her. “Yeah,” she managed through the flood of heat, “I did pick up on that part. Your eyes glow whenever you’re—”
“Aroused. Or angry.” He swirled his tongue over one tight point, then lowered his head to find the curve where her rib cage met her waist. “You’ve got a talent for making me both.”
He laved her belly button until she squirmed. Her giggle was cut off by his fingers hooking into the waistband of her sweats.
“I don’t like these,” he said. “Don’t wear them again.” Before she could work up any outrage at that blunt order, he started pulling them down. “I want to feel your bare legs wrapped around my ass.”
Her head spun. “Okay,” she panted as he stripped them ruthlessly off. “But just so we’re clear, you’re not telling me what to wear.”
Baran’s eyes flashed at her through the darkness, red and bright as coals before he turned to toss the pants across the room. She heard the soft thump as they landed. “Oh, yes, I am. You’re going to do every last thing I order you to do.”
“Not when you’re just being a sexist jerk.”
“Every last thing, Jane,” he insisted, leaning close until his breath gusted warm on her ear. “Instantly. Without stopping to parse out whether you agree. Because it’s the only way I can keep you alive.” A big hand wrapped in the fragile fabric of her panties and twisted. The silk pulled at her hips and the tops of her thighs before it ripped.
“Hey!” She glared up at his dark shadow looming over her. “You didn’t have to do that!”
His eyes gleamed as he moved back down her body like the erotic predator he was. “No, but I wanted to. Just like I want to do this.” He dipped his tongue between her outer labia, a wet, tempting stroke along sensitive flesh and soft hair.
She was still gasping at that sensation when she felt him move between her thighs, broad shoulders forcing them wide. His mouth descended to the lips that had grown steadily more creamy with every stroke and lick and hot male purr.
She groaned, instinctively fisting the sheets on either side of her hips. To her shock, his hands clamped down over hers, pinning them to the mattress. “What are you doing?” she gasped.
“Making sure you don’t go anywhere.” That clever tongue flicked between her labia and over her clit, burning hot as he lapped her up like cream. She squirmed helplessly, gasping. With a satisfied rumble, he closed his mouth over her tender lips and drank from her before using his teeth on the delicate flesh.
It was all she could do to form words as he bit and sucked and nibbled. “Just because I…read a book with a bondage scene, it…AH!…doesn’t mean I want to be held down!”
“No, but I want to do it anyway. And where you’re concerned”—he paused to do something wicked with that long, clever tongue—“I do exactly what I want.”
A cascade of fire raced up her spine, tearing a gasp from her lips. She writhed as the orgasm swamped her consciousness, instinctively trying to pull away from his overwhelming mouth. His hands tightened their grip, keeping her ruthlessly pinned as he sucked so hard her every nerve detonated in an erotic Fourth of July.
Jane screamed, convulsing against his mouth, grinding her hips against his face.
The fire took a long, long time to die. She was still quivering when he sat up, grabbed her hips, and flipped her onto her belly.
She opened her eyes, dazed, and looked around at him as he pulled her onto her knees. He didn’t even take the time to remove his briefs—just tugged them down enough to free his jutting cock into the spill of moonlight.
“Now,” he said, in a dark voice rich with male anticipation, “it’s my turn.”
Something hard brushed Jane’s slick opening. Her head jerked up in shock at the diameter of Baran’s shaft as he slowly impaled her, one mind-blowing inch at a time.
“Oh, you are tight.” He came down over her, covering her back in hard, sweaty muscle as he purred in her ear. “And slick. Have a little more of me.”
“Jesus, Baran!” She gasped as he drove in even deeper, slow, thick, and endless. Moaning, she fought to brace her hands beneath her and rise to all fours, but he caught her wrists and pinned them again, trapping her on her elbows with her ass lifted into his stroke.
Finally he was all the way in. “Mmmmm. How does this feel?”
Jane could only pant. She could feel her own slick interior stretching around his impaling shaft. Stuffed almost to the point of pain, she whimpered. She’d never been so turned on in her life. “Good. God, it’s good. You bastard.”
He rumbled a laugh in her ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Then he started to pull out. Slowly. Silk and width and heat, sliding from her deliciously. Out. And out. And out.
And in. And in. And in.
“Just so you…oh, GOD…know, just because I let you do this to me…in bed,” she gasped, “that doesn’t mean I’m going to…AH!…let you dominate me anywhere else.”
He laughed, low and wicked, and started stroking out. “Oh, yes, you will. I’ll make sure of it.”
“No. No, I…” Out. And out. She whimpered.
“Darling, you won’t be able to stop me. Not that you’ll want to. I’m told I’ve got a talent for it.”
The velvet amusement in his voice barely registered in the hot rise of another climax. The only response she could manage was a scream.
The pleasure spiraled tighter and hotter until it exploded, twisting her into convulsions in the cage of his arms. He kept pumping, hot and hard, in short, ruthless strokes that drove everything else out of her head.
Her orgasm built even higher under that merciless stoking, burning and ferocious, unlike anything she’d ever known in her life. Helpless in the grip of it, Jane yowled, mindless, forgetting Druas and her father and everything else but Baran Arvid’s demanding body.
She was still drowning in the fire when she heard his triumphant roar as he came, deep in her pulsing sex.
Reluctantly Baran slid out of Jane’s hot, delicious clasp. As he collapsed on his back, panting, he heard her whimper once. “Oh, God, that was…I never felt anything like that.”
He felt his lips twitch in an automatic male smile that felt distinctly smug.
Though come to think of it, she’d been more than he’d expected, too. There’d been something in the way she’d responded, a pure female heat mixed with a curious…innocence? Wonder? Something very different from what he was used to.
Desperation, a cynical mental voice suggested.
Well, yeah, that was part of it. He’d had some pretty incredible sex the night before a battle. There was nothing like the possibility of death to add a rough power to passion.
Yet somehow, taking Jane had felt more…personal than that.
The mattress sank under him, kicking his senses instantly to alert, but it was only Jane rolling onto her side. Her arm encircled him as one small, cool hand came to rest on his chest. He heard her sigh once before her breathing deepened into sleep.
Good. With any luck, he’d done such a good job wearing her out, she wouldn’t have any more nightmares.
He only hoped he could say the same.
Her fingers felt so cool and delicate against his hot flesh, so small. Her palm felt like silk, without the callouses of weapon use or combat he was used to in the Warfems he’d bedded.
Vulnerable.
She was so helplessly vulnerable. If he’d tried to hold down a Warfem the way he’d pinned Jane, he’d have had a fight on his hands.
Oh, he could have done it. His partner might even have decided to submit as part of the game. But fems were never truly helpless; their strength was two or three times that of a normal human male. A Warlord was even stronger, of course, but a really determined Warfem could still turn the tables.
Jane couldn’t. She couldn’t have broken his hold no matter what he’d chosen to do to her.
And if it had been Druas who’d pinned her…
He couldn’t move. They’d ordered his computer to lock his body on his knees. Helpless. He heard laughter, then Liisa’s voice. Screaming. The sound ripped at him. He struggled desperately to move, to break out of the paralysis, but his computer wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t release him.
Then he felt…
Shit. Baran shut the memory down and rolled out of bed in a convulsive burst of motion, barely aware of Jane’s slim hand dropping limply away. Adjusting the briefs he’d tugged down to take her, he strode to the window, automatically positioned himself out of the path of fire. Scan, computer. Check for Xeran life indications.
The response came back an instant later. No Xer detected.
He stared out at the darkness, his jaw clamped tight, his hands curled into fists. He shouldn’t be here. He should be on Xer with Freika, stalking General Jutka and waiting for his chance to put his ghosts to rest. The General’s bodyguards would probably execute him afterward, but he really didn’t care. He owed it to Liisa, to Lieutenant Ullock, to Thorp and Ive.
The team he’d failed to die with.
“Wait,” he whispered to the darkness. “I’ll get it done.”
But first he had to take care of Jane.
He glanced back at the bed. She lay curled in a defensive ball on top of the sheets. One of her feet twitched. He hoped she wasn’t having yet another nightmare.
Not that he could afford to care.
It was fine to spread her, to play hot games that taught her his strength and conditioned her to yield to him. The obedience he built in bed might pay off later when she followed some crucial order at some crucial moment. If she became obsessed with him, so much the better.
But he couldn’t afford to become obsessed in turn. She was a job, no different from the rescue of the admiral’s daughter, or that Vardonese scientist, or any of those he’d saved. Just another mission on the way to the only one that counted: looking into the eyes of General Gavoni Jutka and watching the bastard’s life drain away.
Baran had gotten all the others who’d tortured and killed his team, or at least all the ones whose names he’d been able to discover. He’d stalked them patiently, challenged them one by one.
All except the bastard who’d murdered Liisa. He’d never been able to discover that one’s name. But Jutka knew. He had to. And he’d give Baran that final name before he died.
One way or another.
But not tonight.
With a sigh Baran moved back to the bed and stood looking down at Jane. With his enhanced senses, he could plainly see the way her lashes fanned over her cheeks in the dark, her mouth relaxed in a full pout. He thought about kissing her again, tasting those velvet lips.
Keep your distance, warned a mental voice. Don’t get too close. Don’t let her get too close.
He moved around the bed, pulled free the sheet that was trapped under Jane’s sleeping form. Climbing in beside her, he covered them both and started to reach for her. He wanted to feel her delicate warmth against him.
He stopped the gesture in midmotion. Better not.
Instead he rolled over on his side until he faced away from her, leaving a comfortable distance between them. His back felt cool. For a moment he imagined what she’d feel like spooning him from behind, all curves and silken warmth.
Then he shut down the thought and closed his eyes. Computer, enable sleep. Scanners to full. Alert me if you detect anything.
Engaged, the comp said. He felt the tension drain from his body as the comp flooded his brain with the slow, deep wave patterns of sleep.
He knew nothing else.
Jane snapped her eyes open with a choked whimper and stared wildly at the wall bathed in the golden glow of morning sunlight. For an instant she had a memory of bloody dreams. Then the memory fled, and she was left with nothing but an impression of terror and violence.
She was glad. Her current reality was bad enough as it was. Except for…
Baran.
She turned over quickly, half hoping to discover he’d been nothing but a dream himself. Along with the concept of Jack the Ripper bouncing merrily through time killing people…
No. There he was, handsome and sound asleep, long hair tumbling around his tattooed face as he lay on his side facing her. His chest seemed to loom like a muscled wall, soft chest hair curling in a tempting cloud across its breadth. He was so damn gorgeous, she wanted to touch him just to see if he was real.
Which was no reason to sleep with the man mere hours after he’d broken into her house. Damn, that was the kind of thing romance heroines did, not real, living people who paid bills and ran a newspaper. She couldn’t believe she’d let him seduce her like that.
Then she looked at the soft line of his mouth, the fan of his long eyelashes over his cheeks, the truly outstanding width of his shoulders….
Okay, maybe she could believe it.
She sighed. And promptly grimaced at the nasty taste in her mouth. If Baran woke up and decided to give her one of those incredible kisses, he’d be appalled. Time to brush the teeth.
Among other things, she mentally added, noticing the pressure in her bladder.
Jane started to roll out of bed, then stopped. He’d told her he had to be with her at all times. But what was she supposed to do—wake him out of a sound sleep and say, Hey, wake up. I have to pee? She didn’t think so.
She’d make it quick and be back in bed before he—
A strong male hand snapped out to wrap around her wrist. She looked down to see Baran had opened one eye to look at her. “Where are you going?” his voice was sleep graveled. And astonishingly sexy. It just wasn’t fair.
“I didn’t mean to wake you….”
“You did anyway. Where are you going?”
“Bathroom break.”
He lifted his head from the pillow, yawned hugely, let her go, and rolled smoothly to his feet. “One more time, Jane—you don’t go anywhere without me.”
“For God’s sake, Baran, the Secret Service isn’t this paranoid!”
His gaze turned abstracted. She realized his computer was probably feeding him the meaning of the term—and probably the complete history of the Service, all the way back to the day it was created. Growling, she bent to snatch her sleep shirt off the floor, then jerked it down over her head. She looked around for her pants and found them on the other side of the room.
As she recovered them and put them on again, she looked around to see him watching her, mouth flattened with displeasure. “Unlike you, your President doesn’t have Jack the Ripper after him.”
“No, just every other nutball on the planet.” Janet turned and stomped toward the bathroom, resentfully aware that Baran dogged her heels. “I know what this is about, by the way. I lived for twenty-two years with a dominant jerk, and I know all the games. Daddy played them, each and every one. ‘I’m the man, and you’ll do what I say. Or else!’ No wonder Mom made for the hills.” If she had. If her father hadn’t…
“What are you talking about?”
“My father, alpha male of the universe.” She plopped down on the toilet. “Turn your back, dammit.”
Baran obeyed. “What has he got to do with this?”
“He thought women were naturally inferior, too. An old-fashioned, Southern-fried, sexist…” Wife-abuser, but Baran didn’t need to know that part. “So you can imagine how thrilled he was when his only offspring turned out to be female.”
Baran turned back around to gape at her. “Naturally inferior? Women? I never said that.”
“Yeah? So what’s with the ‘You’re going to obey my every command’ crap? Turn your back, dammit.”
“That’s not about your being a woman! That’s about your being a civilian.”
Finished, she rose and stalked to the sink to wash her hands. “Same difference.”
“No. It’s not.” Baran angled his head down until he was nose to nose with her. His eyes were beginning to glow again. “I will fight Druas for you, Jane. That’s a given. But it’s not going to be easy, because from what Freika said, he’s at least my match in strength. He may even be stronger. And considering what we both know he’s capable of, that may not turn out well for me.”
Jane had to fight the impulse to step back from the red-hot threads of rage burning in his irises. Instead she grabbed a towel and started drying her hands. “Yeah, I’m aware of that. I really am. And I’m grateful. But that still doesn’t give you the right to push me around!”
“The point is, I’m willing to die for you.” He bared his teeth and gritted, “But I’m not willing to die for your stupidity!”
For a moment she stared at him in shock. Then her rage exploded. “Fuck you, Baran.” Throwing the towel into his face, she stormed from the room.