Chapter Five
Ky let the icy water sluice down his neck and shoulders as he bit back an oath from the freezing shock of it against his bare skin. He’d told Gemma there was plenty of hot water, but he wasn’t taking advantage of it.
He needed to cool down.
Christ, he needed to calm down. He was so hard, walking up the two flights of stairs to his bathroom had his hands shaking and sweat pouring off him.
If sanity hadn’t taken over just when it had, he’d have flipped Gemma flat on her back again and given in to his roaring desire to possess her mouth.
And possibly more than just her mouth.
From the moment he’d turned and found her staring at him, her eyes wide and filled with nerves, he’d been fantasizing about what she would taste like, feel like. In truth, she hadn’t been far from his thoughts from the moment he’d shut his eyes the night before until he opened them again.
Gemma was an enigma in every way imaginable.
She’d shown him a stubborn side, a determined side, and even a vulnerable side of her personality. She’d been flirty and quick-witted with his partner, something he imagined she was in her daily dealings with men, but reserved and self-contained with him. She was passionate about her profession but obstinate about her safety. She’d actually argued with him when he told her she needed to move the desk in her room from under the window for fear anyone on the street could look in and see her. Pouting like a three-year-old and insinuating he knew nothing about technique or lighting, she’d done as he’d asked.
So many conflicting facets written into one woman.
To discover her hidden talent and finesse with weaponry had almost been too much for him to take in.
Beauty, brains, talent, and she was skilled at martial arts. He’d had to fight to keep the smile from his face when she questioned his own abilities with the escrima sticks. What would she have done if he’d confessed the numerous trophies he’d won in the sport? Or that he’d been studying the discipline longer than she had?
He had no doubt she’d have still consented to fight with him, her own pride and sense of self-worth would have made it impossible to refuse.
Where the thought to spar with her, hand to hand, had come from, he could only guess, but the unshakeable need to touch her, to have his hands all over her, to have her willingly consent to it, had pushed the question from his lips.
He’d thought to hold back, go easy so she wouldn’t reinjure her knee, but she’d proven her defensive skills were exemplary, outmaneuvering him twice. He could have argued it was because he was distracted by how perfect her lean, toned body felt against his, or how cottony-soft her skin was under his fingers, or even how she smelled like ripe cherries.
But they would have just been excuses.
Gemma Laine, he’d been thrilled to learn, was a worthy opponent on several levels.
When she’d reversed him to his back and settled over his growing-by-the-second erection, he stopped fighting and simply reveled in the exquisite, erotic feel of her body against his.
The raw need that surfaced as he’d lain there overwhelmed him to the point of the almost-kiss. He’d forgotten every rule, every regulation, every oath he’d ever taken. In that moment, all he knew, all he could see, feel, and want, was Gemma.
She’d been as caught up in the moment as he’d been, he was sure of it. While he watched her head bend down, bringing those amazing lips closer to his, Ky had sensed something floating in the air between their bodies: something frightening, something real.
He’d pulled back at the last moment when the realization of what it was came to him. Equal parts thankful and regretful the kiss hadn’t happened, Ky knew down to his core he had to keep a close watch on his emotions from now on and think with his head and not other parts of his treasonous anatomy where Gemma was concerned. He couldn’t give in to his desire for her, couldn’t allow it to surface again no matter how strong or forceful it was.
He had to keep her safe, avenge his agents, find Ritandi, and put him away for the rest of his natural life.
That was the objective. He needed to remember it.
When his body finally turned numb from the cold water, his erection now a memory, he shut the shower off, towel dried and dressed. He glanced at himself in the bedroom mirror and resolved to clamp down on the unexpected tightening in his system whenever he was near her. He could do it. Like YiaYia was fond of telling him, he had the blood of his warrior ancestors flowing through him with a matching will of iron.
From the staircase he heard the sound of voices drifting up. Jon said something he couldn’t make out, and then Gemma’s laughter rang through the hallway.
In that instant, Ky knew no matter whose blood flowed through his veins, it couldn’t stop the yearning coursing through them for this one, beautiful, stubborn woman.
Her laughter died the moment he walked into the room, but for a brief, small second, he’d seen her face before the internal shade came down over it. Eyes the color of cobalt crystals were moist with mirth, her cheeks plumped by the rise of her lips. Happy. She’d looked genuinely happy.
Ky wanted to see her that way again, and by something he’d done or said, not his partner.
“Did you leave me any hot water,” Jon asked. He filled a coffee mug and held it out to his partner.
“Plenty.” Ky crossed to the refrigerator. From its depths he removed a carton of eggs, milk, and bread, then reached up into a cabinet and found cinnamon and sugar.
“French toast?” Jon asked.
Ky nodded.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Jon addressed Gemma, “because Papps makes the best French toast this side of, well, France.”
Her lips lifted. When she turned to him, he thought a challenge drifted in her gaze as she fiddled with the buttons on the ever-present camera slung around her neck.
“Mine has been known to bring grown men to their knees,” she told him, her head cocked at a jaunty angle, her hair swishing across her cheeks, “so yours better be good.”
While he whisked the ingredients together he tossed her a quick glance over his shoulder and said, “I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Hey,” Jon said, his attention bouncing between them, “why don’t you two have a cook-off? See whose is better?”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re suggesting that just so you can eat more?” Gemma asked him, then grinned when his hand flew to his chest.
“Woman, you wound me. Again.”
“Deny she’s wrong.” Ky dipped a few slices of bread into the bowl, then placed them on the now-sizzling griddle.
He looked over at his partner when they were settled to his satisfaction and screamed, “Down!”
He grabbed Gemma and dragged her off the chair and under the table.
Just as she yelled, What the—, an explosion detonated the coffeemaker, hot liquid spurting and raining down all around them.
“Stay down!” Ky ordered, one hand restraining her, the other holding his gun, cocked and ready. He’d positioned his body as a shield over hers.
A spray of rapid and unending gunfire blasted through the kitchen, destroying everything it hit. Ky felt a scorching stab on his back as the skillet was struck, the oil spurting from the implosion.
“Shit!” Jon crouched next to them, his own gun drawn.
“Perimeter breach,” Ky told him, keeping his body over Gemma.
A slight pause in the hail of bullets was enough for them to reach up and return fire. They discharged their weapons in a swift series of blasts.
The kitchen window was shattered, blown from its frame, but Ky was able to get a good view through it.
“How many?” Jon yelled.
“At least two,” Ky told him, crouching back down. “Front lawn and moving.”
Jon nodded. His eyes did a quick dance from Gemma back to his partner. “Cover me.”
Ky nodded. Jon mouthed, “three…two…one,” and then jumped up, sprinting.
At the same time, Ky sprang up and fired three shots in swift succession, giving his partner enough time to bolt from the room, his own weapon primed. Several shots and then a scream shattered the air.
Gemma squatted under the table, her hands covering her ears.
“Stay here,” he commanded. “Don’t move.”
Raw and stark terror drenched her face when she looked up at him.
“Understand?”
She nodded a staccato assent.
Ky stood cautiously, every muscle in his body tensed, the sound of gunfire coming from his right.
He slithered to the doorway then plastered his body against the frame as more shots rang through the house. A flash of movement came from his left and he spied a figure drenched in black, a hood barring his face, an automatic weapon braced in his hands. He spotted Ky and took a stance.
Ky was quicker. He fired first, once toward the head, once, the body.
The gunman went down, his weapon banging from his hands.
Ky kept his gun trained on the man as he approached, kicked the gun across the floor, and checked him.
Dead.
The blast of more gunfire made him drop to a squat and position himself behind the staircase bannister. The commotion was centered to his right, the living room.
Suddenly, an eerie silence boomed in the house.
Ky, his weapon at the ready, mentally counted to five.
“Jon?”
When he got no response, he moved stealthily down the hallway.
The living room was in shambles, the front window blown, the walls littered with caverns from the bullets.
Another body, identically dressed as the first, lay across the entrance to the den.
Just as Ky checked the man’s status, a faint, “Papps?” met his ears.
Jon was sprawled across the floor, his gun gripped in his hand, a deep crimson stain drenching the front of his shirt.
“I’m hit,” he said when Ky reached him.
“Did you see anyone else?” he asked. He tucked his gun into his shoulder holster, then ripped Jon’s ruined shirt apart. A single hole lodged squarely in Jon’s upper arm spewed bright red blood from its center. Ky took the edge of the shirt and pressed down hard.
A hiss blew past his partner’s lips. “No. I think there were only two.” His color was pasty, sweat drenching his brow and upper lip.
The faint sound of sirens tinged the air. While putting pressure on his partner’s wound, Ky pulled his cell phone from his belt and pressed a single number. A voice answered immediately.
“What?”
“We’ve been attacked,” Ky said without a greeting.
“Status?”
“Two intruders down.”
“Agents?”
“Winters is hit. I haven’t found LaRoux and Coble.”
“Get out of there, Papps. Take your witness. Contact me when you can.”
“Winters—”
“Now!”
The call disconnected.
Jon looked up at him. “Gemma?” he asked. He swiped his tongue across his mouth.
“I’m here,” she said from behind them.
Ky’s head snapped up.
Gemma ran to them, her gaze flitting from Ky to Jon. Her eyes were wide and glazed, her skin alabaster white. She still had her camera slung around her neck. Relief surged through him when he realized she hadn’t been shot during the firefight.
When she dropped to her knees next to them, his relief flew and anger got the better of him. “I told you to stay out of sight!”
She stopped short, glared at him, her brows tugging together, and for a moment he was afraid she’d lash out at him for yelling at her. But in the next second she pursed her lips, and, silently dismissing him, gave her attention to Jon. She yanked off her hoodie, then pushed Ky’s hand and the drenched shirt out of the way and placed the garment over Jon’s wound.
“We need to keep pressure on this.” A shaking warble drowned her voice. “I hear sirens. That means help’s on the way.”
“You’ve got to get out of here.” Jon laid a hand over the one she held across his wound. “They know where you are.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Jon shook his head. His color paled even more and a swift gasp shot from him.
“Don’t move,” Gemma said. “Please.”
“Papps?”
Ky looked down at his partner.
“Take her out of here.
“Jon—”
“I’ll be fine. But if they found her once…”
He didn’t need to finish. Ky nodded, hating to leave his partner, but it had to be done. They were sitting targets.
He grabbed Gemma’s upper arm. “Let’s go.”
She snapped it out of his hand and screeched, “Get your hands off of me!”
The sound of sirens was louder now, almost on top of them. They didn’t have much time.
“If we don’t leave right now we won’t be able to once the police get here. Now, come on.” He tried to tug her again.
“Gemma, go with him, please,” Jon said. His breathing sounded wet and harsh. “I’ll be fine. Go.”
“But—”
“Go.”
Her indecisiveness was costing them valuable time. Ky gripped her arm again and lifted her up, giving her no recourse.
She didn’t resist when he pulled her from the room, jogged them through the destroyed kitchen and out the back door.
He stopped, once, to listen. The sirens were blaring from the front of the property. Assessing their best route of escape, he tugged her hand and brought her through the backyard, around the garage and toward the parallel street.
Gemma stayed silent, one hand secured in his, the other wrapped around her camera strap.
“We have to get out of this neighborhood,” he told her. “Can you keep up with my pace?”
“Yes.”
He stole a quick glance at her, then nodded. It was apparent she was terrified. Her hand shaking beneath his proved it. But he could tell she was angry as well, and knew he was the cause.
Fine. He’d deal with her anger later. For now, he had to get her someplace she’d be safe.