Miranda's Mate (6 page)

Possessiveness sounded an exultant note behind his breastbone. She wasn’t going to fight him. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. She opened hers and sucked hungrily on his tongue. His cock throbbed. She wasn’t the only one on the edge of coming.

He felt her fingers on the fastenings of his pants, and then her hands closed around his shaft. He wanted to do everything to her. Kiss her, lick her, suckle her incredible breasts, and run his mouth down her body to settle on her clit. All those things would have to wait. What mattered now was getting inside her. He yanked her headset off and reached for her pants, delighted to find they had an elastic waistband.

The logical part of his brain was nearly obliterated with passion, but it reminded him she needed at least one leg free of her pants, which meant one shoe off. Reluctantly, he broke away from their embrace and pried her fingers off his cock.

“What?” Her voice was muzzy with need. “You started this. Come back here, goddammit.”

He laughed. God, but it felt good to laugh and hold Miranda in his arms. “Patience, darling. I just need to get one of your pant legs out of the way. Then you can straddle me.”

Between the two of them, they managed to unlace a boot and jimmy one of her legs out of her pants. He folded the chairs’ armrests out of the way, settled his hands on her hips, and helped her kneel above him. When she lowered herself so the heat of her surrounded him, he gasped. Sensation so intense it set every nerve on fire lanced through him. Her muscles clenched around his cock and held on. Hard nipples pressed against his chest. He thrust upward and his balls tightened.

“Sorry, darling. I’m not going to last long.” He moved a hand between them and rubbed her swollen clit.

Her muscles milked him. Her teeth sank into his shoulder. He could tell from her rhythmic movements and the tension in her nub she was coming. Garen let himself go. He’d imagined coming inside Miranda forever, and now it was finally happening. He growled low in the back of his throat as his semen arced into her.

He moved his hands to the sides of her face and kissed her long and deep. She turned her head, captured the fingers that had just been rubbing her, and licked them clean. It was so erotic his cock throbbed where it was still buried deep in her pussy.

She wriggled out of his grasp, reached for the napkin wrapped around the beer bottle, and stuffed it between her legs before she pulled her underwear and pants back into place. Her face was a gorgeous, rosy hue. He started to tell her how lovely she was when she said, “Sorry. I’m sorry about that. Didn’t mean to. You’re my boss. I understand what we did was wrong. Don’t worry, I won’t let my, uh, my, well, whatever it was, get out of control again. I’m going into the head to clean up. We should probably have used a condom. I have an IUD, but still—”

“Whoa.” He held up a hand. Garen was having a hard time with the transition from a sexual high to a we-shouldn’t-have-done-this conversation. “I enjoyed making love with you, Miranda. You’re an amazing—”

She shook her head. “No. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. I promise. You caught me at a weak moment.” She pushed past him and headed for the rear of the aircraft.

Garen shoved his still half-hard cock back into his pants and zipped up. A leaden deadness settled around his heart. She may have had sex with him, but Miranda didn’t care about him. The post-coital conversation he’d thought they’d have was considerably different. He bit down hard on his disappointment. Better if he went back to the cockpit. That way she wouldn’t have to look at him when she came back from the john.

What could they possibly have to say to one another beyond him apologizing for being swept off his feet by her lithe body and firm curves? No way could he tell her he truly cared about her. Not in light of the revulsion he’d seen mirrored in her face as she stammered through her regrets. She was obviously appalled by what she considered a weakness.

Garen picked up his headset and settled it into place before walking into the cockpit. He wasn’t certain just what he’d say to Lars. No way he’d be able to hide the lingering scent of sex. He latched the door and sat heavily. For a time neither of them said anything. Garen almost started to believe he could escape a conversation he’d assumed would be inevitable.

“I do not like to pry, but I could smell sex even through the door.” Lars glanced at Garen with a knowing grin on his face. “How was she?”

Garen gritted his teeth. “Hot, passionate, delectable.” He inhaled, the air almost painful in his lungs. “But she doesn’t care about me. Said I caught her at a weak moment. Apologized all over the place and said it would never happen again.”

“Hmph. Well, it would be untrue if I said I were sorry.” Lars flicked the front of his pants. “Imagining the two of you fucking got me going. I will need to take care of myself before I escort the fair fraulein anywhere.” A hesitation. “I do not suppose there is any possibility the three of us could—”

“No.” Something about the vehemence in Garen’s tone earned him a penetrating look from Lars.

“Your airplane, my friend. I will be back.”

“Miranda couldn’t wait to get away from me. She might not be done in the head.”

“If she is not, I will wait. Unless you wish to watch me.”

“In a pig’s eye. Go.” Garen waved both hands at Lars. “It’s a good thing we’re friends. My tolerance for perverts is pretty limited.”

“You know you love me.” Lars blew a kiss and exited the cockpit.

To distract himself, Garen checked the instrument panel and their course line. He made a few calculations on the in-flight computer and estimated they’d be landing in roughly twenty-five minutes. He radioed the tower with their arrival time.

Because the airplane didn’t really need his attention, his thoughts returned to Miranda—and to Roulan and ISL, his international human trafficking ring. Getting rid of Derek Roulan was a start, but it would take far more than that to break up his organization. Despite years of research that hadn’t turned up much, Garen was convinced he’d only seen the tip of that iceberg. Set up by pros, the organization had deep claws in nearly every country—including the United States. Of course they had a much easier go in places like Asia where young girls came cheap and parents were much less likely to report disappearances to the authorities.

Miranda. He shut his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. He’d managed to keep his hands off her for a very long time. What was different about today? Was it that she’d almost died? Or was it because Lars was interested in her, and Garen’s wolf pushed him to stake a claim so she’d be his and his alone?

“It doesn’t matter.” His words were low and bitter. “I botched things. Should have taken her out to a nice dinner. Courted her…”

Oh, really?
an inner voice inquired drily.
And how was I going to do that. She works for me. I don’t date employees. It’s a violation of—

He clamped a lid on his thoughts. Irritation simmered just below the surface. He’d painted himself into a corner, and he didn’t see any way out. Garen prided himself on a cool, rational collectedness. It had pulled him through situations that would have been the death of lesser men. He’d survived despite his hot-headed wolf side and beaten the odds.

“Bullshit,”
his wolf, who rarely said anything, snarled.
“We survived because of me.”

“Right,”
Garen snarled back. “You were a great help at the last shifter gathering. I think you mated with half the females there.”

“I would have had all of them if you hadn’t called me off.”

Garen bit back a wry laugh. He and the wolf were two sides of the same coin. It would be foolhardy to jeopardize everything he’d built so carefully in the human world just because his dick was out of control.

The cockpit door clicked open. Lars, looking a bit flushed, settled into his seat.

Garen quirked a brow. “Well, how were you?”

“Same as always. My hand is reliable.”

Garen waited, but Lars didn’t say anything further. Finally, he couldn’t stand it. “How did Miranda seem?”

“I wondered if you were going to ask. My airplane. I will set us up on long final.”

“I already radioed the tower, but it wouldn’t hurt to give them an updated ETA. You didn’t answer my question.”

Lars shrugged. “She appeared tired. We did not talk.”

A spurt of relief surged through him.
Good.
Miranda wasn’t running to Lars with her problems. Garen’s jaw set in a tense line. He still saw Miranda as his.
I’m going to have to get over that. Not only isn’t she mine now. She never was.

“She could be if you put a bit of effort into it,”
the wolf informed him tartly.

Garen didn’t bother to answer him.

* * * *

Miranda stood on the tarmac, bag slung over her shoulder. The men’s bags were next to her feet. Lars was turning the plane in, and Garen was securing a rental car. Thank fucking God neither man seemed particularly inclined toward conversation. Embarrassment heated her face. She was certain the men had discussed her sexual lapse. After what Lars had told her about the depth of their relationship, it was nearly impossible they hadn’t talked about it.

I can’t go back. All I can do is hold my head up and get through this somehow.
It worried her that Lars would label her and simply assume bedding her was a foregone conclusion. The more she’d thought about it, the less she wanted him to stay with her. She craved her wolf form; once in it, she’d spend the next week or so running wild in the Pacific Northwest’s forests. By the time she resurfaced, her side would be healed—and so would her mind.

A black Lincoln Navigator rolled up next to her. Garen jumped out and tossed his and Lars’ bags into the back. He held out a hand for hers. She handed it to him and got into the back seat.

“Don’t you want to sit up front?”

She shook her head, not totally trusting herself to speak. Lars strode into view. She released a tightly held breath. As uncomfortable as things were with the three of them, it was worse with just her and Garen. Lars settled in the passenger seat; Garen got behind the wheel and asked, “Would anyone like anything before we leave Bellingham?”

“Food would be welcome,” Lars said.

“Sure,” she said. “Something quick. We can eat while we drive.”

“Easy for you to say,” Garen murmured.

“I can drive while you eat, and then we could trade,” she offered.

“Nah. I was just teasing you. How do burgers sound?”

Lars made a face. She saw it in the rearview mirror. “Americans,” he muttered. “Your appetites are so banal.”

“The last chicken burger I ate in Munich had bones in it,” Garen sniped.

“That is because the Germans are still trying to rid themselves of American trash.”

Miranda rolled her eyes, grateful the men were teasing one another.

She ordered fries, a cheeseburger, and a vanilla shake at the small drive-through. Part of her had wanted Coke, but the shake had more calories, and she figured she needed fuel. “So,” she said around a mouthful of meat, cheese, and mayonnaise. “About that safe house in the countryside.”

“Are you certain it’s what you want?” Garen asked.

“If a hotel does not meet your tastes,” Lars added, “it would be easy to move you to another. The presence of crowds would mask our movements.”

“I’m sure,” she said and sucked some shake through a straw. “After all, it’s not forever. How long will I be invisible? A week? Ten days?”

“At least a week,” Garen said. “Maybe longer. I need to test the waters after I’m back at HQ. If we can bring you out of hiding earlier, we will.”

Alarm bells sounded in her brain. “I will have a say in this, won’t I? You might decide it isn’t safe a month from now. I have no intention of burying myself forever.”

“Even if it means your life?” Lars asked. His voice held a hard edge she hadn’t heard before.

“Being locked away is a lot like being dead.”

Garen blew out a breath. It was loud in the confines of the car. “We have three locations between here and the greater Seattle area. The most remote is up Highway 2. The mountains behind Index are rugged. Very few who aren’t locals venture into that area—”

“—so if I keep my eyes open, I should be able to recognize people who have no business there,” she finished for him.

“Exactly.”

“Will you get me a new phone?”

“Once you return to work.”

She ate a couple of fries. “Probably wouldn’t work out there anyway—unless it were a sat phone.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Miss Miller. Once you’re fully vetted, The Company will get you a sat phone. Not before.”

“Sorry.”
Christ. I’m forever apologizing to that man.
“Since I can’t use my phone, are my credit cards are off-limits as well?”

“Good thinking,” Garen said. “I will see you’re adequately provisioned. I believe your Jayne Powers ID hasn’t been compromised—”

“Perhaps not the name,” Lars interrupted, “but the ISL gang knows what she looks like now. I am certain they would have a way to access passport photos for arrivals and departures from the country.”

“Hmph. Point taken. All right, the Powers ID is off the table. You can hand it over once we reach our destination. We’ll stop at a pharmacy. Get yourself some red hair dye. I’ll have Jorge make you up new ID docs and credit cards. Someone will deliver them in the next day or so. In the meantime, you can get by on cash. Anyway, the house should be fully stocked.”

“Um, boss, it’s not easy to turn hair as dark as mine red unless I bleach it first. How about if I get one of those frost kits. I’ll make it really blonde in the front, and I’ll cut a bunch off.”

“I can help with that,” Lars offered smoothly.

“Just one more talent right along with flying and killing?” Miranda clapped a hand to her forehead. “Sorry. My mouth gets ahead of my brain sometimes.”

Lars chuckled. “I have found it useful to disguise both myself and others, so yes, you could describe it as another talent.”