Pure Dynamite (33 page)

Closing his eyes, he squeezed his shaft, running his hand up and down, finding the right rhythm. His swollen testicles tightened as hot flames licked them, his flesh demanding relief. He pumped his fist and heard her shocked intake of breath, felt a perverse satisfaction knowing that she watched—knowing his cock grew harder and longer with each stroke.

He opened his eyes, expecting to see shock, disgust. Wanting it, even.

But instead she seemed . . . fascinated, her eyes wide, unblinking as she stared down at the movement of his hand. Her pelvis thrust forward slightly as she rocked onto her toes, her body unconsciously answering his.

She had her mouth open, making him wonder what those full, luscious lips would feel like on his flesh. A vision of her on her knees weakened him.

Then her tongue, tiny and pink, darted out to lick her lips. The gesture undid him.

With a shout he clenched his fist tighter, pumping furiously. Harder. Faster. Ejaculate ripped up his shaft, building, swelling, ready to explode.

And as it did—Renata reached forward and caught it in her hand.

It felt like time stopped. And stayed suspended...

Then restarted with a jolt as the orgasm Adam thought would never end did.

Spent, and barely able to stand he turned back into the spray. He sucked in air, desperate for oxygen. Shutting the water off, he grabbed a towel and thrust it at her, never once meeting her eyes.

Renata knew he was angry, didn't blame him.
What
had possessed her to touch him
was no longer the question.
Why hadn't she finished what she started
was?

An unrelenting tension coiled in her stomach. And lower. The moment Adam had touched himself she'd felt a stab of searing excitement. And as he masturbated—relieving himself in an act she could only call beautiful—her ache had grown. He had spilled into her hand semen shimmering with heat and energy.

Over and over she visualized his granting himself relief. The memory burned. So did her body. With excruciating detail, she recalled the feel of his penis. The heat, the hardness. While touching him, holding him, she'd been so turned on she couldn't think straight.

Too late she realized what she had wanted: to fee! him burn inside her. To know just once what an honest-to-God blazing, erotic experience did to one's soul, the consequences be damned.

She knew it was crazy. Wrong. But still she wanted him. Desperately.

He thrust clothes at her. She looked at them, still foggy, and realized he was fully dressed. Then he walked out, leaving the door open.

He hadn't said a word.

She watched the doorway, hoping Adam would return and try to take advantage of her. She'd let him. Encourage him. Help him. But that wasn't his style. He wouldn't touch her without permission.

In fact, he'd never once touched her inappropriately—even when they'd been naked in a shower. Or asleep in each other's arms. Yet she'd touched— stroked—his penis. More than once.
Without asking.

If he had done the same to her, would it have not been interpreted as harassment? Guilt warmed her skin. She owed him an apology.

It was also high time she examined a few more truths. Like the fact that she didn't fear Adam. Yes, he acted rough and tough in front of Lyle—and in front of her sometimes. But he wasn't like Lyle. He wasn't a cold-blooded murderer. He wasn't beyond redemption. And she wanted to save him. For herself...

She dressed quickly and when she looked up again, Adam's bulk filled the door. His hair dripped, his shirt damp from being pulled onto wet skin. And he was hard again. She stared, not trusting herself to speak. Not yet. Not when her body still ached with an unmet need.

She heard the clink of handcuffs. "No," she protested.

"It's not what you think." He grasped her wrists. "I'm staying up for a while. You're going to sleep."

"We need to talk."

He snapped the cuffs closed. "No. Right now I need to be alone!"

Adam paced the living room, fists balled at his sides. What the hell had come over him?

Her hand.

It was that friggin' simple.

He had been fine until she reached out and touched him. In fact, if she had left it at a touch, he'd still be okay. She'd touched him before—the memory of those two delicate fingers resting lightly on his flesh was burned permanently in his mind—and he'd survived. Kept control.

But this? This had been deliberate. Calculated. She'd clutched him. Stroked him. Then she watched him. And when she should have turned away, she'd stepped closer, brought her hand forward just as he came.

Leaving him with yet another memory he'd never forget.

And in that instant she had wanted release. She'd been on the brink of climax, her body screaming for relief. Adam could have touched her and given her immediate satisfaction. One hard stroke of his thumb across her clitoris would have pushed her into deep orgasm.

Or he could have prolonged it. Given her a series of shorter orgasms, one after another, making them build in intensity until he was damn good and ready to let her off the hook. Yeah, she had been ready. Her nipples had been hard begging. Her hips thrusting lightly. But anyone—-even a damned vibrator—could have fulfilled her need just then.

And he wanted her to want only him.
He wanted to see her burn with a flame only he could extinguish.

The thought was sobering. He'd never felt that way about a woman in his life, had never known the feeling of wanting one person at the expense of all others. Of wanting that one person to know everything about his life, every pain, every hurt. Every laugh.

He didn't like the implication. Especially now. He had a job to do. She was part of his job.

That fast his fury died leaving guilt in its wake. His behavior tonight had been unacceptable. And while part of him felt he owed her an apology, he knew he wouldn't.

Hell, what was one more sin on his scorecard? He'd already kidnapped her, made her shower with him, exposed her to danger. Jacking off in front of her was the least of his crimes.

Besides, she wasn't exactly without guilt herself. Little Miss Prim and Proper had touched him first. He closed his eyes, remembering.

She needed to leave. Today.

Adam checked that the door to Lyle's bedroom was still shut tightly. Then he withdrew Renata's cell phone and stepped outside.

He tried Stan first, puzzled when he couldn't reach him. Then he dialed Ethan, surprised when his boss answered instead of the answering machine.

"What's going on down there?" Ethan demanded.

Adam gave him an update, including Lyle pulling a gun on Renata. "She's got to go now. How close are your men?"

"They're about four hours behind you. Guess you lost them in a detour, but they're still getting a signal on the homing device. Once they're close, they can pick the woman up and get her to a safe house. Here's their number."

"Let them know to expect a call"

"Any word on when you'll meet up with Willy?"

"No. But as soon as Renata's gone, I'll tell Lyle that I've confirmed delivery on the C-4. That should speed things up."

"Just keep me posted. I want to be there for the bust and I need a little advance notice."

"To get a TV crew in?"

"Don't get smart. I want to bring in a tactical unit."

They discussed the pending arrest in brief terms. Until they knew specifics, it was hard to plan. Both men agreed Adam should play bad guy until all the arrests were made.

He hung up and went back inside. To brood.

In order to get Renata out, he needed to get away from Lyle for a short time. It would be easy to concoct a story that he had to meet someone regarding the explosives. And when he returned without her, he'd insinuate that he'd killed her.

He also had to find the right time to tell Renata who he was. Yeah, Ethan or his men would explain, but damn it, Adam wanted her to hear the truth from him. He wanted to look her in the eyes and tell her he wasn't a convict, a felon. More, he wanted her to look at him without that underlying fear.

He rubbed his face, tired. He'd grab a few hours sleep, then take off.

Renata wafted up from sleep and found herself curled atop Adam's chest, not one part of her touching the bed.

Half in a haze, she realized her shirt had ridden up, baring her stomach and half her breasts. And since Adam was shirtless, she—her cheek, one hand her exposed midriff—rested on his bare skin. Her other hand was cast up along his neck, her fingers tangled in the warm strands of his hair.

Strong arms cradled her; one hand low and cupped possessively against her hip, the other tucked beneath her shirt, resting on her back. More bare skin on bare skin.

The sensation was not unpleasant. Neither were the vague wisps of her dreams. In sleep, she'd seduced him in order to win her freedom. But then she had stayed. Why?

Beneath her, Adam moved, tightening his grip slightly, drawing her closer. Against her thigh, she felt the unmistakable rub of his erection. Now she remembered why she hadn't left. In her dream, they had made love and it had been so wondrous she had begged to stay.

She gasped, rejecting the dream.

Her sound of anguish woke Adam.

That fast, he rolled her to one side, thrusting her behind him as he grabbed the gun he had stuck beneath the mattress.

He swept the room with his weapon. "What was it?"

"Nothing." Renata tried to shove free, but he had her arm pinned. "You're hurting me!"

Shoving the gun away, Adam raised up enough to free her arm. But when she tried to scramble off the bed, he caught her, forcing her to lie back down. He leaned in beside her, braced up on one elbow.