Renegade (Elite Ops 5) (15 page)

Her hips bucked against his hand as she fought to breathe, the images racing

through her mind, stoking the hunger.

High enough that she was ready to beg. That she was ready to surrender herself,

to surrender her heart to a man who had deceived her. Who had lied by omission.

She felt the tears that fell from her eyes now. Pain rose inside her, matching the hunger. He was going to break her heart. He would take everything.

"Mikayla." Tortured, broken, his voice drew her gaze back to him as he stared up at her.

His fingers lifted to stroke away the tears.

"I can't tell you no," she suddenly sobbed. "I can't. I need you, Nik, so much." Her breathing hitched, emotion tearing through her. "What do I do when I have to remember you lied to me? When you have to go? What do I do then?"

72

Chapter 7

Mikayla went to work the next day and hid in her office. She hadn't slept; she

couldn't concentrate. She didn't cry, but God, she wanted to. She wanted to break down and scream and rage and curse Nik for ripping her heart from her chest.

By lunch, Deirdre had obviously had enough. When she walked into the office

and closed the door behind her, Mikayla looked up from the accounting she wasn't even trying to focus on.

"I closed the shop for lunch," her friend informed her. "It's time we talk."

Mikayla shook her head. She'd told Deirdre that morning what had happened.

Mikayla may have omitted details, but Deirdre knew enough to understand just how close Mikayla had come to giving herself to Nik.

A man she hadn't even known. One she still knew so very little about. A man who

had deceived her.

"He's leaving this evening?" Deirdre asked when Mikayla said nothing.

"That's what he said." She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her hands over her face, knowing she looked like hell.

What the hell was wrong with her anyway? She couldn't be in love with him, but

she was close to feeling something. . . . All she knew was that it was a good thing he was leaving; otherwise, she would end up begging him to take her.

"You're going to tell him good-bye," Deirdre stated, her voice fierce.

Mikayla sat forward slowly. "Have you lost your mind?"

Deirdre had to be crazy. The man's touch was like a drug. She couldn't resist. And her best friend thought she was going to tempt that danger further?

"If you don't, you'll always be watching for him, Mikayla," Deirdre stated firmly.

"If you don't say good-bye, if you don't watch him leave, then you'll never let go of him, not really. He'll always be the one that got away. You don't want that. I watched my mother go through this with Dad. She wouldn't watch him leave and she never stopped watching for him to return."

Mikayla shook her head. "I'm not married to him," she retorted defiantly. "I'm not even in love with him."

"Doesn't matter." Deirdre propped her hands on her hips and glared back at Mikayla. "Listen, I know what I'm talking about here. Go home, shower, put on some makeup, and dress pretty. And tell that son of a bitch good-bye with a smile, even if it's killing you. I promise you, you'll sleep better for it tonight."

Would she? Or would it only hurt more?

Mikayla blew out a hard breath as she crossed her arms on top of the desk and

laid her head heavily on them.

"I don't want to say good-bye," she muttered, her tone mutinous. "I might cry again."

How humiliating. She hadn't had the strength to simply tell him no; she had cried

instead. Because she knew he was going to leave. She knew he had lied to her, that he 73

didn't love her, that he was going to walk away from her whether she allowed him to become her lover or not.

And honestly, it was better that way. She had known from the beginning that he

was a heartbreaker. All bad boys were. They broke hearts from the cradle, and if they ever gave their own then it was rare.

She had known that the moment she laid on eyes on him riding down Gina

Foreman's street. The ultimate bad boy. Dangerous, hard-core, sexual, almost illegal.

"Come on, Mikayla, you don't want to fixate on him after he's gone, and you don't want to regret him." Deirdre sighed. "Go home, get ready, and when he leaves smile and tell him good-bye. Do this for yourself, or you'll always regret it."

Sitting up, she stared back at Deirdre, knowing how her father's desertion of her

and her mother had affected her. She and Mikayla had been friends forever. They shared a passion for clothes and a passion for business. They had their separate dreams and their separate lives, and they were each other's support network.

And Deirdre was probably right. She and her on-again, off-again boyfriend,

Drake, had had more than a tumultuous relationship. Drake had broken Deirdre's heart more times than Mikayla could count. If anyone knew how bad it hurt to be unable to walk away, then it was Deirdre.

"Think about it," she urged her friend. "Don't let him hurt you more than he already has, sweetie."

With that, Deirdre opened the door and returned to the front of the shop. Likely to her lunch as well.

Mikayla just wished she had an appetite. Her stomach protested at the very idea of food at this point. She didn't want to tell Nik good-bye. She didn't want him to leave. She wanted to return to the evening past, before she had ever known why he was there and what he was doing.

To the time when, in the back of her mind, she had wondered if she was enough

to tame a bad boy.

The thought caused her to pause. God, she had known better than that; she had to

have known better. She had never allowed herself to be interested in the bad boys, the charmers, the heartbreakers. She had focused on the nice, steady guys instead. Only to learn that many of them weren't so steady after all.

She was twenty-six and still living that child's dream of giving her virginity, that gift that she could give only once, to the man she would share the rest of her life with.

Unrealistic. No one could accuse Mikayla Martin of being a hard-nosed realist,

could they?

Shaking her head, she rose to her feet as she heard the low, melodic sound of the

bell over the door tinkling delicately. Deirdre had reopened the shop rather than waiting for the lunch hour to end.

It didn't matter. Mikayla was going home. She was going to take her best friend's

advice and hope she knew what she was talking about.

After Mikayla gathered her papers together and refiled them, she turned to grab

her purse and leave. The office door opened, and she stepped back in surprise as Deirdre followed the familiar male into the office.

"Talk about freakin' childish," Deirdre sneered at Luke Nelson as he glared back at her. "He just comes right in like he owns the damned place."

74

"If it hadn't been for my family she wouldn't have this shop," Luke retorted petulantly. She hadn't seen this side of him until she had made the mistake of actually going out with him a few times.

Luke was selfish, self-involved, and, as far as he was concerned, all-important.

Mikayla had never considered Luke quite so important, and had managed to

garner his undying scorn in turn.

"What do you want, Luke?" Mikayla propped a hand on her hip and stared back at him in irritation. "I have things to do today and I don't have time to deal with you."

"Things like Nikolai Steele?" Luke snapped. "God, I thought you had more sense than to fool with such a lowlife."

Behind Luke, Deirdre's expression slackened in outrage as Mikayla stared at him

in shock.

"She went out with you," Deirdre shot back at him. "Nik Steele can't be anything but a step up."

Luke glared at her again as she rolled her eyes and leaned against the door frame, obviously refusing to leave.

"Luke, what I do or who I see is none of your business," Mikayla informed him.

"Are you aware the bastard is no more than a criminal?" Luke told her, his gaze raking over her insultingly. "I thought better of you and your Miss Goody Two-shoes act."

Her Miss Goody Two-shoes act?

"It's not an act," Deirdre muttered defiantly behind Luke's back as she crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at him.

"Give me a break." Mikayla rolled her eyes at both of them. "What the hell do you want, Luke? I don't have time to deal with you."

"She said 'hell.' " Deirdre's eyes widened as she and Luke both stared at Mikayla as though she had committed a crime.

She always said "hell." Just never aloud. Her brothers had the corner on vulgar language. Mikayla had claimed the corner on not using it. That didn't mean she didn't think it.

"Luke, what's your problem?" She shook her head, uncertain how to handle either of them now.

"Your friend Nik Steele is my problem." Luke glared at Deirdre over his shoulder as though daring her to speak. "Are you aware the bastard was hired by my father to prove you a liar? That he's here to make a fool of you, Mikayla?"

Mikayla arched her brow. "I'm more than aware of that, Luke."

Her admission took the wind out of his sails for a moment. He stared at her, his

eyes wide with surprise.

She had managed to throw him off. He hadn't expected her to know Nik's true

reason for being here. He'd thought he'd found a way to hurt her. She had always known Luke was mean-spirited, but she hadn't expected him to be so blatant about it.

"You're no better than the rest of us," he sneered. "He's nothing but a terrorist wannabe and you're rolling around in the bed with him, aren't you? So much for all your high ideals."

She stared back at Luke archly. "Why? Because I refused to roll around in the bed with you? Sorry, Luke, maybe I was looking for a man rather than a spoiled little boy.

75

Now get out of my shop before I call Nik and have you thrown out."

It was the best threat she could come up with, as well as the most insulting. Or at least, it was as mean as she was willing to get at this point. Luke had problems with his opinion, as well as others', of his manhood. There was no sense in damaging it worse by throwing him out herself. Besides, she rather liked the pristine look of the pale green summer dress and matching high heels she wore.

His expression twisted. Something dark and uncertain flashed in his eyes.

"He's trouble," Luke snarled back at her.

"But it's my trouble, not yours."

"Damn you!" Emotion almost shadowed his eyes. "Damn you, Mikayla."

Turning, he stalked from the shop, the door slamming closed behind him.

"He's a little boy in a body to die for," Deirdre said regretfully. "God was playing a hell of a joke on us when he made that man."

"He made the body, not the man." Mikayla shrugged, though she, too, felt an edge of regret and concern. "Luke let himself become what he is."

Deirdre stared at Mikayla doubtfully. "With Maddix and Annette Nelson for

parents, what choice did he have?"

Annette anyway. But Mikayla kept the observation silent. Maddix Nelson had

tried to raise his son with a few values. Mikayla knew that for a fact. For too many years the Nelsons and the Martins had been friends.

When Annette and Maddix had split up, Annette had gotten custody of Luke, who

had been very young at the time, and proceded to raise him the exact opposite way

Maddix would have wanted him raised.

Annette was a bitch; everyone had known it. She had been tolerated because so

many had liked and benefited from Maddix. His son . . . had not been tolerated nearly as well.

"I'm heading home." Mikayla sighed in resignation as she stared back at her still-silent friend. "I'm taking your advice."

"It's about time," Deirdre informed Mikayla. "Give him hell, sweetheart. He might walk away, but I promise, he'll never forget you."

Just as she wouldn't forget him. She had a very bad feeling he was going to

become the one who got away no matter what she did. Her reaction to him went too deep; her need for him was too strong.

She could have done without whatever quirk of fate had set Nik in her path. She

could have happily lived her life not knowing such pleasure existed.

No, she amended. She couldn't have. She wouldn't have wanted to miss this,

wouldn't have wanted to exist in a state of ignorance. She knew now why no relationship she'd had so far had worked. Because that kind of incredible pleasure had been missing.

And now it was walking right out of her life before she'd ever known what it was

supposed to be.

Nik watched from behind the sheer curtains of the window looking out to the

front of the house as Mikayla's Jeep pulled into the drive next door.

She was dressed as pristinely as ever, he noticed as she walked to her front door.

That beautiful long wheat gold hair was done expertly in a French braid that fell down her back, only her bangs left uncontained. The soft summer sleeveless blouse she wore in a soft cream complemented the mint green above-the-knees skirt and cream-colored heels 76

she wore. Her purse was the same mint green as her skirt.

Damn woman was always color coordinated and perfectly put together. She gave

the impression that there wasn't a damned thing in hell that could ruffle her perfectly layered feathers.

Until he got her aroused.

She burned in a man's arms then.

Or rather, she burned in his arms.

"Nelson's son came to her shop before she left," Eleanor Longstrom, the owner of the antique store across the street from Mikayla's, stated behind him.

Eleanor had no idea who or what Nik was a part of, despite her former classified

position with the CIA before her retirement ten years ago.

All Eleanor knew was that she had been "asked" to cooperate with Travis Caine and Nik Steele when they had been in town several weeks before. Nik had pulled her in for intel this time as well, knowing one set of eyes wouldn't be nearly enough.