Riding the Storm (17 page)

Sweat
and soap and exhaustion bound them together, and she wondered if he could feel
the feverish sizzle of her tattoo like a brand on his skin. He dropped his
forehead against hers, his eyes closed, his breathing raspy. Outside, the rain
stopped as suddenly as it had started.

Whether
or not he was responsible wasn't clear. But one thing was certain: He had a
connection with the weather. Which elements, and how, exactly, had yet to be
determined. But ACRO had found itself a new operative, an X-Man, of sorts,
providing Remy accepted their offer. And he would. No one turned down the elite
secret agency that offered misfits something no one else could: a sense of
belonging.

Not
to mention the most interesting assignments imaginable.

She
let herself relax in her assignment's strong arms, let herself be lulled by the
sound of his heartbeat. She had to enjoy it now, because tomorrow, after she
contacted ACRO with her news, relaxing with Remy would be a thing of the past.

Dev
had let Marlena drive him back to his house; on the north side of the compound,
it was still protected enough from intruders, by two gates, a security system
better than any president's and, of course, bodyguards.

He
hated the fact that he needed bodyguards. These days, more than ever, he wanted
to be alone when he came home. Even though the men and women who had his back
were competent, utter professionals he trusted with his life, just for one day
he'd like to come home to a completely empty house.

Of
course, if he turned off his second sight and tamped down his senses, he could
pretend, but that never worked out as well as it sounded.

"Do
you think Haley will be able to control the potential operative?" Marlena
asked before Dev got out of the car.

"I
don't think anyone can ever actually control another person," he said.
"Not for long anyway."

Control.
It had always been about control for Dev himself, a hard-won, nearly daily
battle for much of his life, culminating in his loss of sight and the accident
that took him out of the driver's seat and grounded him for life.

He
walked through the familiar rooms on his way up the stairs, even though he knew
he wasn't going to be able to sleep, letting his body rather than his powers
guide him.

Maybe
he should've let Marlena come inside with him—she could've helped him burn off
some of this extra energy. But she'd also worry.

The
leak at ACRO was eating him alive.

He
could trust Ender, one of his most valued operatives, the man who'd saved his
life in the fiery crash that took Dev's eyesight nearly ten years earlier. But
if he told Ender now, the man's already rampant overprotectiveness would kick
into higher gear.

No,
he'd have to figure out on his own who the mole was. The two main psychics who
worked directly with him were ready to admit defeat, but Dev knew what he had
to do.

Sending
Annika and Creed ahead to his childhood home was all part of the plan, one that
could easily backfire in his face.

The
extra powers that house seemed to provide were nearly too much for him; then
had already broken him once before, three years earlier. It was the main reason
why Oz, the best medium ACRO had ever seen, left after he'd helped Dev regain
control.

He'd
wanted Dev to promise that he'd never summon that spirit again, but of course
Dev could never promise that. Not when his agency was at stake.

"I
know how to control it now," he'd told Oz. "I know how to stop it
from taking over."

"You're
kidding yourself, Devlin. No one commands the spirit world. And if you're
thinking like that, you're already too far gone."

Oz
had slammed out of the office and out of ACRO and hadn't been seen or heard
from since. Dev's only consolation was that Oz was too good to get taken by
Itor.

So
yes, Dev knew something about trying to control powers that were nearly
uncontrollable. He knew Haley had her work cut out for her… and he knew he'd be
back in the office within a few hours, after he tossed and turned and pretended
to sleep.

He
wondered if he'd ever be able to stop pretending.

Annika
couldn't escape him. Creed was like the Terminator, all black leather, chains
and ruthless persistence. When she'd wanted to nap after her shower, he'd
insisted she keep the door separating their rooms open, and then he'd stretched
out, shirtless, on his bed, a satisfied smile on his face that made her wonder
what the hell he was up to.

And
just now, she'd barely gotten to the kitchen and seated before he was pounding
down the stairs. At least the creepy spirit that had shaken the house while she
was in the shower had gone quiet.

"Did
you get some sleep?" He clomped across the floor and took a bottle of
water from the fridge.

Thank
God Dev had hired a caretaker to keep the place clean, landscaped and stocked
with drinks and nonperishable food. The caretaker had also put clean sheets on
all the beds in the seven-bedroom mansion. Overkill, but the guy probably
didn't have a lot else to do.

"A
little." Very little, because with Creed in the next room, all she could
do was think about him. Naked. Thankfully, he'd at least put on a new shirt.
Black like the old one, but this one bore a Jack Daniel's logo. "You
snore."

"That
can be fixed." An impish gleam lit his eyes. "I only snore when I'm
alone."

"I'll
bet you snore a lot."

He
laughed, a deep, masculine sound that shivered through her and tickled all the
places that needed to be tickled. Oh, this was bad. Sure, she'd gotten herself
off earlier in the shower, but the release had done nothing to ease the strange
cravings she was having for his body.

Every
time she laid eyes on him, the knowledge that she couldn't shock him made him
oh-so-tempting. To be able to have sex and not worry about her orgasm putting
the guy into the hospital… heaven.

But
why the hell did the one guy she could possibly fuck have to be the one guy she
really, really couldn't stand? The one person at ACRO who seemed to go out of
his way to annoy her? When everyone else scrambled away at her approach, Creed
stepped into her path and made her either walk around him or shove him out of
the way.

"You
don't snore." Bracing one palm on the dining room table, he angled his big
body close, invading her personal space in a way others feared to do. He licked
his lips, so full and kissable, and his eyes darkened dangerously. "But
you do make a lot of noise in the shower. You're a screamer."

Her
breath exploded from her lungs. Had he taken her up on her sarcastic offer,
after all?

She'd
always been able to hang with the guys, talk like them, drink like them, kick
ass like them. She'd never had an issue with nudity, had spent days lounging on
nude European beaches, had posed as strippers and prostitutes on assignments.
But suddenly, the idea of Creed listening to—or watching—her masturbate left
her off balance.

And
sent a forbidden thrill through her body.

"How
much of a show did you get?"

She
could picture him stroking his dick as he stood outside the door, listening to
her moans, her cries that escaped no matter how hard she bit her lip. If he
only knew that the man she'd been fantasizing about had been him, that she'd
imagined him on his knees in front of her, his pierced tongue working her deep,
hard, wet.

"Let's
just say I know you're a true blonde."

Oh,
God. He'd seen her. He'd seen everything. Lust throbbed through her, so pure
and rich that she shook with it.

"Well,
I hope you have a great memory, because that's the most of me you'll ever
see."

No
matter what, nothing could happen between them. She might not be able to shock
him intentionally, but what would happen if, in her excitement, she sent out a
supercharged bolt of electricity? What if his own desire lowered his resistance
or something?

Dev
would be pissed if she killed a guy he'd practically grown up with.

"That's
probably for the best," Creed said, "but it's not what either of us
wants."

Arrogant
ass. "You have no idea what I want. Now get away from me."

Creed
didn't move, simply watched her with a heated gaze that made her swallow
repeatedly.

"I
said, get away from me," she ground out, pleased at how her breathlessness
made her sound even angrier.

She
punctuated her order with a hard shove against his chest, and then she slipped
out of the chair. When his hand closed around her wrist, she snapped.

The
look on Creed's face when he found himself slammed against the wall was
priceless. Of course, she'd bet that the look on her face when he grabbed a
fistful of her hair and brought his mouth down on hers was just as amusing.

Haley
stared at the blank screens and listened to the dead silence. Dead, and in need
of an autopsy.

At
some point during the night, her battery backup, which should have been good
for forty-eight hours, had gone belly-up.

Thank
God she'd archived all data after she and Remy had rinsed in the cool shower
and before they'd fallen together into an exhausted heap on the bed.

The
thump of feet hitting the floor made her heart kick against her ribs. She
wasn't ready to face him yet. Would he regret letting her in on his secret?
Would he be willing to let her perform some tests? And what would she tell him
when he started asking questions?

Because
he would. The storms had diverted his attention last night, but today, with
clear skies and a few hours' sleep, he'd want details regarding her work, her
employer and her equipment.

Lying
would be easy enough, but with Remy's secret out in the open, every hour she
delayed starting the recruitment process could potentially bring the enemy that
much closer to learning his secret. Telling Remy the truth before he asked
would be best, but she needed to get the timing just right, needed to read the
atmosphere that had nothing to do with weather.

And
that was the most worrisome part of this whole deal, trying to read a human
instead of the weather. She could time the approach of a cold front by the way
insects grouped on tree bark, but predicting Remy's reaction when she told him
why she was really here? Impossible.

And
fascinating. The man was like a hurricane, predictable only in that damage was
a given. Except, Remy's damage was to himself, and as far as she could tell, no
one had been around for the post-storm cleanup.

God,
to be so alone in what he went through… it made her chest hurt. She understood
alone
far too well, but his secret put him into a category of isolated she couldn't
even comprehend.

The
bedroom door tore open, and she jumped, banged her hip on the table. Wincing,
she drew back the waistband of her shorts and nearly gasped at the sight of her
tattoo, its black lines raised and reddened, as though it were new and not
eight years old. How had she missed that when she got dressed this morning?
Well, she had been pretty occupied with the rest of her aches and pains, the
scrapes and cuts from her tumble down the ravine, the bruises from the wild
sex…

The
bathroom door closed as she gingerly traced her fingers over the tattoo's
pattern, the Strategic Air Command patch from her military days. Maybe she'd
been bitten or stung by some kind of insect. Whatever had happened, she
probably should see a doctor when she got back to ACRO. Have the damned thing
finally removed, something she'd tried to have done six months ago, only to
have the doctor's laser break when he started.

Thumping
footsteps startled her again, and geez, it sounded like someone woke up cranky.

But
when Remy walked into the living room, he appeared calm, cool… and gloriously
naked.

Honed
muscles cut sharply across his upper body, the early-afternoon light
emphasizing details she hadn't noticed last night. The thick length between his
legs drew her admiring gaze, and she bit her cheek, forced herself to look
elsewhere. Like at his butt, when he angled himself away.

"Good
morning," she said, sounding a little more breathless than she'd have
liked. Breathless
and
stupid, seeing how morning had passed two hours
ago.

"Hey."
He grabbed his bag and dug through it.

"There
are donuts—"

"We
don't have time." He threw on a pair of jungle-patterned cargo pants.
"We need to get gas for the generator before it gets dark. We can pick up
some food while we're out." Pulling a black T-shirt out of the bag, he
glanced at her feet. "Good, you've got boots on. Let's go."

She
couldn't argue, because with her battery backup dead, she needed power to run
her equipment. "Okay, but can we talk first?"

"We'll
talk on the pirogue," he said, moving toward the door.

She
stopped dead in her tracks. "The what?"