Seduced by the Storm (10 page)

Normally,
she thrived on stress. Right now she wanted nothing more than to run from it.

It
figured she’d be stuck on an oil platform with no way off and no way to hide.

All
she could do was hurry to her quarters, shower and then hope to God Sean hadn’t
been looking for her. No matter what, she was stepping up her timetable for
grabbing the weather machine.

For
the sake of all concerned—Liberty, Wyatt and herself—she had to get off this
platform.

ACRO
agent Annika Svenson loved Athens in the fall. Really, Greece was one of her
favorite places in the world, so it was only fitting that the man she hated
most was going to die here.

"Don’t
do it, Annika."

Creed
McCabe, a ghost hunter who communicated with earthbound entities through the
spirit that had been attached to him almost since birth, watched her from the
doorway of her hotel room as she strapped a throwing knife to her thigh beneath
her skirt. She didn’t need the thing for self-defense; her own electric shock
security system was a weapon in its own right. No, the knife was for fun.

"Would
you mind shutting the door? I don’t need the entire world watching me
dress." She pulled a slinky tank top over her head. "I can’t believe
you followed me here."

He
tossed his duffel bag to the floor and stepped inside, closing the door behind
him. "Dev sent me to bring you home."

Annika
started.
"Dev?"

"He’s
back."

Thank
God. She’d bucked Oz’s authority at every turn, had, in fact, disobeyed him to
come to Greece. But now that she was here, not even Dev could stop her.

"I’m
not leaving until I’ve completed the mission."

"You
aren’t on a mission. You don’t have orders to kill a CIA agent."

She
snorted. "I don’t need orders."

Her
earbud crackled with static, and then Troy Modine’s voice rang out as he
ordered wine at the café where he’d met with his Hamas contact. She’d bugged
his pants while he’d lounged at a nearby spa, and now she could track his
movements with ease.

Enjoy
the wine, asshole, because it’ll be the last thing you ever drink.

"Annika,
you can’t do this. Dev needs you back at ACRO. There’s some major shit going
down with Itor’s weather machine, and he wants everyone not on assignment on
base."

"If
you think you’re going to talk me out of killing the man who murdered my
mother, think again." She slid him a look, saw that he already knew the
details about the murder. How? "I didn’t tell you how she died."

He
shoved his hand through his shoulder-length, dark hair. "Yeah,
shock," he said, and great, it looked like they were back to how she never
talked. "Oz told me."

"That
fucker." She slid her feet into sandals as she pulled her long blond hair
into a ponytail. "Not that it changes anything. Troy is going down. But
hey, on the bright side, you can turn me in and get me kicked off assignments
again."

"When
are you going to get over that? It happened almost four years ago."

She
shrugged, because yeah, she was still bitter.

She’d
led a team to Madrid, where they’d been ordered to locate some mystical
artifact Dev had his heart set on acquiring for ACRO. Its purpose was a mystery
to her, but it didn’t matter. Her job was to secure it, not study it.
Unfortunately, the thing was protected by a nasty ghost that no ACRO psychic
had been able to subdue. Oz had been tasked to come in at the last minute, but
when he suddenly quit ACRO—leaving Dev an emotional mess—Creed had been sent.
Unfortunately, just as Creed arrived at the old cathedral, an Itor agent had
somehow stolen the artifact from under her team.

Annika
had pursued, had discovered the I-Agent engaged in discussions with two CIA
agents.

It
had been an interesting development. Itor was always a concern, especially on
missions as sensitive as that one had been. But she’d done her research before
the assignment, had learned that the CIA—including one of the very agents who
had murdered her mother—also had an interest in the artifact. Her plan had been
to root out the agents, but Itor had done it for her. Clearly, the CIA had paid
Itor for their help.

Perfect.
Disturbing, but perfect.

ACRO’s
rules were strict in regards to revenge: not allowed during a mission. Annika
didn’t give a shit. Not when the son of a bitch who was responsible for her
mother’s death was right in front of her, laughing with a powerful enemy
operative the CIA should know better than to make deals with.

Rage
had short-circuited her smart switch, and she’d let the Itor man escape and
instead followed Norris Welsh to his swanky hotel near the center of the
Spanish city. When she’d sauntered into his room, he’d nearly had a heart
attack.

They
went at it, good old hand-to-hand combat because electrocuting him would be too
quick. He was stronger, but she was younger and more experienced despite her
age of eighteen. Five minutes later, they were both bloody, but she had him on
the floor, was straddling his chest and holding him paralyzed with a
low-voltage buzz through his body.

"So,"
she said softly, "did you kill my mother?" She traced a fingertip
lightly along the edge of his jaw. "Or were you the one who raped
her?"

His
eyes shot wide and she released the buzz so he could answer. "I don’t know
what you’re talking about."

Yeah,
and she believed in Santa Claus.

"Don’t
fuck with me, Norris. I know. Mike Duffy told me everything before I took him
out."

The
blood drained from the man’s face.

"He
told me how you tranq’d me and then he tore me out of her arms. He said he
waited outside the bedroom while he listened to her struggles with you and
Troy. He said one of you raped her, and the other slit her throat."

The
sound of footsteps thumped behind her, and a pulse of energy shivered through
her—an energy signature unique to Creed and that he couldn’t control.
"Annika."

"Not
now, Creed," she ground out.

"Annika,
don’t do this."

"Shut
the fuck up and go away."

Creed
stepped closer, and she grabbed the clock off the nightstand. She threw it, but
he swatted it aside.

She’d
zapped Norris with about a million volts, ending any further discussion. Then
she’d pushed past Creed and headed out to find the I-Agent. She’d lost him, and
it took two days to locate him and recover the artifact. The mission had been
accomplished, but that didn’t stop Creed from ratting her out to Dev.

Who
had been pissed. Angrier than she’d ever seen him.

She’d
broken the rules. She’d nearly lost the artifact. Norris had been working on a
mission vital to national security, and his death had set back that mission.
The CIA wanted her head. Of course, they’d wanted her head for years, but ACRO
had protected her. Her actions had shattered that fragile peace.

Dev
had had to spend weeks digging out of that mess, and he’d thrown the book at
her. Six months of no missions. Nothing but never-ending training. And on her
way out the door to find Creed, he’d tacked on a curt "If you so much as
touch Creed, I’ll double your sentence."

She
hadn’t touched Creed, at least, not until that night a year ago when they’d
been locked in a haunted mansion together. It had been there that she’d learned
he was immune to her electric shocks. The discovery had led to his taking her
virginity, something she’d held on to because she couldn’t control her electric
pulses at orgasm.

Since
that night, they’d maintained an on-and-off sexual relationship that burned
hotter than the sun. But now he wanted more. Way more. Because four months ago,
he’d learned that the ghost Kat—who followed him everywhere and made his love
life difficult—could be banished, but he’d only agree to get rid of her if
Annika committed to a permanent relationship.

Annika
hadn’t known how to react to his announcement, and he’d walked away—she’d
taught him well. They hadn’t spoken for weeks, until ACRO’s annual Fourth of
July picnic. He’d been cold and distant, she’d been a bitch who’d had one too
many beers, and somehow she’d let it slip that she missed him. He’d pounced,
and suddenly they were tearing off clothes and breaking into the nearest
building—Paranormal Division’s headquarters—to do it. Creed had laughed later
about the vibe they’d left behind on a department head’s desk, one that would
shock the old biddy psychrometrist.

Creed
hadn’t brought up the idea of a real relationship again. The window of
opportunity to get rid of Kat was closing fast, though Creed wouldn’t explain
why, and Annika had yet to make a decision.

Which
was why slamming the door on her CIA past was so important. She needed to get
her head on straight.

Creed
remained near the door, like he was going to prevent her from leaving. He had
to know he couldn’t stop her, but there he stood, all six feet, five inches of
masculine goodness, in jeans and a white Corona T-shirt that set off his body
piercings and deeply tanned skin. Tanned skin that was marked on his entire
right side with tattoos he’d apparently been born with.

Grabbing
her purse, she made sure she had her fake passport and assorted weaponry.
"Get out of the way, Creed."

"I’m
not letting you go."

"Is
this because of Wyatt?" He’d been weird ever since Wyatt had been killed,
had been anxious about her missions, wanting her to constantly check in with
him. The loss of a friend and operative who did the same jobs as she did had
made him see danger around every one of her corners.

"It’s
not about what happened to Wyatt. It’s about keeping you from making the same
mistake you made last time."

"Killing
Norris was no mistake." She shoved past him.

Creed
grabbed her arm and wheeled her around.

"No."

She
stood on her toes, but it did her five-foot-six self little good. "Fuck.
You."

Breaking
out of his hold, she spun for the door, but once again, he grabbed her.
Cursing, she twisted behind him, pulling his arm back with her. He snarled, and
then she found herself pressed between the wall and his back.

"I
said
no
."

She
hooked his leg and dropped him hard to the floor. Quickly, she grabbed for the
door handle, but he snared her ankle and pulled her down on top of him. For the
hundredth time, at least, she wished she could shock him.

Instead,
she whipped out her knife and, straddling his torso, pressed it to his throat.
"You can’t stop me."

"You’re
prepared to kill me, Annika?"

Not
long ago, she could have done it without hesitation. Now she hesitated. Another
reason she had to kill Troy. She’d grown weak. Sentimental. Emotional. It had
to stop.

"I’ll
do what I have to do," she began, but broke off with a gasp. Creed was aroused.
The man had a blade to his jugular, and he had a raging erection nudging her
butt.

"So
will I." He arched his hips, pushing the full bulge between her legs.

"You
fight dirty."

Creed
had once said that sex was the only language she understood, that it was the
only time he could ever truly communicate with her. It was ridiculous,
especially since they’d been talking more and spending more time together since
Dev disappeared. She’d even been cooking for him, something she used to do only
for Dev.

And Creed
still bitched that she didn’t share enough.

In
her ear, Troy droned on and on to the waitress about dolmades and moussaka.
Annika had a little time for play. Creed’s eyes darkened as she trailed her
fingers along the hard ridge behind the seam of his jeans. Desire funneled a
rush of moisture through her slit, and she couldn’t wait any longer.

She
drew down his zipper and released his gorgeous length, pierced, the right side
decorated with the same Native American symbols that marked the rest of that half
of his body. Tugging her underwear aside, she sat down, whimpering as she
sheathed his entire cock inside her.

"So.
Good." She closed her eyes and rocked on top of him.

"It’d
be better if I wasn’t worried about accidentally bleeding out."

She
still had her knife pressed to his jugular. Grinning, she flipped it into the
air, and in one smooth motion caught the tip of the blade and sent the weapon
sailing across the room to impale the wall.

"Show-off,"
Creed said, running his hands under her skirt.

"You
love it," she teased.

"Damn
straight."

Her
heart did a painful somersault at the intensity in his voice, his eyes. He’d
never told her he loved her, thank God for that, but she knew, and at times
like this she didn’t know if the way he felt about her was a good thing or a
bad one.

His
fingers found her pussy, and she cried out when his thumb pressed against her
clit. "Fuck me, baby. Ride me."