Taken by Surprise (8 page)

Michael did reach for her then, more out of reflex than thought. He realized what she was telling him and started to grab her arm. He caught himself in the nick and turned the intended grip into a softer placement of his palm on her shoulder. "You saw him alive?"

"He was with Roumduol at the hotel. They called him Alec Veansa. That wasn't his name, though, was it?"

"No, but you're certain the guy was a fed?"

"I'm positive. He didn't tell me, but he didn't have to. His eyes, the comfort I saw in them, he wanted me to know I would be okay. I think that's what gave him away, blew his cover, I mean."

"He tried to reassure you." And got caught, Michael added silently. He figured Alec McIntyre's attempts to comfort Rhonda coupled with the coded message the agent sent to the FBI blew his cover with the Phay Cartel. "Did Phay have him killed?"

"Phay had him tortured, sliced. He, um," she swallowed, "made me watch while they, um, hurt the agent, and then he took me away. Veansa, or whatever his real name was, was still alive when Phay pulled me from that room. I heard him screaming, though. Gods, Michael, the things they were doing to him, I don't know how any man could've survived."

She shook her head so violently her whole body rocked. Her eyes glistened even as they clouded with a dark fear she must have felt to her soul.

"Damn it," Michael breathed and pulled her to him. She didn't stiffen this time, didn't try to push him away. She let him draw her to sit sideways on his lap. He folded his body around hers, holding her as tightly as he dared. It wasn't tight enough.

"I won't ask his real name. I know you can't tell me."

Michael closed his eyes, burying his nose in the top of her head. He breathed in her scent, felt it flow freely through his system and tease every fiber of his being with the desire for more. "It's classified. I didn't even know his name myself until a few minutes before I realized Phay took you."

One of her hands rested on his upper thigh, inches from his groin. Her other hand splayed flat on his chest, nails kneading at his shirt as if fighting the urge to grip. The feel of her lithe body in his arms made it difficult for him to think, to concentrate on the conversation. He had touched her before, hugged her now and then, held her for a short time, but never like this. He had never experienced the short-circuiting ecstasy of having her curled in his lap, cuddled against him.

"Did he have a wife, kids? Can you tell me that much?"

"No, as far as I know, he was single."

"I thought that would make it better, but I think somehow it makes it worse. He didn't have anyone to mourn his death."

"He had the bureau, his coworkers, friends. Cameron Stone and Jackson Graham are close friends of his from what I hear. Adrien spoke with Stone. He and Graham are torn up by the possibility that Mc—the agent—could be dead."

"Are, possibility, could be, you talk like he might still be alive."

"You said he was when Phay took you from the room. Until a body is found or other confirmation of his death is received, he'll go down as MIA."

"Missing in action," she translated. "The bureau will keep looking for him."

"Stone and Graham will even if the bureau makes another official ruling."

"Good, he deserves that much." She fell silent. Michael felt her breathing even out and thought for a moment she fell asleep. Then she shifted slightly, her hand on his thigh moving closer to his aching cock, her other hand sliding up his chest to fold on his shoulder. "Does your shoulder still hurt?"

"No."

"Good."

If he held her like this, kept quiet and steady for a few more moments, he felt certain she would fall asleep. She needed to sleep. When the sun rose, they would have a demanding hike ahead of them. One thing prevented him from keeping his mouth closed, from allowing himself the pleasure of holding her these final moments before the sun came up.

"Tell me you knew I would come for you. Tell me you didn't really believe those things you said to Phay, that what we have ended months ago."

She didn't answer. She didn't move.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut on the onslaught of pain that came from the emotional knife penetrating his chest. It felt like an eternity passed before she moved. He opened his eyes as she pulled back enough to meet his gaze. What he saw in her expression only made the knife twist for another slice, leaving a gaping wound he didn't think would ever heal.

She still didn't answer. She didn't have to. At least a part of her believed everything she told Phay. At least a part of her truly believed Michael wouldn't come for her.

"I am so goddamned sorry," he whispered and quickly looked away, not wanting her to see the tears he couldn't quite blink away.

* * * *

Sorry for what
?
Walking away
?
Putting me on a kingpin's radar as a target to get to you
?

Rhonda studied Michael's side profile, the lines etched around his eye, the day's growth of stubble on his cheek, the hard set to his jaw. She caught the sparkle of tears, felt the pain radiating from him, and bit her tongue on the questions ping-ponging in her mind.

Her silence hurt him. It hurt her, too. The answer would do just as much damage. She hadn't known what to think, what to believe. She stood in that room day after day, night after night, a prisoner at the mercy of a malicious kingpin. She battled not to let fear rule her despite not knowing if she would ever be free again, if she would ever see Lucas again, if she would live to see the next minute.

She had known, with a certainty that chilled even as it angered, that she was there because of Michael. She fell into the domineering, murderous hands of Veng Kim Phay because of choices Michael made, decisions he didn't see fit to share with her.

She flattened one hand on his chest, felt the rapid beat of his heart against her palm. Her other hand stayed on his shoulder. The urge to wrap both hands around his thick, corded neck came swiftly with the frustration of what he had put her through, of the knowledge that it all might have been prevented if only he had talked to her. Instead, she slid the hand on his chest up until she cupped his cheek and turned his face to meet her gaze. The self-recrimination in his expression destroyed her. She started to speak, but didn't know what to say. All the words that came to mind would either be a lie or make the situation worse.

"Let's not do this now." Icy fingers of dread danced down her spine at the anger that sparked on his face. She had never seen Michael truly mad, especially not at her. When he spoke, the thinly veiled frustration in his tone gave warning to the rapidly shortening thread of his temper.

"When do you want to do it, Rhonda? You said we would deal with everything else later. I took that to mean when we got out of Phay's compound, when we got to safe ground. We did that hours ago."

She recoiled, dropping her hand from his cheek. She started to get up. His arm tightened around her waist, a band of steel trapping her against his body.

"Stay. Please."

"Why did I never realize how infuriating you can be?" She puffed a breath and gave up trying to stand. "We're hardly on safe ground. Or have you forgotten we're in the middle of a Cambodian forest with daybreak still who-knows-how-many minutes away at best, hoping we make it to only-you-know-where in time to catch a chopper that may or may not be expecting us?"

"Ziegler and his team will be expecting us. There's no may or may not be to it."

"Fine, then when we show up on time and get on that helo, we'll be one step closer to safe ground." Rhonda waited a beat, then asked more calmly, "Does it really matter what I thought, whether or not I believed the things I told Phay at the time?"

"Of course it matters," Michael started, but she bulldozed over him.

"You came for me. You made sure Lucas is safe, and you got me out."

"With your help."

That mollified her. Rhonda's heart leapt to her throat. He couldn't possibly know how much those three words meant to her.

Michael reached for her hand, held it between their bodies. "Have I told you how much I admire your strength, your courage?" His question came so softly she strained to hear it.

She shook her head.

"Xavier could've trapped you back there. You could've panicked, and he might have overpowered you. You didn't." His thumb drew small circles over the back of her hand. "You snagged a gun before you ran for the trees. I've known agents that don't think that fast on their feet. You were amazing back there."

"I was scared."

"But you didn't let the fear get the best of you." He brought her hand to his mouth, turned it over to brush his lips over her palm.

"I'm still scared." Oh, man, why did she say that? She was the one who kept putting off the inevitable confrontation, and yet, when she said things like that, she opened herself to more than she was ready for him to know.

He slipped his hand beneath her hair, fingertips dancing along her neck and sending slivers of electrified desire raining through her. "You don't have to be. We'll get out of this."

He stilled suddenly, and Rhonda realized something in her eyes must have betrayed her. His attention sharpened, eyes narrowing slightly.

"It's not Phay's men finding us that scares you, is it? It's me you're frightened of now."

Rhonda bowed her head, feeling his nose graze her forehead as she looked down. She didn't answer.

"I'm right. Why are you afraid of me?"

"Don't push it, Michael."

"I'm not letting this one rest, Rhonda. I want to know. Why are you afraid of me?" He turned his hand on her nape, gently fisting his fingers in her hair and tugging her head up. The effect of the move shouldn't have sent whips of heated arousal slashing through her, but it did.

"I've always been scared of you." The admission would cost her. She felt certain of it and knew she would soon discover exactly how much. "Being with you like this is scaring me more now."

"Because we're alone? Because you're afraid of what I might do?" His confusion wound tight in the air between them.

Rhonda struggled to make him understand. "I think I'm more afraid of what you might
not
do."

"What is it you want me to do, baby?" The compassion in his question mirrored his touch as he let go of her hand in favor of winding his fingers in the side of her hair.

Rhonda leaned into the touch, closing her eyes slightly as she gave in to the comfort. The sensations coursing through her overrode her common sense. "Let me forget it all. Let me feel. Not fear or concern or hurt, but just
feel
." She sighed as frustration bubbled. "I'm not making sense."

"You're making perfect sense." He flattened his palm on the small of her back, drawing her closer still on his lap.

Her lips grew suddenly dry. She licked them, marveling at the flash of carnal thirst in his eyes as he followed the path of her tongue with his gaze. "Then can we do that? Will you let me feel?"

She shouldn't ask that of him, shouldn't allow it of herself. She should pull away, save herself while she still could,
if
she still could. Her body and fierce desire for him betrayed her as much as whatever he saw in her eyes.

Michael dipped his head, his mouth hovering at the racing pulse just below her jaw. His labored breaths feathered her neck, causing goose pimples to rise over every inch of her flesh. "For just a little while," he told her in a barely audible whisper of husky heat. "Eventually we'll have to take care of everything."

Rhonda's mind stumbled over his words as he caught the teardrop gemstone dangling from her ear between his teeth and gave it a little tug. Yes, not eventually, but soon they would have to take care of everything else as she promised. After this, they would have no choice, because once she felt him, tasted him, and he did the same to her, there would be no going back.

He eased away, the exotic green of his eyes so darkened by his obvious desires for her that it stole her senses. She couldn't speak even if she had been able to find words through the riot of wonder and need creating a tornado inside her. She couldn't think, at least not about anything beyond the intense yearning to feel his mouth on more than her earring.

"I never thought I would say this, but Phay has incredible taste." Michael traced the heart-shaped line of the bodice of her dress with the tip of one finger. "You look amazing in this dress." He bent his head, following the path of his finger with the tip of his tongue.

Rhonda slid her hand to the back of his head, holding him as he explored the exposed flesh of her chest. He painted a fiery trail of moisture over the swell of her breasts, up the base of her throat, along the underside of her chin. Her lips parted of their own volition, waiting to feel his mouth on hers, longing to experience the first kiss from the man she had dreamt of for so very long.

He made her wait even longer. His breath fanned her lips, drying them even as they tingled in anticipation. "You make me crazy, Rhonda. You have from the first moment."

She understood because he had made her feel equally crazy from the start. She had been married, unhappy, and longing to feel alive again. That single encounter in the grocery store aisle fixed the last and gave her so much more.

"You make me want things I shouldn't." He made a sound of part laughter and part exasperation. "You make me want you so damn bad it frightens the hell out of me."

She understood that, too, because it was the exact fear she spoke of moments ago. She wanted him with every fiber of her being even when she knew it to be wrong. Had it ever changed? Was it still wrong to want him so badly? Those were the questions she never managed to give an affirmative answer.

"I won't make you answer anything more now. I'll give you what you want." He closed his eyes, his chest pressing against hers as he drew in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, they glinted with a promise that mirrored the certainty in his tone. "After this moment, I won't be content to simply be near you anymore. I damned sure won't be able to put distance between us again."

Rhonda didn't know what to say. Not that it mattered because he didn't give her a chance to respond. He kissed her and shocked her clean to her toes. She expected a soft, featherlike caress that would continue the teasing dance he had started with his tongue to her throat and neck, and heighten the wicked flames burning inside her.

She got the heightened flames, all right, but they came in the form of an explosion that sent her soaring as he crushed his mouth to hers. The kiss screamed of pure sex. It was a no-holding-back, going-to-give-everything-and-make-you-feel-it-all kind of kiss. And Rhonda felt it in every erogenous zone in her body.

He ravaged her with the desperation of a man starved, possessed, out of control. She tasted it all in his kiss. She tasted more, too. Passion, apology, anger, and fear collided in a tongue-tangle of wild insanity.

The electricity grew more intense as his hands found her flesh. He touched her shoulders first, flattening his palms as he dragged them along her arms. He caught her wrists, guiding her arms to her sides where he held them close to her body as he continued to devour her in mindless, sharp possessions of his tongue over hers.

Rhonda shifted in his lap, feeling the length of his rock-hard cock against her bottom. Gods, it made her senses go berserk! She wanted to feel him, needed to touch as much as she craved to be touched. She tried, but his arm around her back held her tight.

"Michael." She gasped his name as he tore his mouth from hers only to claim her again in a feverish rush that turned her protests to moans of pleasure. She'd told him she wanted to feel. Damn if he didn't let her in ways she hadn't considered. Every moment of desire, every second of restraint between them since the second they met flooded through her in the wash of his kisses.

Too much
.

She couldn't handle this onslaught of sensations.

Not enough
.

She wanted more. She wanted it all.

"Do your feet hurt too bad to stand?" he asked against her lips.

"No." At the moment she barely remembered she had feet. Whatever ache she felt in no way compared to the pulsating throb in her channel. If she needed to stand in order to get him out of his pants, she wouldn't waste another second sitting here.

Michael helped her, his hands moving to grip her waist as he all but lifted her off his lap. When she started to stand beside him, he skimmed a hand up her right leg, raising it, guiding it until she straddled him.

Rhonda glared down at him, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind."

His chuckle sounded wicked. "I don't doubt that, but it's what I have in mind." He sat up straighter. Both hands moved to her calves and glided up over her knees, beneath the skirt of her dress, higher on her thighs, sparking magical sensations in her core.

She had dreamed of him this way, taking pleasure in doing as he wished with her, to her. His lips tilted in a devious grin that set her soul on fire. He scooted forward, pulling her to him in the same movement, and buried that devilish smile in the triangle of her panties.

The heat of his breath seeped through the satin covering her pussy and bathed the sensitized flesh in erotic flames. Her heart fluttered as her hips involuntarily thrust forward, seeking more. She wanted to feel that blaze without the barrier of the material between them. She shouldn't let this happen. Passion overwhelmed her too intensely to make him stop.

"Don't tease me," she heard herself plead.

"I don't plan to." Even as he answered her, his fingers delved beneath the thin layer of satin, pulling it aside to uncover her shaved pussy lips. "Geezus, I couldn't if I wanted to. So beautiful, just like I've dreamed. Do you know how long I've fantasized about having you like this?"

Cool fingers parted her sodden pussy lips. Rhonda's knees trembled even as any response skated out of her consciousness. She locked her fingers in his hair, both in an effort to remain standing and in an attempt to bring his mouth that last fraction closer. Madness ripped through her, bubbling in a cry of frustration. It never made it past her throat because his tongue found her clitoris and licked all sound from her being.