Taming the Fire (19 page)

The heavy cloak of guilt at holding back the connection she'd thought they'd once had was something she hadn't been able to shake off during the ride. She'd thought several times about telling him everything she knew about his past, but good old common sense, laced with a dose of fear every time she remembered Ryan's last words to her forced her mouth shut on that subject.

If you're wrong, I'm the last person you want to trust with your body. Or your life
.

At one time, she'd been more than prepared to trust him with both.

“We're about forty-five minutes out,” he told her finally as he plugged in some coordinates into the GPS tracker. “Just follow the directions.”

He finally put down the remote for a second and closed his eyes. A small sigh of exhaustion escaped his lips and she realized it had been a long time since she'd slept as well.

“You can sleep when we get to the hotel.”

She glanced at him. “You read minds?”

“No, I read people.” And that was his last comment until they arrived at the hotel—in half an hour, thanks to her lead foot.

She waited in the car while he checked in and then walked with him into the small suite—a bedroom with a queen-sized bed and bathroom on one side and a couch and chair, TV and kitchenette on the other.

“Don't get too comfortable—we're not staying long.” He didn't say anything else, and went to shower, closing the bathroom door behind him.

In order to assuage the restless feeling that invaded her now that they were stopped, she opened her laptop to see if there was any information on Interpol looking for her, but strangely, she couldn't get online. Annoyed, she dialed her brother, because being out of contact with Mose for more than twenty-four hours at this point guaranteed a freak-out on his part.

“Where. Have. You. Been.” Mose was past freak-out, having moved on to furious some time ago.

“I'm, ah, in Plymouth. England.”

“And I was at your apartment. Which had been gone over thoroughly by Interpol,” he told her.

“I've lost that tail for now.” She peeked over her shoulder toward the bathroom and the sound of running water. Being with Ryan was one way to ensure she stayed clear of them. If they'd been close, Ryan would've let her know—he didn't want to be bothered by them any more than she did. “I told you not to come for me.”

“Tell me where you are right now. I'm coming to get you.”

“I'm not alone. I'm helping someone out—he got me away from Interpol.”

“Who? Give me his name—I'll check him out.”

“He's someone from my past, Mose. Someone I took money from.”

“Name.”

She lowered her voice. “Ryan Malmstrom. He's suffering from some kind of memory loss. I think… I think he's an agent.”

“ACRO?”

“Itor.”

“Shit, Meg. How the hell you manage to get yourself involved in this shit…”

“Mostly it's been helpful to you. The money I took from Ryan was for you—five years ago. That twenty-five-million-dollar job I pulled.”

“I'm calling my source at ACRO. While I'm on the plane coming to get you.”

“I won't tell you where I am. I can't compromise what Ryan's doing.”

“What kind of shit is that? You're kidding me, right? You're not any kind of superagent, Meg. You're a computer geek.”

His words cut her—they were true enough and nothing that would've insulted her in the past, but today she didn't want to just be that computer geek hiding behind fashionable clothing from Interpol. “Screw you, big brother.”

She hung up the phone and turned it off for good measure. She probably should tell Ryan that ACRO would be investigating him, but then again, she was tired of telling people things. She wanted some answers.

She couldn't help but rummage—put her hand inside his overnight bag and came up with two DVDs labeled RYAN in big, black lettering that was almost ominous. Quickly, she popped one into her laptop and gasped out loud at the sight of Ryan dressed in all leather and doing some extreme BDSM.

He seemed to be enjoying himself—the women were crying out, their flesh red from the whips. Her stomach churned—is this what he'd meant to do to her in the plane?

Would he have really? Because the Ryan on the screen didn't mesh with the way he'd touched her in real life, his face so close to the curls between her thighs…

“Haven't you heard it's not polite to look at things that don't belong to you?” Ryan growled, catching her by the wrist and pulling her to him. “No, of course not. You like taking things that don't belong to you.”

His chest pressed against hers, her shirt wet from the dampness of his body. He didn't even have a towel on, and she'd caught a glimpse of his heavy manhood between his legs. That arousal now rubbed her belly. “That's right. It's more fun to take things that don't belong to you.”

Ryan actually smiled a little, more when she licked her lips and flushed at the sounds of the female moans emanating from the computer on the desk. “
I
don't belong to you, Coco. You want to take me on? Is your little virgin clit twitching for me?”

She didn't know what was happening. She was angry—so angry at Ryan, and at her brother for treating her the way he had. She'd been good enough to remain above the law, and yet somehow he still thought she was unable to function without him in the real world.

She had got along fine. But right now, she wanted something more. Without hesitation, she put her arms around Ryan's shoulders, feeling their broad strength flex against her own bare forearms. It forced her body closer to his, and his nostrils flared.

“Do you really like that, Ryan? Tying women up so they can't touch you? Or do you like to be touched?”

“Are you going to touch me, honey?” His hand was firm on her buttocks now, holding her in place.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He watched her when he pulled back, and for a second she thought he would let her. But when she dropped her hand to his erection, he grabbed her wrist. “I don't want you touching me. I have one use for you and then we're done.”

Her cheeks flushed, a combination of anger and humiliation as he let her go and went back into the bathroom.

R
YAN DRESSED
in silence, and thankfully, Coco didn't interrupt. She just tapped away on her computer—the one she'd been watching his sex videos on.

He supposed he should have been angry, but the look of shock on her face had been satisfying enough. Shock was better than disgust, which was what he felt every time he viewed them, looking for clues to his past, but he never saw anything new. He was always dressed in leather and chains, and the women were always begging for mercy as he hurt and humiliated them.

He glanced at Coco while he threw on his jacket, and wondered why she hadn't run away screaming after seeing the sex. No, she'd done the opposite, had actually come on to him.

Which had to be a fucking joke. She was either an innocent virgin trying to get something from him by playing the temptress, or she was lying about the virgin thing and really was a temptress. He'd have bet on the latter, because in his world, the former didn't exist. But something about her just dripped sweet and pure, with a touch of hot spice deep inside. He'd tried a chocolate-covered jalapeño once, had sucked down the smooth sweetness while wiping the sweat off his brow.

That was Coco.

Then again, maybe she was a great actress.

Either way, she was trouble, and now he was stuck in a hotel room with her. At least, he was stuck until he either captured or killed Ulrika, or Itor arrived to do it. He'd called them while in the bathroom and told them where she was. It had been easy to follow her—Coco had driven while he stayed connected with the shape-shifter through his remote and her collar. Everything Ulrika saw, he saw, including street signs and addresses.

“I'm going to get us some breakfast,” he said, as he tucked the car keys in his pocket. “Stay here.”

She didn't look at him. “Don't know where else I'd go.”

Well, that was something they'd have to work out eventually. He wanted her help getting his memory back, and since she seemed to know so much about him, she could be invaluable. But at the same time, he didn't need the complication of having a civilian with him, and he definitely didn't want Itor to arrive and catch him with her. Sure, he could tell them she was just some chick he'd picked up for sex, but if, for some reason, they knew who she was, they might nab her for her skills.

Or for something much worse, if she'd ever stolen from them.

He hurried down to the hotel's restaurant, not at all worried about her trying to get help. She'd volunteered to come with him, and besides, when he'd closed her laptop on the plane, he'd used his gift to rewire her modem so she couldn't get online. She could use a phone, of course, but being covert in front of him where he could hear would be a lot more difficult.

He ordered two full English breakfasts to go and waited outside in the cool spring air, letting it wake him up. It had been a long night, but he couldn't afford to sleep. Too much was at stake.

When the food was ready, he took it back to the room, and they both dug in, him sitting on the bed, her at the desk where she'd been nose-to-screen with the computer when he'd walked in.

She ate like she'd never seen food before, but then, he hadn't eaten in over fifteen hours, and it had been at least twelve for her.

“I love English breakfasts,” she said, as she piled her fork high with eggs. “Rasher and beans and tomato… yum.”

Ryan grimaced. He liked the thick strips of bacon, but he'd never gotten the tomato-and-beans-for-breakfast thing, but then, he'd grown up eating cold cereal.

He blinked. Cold cereal… how did he know that? He searched his memory, which was mostly a big, dark hole, but a flash came through—a lady… his mom? She was pouring Trix in a bowl.

“Damn,” he muttered.

“What is it?” Coco took a break from shoveling food into her mouth to stare at him.

“I remembered something. From when I was a kid. Nothing important. Just that I liked fruit-flavored cereal.”

Coco's smile tugged at his groin. “Well, that's better than nothing. Even if you have terrible taste in cereal.”

He lobbed a packet of jam at her, and then wondered why he'd done that. Was he the playful type? He wouldn't have thought so, based on what Itor had told him.

When the packet came sailing back at him, he caught it one-handed, and tore it open with his teeth. “Your choice, Coco—should I put this on the toast, or on you? Either way, I'm going to eat it.”

The smile fell off her face, and her lips parted in the tiniest of gasps.

“What's the matter?” he teased. “You came on to me earlier, and now you're shocked at my suggestion?”

“Of course not.” She sniffed and went back to eating, but he couldn't touch his food. Not now that he had the naughty image in his head, the one of her, naked on the bed, smeared with jelly in all the sensitive places. He could picture himself licking every bit off, starting at her breasts and working his way down.

Cursing, he set aside his plastic container and fetched the remote to Ulrika's collar. He'd need to keep an eye on her, make sure she didn't go on the move again. He was guessing that she and the blond guy were going to dig in for a while, and if he was ACRO, they'd be waiting for extraction.

Which was why he didn't want to go in by himself. Not only did he not know what skills the guy possessed, but if more agents showed up, he'd be screwed. Better to wait for Itor if at all possible.

“What are you doing?” Coco asked as he sank back down on the bed and switched on the remote.

“Keeping an eye on my girl.”

Trance didn't want to pull back from the kiss, wanted to take Rik roughly against the hard ground. By the way she clutched him, he doubted if she'd resist. But they were far too vulnerable here—he needed to get them safely back to the house and Rik under complete control before the jet arrived.

He wanted time to be able to talk to her. To explain. But for now, he was done fooling around. Thankfully, Kira had given him some advice in case Rik did run, and Trance had followed it to the letter once he heard the alarms blare.

She was fast—speed wasn't his greatest gift as an excedo but he was definitely faster than most, so it wasn't difficult to catch her.