Tanner's Scheme (13 page)

“Why?” Her hands settled on his chest, not to push him away, not to pull him closer. Just to touch him, to feel the warmth of him. “You’ve had me. It’s time to end this game now.”

One hand moved from her waist to cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her lips as they parted helplessly. Anger was melting beneath pleasure despite her attempts to hold on to it. She needed to stay angry with him. She needed a defense against his touch other than the suspicion that he could be her father’s spy.

“I don’t know.” His brow gathered into a frown. “Maybe because I don’t trust you. Because too many people are out to kill you. And maybe because I need more of this.”

His head lowered and his lips were on hers again. Parting them, his tongue slid inside as she whimpered against it.

Tearing herself away from him was almost impossible. Almost more than she was capable of. As she backed away from him, she was aware of her weakening thighs, the soft, heated dampness between them and the tingle of pleasure that lingered on her lips.

“You can’t keep me forever.”

“Don’t bet on that,” he sighed roughly. “At this point, Scheme, don’t bet on anything. Not until I figure out the puzzle you’ve become. Fucking me won’t change that; it will just make the time pass more pleasantly.”

“I’m not a puzzle for you to figure out.”

His short laugh was mocking. “Sorry, love, that’s exactly what you are. From the reason your father wants you dead to the reason you don’t like old reruns. I could make a list of questions to start with if you like.” His eyes were suddenly gleaming playfully, inviting her to join in.

“I’ll find my way out,” she warned him desperately.

“Not going to happen, darlin’.” He sighed, moving back to the couch. “But I tell you what, come here and cuddle with me and I’ll let you watch the INS. I like it better.”

The International News Service. It was better than nothing.

“Cuddle with you?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yep. Cuddle with me.” He sat down, stretching one long leg out on the couch as he propped the other foot on the floor. “Come on, Sugar, we’ll watch the news together or I can watch Gilligan. There’s several hours left.”

She shuddered as he patted the area between his legs. “I dare you.”

Her eyes narrowed as he lifted the remote. “News or Gilligan. Make your choice, Sugar.”

If only she didn’t want to sit there, cushioned by his broad chest, his arms around her. Feeling a warmth she had only dreamed of, feeling a need she had never allowed herself to recognize before Tanner.

She was weak. So weak.

“You aren’t allowed to molest me,” she snapped.

“You aren’t allowed to make the rules,” he grunted. “Now come here, pretty girl, before I change my mind. You know, I’ve been looking forward to that
Gilligan’s Island
marathon for months. You’re lucky I’m making the offer.”

She should feel guilty for knocking him out of the show, she was sure.

“They’re reruns, for God’s sake.” She settled carefully on the couch, between his thighs, turning toward the television and leaning back distrustfully.

“They’re in order,” he argued lightly, pulling her fully against his chest. “But cuddling you could compensate me. You know, Scheme, I don’t cuddle women much,” he told her as he flicked the television on.

“Cabal does the cuddling for you?” She snorted.

He chuckled against her chest. “Naw, Cabal’s not a cuddler either. But I think I like holding you.” One arm draped around her stomach. “I think I like holding you a lot.”

———

How had he known that world events and news would fascinate her? Tanner wondered as he settled back into the corner of the couch and watched the news.

Scheme was a pleasant weight against his chest, her head on his shoulder, her hair spreading out across his chest.

How many times had he entered Callan and Merinus’s private suite to find them on the couch just like this, watching soap operas. Their pride leader was fascinated with his mate’s soap operas.

For a man who had never cared much for television before he mated, Callan had become a regular couch potato during the quiet evenings at Sanctuary. That, or he really didn’t give a damn what he watched as long as he could hold his mate with close intimacy as they watched the shows.

But Scheme wasn’t his mate. He had been checking closely for the signs of it, close enough that his tongue was nearly raw from rubbing the sides of it over his teeth to check the glands there. There was nothing.

He wanted her.

He ached for her with a strength that made him half-crazy, but there was no mating hormone, no unusual sensitivity in his flesh.

Was it possible for a Breed to fall in love without mating? Even the scientists researching the phenomenon had no answer to that one. So far, every mated couple seemed deeply in love. The mating always came first though. The chemical, biological matching of two souls that would have been compatible, that would have loved anyway. But the heat had ensured it.

There was no mating heat with Scheme.

He should feel relieved, carefree; instead, the regret nearly choked him.

As they watched, news of the Breeds was reported. Jonas was standing in front of the offices of the Bureau of Breed Affairs, denying involvement in Scheme’s disappearance and stating the instances that the Breeds had always turned suspected Council members or collaborators over to the federal authorities once they had proof against them.

He answered the reporters in that hard, growling voice of his, a scowl on his face as Tanner chuckled.

“Jonas hates the media,” he said against Scheme’s hair, drawing in the scent of her.

“He’s not bad at handling them though,” she commented, her voice much calmer than the scent of her arousal.

“He bitches for hours after he has to hold a news conference.” He nuzzled his face into her hair, the thick sable silk stroking pleasantly against him. “Then he normally calls me and bitches at me for not handling it.”

“I didn’t hear the phone ringing,” she pointed out. “That news clip was made yesterday.”

“You were asleep.” He smiled against her hair, allowing the fingers that rested on her belly to rub against the silk of her shirt in little circles. “He threatened me, Scheme. Something about stuffing the trout I was catching up my ass.”

“You aren’t catching any trout.” Her voice was a bit breathless, husky.

Confronting Scheme with the hungers that rose between them wouldn’t work; he had found that out last night. A man had to wait until the hunger was more than she could bear. Not that she was entirely comfortable with it, he thought with a smile. His Scheme was as wary as a little cat.

She was also a damned control freak.

“This is more fun than catching trout.” He licked at the shell of her ear. “Takes more patience. Callan says I should work on that patience issue I have.”

A soft, feminine snort had a silent laugh tugging at his chest.

She was settling against him, relaxing a bit more, and as she did, the scent of sweet female heat became thicker. Damn, he’d loved that smell before he’d met her, but her particular scent he had become addicted to. It was sweet and tinted with spice, like syrup on a crisp winter morning. It had his mouth watering and his dick throbbing.

“I could see you with a patience issue,” she said softly. “That lazy Bengal Breed act of yours doesn’t fool everyone.”

“Most people it does,” he argued with a grin. “You’re just a perceptive little thing, pretty girl. You see me for what I am.”

“I studied you,” she admitted. “For years. Studied your lab files against the persona you project. You lie to a lot of people, Tanner. I can almost tell when you’re lying on television.”

“Hmm, dangerous thing to admit to,” he grumbled, feeling warmth he shouldn’t have felt, because she had managed to learn anything about him. “I can see you sitting in front of the television telling your daddy what the Breed plans are as you watch me lie.”

She was silent.

“Did you?” he whispered.

“No,” she said with a hint of sadness. “It was what he had me trained for, observation. He was very upset that I couldn’t tell him what he needed to know.”

“So he beat you?”

“Not always.” She was lying, and she was a very adept liar, so he could barely detect the scent of it. She didn’t want him to know she was lying. For some reason, this woman who should have been his enemy didn’t want him to know he had been the reason for any pain she had felt.

He nipped her ear.

“What was that for?” Her head tilted back, a frown creasing her brow as she glared back at him.

“That was for lying to me, pretty girl,” he growled, lowering his lips to hers because he couldn’t resist them. Because he needed the taste of her, needed it to clear the scent of her lie from his head. “Never lie to me.”

He didn’t take her easily, he didn’t ease her into a kiss, and he sure as hell didn’t ask for permission. Asking for permission from this woman was an instant debate.

She struggled without force as he shifted to the side, moving her into the crook of his arm to allow for a deeper penetration of her mouth.

One hand pressed into his chest, the other into his side. Her sharp little teeth nipped at his tongue; his nipped at her lips.

She pulled back; he buried his hand in her hair, cupped her scalp and forced her mouth back to his and let her teeth nip at it.

Damn, it was good. The sharp little sting, a flick of her tongue, and he was ready to come in his jeans. His other hand gripped her jaw, holding her still, his fingers controlling her ability to bite as his lips covered hers, his tongue impaling her mouth with a hunger that should have worried him.

Flickering, inquisitive, her little tongue met his, battling, a heated erotic battle that ended with one of her hands buried in his hair and her breasts pressing into his chest as she turned to him, her legs straddling his hips, rising over him, taking control.

Fuck. He gripped her hips, pulling her down to him, grinding her pussy against his jeans-covered cock. Slender fingers tangled in his hair as she began to ride him, the silk of her pants sliding against his jeans, her heat seeping through and raking over his dick.

Hell. He was going to fuck her. If he didn’t fuck her, he was going to die. Last night wasn’t enough; it had only whet his appetite for more.

He had unclenched his hands from her hips, lifting for her breasts, when suddenly, just that fast, she was gone. Stumbling, whirling around, her hair creating a silken fan as she faced him, pushing it back impatiently.

“Watch Gilligan,” she rasped. “I told you not to do that.”

“Hell.” He laid his head against the couch and stared up at the stone ceiling, almost to the point of begging her. Damn, if he’d thought begging her to ride his cock would work, he’d have been on his knees in front of her.

“Yes, hell,” she snapped in agreement. “Find something else to amuse you while you hold me here, Tanner, because I’ll be damned if I’ll stand in for your stupid reruns.”

He lifted his head as she stalked to the cavern doorway.

“Where are you going?” he called out on a sigh.

“I’m finding my out of here,” she retorted. “Right now. I’ve had enough of you and enough of stone walls. And when I do, I’ll find those stupid trout and shove them up your ass for Jonas.”

With that, she stalked down the darkened tunnel, soft lights glowing to light her way as Tanner’s lips twitched. If she could find the hidden access, then she was welcome to it.

He picked up the remote and changed channels, chuckling as he caught Gilligan working the bike-powered washing machine.

He might be so horny he was about to explode, but he had time, he assured himself. Time to figure out why she pulled at him, time to figure out how to save her.

CHAPTER 10

Scheme hadn’t found the exit out of the caves, and the dark mood it put her in did little to ease the frustration rising inside her. In desperation, she crawled into the bed, pulled the blankets over her head and prayed for sleep.

Sleep that finally came despite the knowledge that Tanner was naked beside her. Naked and hard and waiting to still the warmth growing inside her. It was a restless sleep though, one plagued by bad dreams and a certainty that Tanner would be the death of her. They followed her, shadowing the landscape of her sleep, until finally, she forced herself awake, and faced the real nightmare.

It was dark.

But her eyes were wide open.

Her eyes were open and her heart was racing as panic began to set in.

It was pitch-black dark.

“Tanner?” She sat up in bed, her fingers clenching in the blankets as she listened.

There was no light, no sound.

“Tanner, where are you?” She was not going to panic.

Forcing the fingers of one hand from the blankets, she felt across the bed, ignoring the tremors beginning to build in her body.

She had been here before, she reminded herself. In the dark, lost, uncertain where she was or what awaited her.

“Tanner, don’t play these games with me,” she snapped, her voice loud in the dark as she found only emptiness on his side of the mattress. “Where are the lights?”

She hadn’t found light switches in the past two days. If they were here, they were very cleverly hidden, just as the exit was.

“This is going too far, Tanner,” she cried out, staring around frantically, seeing nothing but the darkness, hearing nothing but the sound of her own heart beating, her own gasping breaths.

She was not going to lose it, she promised herself. She hadn’t lost it yet, and she wasn’t going to start now.

But it was so dark. Her breathing hitched in her throat. With the lights out, it was like…She shook her head as she inhaled roughly.

She was not buried alive. She was in a bed, a very comfortable bed. The cavern was at least ten or twelve feet high, she remembered. She had plenty of room. Plenty of air.

And she was buried alive.

“Tanner. Tanner, where are you?” She screamed out his name as she struggled to get herself out of the bed.

Suddenly, the mattress wasn’t a mattress, it was a coffin, enveloping, smothering. Her feet tangled in the blankets, tripping her, tossing her to the cold, hard floor as her fingers clawed at the stone.