Two Passionate Proposals (4 page)

She sat there, head bowed, the knowledge of
her fate lodged in her chest like the bullet in her shoulder. “I can’t keep
running. They’re too powerful.” She glanced over at him. “I should have let you
kill me when you came in.”

“Imogen…” He went to move, but the vines
held fast. He grunted. “Come on, let me go.”

She said nothing. In spite of her words,
her survival instinct stopped her from releasing the vines. She didn’t trust
him. Despite their previous relationship, his first loyalty was to the S.U.;
she had no doubt he would kill her, the first chance he got.

She gave him a small smile. “I can’t
believe you really thought I’d gone over to Chaos.”

He frowned. “You vanished, remember? No
warning, no explanation. And they showed me evidence.”

“What sort of evidence?”

“Photos.” His silver eyes darkened, as if
he were recalling difficult memories. “Of you…with a werewolf.”

“Doing what?” she snapped. He looked at her
and she gave a sarcastic laugh. “You didn’t think they might have been
Photoshopped?”

“They were pretty convincing.”

“Cam . . . .”

“It wasn’t just that. Do you think I didn’t
argue it was a mistake? Repeatedly? But there were taped phone conversations,
documents showing places you’d been, talking with people I didn’t know. Videos
of you in Europe meeting people known to work for Chaos. Shots of you going
into Brooks’ house. They told me you’d seduced me because you wanted to get to
someone close to Walker.”

“You came up to me at the training field
and ordered me to your room!” She shook with indignation.

He closed his eyes briefly. “I know. It’s
just…”

“What?” Her temper flared.

“I’d never felt about anyone the way I felt
about you. When I wasn’t with you, I thought about you all the time. I couldn’t
wait until you were back in my arms again. I felt like I’d been bewitched, and
when they told me that’s what you’d done…it made sense.”

“You thought I’d cast a spell on you?” She
was furious, although not really at him. “Bastards!” She stood and took the
glass from the table, and threw it with all her might at the opposite wall. It
smashed into pieces, and he flinched. She clenched her fists, anger bubbling in
her stomach, her hands growing hot.

“Careful,” he said. “You’ll bring the whole
place down if you don’t relax.”

She spun to glare at him. “They took it
away from me.” She was close to tears.

“What?”

Love
. She
opened her mouth to tell him, but bit the word back. She sank onto the bed, her
head in her hands. What was she going to do?

“You need to get that bullet out,” he said
after a short pause. “Imogen, let me go; I can do it for you.”

“No.” She stood and moved away from him,
back into the darkness.

“I believe you. I didn’t know, that’s all.
You can trust me.”

“No, I can’t. I really can’t.”

“So what are you going to do? Run forever?
Or give up? There are others not far behind me—if I let you go, they’ll soon
hunt you down. You need my help—you won’t get far without it.”

Imogen said nothing. His words had
triggered a memory, and her brain worked furiously, trying to make sense of it.
You need my help… Why did that phrase ring something deep within her? How could
he help her? What could he do to get her out of this situation?

And then it came to her. She looked at him
lying on the bed, six feet four of vibrant, virile male. She couldn’t do it. It
was a ridiculous thought. There was no way she could bring herself to go
through with such a mad plan, and it probably wouldn’t work anyway.

But if it did, it would save her life.
Temporarily at least.

Hawke frowned, looking wary as she went
still. “What?”

She turned to pace across the room. “I was
thinking…”

“About?”

She faced him and took a deep breath. “Virginia
Clarke.”

He frowned, and then his eyes widened as realisation
sank in. “You’re thinking about Article Six.”

“Yes. It worked for her. And she was a
Vampire.”

He studied her, irritation on his face. “Imogen,
it’s an interesting idea, but there’s no time to get yourself pregnant; they’re
going to be here in less than an hour. You’ve run out of time.”

“Have I?” Her gaze drifted to below his
black leather belt.

He followed her eyes, stared at his groin
for a few seconds and then raised his gaze to look at her. “You’re kidding me.”

“Article Six doesn’t specify how far along
the pregnancy has to be. Clarke conceived purposefully, and the embryo was only
hours old—but when the S.U. broke down the door and found her, they couldn’t
kill her. The Covenant forbids it.”

“Look…”

“I’m serious, Cam. This is my life we’re
talking about.”

He seemed lost for words. He flexed his
hands and arms, looking up at the vines tying him to the bed. “Well, I can’t do
anything about it tied up like this.”

“On the contrary. It’s not your hands I
need.”

His eyes widened. “Imogen… Come on, you can
let me go. I believe you. I’ll help you, I promise.”

“Nuh-uh. I can’t trust you.”

“Of course you can.”

“You came here to kill me!”

“That was before I knew what happened to
you.” He looked panicky. “Don’t do it, not like this.”

She stood in front of him, and, before he
could say anything, pulled her black vest over her head, wincing as she moved
her wounded shoulder, and dropped it to the floor. “Keep talking and I’ll put
one of those vines across your mouth.”

He stared as she stood there, naked from
the waist up. She lifted her hand, watching the moonlight illuminate her white
skin and turn it to mother-of-pearl, conscious of his gaze on her. Slowly, she slid
her black shorts down her legs and kicked them to one side.

“Holy fuck.” He looked at her in alarm. “That
doesn’t count, it was a comment; I wasn’t talking.”

She walked up to the bed and climbed onto
the mattress. Sitting astride his legs, below his knees, she lifted her left
hand, palm facing toward him.

He stared as a sharp, black thorn appeared
above his throat.

“Imogen . . . .”

“Shh.” She moved her right hand to the side
and the vines strapping his chest retreated slightly, although they were still
tight across his shoulders and legs. She moved her left hand downward. The tip
of the thorn nicked the top of his body armour then cut right through the front
of the Kevlar chest-piece as if it were made of butter.

She sliced right down the front of his
chest, watching him hold his breath as she stopped above his belt. She then
carved up the sides of the armour until she had removed the chest-piece
completely. Taking the two pieces in her hands, she tossed them onto the floor.
She ripped apart the buttons of his black shirt, exposing his wide chest with
the dark scattering of hair disappearing in a thin line into his pants. “That’s
for my white shirt.”

Hawke stared at her, breathing hard. “This
is crazy.”

She glared at him, drawing a line in the
air with a finger, and a wide strip of vine hovered above his mouth. “I’m not
kidding, Cam. This is my life at stake. Say one more thing and I’m gagging you.”

She undid his belt, pulling it out from
under him, and threw that onto the floor too. Hawke cursed under his breath and
yanked at the vines pinning his hands to the headboard, but they tightened the
more he struggled until eventually he could hardly move at all. As she began to
undo the top button of his fly, he stopped moving and swore, looking up at the
ceiling, fuming with humiliation.

Her breath coming more quickly now, Imogen
began to pull down his zipper. She could already feel him hard beneath her hand
and was unable to quell a surge of relief so strong that tears welled in her
eyes. He still wanted her, still desired her, in spite of everything that had
happened.

He opened his mouth to say something,
looked at the strip of vine hovering above him, and obviously thought better of
it because he tightened his jaw. His eyes met hers. They were pools of molten
mercury, and she inhaled as, in spite of her perilous situation, desire swept
through her. She caught his gaze and held it as she slid his underwear down,
releasing him.

Hawke’s gaze returned to the ceiling. He
looked furious, and embarrassed at being aroused by what she was doing. Imogen
felt a surge of pleasure. Part of her wanted to make him suffer for turning on
her, for believing she’d gone over to Chaos. She didn’t have long before the
other S.U. soldiers found them. But she wanted to torture him—just a little
bit.

Lowering her head, she ran her tongue
lightly up his erection, and he rewarded her with a sharp intake of breath.
When she reached the tip, she enclosed him in her mouth.

“Oh for fuck’s sake . . . .” His strained
whisper trailed off as she began to move her mouth up and down. The muscles in
his legs tensed under her, and when she glanced up at him, he was looking up,
holding his breath.

Pleasure washed over her, and she sighed,
taking him deeper into her mouth. She could feel the heat building inside him.
She wanted to drive him wild—not too wild, obviously, as that would defeat the
object of the exercise—but wild enough, until he was begging her to sit astride
him and bring them both to release.

Suddenly, she had a flash of memory of his
room back in England and the first time she’d done this, exploring his body
with her hands and mouth, wanting to drive him as mad with desire as he had
her. Regret knifed through her, and she stopped kissing him, lifted her head to
look up at him. His eyes were closed now, his breathing shallow.

She moved slowly up him, brushing her
breasts against his chest, until her face was level with his.

Hawke opened his eyes, and they weren’t
filled with hate; they were warm with love and passion, and Imogen’s own eyes
filled with tears.

She pushed herself upright, her hand coming
up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Goddess.” She slid off him, sitting on the side of
the bed, and covered her face with her hands. “What am I doing?” Tears streamed
down her face.

Silence hung between them for a moment.

“Imogen,” Hawke said finally, his voice
soft.

Without turning, she traced a pattern in
the air with her hands, and the vines slowly receded from his body.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I surrender,
Major. Do with me what you will.”

*

Hawke gasped as the vines withdrew, and his
body was released. He lowered his arms, flexing the stiff muscles, circling his
wrists.
Now she stops?
He cursed under his breath, glaring at his
erection, then looked across at Imogen, at her white, slender body. She made no
sound, but her shoulders quivered, and he knew she was crying.

He sat up, wincing and tucking himself back
into his pants as he did so. Her hair had fallen forward, revealing the back of
her slim, white neck. She looked so extremely fragile. He’d dreamed of placing
a thick, metal band around it and tightening it until she stopped breathing, of
doing a hundred terrible things to end her life. He’d thought he hated her, but
now he knew he’d mistaken hatred for hurt and frustration.

Until that moment, he hadn’t been sure what
he’d do if she released him.

Now, he moved beside her and, turning her
gently, wrapped her in his arms.

Imogen sat stiffly for a moment, then, like
ice cream left on a radiator, she melted against him. He cradled her, worried
about her shoulder, her tears soaking into his shirt.

Pushing her back onto the bed, he knelt
above her. He unwrapped the makeshift bandage she’d wound around her shoulder
and peeled off the blood-soaked pad. “I’m going to remove the bullet,” he said.
He ignored her protest and placed his left hand on her breastbone, pressing her
into the bed, then put his right palm over the wound. His eyes met hers,
watching the tears trailing across her cheeks, all resistance gone, and he held
her gaze as he built the energy in his solar plexus and directed it down his
arm. He closed his eyes, reaching out to the bullet, drawing it out of her. As
it began to leave her body she groaned, then cried out, then screamed as it
slid through the layers of muscle. He increased his pressure on her breastbone,
refusing to let her move, and then the bullet was out and he felt it turn
molten and slowly become absorbed back into his aura.

She went limp, and blood welled and flowed
across her white skin. Quickly, he tore up the remains of the sheet she’d
ripped up earlier and made a pad. He pressed it against the wound, then bound
it tightly over her shoulder, across her chest above her breasts and around her
back, making her gasp as he pulled the bandage taught and tied it with a tight
knot.

“Done,” he said, sitting back.

At that moment, he felt his phone vibrate
where it was hooked onto his belt.