Enslave Me Sweetly (4 page)

An unwanted wave of need and desire crested inside me, growing hotter, hotter still. It didn't help that he had an erection. Thick. Hard. Hot.

He didn't want
me,
I knew. Not really. Men were simply turned on by physical contact. And we'd definitely gotten physical.

Knowing he would have desired any woman under him failed to diminish my own lust as it should have. Dark, dangerous fantasies sprang to life. Naked bodies, moans of surrender…Without thought, I arched my butt toward him, seeking more of his heat, craving deeper contact.

And that's when a fragrant cloud of cinnamon and honey surrounded us. The moment I smelled it, my cheeks burned a bright red and I fought frantically for release. If Lucius knew anything about Rakas, he'd know we only emitted that scent when desperately aroused.

“Let me go,” I shouted. I couldn't have erected a calm, cool mask if my life depended on it. “Let me go right now.” I extended my arm as I should have done earlier and tried to roll over.

He pressed me down with more of his weight, keeping me immobile.

“What's wrong with you?” he barked. “Be still, woman. And when the hell did you put on that perfume?”

He didn't know.

I immediately relaxed. It was one thing to desire him, but quite another for him to know about it. He seemed like the type of man who would use that against me, mock me.

“Get off me,” I said more calmly.

“What are you going to do if I don't?” he asked. “I've got you pinned, and you know what? There's not a damn thing you can do about it. So it looks like you've got yourself a bit of a problem.”

“You think so?” I replied, nearly breathless. I had to get him off of me before I did something stupid. Like whimper…or spread my legs.

“I do,” he said confidently. There was a pause, then, “Was I too rough?” he asked gruffly.

I forced myself not to struggle. “I happen to like it rough.”

“Liar.” His voice was now low and husky. Full of sexual energy. “I think you like it slow and tender.”

My God, if he kept talking to me like that, I was going to rip off his shorts and demand he take me right here. “Damn you. Don't you want to teach me a lesson?”

“Maybe next time.” He paused. “When a man has you pinned like this, the best thing you can do is bite his arm and use the distraction to twist yourself around.” Before I could take his advice, he jumped off me and stood to his feet.

Feeling strangely bereft, I wrenched to my back and kicked, swiping his feet out from under him. Down, down he tumbled. I laughed when he hit. “To do something like that?” I asked him.

His laughter mingled with mine, the sound of it raw and genuine. He didn't move to rise, but remained in place. “Good move.”

“Thank you.”

When our amusement died, he anchored one of his arms behind his neck and frowned. “I want that bastard EenLi killed. Not because it's our assignment, but because he deserves to die.”

I glanced over at his profile; it was as harsh and savage a view as full frontal. “You make it sound personal.”

“Every mission is personal, but I'm sure Michael told you EenLi used to work here.”

“He did.”

“When he left, he killed several agents. Agents who were my friends.” Lucius turned to face me, the glint in his eyes feral, hard. “If at any time I think you're holding me back, I swear to God I'll kill you myself.”

My eyes narrowed. “I'm only going to say this once.” I held up one finger, just in case he needed a visual. “I'll speak slowly so you understand. If
you
hold me back, I'll send you crying back to your mommy—cut up like a little girl.”

Another flash of amusement played at the corners of his lips. “Good with knives, are you?”

“Very,” I said with utter confidence.

“Fair enough. Warning received.” Quick as a snap, he rolled on top of me and pinned my shoulders to the mat with his knees.

I quickly brought my legs up behind him and wrapped my ankles around his neck. My thigh muscles ached when I jerked him backward. Down he went, up I went. The moment his back hit, I used the momentum to pull myself the rest of the way up and planted my elbow in his stomach.

His breath whooshed out. “That's the second time you've elbowed me,” he panted.

“Has EenLi showed up anymore?” I asked, quickly pushing to my feet. Just for fun, I dropped and thrust my elbow into his lungs.

“Damn it!” When he caught his breath, Lucius said, “A few more times in New Dallas. We think he murdered a human female.”

“That's not his usual MO. EenLi abducts, rapes, and tortures. He rarely kills. There's no profit in a dead body.”

“I know. I think he's desperate and made a mistake.” Lucius spun and lashed out, his foot slamming into my forearm. Into my wound.

I winced, but maintained my balance. My God, that hurt. He wanted me to cry “unfair,” but I didn't give him the satisfaction. I leapt, whirling in the air, one fist cocked and ready. Contact. I nailed him in the temple.

His chin whipped to the side.

“It usually takes him months to round up the right slave candidates, since he only wants those that meet his buyers' specifications,” I said. “Why act hastily now?”

“From what you told Michael,” he said, dancing to the side when I came at him again, causing me to miss him, “some of his last shipment died from some sort of sickness. His buyers wouldn't have liked that. They asked for a certain number, I'm sure, so he has to supply that exact number. And don't forget, you killed his top man, so he's doing some of the dirty work himself now.”

“Makes sense.” Since the move had worked for me before, I went low, kicked out. My leg connected with his ankles. When he tumbled down, I jumped and pinned his shoulders with my knees, my crotch near his face.

He met my eyes, then purposefully slid his gaze slid downward. “Nice view.”

I shivered and tried to halt the new flicker of awareness sparking within me. Short, inky locks of hair spiked over his forehead, giving him a just-roused-from-bed appearance. “Look, I'm not like other women you know. I'm tougher than you think. I've done things and been places most people only fear.”

“You're still a woman,” he said, as if that explained every secret of the universe. “And you're a Raka, the most peaceful race ever to slink their way onto this planet.”

Slink? I should break his nose for that. “I'm a Rakan woman who kills people for a living. I'm not afraid of you, and I'm not afraid of EenLi. I
will
kill him.”

An unreadable emotion glimmered in his eyes, and I wondered what he was feeling. Admiration? I wished. Doubt? Most likely.

“Why do you choose to kill other-worlders when you yourself are an other-worlder? Isn't that like killing your own brother?”

“My reasons are my own and no business of yours.”

“I've read your file,” he said. “No reason is mentioned.”

Stunned, I blinked. Michael had the nerve to delete Lucius's file so I would have to learn about him on my own, but he left my file for the man to peruse at his leisure? Fury seared me, and lightning snapped along my tongue. “Like my reasoning, my file is my business and mine alone.”

He remained unperturbed. “I'll be honest. You're a contradiction, and I haven't figured you out yet. By killing other-worlders, you protect humans,” he said, “but humans hunt your people for their golden skin.”

“I'm as much an earthling as you are. I was born here, raised here. The fact that I'm Rakan…” I gave a stiff shrug. “You're human. Would you kill a human if you had to?”

“Absolutely,” he said. His eyebrows arched. “Would you?”

“Absolutely,” I replied. “You, in particular. Some people, no matter their race or gender, are bad and need to be destroyed. That's the only way peace will be reached.”

Those full lips of his curved sensuously, and I had the sudden, unwelcome urge to lean down and nibble them.

“You want to know what Michael plans for us today or what?” he asked.

I nodded and fought a rise of color in my cheeks because I'd forgotten Michael's dictate so easily. Stupid lust. I didn't like this man. Remember?

“Last night one of our agents caught Sahara Rose. She's being held in New Dallas,” he said, not bothering to try and move me off of him. “Michael wants us to fly there and question her, get whatever information we can.”

I nearly jumped to my feet in excitement and anticipation, but managed to remain where I was. “When do we leave?”

“Two hours.” He clasped his hands over my thighs and squeezed. Not enough to hurt, but enough to get my attention. “I want to question her alone, which means you need to stay here.”

I laughed. I just couldn't help myself. “You're kidding me, right?”

“There's no way you'll get answers out of her. You look about as scary as a bowl of warm honey.”

“Looks do not determine ability,” I ground out, losing all traces of humor. I'd heard similar words my entire life. As a teenager, my spoiled, pampered self had loved that kind of statement. As an adult, and in light of my recent failure, I hated—
hated!
—hearing such a thing.

“And don't even get me started on your mouth,” he continued.

“What about my mouth?” I asked slowly.

“It's a two-hundred-dollars-an-hour mouth, not a tell-me-all-your-secrets-or-I'll-kill-you mouth.”

“You know what?” I said. Oh, this was going to be fun. He obviously had no idea what he was about to encounter with his interrogation. “I'm willing to make a bet with you. I'll give you ten minutes to get a single answer out of Sahara Rose. A single answer.” I'd followed the woman for days. I knew her. Lucius, with his towering build and hard-ass I-don't-give-
a-shit edge, would intimidate her into absolute silence.

Wicked intent gleamed in his expression. “And when I
do
get an answer out of her?” he asked, both brows raised.

“I'll let you have my mouth for free.”

He didn't hesitate. “Agreed.”

“Don't you want to know what I get if you fail?”

“I don't plan to fail.”

“You still have to offer me something I want.”

Now he hesitated. “What?” he asked suspiciously.

“When your ten minutes are up, I want you to step aside and shut the hell up. I'll get the information we need. Afterward, you're going to get on your knees and praise my ability.”

His lips stretched to a full, anticipatory grin. “Agreed. But get ready, cookie.” He lifted up, getting so close I felt the warmth of his breath on my face. “I want your mouth all over me.”

I
want your mouth all over me.

I tried not to think about Lucius's parting words as I luxuriated in the softness and decadence of Michael's private ITS—Ionic Transport System—a jet that ran on vibrations of subparticle strings of energy rather than gasoline. Complete with four laser cannons and retractable wings. I tried not to imagine my mouth devouring Lucius's hard, muscled body, his moans of pleasure in my ears, his hands gripping my hair, the taste of him teasing my tongue.

Unfortunately, I thought of little else and spent nearly every moment of the flight to New Dallas lost in a sensual haze. The cloying scent of honey still wafted from me—and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. At least Lucius hadn't mentioned my ‘perfume' again. I might die of acute mortification if he did—I could even picture the headline of my obituary:

“Alien Assassin Survives Antique Gunshot, Laser, Knife Wounds, Poison, and Explosion, Only to Succumb to the Stupid-ass Comment of a Human Male.”

I pushed out a breath and settled deeper into the plush leather seat. The private, luxury ITS offered a smooth ride, a lavish sapphire couch and a gilded table. If it weren't for the panoramic view of white clouds and blue sky, I might have convinced myself I lounged at home, reflecting on the success of my last mission.

Instead, here I was. A failure. Partnered. Lusting after a human.

Rakas were sensual by nature. Creatures of peace, pleasure, and decadence—qualities I'd battled for many years, and thought I had conquered. Or rather, killed, along with all of my victims.

I sighed. I hadn't set out to become an assassin. I asked to train with Michael and his agents simply to spend more time with my father. To impress him. He respected his men, and I'd wanted that respect for myself. Wanted to be more than his spoiled, pampered,
lazy
daughter—something he'd been teased about often. He'd never complained, had actually taken pleasure in indulging me, but I had begun to notice the difference between his men and me.

Reluctantly Michael agreed to let me participate. Throughout training, I was pushed as hard as the men. I fought, I hunted, I learned the intricacies of weapons. Afterward, I watched my male counterparts leave and return from assignments while I remained behind. I heard them discuss the atrocities being committed by their targets, and I felt their pride at protecting those weaker than themselves.

Becoming an agent soon became my real goal. As the days passed, it was less about Michael and more about
me.
What I could do to help.

Finally Michael allowed me a chance to prove myself. That first kill had been less difficult than I'd expected. Less difficult than everyone expected. I was a Raka, sensual, a peace lover, true, but I had easily taken life. That's when I realized the destruction of evil was a sensual dance and my means of keeping the peace. Killing
was
my nature.

Lucius stretched out his long, thick legs, eating my personal space. He sat across from me, no part of our bodies touching. Still, I felt the heat of him, and I didn't like it. I didn't like him, period. He upset my inner balance. An inner balance I desperately needed. After all, I destroyed aliens and humans for a living, violently, without thought or regret. One single distraction could get
me
killed.

I
knew
that. I did. Yet here I was, consumed by a man who made me ache in ways that had nothing to do with physical injuries.

I stole a quick glance at him, my gaze locking on his lips. Though pink and lush, they somehow appeared hard just then. Abrasive. Just like the rest of him. But I didn't think they'd be hard when kissing a woman. No, they'd be tender and silky. Hot. Perfect. Utterly perfect.

A man who looked like he did, comprised of razors and nails, muscle and sinew, belonged in wars. Not on top of a woman, giving untold pleasure. And yet I'd be willing to bet he excelled at both. Not that I would ever find out first hand.

Shifting to the side, I allowed myself to take in the rest of him. The change in his appearance still surprised me. The man had somehow transformed himself before leaving New Mexico. After our
innocent
tussle in Michael's basement gym, we'd gone our separate ways to shower and change clothes. Lucius had emerged with his dark hair bleached completely white, his left eyebrow pierced, and the base of his throat sporting a skull tattoo. He looked sexy as hell.

“Want to tell me what you're thinking about?” he asked casually.

My heart hammered at the sound of his voice. Like I was going to admit that little gem.

He hadn't said a word about the change, and neither had I. I could guess why he'd done it. Obviously he'd been to New Dallas before—under a different identity.
This
identity. He'd probably worked with the men we were meeting, and they knew him as this man.

Lucius continued to watch me, I noticed, his ice-blue gaze intent. At least his eye color hadn't changed. That sexy, electric blue should never be concealed.

“You might as well tell me,” he said. “I'll get it out of you sooner and later, and you'll be doing yourself a favor if it's sooner.”

“I'm just imagining your failure with Sahara Rose,” I lied.

His pierced black brow arched, raising the silver stud. “If the thought of my failure is what put that ‘fuck-me-now' expression on your face, keep thinking about it. Please.” The last word sounded foreign on his tongue, as if he'd never spoken it before.

I fought to keep my expression neutral, to keep from scowling. With his words, he placed his pleasure-giving image right back in the gutter of my fantasies.

“Must you be so crude?” I ground out.

“We kill people for a living, cookie, and you're balking at my language?”

We might both be killers, but we were different on so many levels. I worked for peace, for the good of the people. He worked for money. My allegiance would never waver. His probably shifted with the wind.

“Oh, wait,” he added. “You're a princess, a spoiled little rich girl. And don't try to deny it. I've heard stories about your teenage years. Crying and pouting when you didn't get what you wanted. ‘I asked for a blue dress, Daddy, not green,'” he mimicked in a high voice. “Boohoo.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course you're balking at my language. Girls like you can't be happy, no matter their circumstances.”

My eyes narrowed. I was
not
that girl anymore. I hadn't been for a long, long time. When I began my agent training, I'd even stopped calling Michael “Daddy.” I'd called him what every other agent called him. “Too bad there isn't a price on your head,” I muttered. “You're one target I'd take great joy in destroying.”

“Who says there isn't a price on my head?”

My brows arched. “Is there?”

He shrugged. “You're the hotshot tracker. You tell me.”

Our gazes clashed and held. Some invisible force refused to release me from its grip as I studied him. His features were as granite-hard and unreadable as ever. Nothing about his expression or body language betrayed his thoughts.

“Okay. Maybe there's more than one,” I said. “You're not the kind of guy who knows how to play nice. Most likely, you have enemies in every city, country, and hellhole you've ever entered.”

The moment I spoke the word “play,” his eyes dropped to my lips. The word actually hung between us like a living, breathing thing. Was he imagining naked, sweaty bodies? Drugging kisses and pleasure?

I glared at him, silently commanding him to look away. He didn't. In fact, his stare became more intently focused on my mouth. Such intense scrutiny unnerved me, but I was used to controlling my actions. My body would obey the will of my mind, not my lust. I wanted to squirm and turn away, but I forbade myself even an inch of movement. For my job, I'd often sat in one place for hours, surveying my prey, not giving away my location by a single breath.

I decided to challenge him by turning his own question against him. “What are
you
thinking about?”

He arched his pierced brow again. “Do you want the honest answer or the same shit you gave me when I asked?” He didn't give me time to reply, but finished with, “I'll give you the honest answer.” He leaned forward, his mouth twisting upward, his eyes darkening. “I'm thinking how hot and wet and eager your lips will be when I win our bet.”

“You don't even like me.”

“I don't have to like you to want you.”

How like a man. Thankfully the landing gear moaned as it disengaged, saving me from slicing that smug grin off his face with the three-pronged razor strapped to my ankle. Never mind that I didn't like him and wanted him myself.

The self-driving ITS glided smoothly into its programmed location, a private airstrip in New Dallas. Lucius and I hustled outside. A step behind him, I found myself watching the way his butt moved. Nice. Damn him.

The sun glared directly overhead, causing midday heat to wrap around me. My gold skin burned easily, more easily than a human's. When possible, I wore long-sleeved shirts (with accessible slits for weapon handling) and tight black pants (also with accessible slits). I slid my dark sunglasses into place. Because I belonged to a hunted race, I also shoved my golden hair under a black ball cap.

A fine sheen of sweat formed, and a dirt-laden breeze kicked up. I hurried into the air-conditioned back seat of a bullet- and laserproof black Hummer. Two of Michael's employees waited in the front. Both were physically fit humans in their mid-thirties. I recognized them and nodded. Ren, the muscled brute in the passenger seat, had asked me out on numerous occasions. I'd always turned him down. His wandering eye irritated me.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said.

“No problem, baby,” Ren said, giving me a welcoming smile. “Anything for you.” As he spoke, he sent me a wink. He even skimmed his gaze over my body, and I wouldn't have doubted if he mentally willed my legs apart.

Any reply I offered would have encouraged him. I knew that from experience. So I kept my mouth closed.

The easy atmosphere changed when Lucius entered the vehicle and folded his big frame beside me. Ren avoided looking directly at him, but his lips pressed together in disdain. The driver, Marko, whipped around, facing us. His olive complexion and dark eyes were rosy with…fury?

“You guys have met before, I take it,” I muttered.

“He broke my fucking nose,” Marko snarled.

Lucius remained unperturbed. “I'll break it again if you don't turn your ass around and get us where we need to be.”

There was a sizzling pause, a suspended moment between the escalating tension where I was one hundred percent confident the three men were going to kill each other. Wait. Let me rephrase. I was one hundred percent confident Lucius would kill Marko and Ren. I doubted anyone or anything could hurt Lucius Adaire.

And wasn't that a funny realization? When I'd first meet the man, I'd accused him of being all brawn and no brains, too pretty to actually fight. He'd proven himself capable during our training session. I'd give him that much.

I adjusted the sunglasses on my nose. Obviously, Lucius had served time in the military. Special forces, black ops maybe. Perhaps he'd even worked for A.I.R. at one time. He moved silently, fluidly, with the patent stillness of a predator. He didn't balk at the thought of violence; he embraced it.

I still didn't want him as my partner, though. How could I prove myself? How could I prove my worth and my capabilities with this tough man at my side? Despite his threats to let me die if I got in his way, he just might jump in front of me if gunshots erupted. Agents were protectors by nature, and he wouldn't be able to help himself.

“I'm not paid by the hour, ladies, so let's get this job done,” Lucius added.

I watched as Marko's flush turned ruddy, his eyes narrowed to dark slits. He slowly turned away from us. His back and shoulders were stiff, and an aura of fury radiated from him. Ren was slower to turn around. He glanced from Lucius to me, from me to Lucius. He'd never seen me with another agent before, so undoubtedly he wondered what the hell I was doing with this one. I offered no explanation, and switched my attention to the window.

Trees were dry and yellow from lack of water. Tumbleweed rolled up the fenced enclosure and along the runway, and men rushed to remove them. Seconds later our coordinates were programmed into the car and we were speeding down winding back roads. No one spoke. In the silence, my awareness of Lucius became electric, a spark begging to burst into flame. The hard length of his thigh pressed against the firmness of mine. Where our clothes met, my nerve endings sizzled. He smelled good. Too good. Like soap and man and a hint of Michael's woodsy cigars.

To preserve my sanity, I forced my mind from such dangerous territory and concentrated on the coming confrontation with Sahara Rose. Such a gentle, fragile creature, and that fragility made her a weak link in EenLi's chain. I'd always wondered why the slaver had used the girl. Stupidity? Or desire? The latter was most likely the answer. Desire could make the sanest of people do foolish things. Wasn't I becoming proof of that?