Enslave Me Sweetly (7 page)

“Me. I'm already in.”

Of course. Every muscle in my body clenched.

“He knows me as Hunter Leonn,” Lucius said, “the wealthy, pampered son of a dead Onadyn smuggler.”

“Hunter,” I said, playing the name across my tongue. “Cute. Nice irony. I also like the pampered part. You make a lovely spoiled little prince.” I jerked a hand down my ponytail. “So you want me to sit back and watch you do the job, I guess.”

“No.” Moving his head left and right, he popped in the bones in his neck. When he spoke again, he broke down the situation like I was a child. “I go in as Hunter. You'll go in after me as bait.”

“Okay. So…who am I to become?”

“Yourself. You're a Raka, a rarity. Your people have been hunted for their skin and are now nearly extinct. We can't change your identity. More than that, Michael is high-profile. Most believe he's a wealthy weapons dealer, and too many people know you as his daughter.”

“I'm with you.” Michael purposefully cultivated his image as a weapons dealer. After taking a job with the government, he'd needed a good cover, something that offered mass appeal to criminals and distanced him from his true identity. “Wait,” I said after a moment's thought. “EenLi used to work for Michael. If I go in as myself, he'll suspect I'm an agent. He'll know Michael is protecting me.”

“He won't know about me, however, and that's the important thing. From everything I've read on him, I think he'll find it amusing to steal an agent.”

“All right. I'm on board.”

“Good. We're going to spread the word that Eden Black is moving to New Dallas. You're getting old, anyway, so you need a place of your own.”

I sucked in a breath, the scent of sun, pine, and blooming flowers taunting me with their vibrant freshness. I glared up at him. A good motivation, yes, but not something I wanted to hear.

“Actually, we'll tell people you're moving out to escape a stalker. Does that suit your vanity?”

I punched his arm.

“You've acted as an other-worlder interpreter for Michael in the past,” he said, rubbing the bruised muscle. “We'll find out which high-powered humans are in need of an other-worlder interpreter. As their employee, you'll have to attend parties and political functions, and that will put you in contact with Parker. And me. Your stalker.” He eyed me up and down, lingering on my breasts. “Think you can handle it?”

A wave of awareness battled with a flood of irritation. I ignored his stupid question, already making a mental list of the things I needed to do. Rent an apartment here. Obtain a new wardrobe. Recondition my feet to high heels.

“I'll work my way back into Jonathan's circle,” he said, “and mention that I met you, learned you were moving here, and followed. I'll let him know that I wanted you, pursued you, but you turned me down.”

“That won't be difficult, since it's the truth.”

“Shut up and listen.” He glared at me. “You'll begin attending all the parties, and I'll play the lovesick fool.”

I opened my mouth to offer another little gem: it was always best to stick to the truth, so we didn't get caught in a lie. He cut me off with, “You'll continue to rebuff me. Hard. I'll grow more desperate.”

“I see where this is leading,” I said. “After I turn you down, you'll place an order for me.”

“That's right. Other men will probably want you too, if not Jonathan himself. Either way there
will
be an order placed for you, and you'll be taken. All you have to do is let them take you.”

I nodded my head in approval. “I like it. How are we going to proceed after that?”

“I'll buy you, whatever the cost, then purchase us passage to another planet, where I will claim that I can keep you without worrying about legalities.”

“And once we know how they're planet-hopping, we strike.”

“Exactly. You're going to need new clothes,” he said, giving me another intense perusal, a perusal that stripped away my clothes and devoured the naked body underneath. When his eyes reached my breasts, my nipples hardened. When they reached my stomach, my belly quivered. When they reached the apex of my thighs, a flood of warmth pooled there.

“I'd already thought of that,” I said, my voice hoarse, dry. “I'm still known as Michael's spoiled, reclusive daughter. I know how to dress the part.”

“Good. Because a sophisticated interpreter would not wear”—he gestured to my scuffed leather pants and hiking boots—“whatever it is you're wearing.”

“Thank you for the fashion advice, Sparkie. I've always wanted a pierced, tattooed, bleached-out muscle boy to tell me how inept my fashion sense is.”

His lips twitched. “Go to Michael. Tell him—”

“I know what to do.” I arched a brow. “Can you say the same?”

“Yes. Smart-ass. Like I said, I'm going to renew my acquaintance with Jonathan. Give me three weeks before you show up. But no later, you hear me? Three weeks.”

I batted my lashes at him and walked my fingers across his chest. “Why, Lucius Adaire, aka Hunter Leonn and Bastard Extraordinaire. I do believe you're going to miss me.”

“No, baby doll, but you're going to miss me.”

With no more warning than that, he jerked me into the hardness of his body, his lips instantly slanting over mine. His tongue thrust into my mouth, deep and probing. I moaned at the pleasure of it, at the heady flavor of him, and sank deeper into his embrace. I didn't protest, though I knew I should have. No, I tangled my tongue with his. My teeth banged into his. I gripped his head and held him to me. I think I had wanted this since the first time I saw him.

His arms felt like steel bands as they wrapped around me. His palms splayed out over my back and dipped lower…and lower…cupping my butt and pressing me into his erection. I spread my legs for better contact. Even through his clothing I could feel the long length of him, the thickness.

I'd never craved a man like I craved him.
You don't like him, remember?

So what,
my body responded. I'd have him and get him out of my system. Out of my mind.

The fragrance of honey and flowers seeped from me, surrounding us as surely as the trees, billowing sweetly in the wind. I didn't panic at the telltale sign this time. I welcomed it. The intoxicating scent blended with the pine soap scent of Lucius, creating an intoxicating aphrodisiac.

With his hands still cupping me, he lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he backed me up against a thick tree trunk. The bark bit past my shirt, but I didn't care.

“You've been driving me crazy, cookie.” His voice whispered huskily along the column of my neck, making the nickname sound like an endearment.

I didn't comment. I was incapable of speech. All I could think about was stripping him naked and impaling myself on him. Riding him hard and fast. And often.

“It's that mouth of yours,” he continued. He nipped at my jaw, ran his teeth along my earlobe. “I can't stop thinking about it. I hate it. I
should
hate it.”

As I panted, I forced myself to find my voice. “Do you like my mouth better when it tells you to kiss me again?” I said rawly. “When it tells you to take off your clothes because I want to see you naked?”

He groaned.

My nipples pebbled, and I rubbed them against his chest, wishing we were already naked, wishing he was already inside me. It wasn't him I needed, I assured myself. Just sex. Only sex.

Instead of stripping me, he whipped away from me. My legs dropped to the ground. “Damn it,” he growled, tangling a hand in his hair. “This isn't the time or place.”

Several seconds passed before I found my equilibrium. When I did, his rejection nearly gouged me. More than his rejection, however, I resented his ability to stop what he'd started when I would have eagerly gone the rest of the way. Even though he was right. We both had jobs to do, and getting sexually involved right now was foolish.

My eyes narrowed as fury rained through my blood, fury with myself for allowing him to distract me. “Touch me again, and Michael will have one less employee. Do you understand?”

Lucius remained silent for a long while, watching me, studying my face. Obviously, he didn't like my threat. Very deliberately, he reached out and palmed one of my breasts, tracing his fingertips around the nipple.

I didn't stop him, but I wouldn't back down or show weakness.

“Why?” he said, his eyes slitting to match mine. “You fear you'll die from pleasure?”

“No. You'll die. And not from pleasure. See, I'll take this knife,” I patted the blade strapped next to his pride and joy, “and play a little pocket pool.”

He disengaged from me completely and frowned. The lines around his mouth went taut, and a fire kindled in his usually arctic eyes. “That's the second threat you've made against my dick.”

“Threat?” I laughed, the sound hollow. “Oh, no, Sparkie. It's a promise. And will be a pleasure.”

“Just so long as you'll play with it, I guess I don't care what you do. But you'll have to be patient and wait until after the mission.”

My hand twitched with the urge to blacken his eye. Maybe break his nose. “I usually don't have a temper,” I said, “but you push me past every boundary.”

“Two weeks,” he said gutturally, as if I'd never spoken. “I want you back here in two weeks.”

“You said three earlier.”

“Two weeks,” he repeated. “Or I'll hunt you down, and we'll finish this.”

Threat or promise?

God help me, but I foolishly hoped the latter.

S
harp, agonizing pain consumed me.

My body tensed against the assault it was even now enduring. Oh, God. I'd survived the extraction of copper bullets. I'd survived grenade blasts and C4 explosions. But this…

The pain was too sharp, too acute, spreading from one section of my body to another.

Fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut, I screamed, emitting a raspy sound more animal than human. My throat had already endured several similar screams in the past half-hour and now felt raw, aching.

If only my knives were nearby. My guns. Anything! But I was unarmed. I lay on a flat, white table, gripping the edges. I was vulnerable, exposed.

“I'm ready to do the other leg,” the woman responsible for my torment said. The diabolical, evil devil incarnate herself: the esthetician.

“No,” I gritted out. “Like hell you are.” Years ago, I'd had this done every month. I'd worn nothing but designer clothes, had always looked expensive and sophisticated. What a lifetime ago that seemed. “Getting one leg waxed was bad enough. You're not touching my other leg.”

“Big baby,” she mumbled, gathering her supplies. Long blond hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a delicate, elfin face. She was a wisp of a woman, just under five feet, with fragile bones and a tiny frame. Her angel face hid the beast inside.

I could snap her neck like a twig—and laugh joyously while doing so. Over the years I'd killed more people than I could count. Big baby? Me? I don't think so.

“Better be careful what you say to me, sweetheart,” I warned. Before she could respond, however, I added darkly, “Just do it. Finish. And hurry.”

My tormentor's rose-petal mouth twitched. If the bad guys learned about waxing, they'd be able to take torture to a whole new level.

“I expected more from you,” she said with a chuckle, applying warm, oozing, sticky wax to my right leg.

In the wake of laser treatments and follicle-killing creams, waxing had become obsolete for humans long ago. Unfortunately, such treatments permanently damaged Raka skin cells, forcing me to revert to these archaic practices.

As my tormentor jerked a strip of tape from my leg, quickly followed by another, and another, I pounded my fist against the table. I forced my thoughts elsewhere. Michael had already purchased and furnished an apartment for me in New Dallas, though I had yet to see it. I'd wondered, though—more often than I should have—if Lucius had sneaked inside and found the best escape routes and secured any weakened point of entry.

Most likely.

That man wouldn't leave anything to chance. But more than that, I doubted he trusted
me
to see to it. He was just like every other agent I knew, thinking women weren't as competent as men. I looked forward to proving them all wrong.

Most importantly, I looked forward to proving Lucius wrong.

Lucius…His picture formed in my mind. Cheekbones cut from glass. Aquiline nose. Piercing ice-blue eyes. Even in my mind, he regarded me with something akin to superiority. God, I despised him. I desired him. I hated him. I craved him. My teeth bit into my bottom lip. I hadn't seen him in seven days. I missed him. Yes, I hated him.

With one kiss, he'd consumed my mind, my good intentions, my common sense. He'd taken my sanity and scorched me to the core, somehow branding his name into my every cell. Most days, I thought of nothing but him. I saw his face when I bathed. I heard his voice when I slept. I felt his heat when I walked.

In the whole of my life, I'd had two lovers. Neither of them had affected me so strongly. So deeply. And that Lucius did, a man I wanted out of my life at the earliest possible moment, irritated me. Yet I still wanted to see him again. I hungered for the sight of him. And my hunger had nothing to do with the case.

What was he doing right now? What was he thinking? Had I passed through his mind even once?
Stop it, Eden. Just stop.
Lucius's thoughts didn't matter. All that mattered was that he'd renewed his acquaintance with Jonathan Parker and that our plan ran smoothly.

“There,” the esthetician said. “Your legs are finally done. That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“A knife wound
isn't so bad,
” I grumbled and sat up. My gaze traveled the length of my legs, examining the supple, golden skin. “Being chained to a wall and awaiting my enemy's arrival
isn't so bad.
”

She uttered a humorous snort. “You're acting just like a man. No, actually, most men would at least pretend to be tough.”

“Go ahead. Laugh it up.” I smiled darkly, leaning close. “But make sure you sleep with a weapon tonight.”

Unperturbed, she returned my smile. “We haven't even done the bikini area yet.”

I scowled.

Twenty minutes later, she laughingly waved me away. “I have never heard so much screaming.”

I grabbed up my pants and tugged them on. Then—God, would the torture never end?—I strapped on a pair of high heels. My feet had grown used to boots. I stalked (okay, hobbled and stumbled) from the room. With the torturous waxing complete, I spent the rest of the day inside my room being fitted for a new wardrobe. My feet ached constantly. I didn't mind wearing dress suits and flowing gowns, as long as they hid my weapons. I would
not
go without protection for any reason. Ever. The shoes, though…

“Don't forget,” I said to the seamstress, “to make room for my weapons.”

She rolled her eyes and knelt at my side, sticking her pins in the ice blue material. “You want me to add a codpiece, too?”

I leveled an irritated stare at her. “Only if you can make it extra large.” Did no one find me menacing? Damn it, my hands were stained with blood; I'd spent my life
killing
people.

“Funny,” she said dryly. “I've worked for Michael for many years. I know the drill.”

I at last found myself alone, but it didn't last. I didn't have time to change or sprawl across the bed before Michael knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

The door slid open, and he entered hesitantly. “Don't hurt me,” he said, tiptoeing to the seat by the window and sinking into the plump gold cushions.

Laughing, I removed my shoes and tossed them on the floor with a thump. Relief! “I can't believe I used to do this stuff all the time. Fittings, waxings. High heels.”

“I remember those days.” He grinned fondly and leaned his head against the chair's edge. “So how are you feeling?”

I eased into the white velvet settee across from him. My dress puffed around me. The seamstress had given me orders to remove it and hang it the moment she left. I took a small bit of pleasure in disobeying. “I feel like the pampered princess I've always been accused of being.”

He slid a long, thick cigar from his jacket pocket and placed the tip in his mouth. He didn't light it yet but savored the flavor as he studied me. “I meant, how are your injuries? I'm worried about you, sweetie.”

“One hundred percent healed.”

His brows winged up, and his eyes gleamed with doubt. “Not even a slight twinge of pain or weakness?”

“No,” I said, total deadpan. I didn't feel guilty about lying to Michael about my lack of injury. I was
almost
one hundred percent. But I didn't want him to worry about me. Or worse, doubt me.

The cigar rolled between his fingers as he said, “Would you tell me if there were?”

“No.”

Another grin lit his features. “That's what I thought. Stubborn, girl. That's what you are, and that's what you've always been.” His smile faded slightly. “You know, I never wanted you to be an agent.”

“I know,” I said, my tone soft.

“You came and asked me to let you train, and I…” He shrugged. “I just wanted you to learn how to protect yourself. Your kind is hunted. And my kind, well, you could have been abducted and used to get to me. I wanted you prepared. You proved stubborn, though, and wouldn't let me keep you behind the scenes.”

I chuckled. “I remember how you had me play doctor to injured agents to show me exactly what kind of pain I was asking for. ‘See the blood,' you said. ‘See the pain in his eyes because that's what you'll get if you choose this line of work.' ”

“But you never wavered.” There was pride in his voice.

“No. I never wavered. I wanted you to see me as strong and capable. Like your men.”

“I know.”

“I love that you trust me now, that you've given me another chance. I don't think I can ever express just what that means to me.”

Michael pushed to his feet and strode to the mini-bar. I insisted one be installed for my own personal use in every one of his homes. Sometimes it was the only way I could relax.

“You're my daughter,” he said. “No matter what blood runs through your veins, you're my daughter and I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Silence settled around us for several minutes before he said laughingly, “What kind of killers are we, having such a mush fest?” After clipping the end of his cigar, he claimed the nearest lighter and puffed. Smoke soon billowed around him. Cigarettes and cigars were illegal because they were air pollutants. But Michael lived in a world where he followed no rules but his own.

He poured a Scotch. “Want one?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He handed me the glass, and my fingers wrapped tightly around the cool container. He poured another. Sipping, I reveled in the way the smooth liquid warmed me and erased the twinges in my arm and side.

“Have you ever dealt with Jonathan Parker?” This was the first chance we'd had to talk business.

“From a distance.”

“I'd like to see your files on him.”

“Of course. They're in the study.”

I didn't bother with shoes, but went barefoot. I took my drink with me. God knows, I needed it. I felt more on edge today than I had in a long time. Silently, we strode down the stairs, past Oriental vases, metal sculptures of gods and goddesses, and the trickling rock waterfall he'd had built into one of the walls. When the sealed door to the study sensed our presence, it opened automatically. The cleaning crew had already left, so we were alone and didn't need to worry about prying eyes.

“Sit,” he said, indicating a dark brown leather recliner with a tilt of his head. “Relax.”

I obeyed without hesitation, resting in the chair across from his desk. I breathed in the familiar scent of leather.

He padded to that desk, rested his cigar in an ashtray, and palmed a remote. He pressed a series of buttons, dimming the lights and causing a holoscreen to materialize over the far wall. A man's image flashed into focus. Human, thirty-something. Pale hair, a long aristocratic nose. Thin lips, but a handsome visage nevertheless. Arrogant brown eyes regarded the world with a nothing-can-hurt-me gleam.

Even with the warnings about the sun's dangerous rays, Jonny Boy obviously spent a lot of time outside. His skin was deeply tanned and lined more than it should have been. An aura of self-importance enveloped him.

I disliked him already.

“Does he like women or men?” I asked.

“He likes power.”

“Typical.”

“He's been married three times. The first wife died in a car accident.” Michael pressed another button, and the image of a gorgeous young woman filled the screen. Black hair, green eyes. Flawless skin. “Her brand-new tires blew.”

“Convenient for him.”

“The second wife died in a car accident, as well.” Another young woman, this one with silvery white hair and big blue eyes, consumed the screen.

“Let me guess. Her brand-new tires blew?”

“No, her sensors gave out.”

“What tragic accident befell his third wife?” I asked.

“Amazingly enough, she's still alive.”

She wouldn't be for long, I thought. Not if Jonathan Parker had his way. I gazed up at the third wife's picture. Glossy red hair, sparkling brown eyes. A sultry vibe radiated from her.

“Obviously Parker likes his women young and pretty. Too bad they don't live long.” I tapped my knee with one finger, smashing the puffed, satin dress. “There wouldn't happen to be a hit on him, would there?”

Michael's entire expression lit with amusement, easing the age lines around his mouth. “At this time, no, there isn't a hit on Parker.”

“Too bad.” I took another sip of my Scotch and savored the rich taste in my mouth for a long while. I wondered what type of persona Lucius—a.k.a. Hunter—had donned in order to immerse himself in Parker's world. Lucius wouldn't be tattooed. Nor would he be pierced. Most likely he'd have to wear a suit and tie, perhaps sport a pair of glasses. A sigh slipped from me as I set my glass on the small table beside me. No matter what persona he used, he'd be sexy as hell.