Killing Time (One-Eyed Jacks) (27 page)

“Um . . . I’m naked. So yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

To erase any doubt on his part, she wedged her hand inside his pants and, with a thrill that shot through her like electricity, found him, hard and hot and pulsing.

“Well,” he said on a groan as she squeezed her fingers around him, “since you asked so nice.”

She laughed, then gasped when he flipped her to her back and found her breast with his mouth.

She held him there, knotted her hands in the coarse silk of his hair and showed him with a whimper
how much she loved what he was doing to her. His mouth . . . she hitched in a breath and arched into him . . . his mouth was ravenous. His tongue masterful as he flicked it over her nipple, never letting up on the suction, finessing her to an edge that was sharp and thrilling.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured, trailing kisses between her breasts to her other nipple, which he sucked and lightly bit and tugged into his mouth with equal measures of greed and gratification.

When he pulled away to shed his clothes she helped him, frantically working the snap on his pants and lowering the zipper. He left the bed long enough to strip to the skin, dig around inside his duffel—thank God he’d brought condoms—and lay back down beside her.

“I know we talked about
me
sleeping on
you
,” he said, handing her the packet.

God love him, he was irrepressible. And she loved it. She pushed to her knees, then threw a leg over his hips and straddled him.

“Don’t. Move,” he ground out as she settled herself over him.

“Yeah . . . like that’s a possibility.”

He laughed and groaned and circled her waist with his hands and held her down on him—open and vulnerable and weak with desire for him.

Holding the packet between her teeth, she ground herself against him, loving the feel of him hot and damp and thick against her. Loving the ache that
built in her belly, making her wet and wanting to forget the condom and feel him move inside her, skin on skin.

He reached between them, caressed her clitoris with his thumb, and she almost came in his hand.

“Mike . . .” She whispered his name on a sigh. She lifted her hips and reached for him. She wanted him inside. She wanted him there now.

“Oh, no.” He gripped her waist and lifted her, then pressed a kiss against her pubic mound.

“I can’t . . .” She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t stop him, didn’t want to, as he lifted her higher, guided her knees above his shoulders, then buried his mouth in her heat.

It was like riding out an electrical storm, all fire flashes and lightning bolts and turbulence. She groped for the headboard, desperate to ground herself. She clamped her fingers around it and hung on as he took her through a vortex of sensation she wasn’t sure she would survive.

His tongue was relentless as he probed and plied and sucked, until she pressed her mouth against her arm to keep from screaming.

And still he licked and suckled, until the insane pleasure burst in an explosion too perfect to comprehend.

She was crying softly by the time he drew her down his body and wrapped himself around her, while she trembled and fought for a breath that wasn’t a sob.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here,” he whispered
against her hair, “and guess that that was good for you.”

She weakly pounded once on his chest. “Shut up. You know you destroyed me.”

He cupped her head in his big hands and kissed her hair. “In a good way, right?”

She found the strength to push up to an elbow. “You can’t help yourself. You have to gloat, don’t you?”

He skimmed his fingertips along her shoulder. “I didn’t think you could possibly look more beautiful.” Trailed his fingers through hair that had been tangled by his hands. “Look at you.”

“And look at you,” she whispered, and dropped her gaze to the gorgeous, jutting length of his erection. Pushing to her hands and knees, she moved deliberately down the bed. “We need to do something about that.”

She knelt over him, shoved a handful of hair over her shoulder, and met his eyes. Then she took him in her mouth and showed him a few relentless tactics of her own. Tactics that had him clenching his teeth, and breaking a sweat and arching off the bed as though what she was doing to him was the beginning and the end of everything that mattered in his life.

Feeling humiliated and mean with it, Lawson slapped the girl across the face, then shoved her off him.

“Get out. And stop whimpering.”

She was sixteen. Skin like ivory. High, firm breasts. The brightest flower in his harem, and she had come with her mother’s blessings. Not that blessings mattered; everyone knew the rules here. He maintained absolute power. He took what he wanted. And he’d wanted her tonight. That mouth had finished him off like melting ice cream more times than he could count.

But not tonight. Tonight he lay here, flaccid and impotent and glaring at her naked ass as she gathered her clothes and scrambled for his bedroom door.

Fucking prostate.

He hated getting old. He shouldn’t feel this old; he was only sixty, for chrissake. Prime of his life. A warrior. He’d done things, seen things, made things happen. Hell, he commanded his own army—ragtag bunch of misfits that they were.

He propped the pillows behind his head, then reached for the glass of scotch sitting on his bedside table. Took a slow sip. Stupid fucks, all of them. Not a day went by that he didn’t want to clock Simmons for saying or doing something so stupid he shouldn’t be allowed to live. To a man, they actually believed the bullshit he fed them about overthrowing the government. And the women were nothing but sheep. Stupid, mindless sheep. It made him sick to be around them.

He needed Hill back to rule the camp and free him up to do what he did best: making deals and money.

He craned his neck, found the open bottle of scotch and refilled the glass, then sipped some more. They didn’t get that UWD was all a front. A way to keep Uncle focused on a backwoods anarchist group so he could continue to run his main operation without interference.

He’d picked the right horse to run with fifteen years ago. Stingray was smart. Arrogant bastard, but smart. He’d kept their dealings out of the U.S. for the most part. The Juarez deal . . . that was a little different. And possibly the reason he was stressed to the point of impotence.

He contemplated the amber liquid in the glass he’d rested on his chest. He didn’t like bringing their business here. Made him nervous. But this deal . . . this deal was big. His cut alone would net him a cool half mil. His “army” would actually come in handy—provided they could get their heads out of
their asses long enough to protect the camp and the shipments.

He lifted the glass off his chest and sat up abruptly.

What this camp needed was new blood. Dan Walker struck him as a man who could provide it. Walker had an axe to grind—unlike most of the men here who simply had no place else to go.

And Walker’s wife? The photos his source had pulled off the Internet for him were impressive. A woman, not a girl. His cock stirred when he thought about her . . . which made him smile. Maybe if he’d called on the lovely Mrs. Walker to keep him company tonight, the outcome would have been entirely different.

What better test for them? The ultimate bow to his will? He didn’t imagine Dan would like it much. But it was early. He’d give it time. And in the meantime, he’d savor the possibility.

New blood. That’s what the Walkers brought to the table. He’d already placed a call to Hill, who had backed up Walker’s story. Barry had surprised him by going as far as suggesting he consider placing Walker in an officer’s position. His former second in command’s opinion held a lot of sway. He had a good feeling about Walker, but it was way too soon to think along those lines. So far, everything Walker had told him checked out. So it looked promising . . . but it was far too early to decide if he was trustworthy. He’d see how it went.

At the moment, he had bigger irons in the fire than
vetting new recruits. He expected a call any day now. And he was ready. If he pulled this off, he might actually pack it in and buy that place in Fiji. Or maybe he’d go back to Thailand. The women there knew how to take care of a man.

Even an old one, he thought again with disgust when he realized he had to take a piss. Again.

Fucking prostate.

•   •   •

First light had broken through the thin curtains on the windows a little over an hour ago. Mike had been awake for most of that hour. Awake and watching Eva. She was still asleep beside him, her hair fanned around her head on the pillow that was bathed in a soft morning glow. Awake and thinking.

About a lot of things. Like how she was so stunningly gorgeous, sometimes he had to remind himself to breathe when he looked at her. Like how athletic she was in bed, and how she totally abandoned herself to a dedicated and enthusiastic giving and receiving of pleasure.

About life’s little habit of lobbing wrenches into plans and laying waste to the best of intentions. God’s truth, he had
not
intended to make love to her—which didn’t explain why he’d tossed the condoms into his duffel at the last minute, but that was beside the point. He’d been a Boy Scout. Still swore by the
Be Prepared
motto. So sue him. He was damn glad he’d raided Gabe’s supply.

As for his plans . . . he didn’t have any. Zip. Nada.
Not one single solitary idea of what happened next in his life other than putting his pants on in the morning and flying his Beechcraft wherever the wind blew him. Until she’d come along, he’d been fine with that. No plan, no pressure. No problem. And no way to live a life.

Eva had clarified that for him. Not only with her very vocal—and spot-on—assessment of all his failings, but with her fire and determination. Her fearlessness. Her honor. She’d been right to look for answers. And she’d been right about him. He’d checked out. For eight years he’d been killing time. Taking up space. And it was wrong.

He owed her for that awakening. Regardless of how this turned out, because of her he wasn’t ever going to be content to drift again. Or to settle again. He needed to be the man he’d once planned on being. He needed to be a man worthy of a woman like her.

If she’d have him.

When this was over, he was sure as hell going to find out.

So yeah, he thought, smiling when she stirred and wrinkled her nose and curled onto her side, tucking her hands, prayerlike, beneath her cheek. Maybe giving in to her had been a good thing.

Well, duh. Yeah. She’d blown his mind. All that passion. All that fire. All that vulnerability that she opened herself up to.

Yeah. A very good thing.

But more than that, he’d needed a catalyst to help
him focus on the task at hand. She’d provided it last night. There was no conceivable way he wasn’t going to get her out of here alive. Just like there was no way he was leaving without getting the goods on Lawson to expose the sadistic bastard for what he was.

But even more than he needed vindication, she needed closure about what happened to Ramon. As much as she’d given him last night, as much as she’d opened herself up to him physically, he didn’t have a chance under the sun of an emotional commitment from her until she got what she’d come for. The chance to clear her dead husband’s name.

He wondered what it said about him that he was jealous of a dead man. Wondered what it said that despite his best effort, he still had the urge to wake her slowly and make love to her one more time. He rose instead, careful not to disturb her, and stepped into his pants. He couldn’t fault her for wanting to know about Ramon. He thought it was admirable. Heroic. And bullheaded stubborn, which was another trait about her that he respected and yes, damn it, loved.

The idea still made him a little light-headed.

Which was why he decided to table any discussion about love and future for the duration. Grabbing his shirt from the floor, he dragged it over his head and walked over to the door.

The first thing he noticed when he looked through the multipaned window was their Jeep parked in front of the cabin. The second thing that registered was that Wagoner’s truck was gone. After checking out
as much of the perimeter as he could, he was pretty much convinced that no one had taken Wagoner’s place on guard duty.

Interesting. He tried the door—and got another surprise when it creaked open with only a gentle nudge.

“What do you suppose that means?”

He turned around at the sound of Eva’s voice. She propped herself up on an elbow; her hair tumbled over the left side of her face in a tangle of silk and trailed down her shoulder, the ends kissing the tip of her left breast that the slipping sheet revealed.

“The unlocked door?” He crossed to the bed and planted a hip beside hers. “I’d say it means that Lawson liked what Gabe and the guys planted about us when he did his cyber-snoop and put out feelers to Hill. The Jeep’s parked out front and Wagoner’s gone.”

She lifted her hand to scoop all that glorious hair away from her face and it was all he could do not to lean into her . . . maybe start nibbling on that pale, delicate flesh on the inside of her upper arm . . . or maybe lower his head and take a pouting, pretty nipple in his mouth, then lay her back, spread her thighs, and find the heart of her again with his tongue and suck until she screamed his name.