Midnight Captive (22 page)

Sean’s fingers tightened on her hip, and his stubble abraded her chin as his warm lips found hers. “You’re never going back to him, luv.”

Because you’re mine.
The unspoken addendum echoed between them, and Bailey fought a rush of unease.

“Your turn again,” she said abruptly. “I want to know something—was last year the first time you pulled a twin switch on a woman, or had you done it before?”

“A sexual twin switch? That was the first time. Every woman I’ve ever slept with has known exactly who was fucking her. But Ollie and I switched places all the time when we were younger.”

Bailey tentatively touched his cheek, then gave in to temptation and stroked him. His whiskers scraped her fingertips, sending a shiver through her. He was so masculine. So addictive.

His eyes went heavy lidded as she explored his face, and she knew he was enjoying it. She rarely ever touched him outside a sexual context.

“Why would you switch places?” she asked curiously.

“Usually just to mess with people. Our parents, friends, teachers. If I forgot to study for a test, Ollie would take my place and ace it for me.”

“Of course he did.”

“Hey, I returned the favor,” Sean protested. “Whenever he was too chickenshit to ask out a girl, I’d step in and save the day.”

She had to smile. “It must be nice having a sibling. I always wanted a brother or sister.”

“You’re an only child?”

She nodded.

Sean’s expression grew serious again. “Okay, my turn. What did your mother do for a living?”

“She . . .” Bailey swallowed as the memories resurfaced. “She was the US ambassador in Turkey until I was
about ten. And then she got a post in Copenhagen. Before her diplomat days, she worked as the campaign manager for two presidents.”

“Impressive.” Sean paused. “And your father? What did he do?”

“He claimed to be a writer,” she said bitterly, “but he never published a damn word, and I never saw him do anything other than drown his resentment in a bottle of scotch.”

“He resented her, huh?”

“Big-time. He hated that her job was more important than his. He hated that she got all the attention when they went out socially. He hated that she was smarter than him, richer than him,
better
than him.”

“So he hit her.”

She nodded again.

His brow furrowed. “Why did she stay with him?”

“You’d have to ask her that.” Bailey’s voice cracked. “But whatever the reason was, she probably doesn’t remember it now.” She pressed her lips together to control the emotions trying to seep out. “I don’t blame her, though. I never did. My father was a monster, Sean. He was so threatened by his own wife that he scrambled to find any bit of power over her. Mom was so strong in her professional life, but with him . . . she was weak. She was
scared
. It was awful to see her act one way in public and another in private.”

“What happened to your father? Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“Did you . . . ?”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Nope. He found his way to the grave all by himself. That’s what happens when you’re a raging alcoholic—your body eventually punishes you for it.”

Sean’s voice went gruff. “I’m surprised
you
didn’t punish him.”

“He wasn’t worth the effort it would’ve taken to kill him. And revenge isn’t really my thing. I look forward, Sean, not back.”

He fell silent, and she could see his astute brain working to absorb all the details she’d provided. Too many of them, damn it. Enough that all he had to do was open an Internet browser and he’d be able to fill in the rest of the blanks.

“I’ll save you some time,” Bailey muttered. “Because I know you’re going to try to follow the trail of information I’ve given you.”

“Bailey—”

“My mother’s name is Vanessa. Vanessa Jones.” Her belly went rigid. “Her husband’s name was Terrance. And her daughter’s name was . . . Tara.”

Sean’s breath hitched. “
Is
Tara,” he said softly.

She rapidly shook her head. “No. That’s not my name anymore. I stopped being Tara a long time ago.”

His arms tightened around her. “I don’t care what your name is, luv. And even though I’m glad you finally told me about your past, it never mattered to me, not in the way you thought. I don’t need your name or your history or your bloody social security number to know who you are.” Sean’s mouth brushed hers in a fleeting kiss. “Because I’ve known you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

*   *   *

“Are you doing okay?” Liam set the remote control on the nightstand between the two beds in the hotel room.

His gaze strayed to Sullivan, who was lying on his side with his back turned. He knew his teammate wasn’t asleep, though. Sully had been in visible pain all evening,
groaning each time he moved his arm and turning green whenever he tried to stand up. Liam didn’t think he had a concussion, but it was obvious the guy was suffering.

“I’m peachy, Boston,” his friend muttered. “My arm’s throbbing like a motherfucker, my head kills, and my stomach is churning from that sandwich you forced down my throat. Oh, and I’ve still got an adrenaline boner.” A muffled groan echoed against the pillow. “Like I said, just peachy.”

Normally the sarcasm would’ve made Liam grin, but the boner comment had filled the room with tension. It’d been easy not to think about the . . .
incident
 . . . when he’d been playing nursemaid all day, because Sullivan was such a cranky patient, Liam wanted to slug him. As a result, Liam’s mood today had alternated between annoyed and frustrated.

But now it was nearing midnight and Sullivan had dialed down on the Grumpy McGrumps routine, dozing on and off while Liam watched TV on the other twin bed.

I’ve still got an adrenaline boner
.

Fuckin’ hell.

But really, why should he expect Sullivan to censor himself? The man always blurted out whatever happened to be on his mind, no matter how inappropriate or absurd.

Besides, Sully was under the impression that Liam was over the . . .
incident
. He’d all but held up a neon sign on the flight from Portugal when he’d made that comment about putting the past behind him. And this whole time in Dublin, Sully had acted like everything was back to normal. He’d been Mr. Carefree and Impulsive, cracking jokes and talking shit and shamelessly flirting with Isabel.

So, yeah. Apparently Liam was the only one still thinking about it.

Fine, still
obsessing
about it.

“You’ll feel better once the painkillers kick in,” he said gruffly. “You took the two I gave you before my shower, right?”

“Nope. Didn’t take the ones you gave me this afternoon either.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“I don’t like drugs, mate.” Sullivan’s voice was strained. “You know that.”

Liam furrowed his brow as he searched his mind for a time when he’d seen Sullivan take a pill, which was . . . Shit, never. Not even an aspirin when he had a headache.

It hadn’t occurred to Liam to ever ask him about it, but he did now. “Why is that anyway?”

“Just don’t like ’em.”

He waited, but the vague response was all he got. As silence fell over the room, Liam let out a breath, then reached over to shut off the light. “I’m turning in. It’s been a long fuckin’ day.”

More silence.

Okay, then. Sullivan clearly wasn’t in the mood to chat about—

“I had a bad experience with drugs before I enlisted, okay?”

The rough confession echoed in the darkness. Liam looked over, but Sullivan was still on his side, facing the wall. He’d pushed the blanket down to his waist, and Liam gulped when he made out his friend’s long, sinewy back and the waistband of his white boxers.

He spoke through his suddenly dry mouth. “How bad?”

“I told you I lived on the streets for a while, right?”

“Yeah . . .” And before that, Liam knew Sully had lived at a church-run orphanage, followed by an array of shitty foster homes. But although his teammate often
spoke about the homes, he rarely brought up his time on the streets of Sydney.

“Well, there’re only two ways to eat when you’re on the street, Boston. Beg, or deal. I chose the latter.” There was a low chuckle. “This is so bloody ironic. I can’t believe I’m fessing up to being a drug dealer in front of a former DEA agent.”

“Hey, you know I don’t judge. You did what you had to do to survive.”

“Trust me—I would’ve had a better chance at survival if I just
sold
the shit. But I smoked it too.”

“Weed?”

“Yeah, and I popped a shit ton of oxy. And then when my supplier—Hartley—added cocaine to his menu, I sampled that too. I was a raging coke addict by the time I was sixteen. I never stuck any needles in my body, though, thank God. But I know that if Hartley had been dealing in H, I totally would’ve hit that shit. I had no willpower back then, and I was impulsive as fuck. Didn’t think about the future.” Sully released a heavy breath. “I never expected to live past the age of eighteen, if I’m being honest.”

“So what happened?”

“I got busted. But instead of getting hauled off to juvie, I got a slap on the wrist, and one of the cops who arrested me decided to make me his new project. He was a real do-gooder type. Brought me home, fed me, helped me get my high school diploma.”

“That’s really going out of his way for a kid he didn’t know.”

Even though Sully couldn’t see his narrowed eyes, his friend picked up on the wariness in his tone.

“He didn’t bugger me, if that’s what you’re thinking. Tom was as straight as they came. His wife and son died in a car accident a few years before he took me in, and I
guess I was the replacement for his kid. But I’m not going to judge his motives. He helped me clean up my act, and he’s the one who encouraged me to join the army.”

“Is he still around?”

“Nah. Died about ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. People die. Life goes on.” There was a rustling sound. “Night, Boston.”

He noticed that Sullivan had kicked off the rest of the comforter, which was now tangled at his feet. Liam had shared a room with Sully enough times to know that the guy never slept with a blanket. Claimed his body turned into a furnace when he slept.

Liam closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound of his friend’s uneven breathing, but it was impossible to fall asleep when he knew Sully was awake and in pain. For the next hour, he lay on his back and listened to Sully toss and turn restlessly. Except every time the guy turned, he hissed in pain, as if remembering he couldn’t lie on his injured arm.

Christ. Why didn’t the stubborn ass just take the painkillers? They’d knock him right out.

Not the only thing that’ll knock him out
.

Liam’s chest tightened as the thought slid into his head. It was true, though. He knew of one other thing that always made Sully pass out immediately afterward.

Go to sleep,
a sharp voice commanded.

Yeah, he was thinking crazy thoughts right now. He squeezed his eyes shut, but they reluctantly flew open when another agitated groan sliced through the room.

Damn it. How the hell was he supposed to sleep when his best friend was suffering five feet away?

Liam got up as if possessed. No, got up because he
was
possessed. There was no other explanation for why he was walking toward Sullivan’s bed. Why his chin had
lifted in determination and his knees were colliding with the side of the mattress, which dipped under his weight as he stretched out next to Sully.

His teammate’s shoulders stiffened. “What are you doing, mate?” Wary, alarmed.

Liam swallowed. Didn’t help, though—his throat was still clamped shut.

He eased his body behind Sullivan’s, making sure to keep his groin several inches from the other man’s ass. Then he inhaled slowly and snaked his arm underneath Sullivan’s, pressing his palm against the man’s stomach.

A breath hissed out. “Liam . . .”

“Just . . . just shut up.” His voice was barely a whisper, and thick with gravel. “It’ll help you sleep.”

His heart had never pounded so hard as his hand drifted over his friend’s tight six-pack, inching lower, trembling as he reached the elastic of Sully’s boxers. His mouth had turned to sawdust. His lungs had stopped working. But his fingers worked just fine, dipping beneath Sully’s waistband, sliding lower, seeking.

Sullivan shuddered when Liam’s fist enclosed his shaft.

Jesus.

He hadn’t expected his friend to be so . . . big. Nearly the width of Liam’s wrist. And hard. Sullivan was impossibly hard.

Liam’s pulse went off-kilter as that monster hard-on throbbed in his hand, the heat of it searing his fingertips.

Holy shit, he couldn’t breathe.

“Liam . . .” An unmistakable note of warning.

He ignored it. Gave a slow stroke that summoned a groan from his friend’s lips.

And then Sully thrust into his hand.

Sweet Jesus.

A bead of moisture dampened the pad of Liam’s
thumb as he swept it over Sully’s engorged head. He used it to get his friend slick, making it easier to glide his fist along the man’s length.

Christ almighty. He couldn’t believe what he was doing. That Sullivan was
letting
him do it. And his own dick was so hard he felt like he was about to explode. Forbidden images flashed in his mind, all the things he could do with his body positioned behind Sullivan’s like this. But . . . God. No. This wasn’t about him. Or at least he hadn’t thought it was. But he was wrong. So fuckin’ wrong.

When Sullivan moaned, the husky sound sent a bolt of heat to Liam’s groin.

His friend’s hips moved faster.

Liam tightened his grip.

The room was quiet save for Sully’s low groans. Their heavy breathing. The wet suction of Liam’s hand and the soft squeak of the mattress as he worked his friend’s cock.

“More,” Sully rasped. “Faster.”

Liam quickened the pace, pumping furiously, squeezing hard, until Sully’s spine arched and he went still in his hand.

Sullivan’s release coated Liam’s fingers. He pumped his friend through it with long, lazy strokes, stopping only when Sully groaned and tried to ease away.