Enigma Page 16

J.T. smiled and slid behind the wheel of the rental car. All he had to do was start the wheels in motion. Beginning with Senator Walker’s fund-raiser.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “THE BODY COUNT IS RISING,” Sam said, sinking onto the sofa in Payton’s suite. “And I’ve got the feeling we’re not finished.”

  Payton reached into the refrigerator and produced two beers, handing one to Sam. She took it and popped the top, letting the pungent beverage soothe her throat. Exhaustion radiated through her like the hot Texas sun, yet she knew sleep was not imminent. Not while there was a bomber out there. A bomber who was taunting her.

  “We’re not going to solve anything tonight.” As usual, Payton was reading her mind. In an odd sort of way she was actually getting used to it. If someone had predicted a relationship between her and Payton, she would have scoffed. Two loners like magnets with the same charge, repelling each other by definition, there was no way in hell she would have predicted attraction.

  But nevertheless it was there, at times overwhelming every ounce of common sense she possessed. She tipped back the beer bottle, watching him over the rim. He reminded her of a lake she’d visited once as a kid.

  It was breathtakingly beautiful, so still it reflected the splendor of the mountains around it like a mirror. She’d been awestruck. But in seconds she’d seen the darker side of the lake when a storm had blown in, churning the fathomless waters into a frenzy, their canoe flipping, the icy water threatening to suck her down into its depths.

  Her father had pulled her to shore, and other than a week or so of nightmares, there’d been no lasting harm. But after that she’d maintained a healthy respect for water. Especially the deceptively calm type.

  “I should go back to the lab. If I recheck the data on the fragments maybe I’ll find something I’ve missed.” She leaned forward, starting to stand, but Payton held out a hand.

  “Tomorrow will be soon enough. Right now you need to relax.” There was a note in his voice that struck a chord with her. The same note she’d heard at the car-bomb site. Despite the fact that Payton was a dangerous man, he was also a man of perception. She had the feeling that if he ever cared for someone, it would be deeply.

  The thought made her shiver, and their gazes collided, the heat she saw reflected in his eyes nothing at all like a cold mountain lake.

  “Turn around.”

  She paused, suddenly uncertain of how to proceed. She’d opened the door, even stuck her foot in it, but suddenly she was having second thoughts. She was out of her depth. She didn’t have casual affairs, and despite her desire for the man, the general idea scared the hell out of her.

  “It’s just a massage.” He smiled, his tone reassuring. He motioned for her to swivel on the sofa, and although she held her ground, she was fast losing willpower, the idea of his strong fingers massaging her aching muscles more than appealing. Maybe it was fate. She didn’t believe in that sort of stuff, but then again, not believing didn’t always make something untrue.

  Rationalization was also the quickest way to hell.

  He put his beer on the table, and with a sigh she gave in. What the hell, it had been a long couple of days. Surely she deserved this.

  The little voice in the back of her head was screaming something about emotional entanglements and the pain of failed relationships, but she silenced it with an internal shrug and gave in to his ministrations.

  His fingers were better than anything she could have imagined, stroking and kneading her muscles into compliance. She tipped her head forward, allowing him better access, and his hands circled her throat, massaging the skin covering her collarbone with his fingers.

  These were hands that could easily kill, but she’d never know it from the gentle way he touched her. The heat of his fingers melted into her skin, sending ripples of pleasure shooting through her, and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.

  He shifted then, using his palms to knead the small of her back, her body stretching like a cat in response. God, he was good. Magic fingers. She closed her eyes, letting the sensation fill her, surround her, her muscles unwinding despite themselves.

  He massaged her shoulders, her arms, even the tender skin around her rib cage, his hands encircling her waist to caress the soft skin of her belly. And then he bent his head, kissing her neck, sucking slowly against the corded muscles until she was quivering with anticipation.

  Heat pooled between her legs as his hands slid low to knead the curve of her rear, and she squirmed against him, impatient now. When he reached for the hem of her shirt, she obediently raised her arms to help, relishing the friction as it slid away from her body.

  Her bra followed her shirt, and she swallowed a moan as his hands closed over her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples, bringing them to hard pebbled points. His mouth resumed tasting, his tongue tracing the line of first one shoulder, then the other.

  It was as if he were learning the feel of her, his hands and mouth everywhere at once. He followed the curve of her spine, his mouth sucking and teasing against muscle and bone. Shivers spiraled downward, her oversensitized body reacting to every touch, every nibble.

  And then he was kissing her ear, his tongue moving in and out until she was writhing against him, his hands still massaging her breasts, tormenting her nipples. She wanted to turn, to face him, to give him some of what he was giving her. But instead, he pulled her onto his lap, her back tight against his chest, her bottom against his rising erection. Even through his jeans, she could feel its pulsing strength.

  He released a breast, and she groaned in complaint until his fingers slid lower, making short work of the button at her waistband, the zipper following suit without any argument at all.

  He cupped her mound and then slipped a finger inside, his thumb stroking her clitoris as he moved languidly in and out. She pushed against him, wanting release, wanting him inside her now. But he held her firmly, his fingers moving faster, the pleasure building in intensity until she wasn’t certain she could stand another minute.

  She tried to move away, her breath coming in gasps, but he held her tight, his lips sucking her earlobe, pulling and teasing to the rhythm of his fingers. It was as if she were an instrument, and he the musician, each part of her responding to his touch in a way that blended together into one amazing moment. One perfect piece of music that filled her senses, ringing in her ears and dancing along her synapses.

  She started to move against him, accepting the inevitable, losing herself to sensation, allowing him to carry her higher and higher, each stroke of his fingers bringing pleasure beyond belief. And in that moment she let herself go, wanting only to find release, to fall from the edge. To fly.

  She moaned his name, half in praise, half in thanks, and fell back against him, tremors of pleasure still washing through her with the power of an ocean tide. She clenched around his fingers, not wanting it to end, understanding for the first time why someone would want a multiple orgasm.

  His arms closed around her, his heartbeat strong against her back, and she leaned into his warmth, grateful for the soft place to land. She sat like that for a while, held tight in his arms, satiated for the moment, and then he started to kiss her neck, and the heat inside her began to build again.

  This time she demanded they meet face-to-face, pulling away long enough to turn around, meeting his hungry gaze with her own. He closed the distance between them, his kiss claiming her. There was no gentleness in his touch, only driving need matched stroke for stroke by her own desire.

  She wanted him like she’d never wanted a man before. Wanted to feel him moving inside her, feel his excitement building to climax. With deft fingers she pulled his T-shirt free of his jeans, and, like her, he raised his arms, waiting for her to remove the thing. In one swift movement it was gone, and she pressed her breasts against him, eager to feel his skin against hers.

  Their lips met again, their tongues dancing together, jockeying for position, for strength. She couldn’t get enough
of him, stroking the scarred skin of his shoulder and chest, the new skin surprisingly supple and soft.

  He was such a contradiction, this man. Leather and velvet. One moment capable of defeating the most frightening of enemies, the next worrying about when she last had a meal. Her heart twisted with longing, and she framed his face in her hands, losing herself in the intensity of his fathomless green eyes.

  “You’re sure?” His words were whispered, his voice raw with need.

  She wasn’t certain exactly what he was asking. There was something beyond passion reflected in his eyes. Hope, maybe. The thought scared her, but she wasn’t about to back away. Whatever path they took, she was more than ready to start the journey. If there were consequences, then she’d face them tomorrow. But for tonight, she wanted only to be with him.

  “I’m positive,” she whispered back, her thumb caressing the line of his scar.

  Payton groaned deep in his throat, the sound animal, and crushed his lips to hers, at the same time scooping her into his arms. In three strides they were through the bedroom door, and in what seemed like seconds they’d removed the rest of their clothing, desire arcing between them with electric force.

  He was even more magnificent than she’d imagined. His body hard and strong, his scars only accentuating his masculinity. His erection sprang up against his groin, and her breath caught in her throat at the sheer male beauty of it.

  She reached out and stroked the velvety head, her fingers closing around the shaft, moving gently up and down, teasing him with every movement. His jaw clenched and he closed his eyes as she knelt in front of him, taking him in her mouth, her tongue tracing circles around the skin of his penis.

  He smelled of soap and man, and tasted salty. She reached up to cup his buttocks, pulling him closer, and felt him tense, trying to maintain control. Using both her hand and her mouth, she teased him, feeling him grow even harder, his muscles taut, wanting release.

  Then laughing, she pulled away, taking his hand and leading him to the bed in a show of seduction that was unlike her. Something in Payton released her inhibitions. He made her feel beautiful, and slightly wicked.

  She lay on the cool cotton sheets, spreading her legs invitingly, and he lowered himself on top of her, his penis resting hot against her. He braced himself on his elbows, his eyes locking with hers, and all frivolity vanished. She wanted only one thing, and with a crooked smile, he acquiesced. One slow stroke and he was inside her, his penis penetrating only to the head, allowing her to accustom herself to his size and heat.

  But she didn’t want to wait, and with an impatient sigh, she pushed against him, taking him to the hilt, the feel of him deep inside her more pleasurable than anything he’d done to her before.

  Holding perfectly still, he bent his head and sucked first one breast and then the other, taking her nipples between his teeth, the sensation sending shards of white heat pooling between her legs.

  She tried to move, to get him to engage, but he held her firmly, his tongue circling one nipple and then the other, his teasing touch making them so hard she thought they might burst. His thumb found her clit and resumed the magical flicking, the rhythm matching the movement of his tongue against her breasts.

  She writhed against him, mewing like a kitten, the sounds emanating from deep inside her. Colors washed through her head, and she fought for control, the power of his hand and mouth driving her closer and closer to the brink.

  Then suddenly he moved, his penis thrusting in and out, building a tension so sweet and so tight that she felt as if she was going to shatter. She matched his pace, her body pounding against his, the ferocity of their mating earthy and primal. Their scents mixed together, heated and sweating, and she wanted more, still more.

  As if reading her mind, he withdrew, the separation almost making her weep, but before she could protest, he flipped her over and entered her from behind, the contact even more intimate than before, his scrotum rubbing against her bottom in a seductive slide that felt so damn good.

  He covered her breasts with his callused palms, squeezing and kneading in time to his thrusting. Again she spiraled upward, sensation reaching a fever pitch, and she tossed back her head, moaning his name.

  “Payton, please. I need to see you.” Her voice was rough with passion, barely more than a whisper. “Please.”

  He broke contact again, leaving her shaking with desire, and turned over so that she was on the top. His breathing was as labored as hers, his green eyes dark with passion and his erection if possible even harder.

  She slid down on him with a delicate sigh and began to move. Up and down, in and out, the movement creating exquisite agony. She was in charge, his fate in her hands, and the power combined with her passion was heady. She slowed, teasing him with the motion, torturing herself as well as him.

  Her body strained to find release, even as her mind fought to control it. She bent to brush her lips across his. He reached for her head, deepening the kiss, drinking her very essence. And with the contact, the power shifted.

  He grasped her hips, forcing his own rhythm, thrusting harder and deeper, faster and faster, the friction of their bodies together ratcheting her need higher and higher, until she felt as if she might explode.

  And still he thrust, her passageway tightening around him, holding him inside her, until she could no longer tell where he ended and she began. And still they climbed higher, locked together in an endless dance. A kaleidoscope of emotion and sensation that seemed beyond endurance. Yet she wanted it—needed it—more than breathing.

  She felt his hands tighten hard against her hips, and then the world exploded, light and heat combusting into sensations so intense she felt as though she might be ripped apart. Wave after wave washed through her, pleasure and pain so intricately bound her body shook with the impact.

  And then he called her name, the sound sweet and compelling, completing her in a way she’d never imagined possible. His hands found hers, and together they rode the storm, cresting the waves, until the tempest was gone, and there was nothing but contentment. Two people alone in the dark, their bodies linked, their fingers intertwined.

  Sam sighed, nestling against the warmth of his chest, allowing herself to drift to sleep, her last thought that maybe there were some things in life worth fighting for.

  And Payton Reynolds topped the list.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PAYTON STRUGGLED against the dream, part of his brain aware that it wasn’t real, that it was only a twisted memory. Unfortunately, the rest of him was convinced it was dead-on reality. The shadows of the building seemed elongated, darker and more menacing than they should be, Kevin’s silhouette showing only in the staccato flash of machine-gun fire.

  There were already four men down, and if they didn’t get the hell out of here soon, there’d be more.

  Payton followed his brother back into the courtyard, crouching low. They reached Mackenzie but he was already dead. Same for Tyler and Goodacre, but Wallenski was still moving, holding onto his side, the blood already soaking through his fatigues.

  Another burst of gunfire erupted from the balcony to Payton’s left, the bullets sending dust flying. There was an answering volley from behind, Nigel and Gabe covering their asses. Kevin reached Wallenski, and then bent to take a pulse. In the few seconds it had taken them to reach him, the kid had died.

  Payton swallowed a surge of anger, knowing that it would only get in the way of their survival. Bullets danced along the edge of the building, sending fragments of masonry flying through the air.

  Kevin signaled a retreat, and Payton shifted toward Gabe and Nigel’s position, using the wall to cover his back. He’d barely taken a step when a soft thud, preceded by a quiet whistle, sent him diving for nonexistent cover, years of experience sending his muscles a warning long before his brain had time to react.

  The grenade exploded with a burst of heat and fire that engulfed both him and Kevin. Searing pain bit into the left side of Payton’s chest
, and he could smell his shirt and flesh burning, but it was his brother who needed help. Kevin had been knocked to the ground, flames leaping around him, mortar cutting through him like slicing knives.

  Payton dashed forward, shooting blindly off his left hip toward the balcony. But the bastards kept firing. Another grenade followed in the wake of more bullets.

  This time Payton hit the ground rolling, using Wallenski’s body for cover as he crawled toward his brother. Seconds passed, but they seemed to take forever. Then he reached Kevin’s side, machine-gun fire pounding the turf beside him. A bullet found home, digging deep into the side of his chest, the impact dizzying. But he pushed the pain away, concentrating on his brother. Using field training, he quickly assessed Kevin’s wounds, signaling to Gabe that he would carry his brother out, praying his friend could make out the motions through the smoky haze.

  He slid his arms under his brother, squatting so that he could more easily bear the weight, but Kevin’s hand closed on Payton’s, his pain-glazed eyes, fluttering open. “Let me go, Payton. You have to let me go.”

  Payton clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “Not a chance in hell. We’re getting out of here.” He tightened his hold and lifted his brother, clutching him to his chest, only to find himself looking down into Mariam’s dark eyes.

  “Help me, Payton. Please.”

  Blood dripped from her face onto his hands, and he felt the sting of tears. “I won’t let you go,” he yelled, as another volley of machine-gun fire hit the walls around him. “I promise.”

  “It’s too late,” she whispered, the light already draining from her eyes, her features changing yet again.

  Payton shook his head, trying to clear his head, concentrating on survival. But suddenly it was Sam that he was holding, her face mutilated almost beyond recognition. He fought to revive her, to stop the blood, but she was gone.