Game for Anything (11 page)

Of course, she'd never pictured him in a kitchen whipping eggs into a froth. Nor could she have imagined feeling so…right watching him do it. The realization moved through her that she felt more at home here than she'd ever felt at the Wainwright estate, and
a little flash of fear skipped up her spine. All her life, the people she'd cared for, the people she'd wanted to love her, had left her. She had to be prepared for the fact that Tracker would leave, too.

Unless she did something to stop him.

 

T
HE
P
RINCESS WAS THINKING
. Tracker could tell by the small line that had appeared in the center of her forehead. The thinking would lead to worrying and then to questions. With a quick flip of his wrist, he folded the omelette over.

The last thing he wanted her to do was to start to think too hard about what was going on in her shop that might have led to Landry's death. Tracker wanted her laughing and thinking only of him.

He wanted her, period. The hunger was constant, and he was beginning to fear that it would never be sated. If he didn't do something to distract them both, he'd forget the damn omelette and take her again right now. After slipping it onto a plate, he set it on the counter in front of her. “Eat first, and then we'll play a game of twenty questions.”

“Sure,” she said as she took the fork he handed her and sliced into the eggs.

He watched her chew, swallow and then raise surprised eyes to his. “Marvelous. You're a pro, aren't you? At some time in your past you've done this for a living.”

He smiled. “Perceptive deduction. If you ever get tired running your shop, I can give you a job in the Wainwright security department.”

“No, thanks. But I'm right, aren't I?”

“I worked my way through college in a diner.”

“This doesn't taste like diner food,” she said around another mouthful. Swallowing, she helped herself to another one before she said, “Okay, let's start the game.”

“Thomas Jefferson McBride.”

She blinked and stared at him. “What?”

“We started a game of twenty questions at the anniversary party, and I thought we could take up where we left off. The T.J. stands for Thomas Jefferson.”

“You were named after the president?”

He shook his head. “No. I was named after my father. I had it legally changed to T.J. as soon as I could because I hated him.”

“I'm sorry.” She slipped a hand into his and he gripped it hard.

There wasn't a trace of judgment in her eyes, only understanding. He felt something inside of him melt and stream away.

“He used to beat my mother. He was the reason she died when I was eleven.” Now where in the world had that come from? He hadn't even told Lucas about that part of his past. Sophie was breaking down every last barrier he had.

She lifted his hand to her cheek. “It's your turn now. Ask me anything you want. I'll answer.”

“New rules, Princess?”

She nodded. “A new game. Just for tonight—one question apiece. No passes, no penalties, just the whole story.”

He studied her for a moment. He'd thought to distract her with the game, with the penalty that would
inevitably follow. She'd raised the stakes, but the idea of learning even more about her was tempting, irresistible. “Okay. What is the very worst thing you've ever done? Something you've never told anyone else.”

“Well, you don't pull any punches.”

“Neither do you. And turnabout's fair play. You get the last question.”

“I shoplifted when I was fourteen.” She could recall the incident as clearly as if it had happened that morning. “I was in a huge department store and I was so angry at my parents. My mother hadn't even bothered to call for my birthday. And my dad was on some kind of a cruise with…I think it was his third wife. I guess I thought if I got myself arrested, I would get some parental attention.” Setting down her fork, she met Tracker's eyes. “Talking about it makes it sound like pretty standard poor little rich girl stuff.”

He tightened his grip on her hand. “Tell me the rest.”

Sophie drew in a deep breath. “I had this shopping bag and I'd filled it with all kinds of stuff—a couple of cashmere sweaters and some pricey lingerie. I wanted to make sure that when I was caught, the charge would be larceny or grand larceny.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “I knew that someone was watching me, that I'd be stopped as soon as I pushed my way onto the street. I got within ten yards of the door and my feet wouldn't take me any farther. I carried the bag over to the nearest counter and took out my charge card. I was too much of a coward to pull it off.”

He raised their joined hands and turned hers over, then pressed his mouth against her palm. “You're one of the bravest people I know, Princess.”

What she saw in his eyes told her that he meant it, and she would have said something if she could have gotten any sound past the lump that had filled her throat.

“It's your turn,” he said. “Ask me anything.”

He was serious. Sophie wondered if she would ever have him at such a disadvantage again. He'd told her something already that must have been very hard for him to reveal. And suddenly it was important to her that when he did reveal more of himself to her, it wasn't part of a game. “What is your favorite movie?”

Tracker simply stared at her for a long moment without answering. “You could have asked me anything you wanted.”

“I just did.”

He shook his head. “You puzzle me. I just can't figure you out.”

She smiled then. “That's excellent. Because I always imagine that I have absolutely no secrets from you. You've seen me at my absolute worst.”

“Worst? Princess, you wouldn't want to see me at my worst. I've killed people.”

He wanted to shock her. She could see it in the anger that had flashed into his eyes. Was he afraid that he could somehow make her walk away? Could it be possible that he feared the same things that she did? She merely kept her hand in his and waited.

“I wasn't very good at it in the beginning. The first
time I had to kill a man, I threw up. I was just sixteen, and I had enlisted in the army with the idea of becoming some kind of a hero. I had been in fights before on the street, but nothing that involved guns. I'd never seen the kind of damage they can do to another human being. We were on patrol on one of those peacekeeping missions, and my buddy and I got separated from the rest of our unit. Next thing I knew he got shot and this other soldier was running toward us. I raised my gun and fired. The impact of the bullet…I'll never forget it.”

She tightened her grip on his hand and felt his fingers link with hers. “What happened?”

“I managed to get my buddy back to the unit before I tossed my lunch all over my sergeant's shoes.”

The anger, the need to shock her, had disappeared from his eyes.

“That was only the first time, Princess. There are other stories I could tell you. You should be shocked.”

“I'm not.” She kept her eyes steady on his. “I'm sure it makes me a very shallow person, but all I'm thinking of right now is how to get you out of those clothes.”

His gaze was intense. “What do you have in mind?”

She saw some of the tension begin to ease out of him, but he was still so cautious and wary of her. Why did that thrill her right to the core? Leaning toward him, she spoke in a confidential tone. “Since I left all of the little toys at home, we'll have to improvise. I was thinking that strip poker might work. Are you game?”

S
HE WAS A DAMN GOOD
poker player. Tracker never would have guessed it because she tended to give everything away in those amber eyes. It had taken several hands for him to realize
that
was her secret. She knew people could read her easily, and she used that to her advantage.

He enjoyed matching wits with her just as much as he enjoyed testing her control in this sexual, teasing game they were playing. So far, he'd had the advantage there. She might be winning at cards, but as a result of his losing hands, he was sitting across the coffee table from her wearing nothing but his briefs and his socks, and she was still wearing every stitch she'd come in the door with.

He admired her control at the same time that it challenged him to break it. And he was making headway. She might still have her clothes on, but the pulse at the base of her throat was beating, and her eyes had deepened to that color of whiskey. They would darken even more when he was inside of her.

No. If he allowed himself to imagine how it would feel when he entered her and had her close around him like a slick, hot fist, the game would be over too quickly. And he didn't want their lovemaking to be
quick tonight. This might the last time he would be able to touch her, to show her…

“I just have a full house this time,” she said as she turned over her cards.

“Beats two pair.” Tracker reached for the cards before she could gather them in. “My deal.”

“You have to take something off first,” she said, her eyes bright with amusement and something else. He knew what the something else was because the same thing was twisting inside of him.

“Fine,” he said. “What's your pleasure?”

“Oh, I'm looking at it.”

“You can have it anytime you want.” His gut twisted tighter when he heard her sharp intake of breath and saw her eyes lower to where his erection was clearly visible through the thin cotton of his briefs. Though it nearly killed him, he reached down and ran a hand up and then down what was waiting for her.

“Tracker…” Her voice caught in her throat, and one of her hands reached toward him. He thought for a second that the game was over.

Then she raised her eyes to meet his. “Someone once told me that anticipation was half the fun.”

It took almost all of his control not to reach out and grab her. When he thought of how quickly he could have her beneath him, how much he needed to be inside of her… Then she would be the winner of both games—the poker game and this new game of anticipation they were playing.

No, he wouldn't make it that easy for her. Yet. Not when she was turning his own words against him.

Drawing in a deep breath himself, he watched her tongue slowly moisten her lips, and anticipated the flavors waiting for him. But he could wait a bit more. She was here, just an arm's length away; he could reach out any time he wanted.

What was he going to do when she wasn't?

“I've never made a man strip for me before. I have a feeling it's addictive.”

He could feel his skin heat as she moved her gaze over him again. He hadn't thought it possible, but he felt himself grow even harder.

“Socks,” she finally said in a thin, breathless voice.

“I didn't think you were a chicken, Princess.”

She met his eyes, her chin lifting. “I'm not. I don't want to end the game yet. I want to play it out to the finish.”

He was coming to know that about her, too. Anything she started, she stuck to with a stubbornness he had to admire. They were alike in that, he realized. “There's only one finish to this game.” He lifted one foot to the table and removed his sock.

Her eyes darkened then, going from whiskey to mahogany. “I know.”

He could stop it now. Clamping down ruthlessly on the desire to do just that, he lifted his other foot and slipped off the sock. It wasn't just clothes that she'd stripped him of tonight. He'd shared things with her that he'd never revealed to anyone else, and instead of being shocked, she'd understood.

He was coming to understand her, too. He knew what it was like not to fit in, to feel that love would always pass you by. But it shouldn't pass the Princess
by. He wasn't going to let that happen. As she set down her cards and rose slowly to her feet, another realization streamed through him. He'd lost more than a card game. He'd lost his heart to the Princess.

“I'm tired of the game,” she said.

The words were such a crystal clear echo of the ones in his mind that, for a moment, he said nothing. He couldn't. Too many emotions swirled through him, and there was only one thing he could be sure of. He wanted her more than he ever had before. And he wanted what was impossible. He wanted her for good.

“Your wish is my command, Princess.”

 

S
OPHIE KNEW ONE THING
for sure. Anticipation had nearly killed her. She wanted him, all of him. Right now. But there was something in his eyes, something beyond the heat that was piercing right to her center, and it was calling to her every bit as much as the desire that had her whole body throbbing for him.

“Tell me what
you
want,” she said.

“I want…to be a part of you,” he answered.

The words sounded as though they'd been torn from him, and the warmth that they caused to move through her was different than the heat he'd already kindled. She tried to tell herself that she shouldn't read anything into the words. He was merely talking about the physical act of their bodies joining. But Tracker was careful with words. He usually meant what he said. Even as a bright little bubble of joy blossomed within her, she warned herself that she was letting herself hope again for something that was impossible. And she didn't want to press him further tonight. What she
wanted was exactly what she had—the opportunity to show him what she felt for him.

“Someone told me once that when you want something, all you have to do is reach out and take it.”

He reached out then and lifted her over the coffee table. When he began to lower his mouth to hers, she pressed a hand to his chest. “Not yet. I'll never be able to think if you start kissing me.”

“Sophie, the game's over. There's a limit to the amount of teasing a man can take.”

Though everything in her body clamored for the pressure of his mouth on hers, for the feel of him inside of her, she kept her hand steady on his chest. “Slow and easy,” she said, remembering the words he'd once spoken to her. “There's something I want to do first. I've been fantasizing about it all night. You won't be sorry.”

She understood the effort that it took for him to ease his hold on her because she had to exert a similar one to move her hands down to his briefs and slip her fingers beneath the elastic. For him, she was going to hold on to her control. “I wanted to do this to you the first time I ever saw you, in Lucas's office—when you held me and comforted me while I was crying. When the image of doing this—” she closed her hand over his erection “—slipped into my mind, I was shocked. I'd never even thought of doing this with a man before that. But I'm not shocked now.” Dropping to her knees, she closed her mouth over him.

 

W
AS IT POSSIBLE
to die of pleasure? That was the only thought Tracker's mind could seem to latch on to
when he felt her lips close around him.
Yes.
The answer sounded clearly in his mind as he felt her tongue move up and down the length of his shaft. He should have known she'd try something like this. And he should have been prepared. He had to make her stop. He couldn't let her go on. He had to…

“Stop,” he said, managing to frame her face with his hands and push her away. “If you want slow and easy, you're not going to get it that way.”

“Right now I would settle for fast and hard,” she said. “I like the way you taste.”

“Good. That's good.” He was amazed that his lips could move to form the words or that his hands could grip her shoulders and lift her to her feet. Then he set her back on the other side of the coffee table. “But I think what we both need is a little break. A little dose of anticipation. And you have too many clothes on. Why don't you take them off for me?”

Her fingers trembled as she closed them around the hem of her dress and began to draw it slowly up her legs. He remembered what they felt like, the smooth, soft skin of her inner thighs wrapped tightly around him. A new wave of need spiked through him with a sharpness that had him drawing in his breath. Sophie's hands paused then.

“Don't!” he groaned.

“What?” she asked.

Her tone was innocent enough, but he could see in her eyes that she knew exactly the effect she was having on him. “Don't stop.”

The hem inched slowly up past her panties, exposing the silky skin of her abdomen and the narrow line
of her ribs and finally her breasts. His heart was pounding, his breathing ragged by the time she'd pulled the dress over her head and dropped it on the floor. For a moment all he could do was look at her, standing there wearing nothing but a scrap of silk and a pair of strappy heels. He wanted to reach out to her then, but found that he wanted something else even more. He wanted to push her as far as she was pushing him.

“Touch yourself for me, Sophie.”

He heard her breath catch, and for a moment she hesitated. Then she raised her hands to her breasts and cupped them.

“No,” he said. “I want you to touch yourself right where I'm going to be, filling you and making myself a part of you.”

A thrill moved through him when he saw her start to move her hand. She was going to meet the challenge he was giving her. Then he stopped thinking completely when her fingers slipped beneath the elastic waist of her panties. Through the thin silk, he could see them getting closer and closer until they disappeared between her legs.

Need spiked through him so sharply that it nearly buckled his knees as he leaned forward to grip her arms. When she put her hands on his shoulders, he lifted her over the table again. “Tell me what you want.”

She met his eyes. “I want you inside of me, right now.”

Tracker dropped to his knees, then pulled her to him. He seated her so that she straddled him, and
pushed into her slowly. She was so wet, so tight. Feeling her stretch and close around him was almost his undoing.

“Don't move.” His voice was hoarse. For a moment, he didn't even allow himself to take a breath. He didn't want this to end. If he did this right, he could make the pleasure last longer. He needed to make it last for her.

Holding her close, he leaned back until they were lying on the floor thigh-to-thigh, center-to-center. She tried to rise, but he held her still. When she struggled to arch her hips against him, he slipped his legs over hers and pinned them to the floor. He felt her inner muscles clench and stroke him.

“Let me,” she said, struggling to move her hips, but as long as he held her impaled and pinned against him, her efforts couldn't bring release to either one of them. All they could bring was wave after wave of staggering, piercing pleasure. Her eyes were dazed with it, her hair like a silken fire on his skin. He'd wanted to see her like this, wanted to keep her like this. Trapped. He wanted her forever.

“Please.” Her voice was a whimper.

“Tell me you're mine, Sophie.” He needed at least that much.

“I'm yours, T.J.”

Fastening his hands to her hips, he began to lift and lower her, thrusting in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, again and again. Each time he slowed or stopped, she would whimper against his mouth. “Again. Again.”

He wanted to draw the pleasure out, make the mo
ment last. When she walked away from him, he would have this memory of when she was his.

The instant he moved his legs and freed her at last, she rose above him. He watched her then, her skin pale in the moonlight, her hair tumbling around her face. For one timeless moment, she looked like a goddess just coming into the full realization of her power. Then she began to move, driving him as he was driving her.

As he watched her climax stream through her, he thrust upward, driving into her, and finally found his own shattering release.

Tracker wasn't sure how much time went by before he found the strength to get to his feet and carry Sophie into the bedroom. Then he lay down beside her and, cradling her in his arms, fell into a deep sleep.

 

L
IGHT WAS JUST GRAYING
the sky when Tracker slipped from his bed. She slept like a child, one hand under her cheek, the other thrown above her head. Odd that he never thought of her as fragile, especially when he was making love to her. But looking now at that narrow wrist, the delicate line of her cheekbone and jaw, he felt the need to protect grow strong within him. He wanted to continue to lie beside her and watch her sleep, but he had another job to do—the one that would keep her safe.

Moving softly, he crossed the space to the door and closed it soundlessly behind him. Pulling on his briefs and slacks, he extracted his cell phone from the pocket and tried Chance's number again.

“Mitchell here.”

“We have to meet.”

“All you have to do is beam me up, Scotty.”

Tracker cut the connection, then punched the intercom number to talk to the men on duty. Chance knew that they couldn't say anything on a cell phone, and the
Star Trek
phrasing told Tracker that he was somewhere close to the Wainwright Building. It also made Tracker recall the days when they'd worked together for the army. Later he might smile and let himself feel nostalgic, but right now he had a bone to pick with “Carter Mitchell.”

Five minutes later, he ushered Chance into the small conference room next to his living quarters. His old friend was wearing black jeans and a sweater, and a black cap over his hair.

Tracker closed the door. Then he pulled Chance around by the shoulder and punched him square in the belly. Before he could recover, Tracker jerked Chance's arm up behind his back and slammed him face first into the wall.