Hot for His Hostage (21 page)

Shay, unable to help himself, chortled softly in her ear.

“
Higueputa
,” she huffed. “Are you…
laughing
about this?”

He should’ve punished her, at least a little, for the snip. Instead, he closed his
eyes, reveling in how she summoned such sass with his cock and three fingers still
inside her. It was no surprise that she had him almost hard enough to fuck her again.
She gave him such incredible pleasure—bested only by the hunger to give
her
more, too.

With a decisive grunt, he stilled her hips with a shove of his. Then, letting his
breath fill her ear and his cock grow in her tunnel, he lowered his hand from her
mons to her pussy. And gave just one swipe of his middle finger to the most sensitive
hub of her need.

Zoe, being his perfect little submissive, screamed for him. Over and over and over
again.

Many minutes later, as her breathing calmed and the last shivers of her orgasm faded,
he finally pulled free and turned her over, accepting the conclusion that fucking
her again wouldn’t be a wise move. Even a pushover like Justine would have limits
for a guy’s time on some recreational pump-and-dump with a hostage. Still, he took
a long moment to brush the damp hair from her dark eyes, lower a soft kiss on her
delectable lips, and tell her through a smirk, “Baby girl,
now
I’m laughing.”

Zoe didn’t hesitate to haul back her free arm and punch the sexy
chindago
in the muscled meat of his shoulder. The move was more to save face though she wasn’t
sure what “face” she had left, considering how he’d just turned her into the sexual
version of a triple-fried egg. After he pretended deep pain, making her hit him again,
he dissolved into more laughter. She gave up and joined him, recognizing he probably
hadn’t had a lot of chances to indulge even a snicker in the last six months. Her
heart filled with warm gratitude, honored to be the one to bring him a little respite
in his life.

And then his radio squawked.

“Burnett!” The voice was a little garbled but she recognized it as one of Shay’s “buddies”
from the hijacking, the soldier with the gritty voice and the gaze that gave her the
creeps. “Pull your dick out of that bitch and join us in quadrant six. We’ve cracked
the code and we’re back on program with the good shit.”

So much for respites.

Shay’s gaze gained some new shadows, too. She chastised herself for feeling giddy
about that. Was it possible that he comprehended it all, too? The primal power in
the air whenever they stepped near each other…did he feel it, as well? And the pull
of their bodies to each other, like they were magnets only able to fuse to one another…and
the coils of their souls, only activated by their entwined hands and their crushed
mouths…

No. You’ve gone cracked, Zo. Even crazy. Remember? You said it yourself, right here,
and Shay nodded. He
agreed.
Remember where the hell you are, and what’s happening right outside that door. You
think he’s pondering tangled souls with you, when the scary side of “crazy” is waiting
for his return
?

Thunder boomed overhead. A flash desert storm. Appropriate, considering the flood
of perception that crashed through her at the same time.

Danger.
It wasn’t just a dramatic word in his life. It was a real entity, waiting to bite
him in the ass or worse. Stock and his men weren’t just playing around at the soldier
boy thing. Whatever the hell they were here to retrieve, they were serious as hell
about it, enough to steal a jetliner, shoot a man’s knee out, and keep fifteen dancers
behind as hostages, too.

As she watched Shay rise and reach for a towel to clean himself up, she couldn’t fight
a tremor of intense fear. Even as he smirked at her again, making some wise-ass comment
about how it was
her
fault he had to stuff a nearly erect cock back into his cargo pants, she couldn’t
force herself to return a smile.

Shay’s grin faded, too. His thick hair fell against his frowning brow, turning his
gorgeous humor into rugged beauty that wrenched at her heart—and tugged at her tears.
He was so stunning. So strong. So unspeakably brave. She dropped her head, unable
to stomach the idea of him returning to those evil
cabróns
.

“Dancer? You okay?” His concern only made her torment worse. As the mattress dipped
from his weight, the tears came harder. Zoe tried to sniff them back but they fell
anyway, plopping onto the hand he curled over hers.

“Shit,” she whispered.

Shay snarled it at the same moment, though the word was barely off his lips before
he pulled her up and cradled her tight against him. “Dammit,” he muttered. “I’m sorry,
baby girl.”

“Huh?” She pushed back to fire a glower at him, along with a question that was more
accusation. “Why?”

“You need hours of after care, and I can only give you minutes.”

His tender tone drew her to bury her face into his chest again.
Mierda
, it was such a nice chest. She pressed closer, treasuring the thumps of his heartbeat.
As she absorbed the strength of the sound, she smiled in deep peace—

Just before inspiration zapped it to hell.

She kept her face down, certain Shay would instantly translate her thoughts. She wasn’t
even sure about acting on them. It was one thing to be inspired but another thing
to sell him on the concept.

She had to think fast. Playing on his guilt was a fairly direct route. But could she
deal that dirty?

“Meh,” she murmured, taking advantage of the chance to sniffle into his shoulder.
“Just get me to the nearest sports bar and we’ll call it aftercare, all right?”

An angry rumble vibrated out of him. “No goddamn bars for aftercare.”

Well, that answered her question. She had no trouble at all with the dirty work. But
right now, as desperate as it sounded, she’d do anything to stay at his side. Giving
herself so deeply to him…it had felt like finding refuge in a mountain cavern after
walking through a storm. But now a bulldozer named Cameron Stock wanted to tear her
mountain away—or worse. If the man learned the truth beneath Shay’s cover, he’d think
nothing of pulling out his handy pistol, jamming it to Shay’s skull, and firing away.

She shuddered in horror. Just as fast, she castigated herself for it. Damn. She was
officially torn between the Zoe who’d sworn off weakness during puberty and the Zoe
who’d newly discovered Shay’s remorse-is-ruin button.

But the thought of him lying on the ground, his brains blown into the dirt, swayed
her battle in seconds. She gripped his neck and burrowed harder into him.

“Then take me with you.”

Shay’s hand went still on her head. His neck stiffened beneath her fingers. “Christ.
I really did fuck your brains out.”

She huffed. “Listen, I’m not going to sit helplessly in some back room while you—”

“No.”

“Shay!”

“
No
.”

“Do you even want to hear my idea? How I can actually help you out here?”

He pulled away enough for her to catch the skeptical jump of his brows. “This should
be good.”

“You could pretend I gave you a shitload of trouble, so you decided to tie me up and
take me to hostage holding yourself. Go all one-twue-dom on Justine again. She’ll
buy every second of it. Once we’re past her, you can put me down. I’ll smuggle out
some of those medical scrubs under my shirt, then can change into them.” When his
glower hardened to the texture of pounded gold, she twisted her hand in the front
of his shirt. “You’re here because you think this is where Stock is keeping your mom,
right? Seems like a big place,
mi amigo
. You could probably use help. Another set of eyes?”

Shay expelled a weighted breath. “How long have you been concocting this?”

She bit her lip. “Long enough.”

He dropped his head, studying her more closely. “You’re an experienced dancer, right,
Zoe? Then you of all people should know that half-assed planning makes for shitty
execution.”

She slid a hand to the sharp line of his jaw. “Or a surprise of brilliance.”

“Cameron Stock doesn’t like surprises. Just ask the guy from the plane who’s missing
a kneecap now.” He wrapped his fingers around hers, closed his eyes for a long second,
then bent his head deeper into her hold. “Cam was telling the truth this morning,
too. He was feeling benevolent, which was why the dumb shit didn’t get that bullet
between his eyes, instead.” He reopened his gaze. “The man’s not feeling benevolent
anymore, baby girl.”

“But he doesn’t even have to see me,” Zoe protested.

As he lowered her hand back to her lap, there was a reluctant edge to his slow movements.
“This isn’t a movie, Zoe.” His voice was grim. “We’re in a top-secret facility that
I barely know the exit routes from and even on that point, my intel is chicken feed
at best. I hate doing this to you—”

“Then don’t.”
Mierda
. The man had her pouting. She never pouted.

“I have no choice, dammit. I’d rather endure your anger than your death, okay? And
by the way, any other time or place, my palm would be branding your backside for that
lip.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It would
not
be fun. That’s a guarantee.” Shay barely let her process the strange combination
of shivers and tingles from that before scooping a finger beneath her chin and tugging
sharply. “Listen to me, dammit.
Obey me
, Zoe. The safest plan for you right now is to let Justine take you back to your friends.”

“Then just wait for him to kill us?”

“He won’t let
any
of you be killed.” His jaw turned the texture of his hard gold stare. “To be blunt,
you’re his leverage.”

“So he’ll just let us be raped.”

“
I
won’t let that happen.” He kissed her fiercely. “I promise. But I can hide my feelings
easier if they’re tucked behind my guard dog face. I’ll be shit for concentrating
on searching for Mom
and
maintaining my cover with Stock if I haven’t ensured your safety.”

“But how can you promise yours?”

He brushed both thumbs across her cheek—through the tears that had rolled out with
her rasp. “I can’t.” His own voice cracked again. “But I’m going to try, okay?”

As he swept his mouth lower, taking her in what she knew would be their final kiss,
Zoe’s throat constricted like he’d tossed boulders down it along with his kiss but
she prevented her needy, stupid follow-up from spewing out.

I just found you. I can’t just…lose you. Dammit, I have to keep you alive! Somehow.
But how? How
?

His lungs toiled on breaths as he pushed to his feet again. He stood next to the bed
like that for a long moment, keeping their fingers twined until he slanted over her,
pressing his lips to her forehead and echoing a command he’d given her hours ago…a
lifetime ago. This time, the charge came with a distinct variance.

“Stay.” He yanked her face against his chest, clasping her against his stone-hard
exterior—and the impassioned heartbeat that filled his interior. “Please.”

* * * * *

Stay.

Twenty minutes later, she still fumed about his damn decree. She wouldn’t have let
any
man get away with such an edict even once, yet she lay here obeying the damn thing
for the
second
time.

She had a valid excuse for the first slip, when he’d issued it to her on the plane.
Terror had a great way of stealing a person’s brain.

A heavy sigh rushed out. She had an equally good excuse for her second lapse. No,
a better one.

Shay
’s fear.

She’d seen it in every shard of his gaze, heard it in all the pounds of his heart
when he’d held her close one last time. In every beat of that moment, he confirmed
what she’d already sensed, that he recognized the rarity of their bond as profoundly
as she did. That in just hours, they’d already built a world together. A place she’d
only dreamed she’d ever find.
Hermoso fuego
. The beautiful fire of their power exchange.

It was a world worth fighting for. Yet here she lay, still tethered to the damn IV
tube, all but whining like a puppy in worry for her master.

She needed to be helping him. Supporting him. Fighting for him, for
them
, in any way she could.

Having selective brain again, hmmm, Zo? Have you conveniently forgotten that the man
is trained to fight and you’re not?

She snorted. “
Ay
. I’m not going to just pick up an M14 and go to town. But he needs help, and—”

Help? Really? You going to yell at him to duck bullets and hand him a cold towel for
comfort?

How the hell had her own conscience turned into her worst enemy? “You’re supposed
to be on my side.”

And you’re supposed to be heeding your Sir.

“He’s not my Sir.” Hearing her vivious bite on the air imparted new confidence. “He’s
my damn captor, is what he is, and he’s still keeping me hostage!”

He’s keeping you safe.

“He needs—”

For you to be alive at the end of all this. But you can’t handle
not
helping. You can’t let it go, can you
?

“I’m sitting here, okay? Being good, keeping my place…waiting to be hauled off to
the holding pen.”

You have to let it go, Zoe.

You
have
to let it go.

She winced as her head repeated the phrase. The words were worse than “tech run-through,”
“pap smear,” and “sold out of Ding Dongs” combined. With hard breaths, she fought
them back again, shoving them back from the tunnel of memory, knowing—and dreading—what
they’d morph into if they achieved that goal. 

Too late. The echo chamber of the past grabbed the words and ran. At first, the phrase
reprised in her own voice, but all too fast, she heard it in Aunt Lena’s voice, instead.
The woman’s usual strict accent marked each syllable, amplified by the stark white
walls of the King of Peace Mortuary.

Zoe. You have to let go now. Your
mamá
is with the angels. Let her go now, child. They have to take her away
.

She squeezed her eyes. Forced down a breath. Fought to thrust the memory away. Though
she managed to clear her mind, the grief clung to her heart, reduced to its eleven
year-old tenderness.