Michel/Striker (3 page)

Michel wasn’t a happy Pantera by the time they arrived in Bossier City.

Not only had he been forced to drive a P.O.S. car instead of his beloved Jag to avoid attracting unwanted attention, but he’d been achingly aware of the female seated next to him.

It didn’t matter how hard he tried to ignore her presence; he remained acutely aware of the warm scent of her skin, and the soft sound of her breathing. Worse, his cat had nearly driven him nuts with the urge to lean across the narrow distance and take a small taste.

He didn’t trust her. Not even a little.

But he wanted her with a desperation that bordered on obsession.

Shit.

Night had just fallen as they crossed the bridge that spanned the Red River. He flinched at the sound of fighter jets that screamed through the air. Sometimes heightened senses weren’t always a blessing.

Turning onto the parkway that led along the river, he at last found a narrow access road and pulled the car to a halt. Just ahead he could see the small, red-brick building that looked like a factory with tinted windows, steel doors, a narrow parking lot and high, chain-link fence that surrounded the property.

That had to be Locke’s secret lab.

Intent on studying the nearby buildings that looked abandoned, Michel was caught off guard when Chelsea abruptly spoke.

“Is there a specific reason I’m receiving the silent treatment or are you always so rude?”

Michel turned in his seat to meet her frustrated glare.
Yes!
He’d been itching for a fight. Anything to distract him from his cock that was hard and aching with a need that truly pissed him off.

“I don’t share chitchat with my enemies,” he drawled.

Her chin angled to the side, the gesture designed to reveal her displeasure at the same time that she kept her scars hidden by her glorious hair.

Which only pissed him off more.

Did she think the scars distracted from her beauty? If she did, then she was a fool.

“I’m not your enemy,” she muttered.

“No?” His lips twisted into a humorless smile. “You didn’t experiment on Pantera like they were slabs of meat instead of living, breathing people who suffered unimaginable agony in your labs?”

She paled, as if he’d struck her. “I deeply regret my part in harming your people, as well as the humans who were abused.” She turned her head to glance out the window. “I have no excuse.”

“Vanity,” Michel accused, even as he felt like a total tool.

He didn’t know why. Okay, he was being harsh with the female. But she’d helped her cohorts kidnap innocent Pantera as well as humans, including children. Then, without the least amount of mercy, they’d experimented and tormented their victims.

Why should he feel bad because he didn’t trust her?

“Yes, it was vanity,” she said in low tones, her hands clenched in her lap. “On the other hand, I’ve tried to do what I can to atone for my mistakes.”

His gaze took in the pure lines of her profile before lowering to the slender body that was currently attired in a tight cashmere sweater and jeans that did oh-my-god things to her ass.

He’d almost swallowed his tongue when she’d joined him at the communal garage at the edge of the Wildlands. She was so rarely out of her loose scrubs, he hadn’t fully appreciated her sweet curves.

Now he grimly forced his gaze back to her face. Shit. His cock was pressed so tight against his zipper he feared an injury.

“So you claim.”

She turned to meet his narrowed gaze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “It seems convenient that you would have a change of heart just when we managed to discover the Haymore Center and Locke’s sick experiments.”

Her hands clenched in her lap. “There was nothing convenient about it,” she snapped. “I’d been held captive until Locke was forced to cut his losses and leave New Orleans.”

Michel jerked in surprise. He knew that Chelsea had arrived unexpectedly at the Wildlands, and that Raphael and Parish had originally kept her separated from the Pantera. They weren’t going to take any chances with a female who admitted she’d been an employee of their greatest enemy.

After she’d been allowed to join the community, Michel had assumed she’d come straight from one of the labs to the Wildlands. After all, she hadn’t been very forthcoming with her past.

“You were a prisoner?” he demanded.

She gave a jerky nod. “Yes.”

“And they just let you go?”

Her features tightened with pain before she was giving a hesitant nod. “Yes.

Something perilously close to sympathy threatened to undermine the righteous anger he used to keep her at a distance.

No. He couldn’t let down his guard. His duty was to protect his people, not protect this female’s feelings.

“You see?” he sneered. “Convenient.”

Her brows snapped together. “Exactly what are you accusing me of?”

“I think you’re a spy,” he said without hesitation.

She gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “You can’t be serious?”

He studied her pale face. Even in the thickening shadows he could make out the delicate lines of her features and the plush temptation of her mouth. Her reaction seemed genuine, but…

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked.

She snorted. “Because I would make the worst spy in history, that’s why.”

“That’s what you would say, of course.”

She heaved a rough sigh. The sort of sigh that women perfected to sound as if they were being tortured beyond bearing.

“If you don’t trust me, then why did you agree to bring me to Bossier City?”

“So I can watch you.”

Her eyes smoldered with anger. “You seem to watch me a lot.”

He tensed. A direct hit.

Barely aware he was moving, he leaned toward the tormenting female, one palm flat on the headrest and the other on the passenger side window.

“I don’t trust you.”

Astonishingly, she met him glare for glare. She might be quiet, and naturally shy, but she didn’t lack courage.

“And that’s the only reason?” she taunted.

Deep inside, his cat was suddenly crouched, anxious to pounce on this delicious prey. The animal had enough denying the hunger for this female.

“What do you want me to say?” he demanded, his voice low and husky. “That I’ve spent my days wondering what you hide beneath those scrubs?” His hand moved from the headrest so his fingers could tangle in her satin hair. “And my nights imagining you spread across my bed?”

Her eyes widened, an unmistakable excitement flaring through the green depths.

“Michel,” she breathed.

Her parted lips were a temptation that not even a saint could ignore. And Michel was no saint. He was a frustrated male who hadn’t been able to bed a female since he’d caught sight of Dr. Chelsea Young.

Swooping his head down, he crushed her lips in a kiss that was sheer punishment. Or at least, that was his first intention.

But like all best laid plans, the second he felt the soft satin of her mouth, his pressure eased. His anger and suspicion were forgotten as he allowed the tip of his tongue to slip between her lips, exploring her mouth with sensual pleasure. At the same time, his fingers combed through the thick curls, allowing the silken fire to slide over his skin like a caress.

How would it feel to have those curls brushing over his bare chest and down his stomach as she at last took his cock between her lips? Maybe her nails would dig into his ass as he lifted his hips and thrust deep into her mouth, using her tongue to tease the sensitive tip.

The vivid image seared through his mind. He groaned, nearly coming in his jeans when her hands lifted to settle against his chest.

Damn.
Chelsea was barely touching him, but it was more exciting than having any other woman do a lap dance.

He gave a gentle tug on her hair, tilting back her head to gain him access to the vulnerable throat. His cat purred in satisfaction, rubbing beneath his skin as his lips skimmed down the line of her jaw before he buried his face against the curve of her neck.

The taste of her slammed into him like a slug to the gut.

Autumn spice and fire.

Intoxicating…

He parted his lips, allowing his teeth to sink into the vulnerable base of her throat. It was only when his cat growled in satisfaction that he realized just how far he was spinning out of control.

“Shit,” he muttered, lifting his head to study her, flushed with a seething need.

Clearly lost in her own passion, it took a second for her to lift her lashes and meet his brooding gaze. Then, with an obvious effort, she was placing her hands flat against his chest and giving him a shove.

“Are you out of your mind?” she rasped.

He moved back, not bothering to tell her that her outrage was too little and too late to be convincing.

Right now he was far more concerned with his own painful arousal.

“Obviously,” he muttered, reaching to shove open the car door. “Stay here.”

Without warning she reached out to grab his arm, her expression troubled. “Where are you going?”

He nodded toward the brick building. “I want to check out the facility.”

She released his arm, lifting her hand to chew on her nail. “Locke will have the place surrounded with security,” she warned.

“Nothing I can’t get past,” he said, unconsciously reaching to tug her thumb away from her lips.

It bothered him to see the tip of her thumb raw and bloody from her nervous habit.

She rolled her eyes. “Arrogant,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Michel thinned his lips, refusing to allow them to twitch at his unexpected flare of amusement.

“Did you say something?” he mocked.

She met his gaze squarely. “I thought I was sent here to help.”

For no reason at all, he felt another surge of lust blast through him. His fingers circled her tiny wrist, his thumb brushing against her fluttering pulse.

“What are you offering?”

Heat smoldered in the air as their gazes locked, and Michel barely battled back the crazed urge to yank her across the seat so she could straddle his lap. He’d never had sex with a woman in a car, let alone when he was parked on a public street. But with this woman he didn’t give a shit where they were or who might be watching.

He wanted her.

End of story.

Easily sensing the direction of his thoughts, Chelsea blushed, tugging her arm from his light grip.

“I’m offering my knowledge of Locke’s preferences in placing his security cameras and tripwires,” she said. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Come on,” he muttered, a growl rumbling in his chest as he crawled out of the car and headed down the street.

Another few moments alone with this female and he was going to tell her exactly what he wanted from her.

And it had nothing to do with finding Locke…

***

Stanton Locke should have been impressed. Clearly no expense had been spared to build the vast facility that was spread like a spiderweb beneath the bunkers at the distant edge of the air base.

The labs possessed the latest, high-tech equipment; the rooms for his test subjects were comfortable and yet secure enough to prevent another mass escape like they’d endured just a few weeks before. And there were even startlingly luxurious accommodations for himself and his researchers.

Everything he could want and more.

But while he accepted Benson Enterprises had achieved a new level of success, he was growingly jaded with his master’s ambitions.

After all, he understood Christopher’s desire to prolong his life. And to discover a way to use the Pantera blood to create a means to heal human diseases. Those were goals that anyone could applaud.

And in the beginning, it’d all been…morally acceptable, if not entirely legal.

The Pantera had struggled with becoming pregnant, and Christopher had dedicated himself to providing the solution to their problem. At first he’d used the old-fashioned method of sharing his seed with the females desperate for a child. Then, once he realized the Pantera’s potent blood could not only heal the hideous scars that had been left from the smallpox he’d survived as a child, but also prolong his life, he’d invested his considerable fortune in trying to find a clinical means of creating more Pantera.

Christopher’s investment had included collecting the finest scientific minds he could hire and giving them carte blanche to experiment on the various Pantera and humans he captured and kept locked in his various labs.

Slowly, however, his master’s offer to help the Pantera got twisted with a determination to create a variety of serums that would offer everything from super-strength to curing cancer to potential immortality.

Why not make a profit on his investment?

But Locke had never dreamed Christopher would cross the threshold into making their experiment subjects into ‘mutant’ soldiers.

Now he was sinking in shit so deep he didn’t know how to get out.

Walking down the long corridor that was painfully bright from the overhead fluorescent lights, Locke took a brief moment to appreciate the knowledge that Chelsea was at least free. He’d done many things in his life that shamed him.

But releasing the only woman he’d ever loved…

Well, that was one choice that allowed him to sleep at night.

Stepping into his large personal office that was furnished with a solid oak desk and matching chairs, he barely resisted the urge to reach for the handgun he had holstered beneath the jacket of his gray Armani suit.

The large, bald-headed man standing in the center of the office was the sort of male who inspired fear.

It wasn’t just his thick body that bulged with muscles beneath the crisply pressed uniform. Or the heavily-jowled face that held an expression of sneering superiority. It was the watery blue eyes that were as flat as a snake.

This was a man without mercy. Or empathy.

A man trained to be the perfect killing machine.

And now he was the largest defense contractor in the world.

“Colonel Cole.”

The older man ran a cold glance over Locke’s designer suit before returning to take in the dark hair he kept smoothed into a tail at his nape. Cole made an effort to hide his disdain for Locke’s elegant style and polished English accent, but he was one of those overzealous patriots who never truly trusted anyone stupid enough not to be born in America.