Night Forbidden (14 page)

“Four,” he said, because he couldn’t argue with that logic.

She tensed, then relaxed in his grip. “Okay. But back away. I’ll show you.”

“Don’t trust me to do the job, huh?” he asked, flashing a slow grin. “I’m real good with buttons.”

“I don’t trust you to do anything but piss me off,” she said. “Now back off.”

He stepped away far enough so he was no longer holding her pinned to the wall with his thigh but close enough to snatch her back if she tried to make a run for it. Not that she could run anyway.

A pang of guilt stabbed him at the reminder of his great advantage over her. He wasn’t even going to get to see his mama at the Pearly Gates—he was going straight to hell.

He couldn’t help but glance down at Ana’s legs. They were encased in dark jeans, so all he could see was the imperfect curl of her bare foot next to a slender, normal one. But, jeez, she had long legs.

“Okay, start unbuttoning,” he said, forcing command into his voice, reminding himself that sympathy would only weaken him.

She glanced up, then with her knifeless hand started to unbutton her shirt from the bottom. Slowly.

His breathing shifted and caught as she undid one button, then another. He’d seen his fair share of women undress, but this was the hottest striptease he could remember. His palm felt a little damp and he rubbed it inconspicuously against the side of his shorts as she undid another button.

Now he could see a triangle of skin, and he swallowed hard, his heart pounding.
Mmm
-hmm
.
Her jeans rode low, and her belly was smooth and pale like a moonbeam here in the dim light. He admired the dark crescent of her navel as she unfastened a fourth button, and he realized his knees were quivering.

Thank you, God, for not letting me drown today.

Another button revealed the gentle indentation of the hollow just below her breastbone, and Fence found himself mesmerized by that little spot. He needed to rest his lips there, to press a little kiss . . . and then a gentle swipe from the tip of his tongue.

A breath above that would be the bottom edge of her bra. If she was wearing one. If not . . . a spear of lust caught him in his belly. If not, there’d be nothing but that sexy, private undercurve of her breasts. Soft, warm, and scented deeply of Ana.

She paused, then flipped the edge of her loosened shirt away on one side in a big triangle, revealing the sweet curve of her hip and absolutely nothing else.
Hoo-weee.
He actually felt light-headed.

“There,” she said. “Satisfied?”

Was it his imagination or was there a definite layer of huskiness in her voice?

“Not even close,” he said, moving a little nearer. His fingers itched to slide over that smooth expanse of bare midriff, to see the contrast of his dark skin against her golden belly and feel the silky warmth of her, the little shudders in the wake of his touch . . . and then to slide down behind the bulky buttons on her jeans and into the delicious heat of the sun goddess.

“Fence,” she said, her voice sharp . . . yet cracking, deeper.

Even through the sudden, powerful haze of lust, he remembered what he was after . . . and the limitations of what she’d revealed.

“The other side,” he said, gently taking her knife hand. “Show me the other side.”

He felt the tension in her wrist. Her chest moved with a sudden little jerk and she said, “Okay. Let go of me.”

“Let me,” he murmured, holding her wrist high, pinning it firmly to the wall at her shoulder.
Let me.
His fingers curled into themselves, his mouth dry. His whole body was tight and throbbing.

“No,”
she said. Her voice cracked out like a whip.

No.
He had no choice. The word was like an ice-cold shower, a stone wall, a gun barrel pointed at him. He eased back.

“Ana,” he said. “We both know what you’re hiding.” He focused on her, capturing her gaze and delving steadily into it.

Her eyelids fluttered and he felt the change in her breathing yet again. But she made no move to argue, nor to reveal the left side of her torso.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re up to,” he said. “What that gray stuff is—I saw it in your father’s lab,” he added when she drew in a breath to speak.

Not that he minded, for it brought her breasts up and out, closer to his chest. He was suddenly, delightedly, certain she wasn’t wearing a bra. His knees weakened.

What happened to his dislike of angry, difficult women? Even her knife wielding didn’t send him running.

“I’m not up to anything,” she said, her eyelids drooping in a seductive way that totally worked for him.

“I’m going to have to look, sugar. I warned you . . .” He moved one of his big hands to settle on her shoulder, holding her in place. Gently, but firmly. “Believe me, I’d rather have a different reason for taking your clothes off.”

With a quick, deft movement he flipped the loose shirt away from the left side of her midriff. Ana shied back as he did, then suddenly stilled and stopped trying to hide . . . because by then it was all over.

Holy Jesus
.

Fence saw the four dark spots studding the spaces between her ribs. At quick glance they might have been mistaken for large freckles or beauty marks, but he had a bit longer than a glance to notice them, which gave the faulty light an opportunity to catch the facets of the crystals.

Dull glints came from the pea-sized stones, displaying a subtle hint of blue. He’d seen gems or piercings settled in a woman’s navel, even Marley’s Elite crystal, which was set below her collarbone . . . but this was different. Unexpected and exotic.

And at the same time, terrifying.

Anna had caught her breath, went as still as a statue as he stared down at the crystals embedded in her flesh.

“Do they hurt?” he asked, still holding her in place with one hand, as the other eased toward her skin. He had to touch her . . . to feel them. His heart thudded with anticipation.

Her belly danced in a quick shudder as his fingers skimmed over it and then brushed each of the four small rises of her gems. They were cooler than her skin, hard where she was soft, but each facet just as smooth as the rest of her.

“No,” she said, and it took him a moment to remember what he’d asked her.

“What about when you got them. Did it hurt?” He touched one with the pad of his thumb, gently yet firmly to see if it moved. Her skin shifted slightly, then settled back into place. Fence realized he’d been holding his breath, and released it slowly.

His body hummed and pounded, and he fought away the urge to close his hands around her bare waist and pull her up against him, flush, from torso to hips to long, long legs . . .

“I don’t know,” she told him. “I’ve had them . . . for as long as I can remember. Let me go. You’ve seen what you want to see.” Her voice trembled a bit, and for the first time he recognized fear in her eyes.

But he wasn’t finished with her.

“Are you Atlantean?” he asked, looking up at her suddenly, peeling away the lust that dulled his senses. For all he knew, she could be a Mata Hari, sent here to spy on them and find out about the Resistance. “Tell me the truth this time.”

There was a long moment when he thought she wouldn’t answer. But then: “Half,” she said. “My mother was.”

A rush of relief buzzed through Fence, and it took him a moment to realize why: that his manhandling and intimidation was justified. Maybe he wouldn’t burn in hell after all.

But then again the way his thoughts were going . . .

“Now will you let me go?” she said again. Her shoulder moved beneath his hand, and he allowed it to drop away as she pushed against him. Tension emanated from her, and he regretted the discord.

Despite who she was and his darkening suspicions, he wanted her soft and pliant and relaxed. Like she’d been on the beach . . . all hot and moaning and sighing. Warm and wet—

A guy could do so much more with that. His eyes moved back down to the bare torso only inches from his own. Just a sneak peek of the whole package and his knees were threatening to give out. His mouth was dry again.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” she continued, but her voice was less strident. Almost breathy. And her fingers weren’t pushing against his shoulder as firmly as before.

Why fight it?

“Well, let’s see if we can change that, sugar.” Fence allowed his knees to have their way, and as he grasped her by the hips, he sank down in front of her.

Chapter 10

A
na gasped when his lips brushed against her belly, just next to her navel. Her skin leapt with delicate tremors as Fence kissed her gently, so incredibly softly. His tongue slipped out, his lips full and warm as he tasted and nuzzled in sweet little circles over her torso.

She sagged back against the wall, needing the extra balance, and lost the loose grip on her knife. It thunked to the floor and she didn’t even care . . .

He held her firmly at the hips as he nosed away the flap of her shirt, his mouth teasing over the soft rise of her stomach. The feathery tickling sensation sent heat welling inside her, shooting down to where she was growing full and warm and slick.

She held her breath when he came near the crystals, but he was gentle there, too, and then began to trail soft, light kisses all along the skin just above the rise of her jeans. She trembled at the delicate touch, her breathing rough—and her fingers . . . they fluttered a bit until settling on top of his impossibly wide shoulders. Hot and broad and sleek with muscle beneath the thin, tight shirt, he shifted beneath her touch.

When Fence came to the buttons at the fly of her jeans, he paused, then released her waist. A little jerk, a little pop, and one—no, two—buttons loosened.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ana knew she should protest, but she felt languid and loose, wrapped in the rush of pleasure. Her little knife was . . . somewhere, but nothing seemed to matter but the lush warmth spreading through her body, the rising
need
.

Fence rose to his feet, and the next thing she knew, he had her mouth under his, with lips so full and soft, coaxing and luring her into a world of pleasure. Demanding fingers eased down along the curve of her waist, beneath her shirt. They slid gently into the sagging jeans at her hips, then angled around to the top swell of her bottom as he pulled her sharply up against him.
All
against him.

And . . .
whoa.

She hummed her delighted surprise from deep in her chest and felt his mouth smirk against hers, then suddenly felt the hard wall behind her as he pressed in even closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck, cupping the back of his smooth skull, leaning back into him.

She tensed nervously when he touched her right hip, his fingers now sliding deeper below the line of her jeans, knowing that her skin there was rough and puckered with scars . . . then she forgot all about it as he shifted his hips against her again, pressing urgently into her. The low rumble of his half-laughing moan sent a little spear of lust darting down deep inside her.

Then all at once she heard a voice, followed by a dull rolling sound, and then the voice was louder. More light spilled into the area, and Ana froze, the lust draining away as she realized the elevator door she’d been trying to get into had opened.

“—crazy batshit excuse, genius,” a woman was saying. “I don’t fucking need to be saving your ass every damn time I turn around, as fine as your ass might be.” There was a rustling sound, perhaps even a bit of sloppy, sleek suction happening. “And it is a hellastically fine ass.”

Fence had stilled, but despite Ana’s instinct to push him away and put coherent thoughts back together—
get the hell out of here—
he made only a lazy move to step back. He glanced down at her, and she saw a glimmer of laughter in eyes that still smoked with pleasure.

“Right,” replied a man in a voice just as precise and yet affectionate as the woman’s was annoyed. “Except that you
live
to save my arse every chance you get. It’s what keeps you going, luv.”

The woman gave a snort, and apparently at that moment noticed them. “Who the hell are— Oh, fuck. Fence, can’t you find another damned place to do that?”

By now Ana had pulled her shirt back into place and corralled her thoughts. She realized her partner, such as he was, had been doing her a favor by not moving right away—he’d blocked her from view.

“Well, you know me, Zoë,” Fence said with that bass-deep chuckle that sent little shivers into the pit of Ana’s belly. “When opportunity knocks, I’m always going to answer that motherfucking door.”

Ana straightened up.
What the hell? Opportunity
knocked?

It was more like he bulldozed the darn door down. The last vestiges of pleasure now evaporated, she began to sidle away . . . but Fence’s hand whipped out and caught her wrist.

He gave her a “not so fast” look, then turned his attention back to the man and woman, whose name appeared to be Zoë. She was a slender, athletic-looking woman whose body emanated energy and impatience. Her dark hair was short and spiked every which way about her exotic, mahogany face.

Her companion was a tall, well-built man with blond hair. He looked calm, unruffled, and neat—a clear contrast to the woman he had apparently been kissing a moment earlier. Nor did he look like the sort of guy who needed a woman to save his ass.

“I was looking for Elliott,” Fence told them.

Zoë snorted. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it looked like to me.”

Fence flashed her a smile that infuriated Ana even more. “Well, yeah, like I said, opportunity and all that shit. We’ve got some things to tell him. And you as well.” He tightened his fingers around Ana’s wrist, and her heart began to thud harder.

She was in such deep murk now. He’d tricked and seduced her and now knew her secret, and he was going to tell everyone . . . and what were they going to do with her?

Ana’s insides, so recently soft and fluttery with pleasure, now churned with nausea. She actually felt light-headed, and a bead of sweat rolled down her spine. What a fool. A handsome face and broad shoulders and a way with children . . . and she gave right in.
I’ve got to get away from him. Out of here.

“Dred’s below,” said the man, glancing curiously at Ana. “I was just examining the crystal—”

“And nearly lost his mind in the process,” Zoë cut in, her voice sharp and furious. But beneath it Ana recognized the same bald fear that was in her father’s voice when he lectured her about swimming alone too far away from home. “So I fucking made Quent take a damned break. Someone has to have more than an ass-crap brain—”

“It has to be done,” the blond man, presumably Quent, said. Clear affection reflected in his tones, but also flat stubbornness. “It’s the only chance we have—” He stopped, looking at Ana again. “Right.”

“Right,” Fence echoed, and the two men exchanged glances. They seemed uncertain about how to proceed.

“Oh for the
life
of me,” Zoë burst out. “Put a fucking blindfold on her and take her down there before hell freezes over. She already knows where the fuck it is.”

Ana tensed again. “I’m not going to be dragged around like some sort of prisoner,” she informed Fence, and shot a look at Zoë. “Blindfolded like some sort of captive.”

The terrible thought struck her. He wasn’t going to keep her prisoner, was he? They didn’t dare lock her up—but what if they sent her back to Atlantis?

Fence seemed to notice her distress, and he actually gave Ana a sympathetic glance. “We can’t really let you see where we’re going or how to get there. But you’re not a prisoner,” he told her.

“Great. Then I’ll see you later,” she said, pulling her hand away from him. She wished she had her knife, but it was over in the corner.

He grabbed her wrist again. “You’re not a prisoner, but I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“So now you’d ‘like’ to ask me questions? You’re
requesting
me to answer some questions?” she said, glaring at him. “Well, you’re just going to have to wait until opportunity ‘knocks.’ And let me tell you, this door is bolted pretty darn tight.”

“Hot damn. I like this chick,” Zoë said, watching with a smirk.

Fence chuckled too. “Hey, I saw her first,” he warned. When Ana directed a furious glare at him, he merely smiled wider and let his eyes go a little warmer.

Her belly wavered, dang it.

“Zoë’s got the right idea,” Quent said. He looked at Ana. “My apologies, but we’re going to need to speak with you. And in order to protect ourselves—and you—it would be best if you were blindfolded. The less you know, the less you can be forced to tell.”

Well, when you put it that way.
Ana’s insides were twisting with apprehension. One thing was certain: whatever she was worried about happening with the sea, these people had other concerns on their collective mind. And they weren’t taking any chances.

“Fine,” she said flatly. Then she looked at Fence. “But this in no way can be construed as the door being answered.”

“That’s a damned shame,” he said, his insouciant grin even wider, his eyes hot and steamy. “Because I love a woman in a blindfold.”

A
na succumbed to the blindfolding partly because she didn’t have much choice, when it came down to it—they weren’t going to let her leave—and aside from that, Quent had made sense when he suggested it might protect her.

Both the Atlanteans—and by extension, the Elite—were entities she wanted to avoid. Come to think of it, she wanted to avoid everyone—both mortal and immortal, both land-walking and sea-living.

If everyone would just leave her
alone
. Better to be lonely than to be back in Atlantis.

Since she didn’t have a choice, she could see that her energies were best utilized by deciding how she would handle the upcoming interrogation, what she was going to say and what she wasn’t—instead of trying to run away.

She also realized that this might give her some leverage: if she kept their secrets, maybe they’d keep hers.

The blindfold smelled like Fence, which was disturbing because she liked it all too well. He’d taken off that thin shirt and tied it around her eyes and the top of her head, then led her off.

They walked her around, presumably to mix her up on the direction, even though she knew that the elevator doors led somewhere . . .

And at last, after some walking, some stairs, some jerking, then an odd weightless feeling when she was standing, the blindfold was removed.

She found herself in a very brightly lit room that looked like something out of an old DVD. Sofas and chairs were gathered on one end, with a low table between them. The solid white walls were covered with a few old movie posters and a metal plate with the code WIXY 97 engraved on it. But taking up most of the very large, stark space were several rows of tables with what she supposed were computers on them. Screens. Keyboards. Other electronic devices she’d only seen in movies and couldn’t identify.

The space had a constant low humming, rumbling sound, and beyond it she could see a door that led to another room.

A spike of fear leapt in her stomach as she looked around, searching for escape. She wasn’t used to being confined in a space without windows to see or feel the outside world. She knew from descending the stairs that they were below the surface, and being underground was very unlike being on the bottom of the sea. Her breathing became rougher and more shallow. Even though the area was large, she felt the walls closing in on her, the ceiling heavy and low above her.

“Have a seat,” Fence said, and then he must have seen the expression in her face, for he paused and gave her a good look. “Ana?” Concern colored his expression and words, mollifying her slightly.

“We’re underground,” she managed to say. Her skin felt clammy.

He nodded, moving closer to her, looking at her as if trying to read her thoughts. “Yes,” he said. “No one’s going to hurt you. We just need to know what’s going on.”

Ana drew in a deep breath, swallowing the words that would tell him that wasn’t what she was worried about, and she used that thought as a distraction from her disturbing environment. By all accounts she should no longer be worried about them knowing her secret. And about being taken prisoner—for there was hardly any other way to look at her situation. No one knew she was here, and there was no way out unless they let her go.

Another zing of nerves shot through her, and she tightened her fingers in an intricate curl.
One step at a time. Fence hasn’t done anything but kiss the heck out of you.

But then . . . so had Darian . . . and more. And look how that turned out.

With that not so pleasant thought, she sat on one of the sofas as Quent and Zoë took their seats. A moment later Elliott, the doctor, came in through the other room’s door.

Fence didn’t beat around the bush. “Ana’s part Atlantean,” he said.

“Do you have crystals?” asked Quent. He didn’t seem horrified by this news, but, rather, interested. As did Elliott and Zoë . . . all of them, in fact, seemed more fascinated than accusatory.

All except Fence, who, despite his sympathy a moment earlier, still wore a skeptical look.

Ana nodded in response to Quent.

“They help you breathe underwater?” asked Elliott.

She nodded again.

“What’s the gray stuff we found on the shore the first day you were here in Envy?” Fence asked.

“I don’t know,” she told them.

“You have some back home,” Fence said, taking her by surprise. “In George’s lab. Where did it come from? What is it?”

“I took some for Dad so he could try and figure out what it is. He hasn’t been able to identify it, and I haven’t either.”

“Where is Atlantis?” asked Quent. He’d leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with fascination and determination.

Ana’s heart was pounding now. Would they believe her if she told them she didn’t know? “I left Atlantis when I was thirteen. I don’t know where it is.”

Zoë snorted. “Bullcrap. You must have some idea. You lived there, didn’t you?”

Ana gave her a cool look. “It’s a big ocean.”

“What’s it like? Is it really a city with a dome over it? At the bottom of the ocean?” Quent asked. “I can’t believe it really exists.”

She bit her lip. She hated the Atlanteans . . . but did she dare divulge their secrets? Would she get caught up in the same wave of culpability if Fence and his friends found out exactly what her people had done? Would they blame her too?