Promises in the Dark (11 page)

He couldn’t tell her that her screams haunted his dreams. How he’d been forced to stand helplessly in that motel room, listening through headphones and unable to help. Sacrificing her for the greater good of the mission. How he’d been unable to think of anything else for months because he knew she was still out there.

Think, Zane
…
remember, you didn’t want to be rescued either
.

But he’d been much younger. Olivia should be smarter than he’d been.

She’s fucking scared to death
.

He sighed and the anger began to dissipate. She could push him, lash out at him, and it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t let it. Because he understood.

So he had a few weapons, could escape the drug lords. DMH might be more of a problem. He was a day behind getting to the harbor at Freetown, DMH had a picture of him and Olivia still refused to agree to come to the States.

And her arguments to that effect were so damned logical … but Africa was not the place to keep her safe.

Whatever else she’d been through when she was younger didn’t matter. The serial killer who’d kidnapped her then—he was gone and it was over.

Or at least the danger was. He was pretty damned sure you never got over something like that.

Still, DMH was bigger. Wouldn’t go away—at least not easily. And Zane didn’t have answers for Liv—in his line of work, there rarely were any and he’d gotten used to it.

“What was your plan?” he heard Liv demand from behind him, turned and saw her also standing in the pouring rain, the T-shirt plastered against her body, molding her breasts. Her legs were bare, her eyes fierce, her chin raised proudly. Stubbornly.

He could just imagine the hell they’d put her through to force her to do the transplants. And even having relived the memories, she still looked formidable—shoulders squared—but her heart was broken.

“Come back home with me, Olivia.” His voice sounded different … raw. “Let me take you out of hell.”

“Don’t you see—it won’t matter.” She put a fisted hand to her chest. “It’ll always be with me. I’ll always carry it with me.”

Yes, he understood, better than she knew. He’d lived with it, shoved it down, pretended it didn’t exist.

His parents had wanted it that way. Thought that by changing Zane’s location they could change his life. And it had most definitely changed for the better … but his past was still there, always threatening to bubble to the surface.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she told him, pretending she wasn’t affected by what he’d said about getting out of hell. And maybe she wasn’t. Maybe nothing but saving people could get through to her these days.

Maybe nothing got through to him but that either.
Fuck
.

“My plan was to grab you, get you to Freetown and onto a ferry,” he said through gritted teeth. “My plan involved saving you. It didn’t involve having the person in danger hit me with a metal frying pan—then tell me to stay the hell out of her life and her business.”

She didn’t bother to look or act contrite. “I never asked you to come,” she said again—her refrain. Her goddamned mantra.

That was it. He closed in on her with three steps. All he could freakin’ think to do was kiss her, and so that’s exactly what he damned well did, hard and fast, without giving a shit what she wanted right now.

But she did want—he could tell by the way she molded against him. She tasted soft and sweet and spicy all at once, like cool rain and the kind of hot summer sun that let you know all was right with the world, and his body enveloped hers, the way he’d wanted to from the moment he’d seen her on the porch.

When he pulled back, she kept her eyes screwed tightly closed as if she could make it all—including him—disappear.

He murmured in her ear, “Open your eyes, Liv. I want you to know my name. To know me—to watch me when you come.”

His voice sent a visceral reaction, a blast of heat, as if she’d been licked by fire, and she wanted to go back and walk through it again and again.

She also wanted to slap him, and both urges were of equal strength. She finally did open her eyes, and pulled away at the same time, then yelled over the sounds of the storm, “I don’t need you. I can give myself an orgasm. Several, actually.”

He grabbed her wrist, held her in place. Although his voice didn’t raise, there was no mistaking the utter and complete command in it. “That’s nothing compared to what I can do for you.”

She shuddered then, ready to come from his words alone. Her body was responding whether she liked it or not, and dammit all to hell, she liked it. “Damn you. I was okay before you got here.”

“I wasn’t. And when you stop bullshitting yourself, you’ll realize you weren’t either.” She thought he’d walk away then, but instead he wound a hand through her hair and brought her face close to his again. Kissed her hard and well enough to make her respond almost instantly, his mouth a hot contrast to the cooling rain. His tongue dueled with hers—the kiss was half fight and half victory, and although she wasn’t sure who the victor was, his kisses were the best she could remember.

Her hands grabbed at the slick skin of his shoulders—his arms remained firmly wrapped around her waist so their bodies molded to each other.

Would he take her right here, in the rain, on the ground? It was so primitive and primal and it felt so right. She wanted to rip her shirt off to feel her breasts rub against his bare chest.

She wrapped her body around his, let his hands roam, tugging at her wet shirt until they were skin to skin and she was hot with need.

They kissed until she couldn’t breathe—until she didn’t care that she couldn’t—and then they kissed more, ignoring the storm, the roll of the thunder rising with their lust.

When he broke the kiss, he pulled her body from his, covered a nipple with his mouth through the soaked fabric, sending a jolt of white hot intensity straight to her core. Her moan was lost in the rain, even as she wound her hands in Zane’s wet hair, because she wanted more.

She wanted everything. His hand traveled between her legs, stroked her bare sex, and she nearly came at that touch, a jolt of sexual awareness washing over her, reminding her what she’d been missing, what she’d been denying herself.

She wanted him to take her—in the dirt, the wet, it didn’t matter, she wouldn’t stop him. Couldn’t. Right now, she needed him as surely as she needed air—her body ached, strained against his, sealing the kind of violent, pleasure-filled release she hadn’t had in forever.

This was her white flag. Her surrender. And she knew that she needed it to survive, needed lovemaking as violent as the storm, as violent as what had happened to her. Somehow that was exactly the way she needed it to be, to draw out the old, and usher in the new under a cleansing deluge … under a man named Zane, against his damp, hot flesh, with a passion that was savage and lethal all at once.

No one was.

But here, with her, with the storm a shield from danger, Zane felt pretty damned bulletproof. His hand remained between her legs, forcing them open as she held his shoulders for dear life.

When his fingers stroked her, she moved with him, her hands circling the nape of his neck as she struggled for bearing.

There would be none—not out here, not with him. And as his finger slid into her hot flesh, her moan rose up, would’ve been loud as anything if the storm hadn’t caught it as part of its fury.

A second finger joined the first and she was riding his hand now, her lips parted, eyes closed … smile on her face.

He never wanted to see that smile fade, would work on that all afternoon.

He watched her reactions, felt her shudders, heard her moans over the rain, and he was so goddamned hard he could cut glass. But he shoved his own desires down in favor of fulfilling all of hers.

He felt her orgasm approach—her legs stiffened around his hand, her mouth dropped open farther and she went so still that for a second, he didn’t think she’d let it happen.

But she did, the release making her knees buckle. His arm tightened around her waist, pulled her close as her climax swept her away, felt her bite his chest as though she was trying to keep from screaming.

She was so slick, it would take one stroke to fill her, easy enough to lay her down and let her clench around him so tight …

He needed to stop thinking with his cock for a second, he realized—they needed to be inside, out of range.

Maybe he should even goddamned stop this. But thinking ceased again when she pulled her T-shirt off, let it slap to the ground, because holy fuck, she was gorgeous. Curvy. High breasts with dark pink nipples that he could taste. A small triangle between her thighs.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright … her body open to his appraisal. And her eyes held a dare.

But now, the lethal savagery of his looks hit her—the savagery that had been almost hidden behind the all-American-boy looks—but not well enough. His eyes glowed, his hands clenched into fists … and the massive power between his legs made her mouth go dry.

She waited for him to approach her, but he didn’t.

“They didn’t … Fuck, I should’ve asked already.” He shook his head.

“They didn’t what?” She saw the look in his eyes, the sudden hesitancy. “No, Zane, they didn’t hurt me like that. They did it in other ways.”

He continued to watch her, unmoving until she said, “Please, I want this. I need this. You’re not taking advantage of me. If anything, it’s the opposite.”

Naked and wet, he enveloped her, carried them both into the shack and lowered them to the waterproof sleeping bag on the floor, then rolled so she was on top of him.

And then he said, “Take it away, Liv.”

She did. Her hands went to his shoulders first, and she paused for a moment to stare at the broad, muscled chest and cut abs again before her eyes moved lower, as did her hand, slid along the hard muscles as he held his breath.

He remained still under her exploration, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he took over, wrapped her in his arms and rolled her under him. And she wanted that as much as she wanted control.

No, it was time to let her guard down, to prove to herself once and for all that she could.

She’d never wanted to be the type of woman who didn’t trust anyone. Doing so would mean that her kidnapper all those years ago had won.

Not trusting now would be letting DMH win. And that would never, ever happen, not as long as she had breath in her body.

She bent her head and pressed her lips to his chest over the mark her teeth had made earlier. He drew a quick, sharp breath and his arousal, which had been jutting against her from the first kiss, grew harder against her palm. She trailed her tongue left, captured a nipple between her teeth and simultaneously licked and tugged, heard, “
Damn, Liv
,” as his hips rose upward in a bucking motion, his erection pressing her sex, and she swore. Just a few more times like that and she could come, break apart and fly away. Forget where she was …

“Open your eyes,” he growled, and she did, mainly because she was surprised at his sudden change of tone, her body pulling away from his. “I want you to know who’s doing this to you.”

“I know,” she whispered, but he shook his head even as he drew her back down.

His gaze was locked on hers, a storm behind his eyes that was ready to release.

And she did watch his face even as his fingers slid down and found her core, gasped, open-mouthed, and got a small smile of satisfaction in return. “You like that.”

She nodded, forced herself not to grind against his hand; although that was all she wanted to do.

He was going to make her come—over and over—and the thought of that was enough to push her over the edge a second time. His name on her lips, eyes on his, and the relief washed over her along with the rolling rush of pleasure.

Her hands twisted in his thick, blond hair, and she forgot the heat, the trouble, let go of everything but the feeling of Zane Scott and his heavy arousal between her legs.

Her heart drummed, her belly tightened.

With that, she let go, her third climax pulsing through her like a freight train, full speed, with no chance of stopping.

After the first, she hadn’t thought that would happen again—not as intensely. She’d known she was carrying pent-up frustration, but this—it was like her body would never stop shuddering, the release making her see stars, her toes curling.

And Zane wasn’t done. He waited patiently, watching her. Enjoying her.

“You were right. You do it better,” she managed, although her throat was raspy, her breathing barely under control … her body lighter than it had been hours earlier.

He smiled then, his eyes darker with desire. “All three times?”

“Yes, dammit, all three times.”

He laughed then, softly. “Then you’ll like the fourth even better.”

Her body tingled with anticipation and she wondered how he could bring her nerve endings under his control with simple words.

Because he’s lived up to every promise he’s made so far
.

She heard a rustle and saw him rolling a condom on himself.

He must’ve seen the surprise on her face, because he said, “Always prepared,” and she knew she would’ve let him inside her anyway, because all her caution had been tossed to the wind a long time ago.

She pulled him down to her, brought his face close to hers for another kiss, because he hadn’t kissed her again since they were outside and she wanted his mouth on hers. Wanted to see if it had been the storm, or her hormones—or something else entirely. And when his tongue played against hers, she knew she actually still had the ability to feel.

As he kissed her, he shifted his weight over her and she spread her thighs to him, letting him know that she was ready for him. When he took her, it was with one swift push, filling an urge so necessary she gasped against his mouth in what would’ve otherwise been a scream.

“Tight, Liv … tight, wet for me,” he murmured, paused as if attempting to gain his composure.

And then he gave up, drove into her with her legs wrapped fast around his waist, her hands gripping his back, and all she could do was hold on and let herself go.

It was all she wanted to do.