Riding the Storm (13 page)

"That's
no way to live. Trust me on that—I know better than just about anybody."
His hand skimmed her calf in a light caress, and her breath caught in her
throat. Her body, already primed from the sex play earlier, tingled. Acute
awareness sharpened her senses as his fingers stroked behind her knee before
continuing to her inner thigh.

Out
of the calmness, lightning flashed through the windows, illuminating his eyes,
the hard planes of his face. God, he was handsome, and she found herself
wishing he weren't, because then when he dropped her foot and positioned
himself so his body separated her thighs, she could have remained objective.
Science-minded. She should have been wondering where the lightning had come
from and how—and if—it was related to Remy's mood or sexual arousal.

But
as it was, as his fingers moved upward until they skimmed the thin barrier of
silk at the juncture of her thighs, objectivity took a backseat to pleasure.

"Like
this," he murmured, exploring the hills and valleys of her sex through the
fabric. "This, I know you can do by yourself. I watched you, remember? Out
by the trees, when you put your hand down your pants, made yourself come."

Nodding,
she leaned back on her arms and bit back a moan, fought the urge to push
against his hand wantonly. She needed relief, but she didn't want to be this
vulnerable, didn't want to believe she needed a man for anything she could do
herself.

She
especially didn't want him to know how his slightest touch affected her, but
there was no hiding how turned on she was when he tunneled his finger under the
fabric and pushed a finger into her warm, wet canal. A small whimper escaped
her lips, and he added another finger and stroked slowly.

She
felt his knuckles catch on the elastic leg opening, heard the soft rip of torn
fabric as he split the crotch and plunged his fingers back inside her.

He
circled her slippery bud with his thumb, and thunder rumbled close by. For a
moment she wondered if they were in for another dangerous storm, but as the
sound closed in, it became a low and soothing roll. His hand moved faster, in
and out, spreading her moisture through her folds, bringing every nerve ending
front and center.

Little
shocks zinged upward from her clit with every stroke, and she quivered, ready
to explode.

He
took her close to the edge, so close she cried out with the first tremors of
orgasm, and then pulled her back, almost as though on a mission. A mission to
show her who was in charge.

He
hadn't forgotten the incident on the couch.

Growling
in frustration, she leaned forward and took his nipple in her mouth, giving it
a sharp tug that made him groan.

"You
play dirty, Haley," he breathed. "But this is my show."

She
brought a hand down between her legs, parted her engorged folds to finish
things. "I can take care of myself."

He
pushed her hand aside with his empty one. "Not like I can."

As if
to prove his point, he turned up the torment a notch, filling her with three
fingers now, pumping faster, harder, until her breaths came in harsh gasps and
her legs trembled.

"Do
you want me to stop?"

Damn
him. He'd turned what she'd done to him back on her, and she was too far gone
to say yes.

"No,"
she moaned, and bucked when his fingers brushed the sensitive pillow of nerves
deep inside.

Smiling,
he leaned in, jerked her shirt open with his teeth. Cool air hit her breasts as
the buttons lost the battle and hit the floor, and Remy moved in so close his
hot breath wafted over her neck and his bare upper body brushed hers. Her
nipples grew taut every time he touched them, and they were painfully so now.
She rubbed against the hard wall of his chest, abandoned to ecstasy, not caring
that she was rocking against him, seeking relief that only a screaming orgasm
would bring.

"Then
say it. Say it's my show."

No
. But before she could stop herself, she obeyed,
speaking the words between panting breaths. "Yes, Remy… your show."

"My
house, my rules, and that's the way we play, all right?" he asked, and it
wasn't fair, because at that moment she would've promised him anything if he'd
just make her come.

Her
calves curled around his ass and she locked her ankles against the base of his
spine. She needed him there between her legs. Closer. She reached up to grab his
shoulders, to pull him down on top of her, but he was faster. He kept one hand
in her slick heat and the other grabbed one wrist tightly.

"My
house, my rules," he repeated. "Give me your other wrist."

He
opened his large hand, and silently cursing the reversal in roles, she did what
she was told. He gripped both easily in his palm and then jerked her arms above
her head so she was totally helpless. Vulnerable. Aroused like never before. He
was getting his payback for the control she'd taken from him, and she hated it.
Loved it. Wanted more.

He
eased her thighs wider and stroked her with an easy rhythm that drove her mad,
while his eyes looked on her calmly, with a mix of amusement and lust. When his
thumb pushed up on her clit and then held it there with light, but devastating
pressure, he leaned over, whispered into her ear, "Say it, Haley."

"Your
house, your rules… yes… yes… oh, God, yes!" Her orgasm exploded behind her
eyes in a white-hot burst that put lightning to shame.

"See,
something you can do on your own, but something that's much better when there's
someone else involved."

Too
spent to argue, she dropped her head onto his strong shoulder and inhaled the
scent of musk and skin and all-man she would forever associate with Remy.

"You're
so pretty, so beautiful,
chere
," he murmured while he touched her
hair, her cheek, almost as though he was in some kind of a trance.

With
the exception of the strange comments Devlin had made, she'd never been called
beautiful before, at least not after a guy had gotten what he wanted in bed.
Capable, yes. "I'm not—"

"Yeah,
you are. To me, you are, and right now, I'm the only one who counts."

Her
head still felt fuzzy from orgasm, but his tone had punched through the haze,
and she gave a small start. "You really mean that."

"You
sound surprised."

"It's
just that you don't know me very well." Not like she knew him.

"True.
But we've already been through a lot, don't you think?"

Ignoring
his question, because she didn't want it to lead to more she wasn't prepared to
answer, she said, "I should let you get cleaned up, get comfortable."

"I'm
pretty damned comfortable right now." His hand caressed the back of her
neck. "And you're damned good at deflecting."

She
lifted her head from his shoulder and stared. "What's your specialty with
the teams?" she asked, even though she already knew. She also knew he had
no specialty anymore, since he'd left the Navy.

He
smirked. "Interrogation. So you don't really have a chance here."

He moved
away from between her legs and sauntered to where his bag lay by the mantel.
Crouching on his heels, he rifled through it while she fastened her shirt with
the buttons that remained and admired the way his back muscles rippled, the way
his skin glowed under the cloud-dappled moonlight streaming in through the
window.

When
he came back to her, he was holding a smaller black bag, the contents of which
he unpacked on the table. Then he pulled up a chair and took her foot again. He
opened a foil packet and removed an alcohol swab, which he used to clean her
wound.

"Why
the Chair Force?" he asked, said it more like a command than a question,
but this time, she didn't bristle, even though he'd made fun of her military
service. Even more puzzling was the way her heart stirred when Remy leaned in
to blow air over where he'd just swiped the alcohol swab, cutting the sting.

Geez,
she was easier than she'd thought. "I didn't have the money for college,
and the Air Force had a great meteorology program."

She
wondered if he detected the undercurrent of bitterness in her voice. Bitterness
arising from the fact that her parents had suddenly found spare money for
college only after she announced her intention of joining the military.

"What
did you parents think of your career choice?"

"They
were mortified."

"What
would make your parents disapprove of the military so much?"

"My
dad was a professional protester, and my mom was an environmental lawyer until
she quit to protest with him full-time." She smiled at the mixed memories
of growing up with ultraliberal hippie parents who'd planted pot next to the
organic vegetables in the garden of their Oregon home. "They hated
anything that represented government control, violence, war, you name it."

"Ah."

"Yeah.
I grew up with no discipline whatsoever. I ate what I wanted, did what I
wanted. Didn't even wear clothes or choose my name until I was four."

"You
picked your own name?"

"They
didn't believe in shaping a child's life with confining clothing or a name not
of her choosing."

"Damned
telling that given your parents' views, you did something so defiant as joining
the service."

"I
was rebellious," she explained, and some would say nothing had changed.
"Funny how when you have no discipline whatsoever, you find ways to make
your parents give it to you. I think I wanted to be told what to do for
once." She shook her head. "I decided real fast it wasn't a good
fit."

"See,
talking about yourself wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"Not
for you," she muttered, and thought back to some of her first days at
ACRO, when they'd kept her busy in interviews and counseling and testing. The
question-and-answer sessions had been so intense, she hadn't been sure from one
hour to the next if she was coming or going. At least, not until the ACRO
people had shown her what her equipment budget, salary and assignments would
be.

He
pressed on. "So why weather?"

No
doubt he knew exactly how to get her talking with subjects she enjoyed, and
though she recognized the manipulation, she played along. Which was, of course,
what he'd have expected.

"It's
powerful. Too often unpredictable, no matter how hard we try. There's so much
we don't know." She practically squirmed with excitement as she thought
about all the discoveries yet to be made. Perhaps by her.

"When
I was a kid, I watched ball lightning chase my neighbor through her house, and
then catch it on fire. No one believed me. All through my career, my theories
have been met with skepticism and outright laughter from other meteorologists.
So I've always wanted to prove, without a doubt, that it exists."

And
maybe, just a little, she wanted to justify her career path to her parents.

He
nodded, didn't look at her like she was crazy, but he had to be thinking it.
"I guess that sounds strange to you."

"Not
really."

Bracing
herself on her palms, she tilted her head back to get a good look at him.
"Why did you join the Navy?"

"To
get away from this shithole. To get away from my old man. To do something
meaningful with my life."

His
voice tore at her. She knew all too well what it was like to want to get away
from something—the place where you grew up, your parents…

For
the first time in years, she wanted to comfort someone, and wow, what an
inconvenient time for her nurturing instincts to kick in. Before she could stop
herself, she reached out to touch his shoulder. He pulled back. Like her, he
wanted no one's pity. And, like her, he'd wanted more from life than what he'd
grown up around.

"I
don't think you need a stitch. A butterfly bandage should work, but you're
going to have to stay off your foot for a while."

"Says
the man with the bruised ribs."

"Do
as I say, not as I do."

She
arched an eyebrow. "Do I seem like a person who does anything someone
tells me to do?"

Shaking
his head, he smiled. "Not in the least." He smoothed a bandage over
her cut. "I'll bet you gave your parents hell."

A
twinge of regret pinched her gut, and she bit her lip. She didn't want to go
there again. ACRO wasn't paying her enough to spill everything to a target.
Then again, they hadn't paid her to have sex with him either.

Well,
she supposed they had. Devlin wanted results, obtained by any means necessary.
And Haley, feeling obligated to the people who had given her a dream job, had
finally relented.

But
never again.

Every
shared detail, every touch, every smile took her off course, off the assignment
and into hazardous personal territory she shouldn't be wandering around in.

"Haley?"
Remy pulled her against him, and she realized she'd started crying. Her tears
rolled down his chest, leaving clean tracks over skin that had been sprayed
with mud during the storm and during the sex they'd had on the floor.
"Shh,
chere
. What's wrong?"