Safe in His Arms (5 page)

“Who do you spank?” she demanded.

He leaned his face closer to hers. “What?”

“Who else? Who do you spank?”

The corners of his mouth lifted. “No one but you, sweetheart.”

She slapped his chest. “This isn’t funny.”

He looked amused, but he caught her wrist. “Ok, no more hitting tonight or you go back over my knee.”

She ignored the spasm between her legs those words produced, and glared. He leaned to the side so she didn’t have to crane her neck so far to see him. “Becca, I have never spanked anyone but you. You were my first and you’re my only.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s the God’s honest truth. I’m a ghost, remember? I don’t have relationships. If you think I’ve improved since last time, it’s because I’ve had seven years to research how it’s done.”

“You’ve researched it?”

She saw something in his face close, as if he were emotionally retreating before her eyes. He shrugged.

“Why?”

He looked away.

“For me?” she demanded. “Did you plan to come back to me?”

His jaw set and he looked at her without answering.

“Answer me, Zac! I need some answers from you!”

He blinked. “I don’t know,” he said in a low voice. “I didn’t plan to return, but I guess I fantasized about it. Even though I’m not in your life, you are in mine. You and Parker are the only family I’ve ever had.”

“No family growing up?” she asked softly, praying he wouldn’t clam up again.

He shook his head. “Foster home kid. I was an ideal candidate for Black Ops. No one even noticed when they erased my identity. And now the DNA in that kid,” he said, pointing toward the room where Parker slept, “and this body I live in,” he said, flapping a hand toward his legs, “are the only things in this world that prove I actually exist.”

For a moment, she glimpsed the hollowness that must be his non-existence. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to lean back against his chest again. “So, no, I didn’t plan on seeing you again, because a relationship with me would be a death sentence. But getting to hold you one last time is a privilege I’m not going to walk away from.”

The rational part of her brain told her not to listen, not to believe a word he said. But her heart fluttered like a bird with a broken wing—unable to take off, but unwilling to give up, either. The words
I love you
came into her mind, unbidden, and she shoved them away. There was no love here. There might be attraction, but love was for people who knew each other, who took care of each other, who stuck around.

“Thank you for taking your spanking like a good girl,” he whispered in her ear, his hand reaching around to tug at one nipple.

Her thoughts toppled out of her mind.

His other hand slid down her belly, over her trimmed mound, fingers curling into the dripping heat of her pussy. She pressed back at him, the tenderness of her butt cheeks enhancing the sensation of his stroking. He squeezed and pinched her nipple harder while his fingers continued to circle in her juices and his mouth found her neck with a hot open-mouthed kiss.

She moaned and covered the hand between her legs with hers, urging his fingers deeper. She felt his cock pressing through his pants at her low back. Part of her wanted to deny him—to shield herself from further heartache and to punish him. But the aching pulse of her clit overruled her mind.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up to sit on his lap so his fingers could reach further inside her. One of his hands cupped and kneaded her smarting bottom as the other hand worked her wanton pussy, rocketing her into a delirium of mixed pain and pleasure. She leaned back, throwing off the blanket, arching over his shoulder, the pebbled tips of her nipples aiming toward the ceiling as she opened her mouth for the low moans that erupted from her. She squirmed and wriggled, the simultaneous urge to escape and burrow in deeper driving her into a frenzy as Zac’s fingers plunged in and out of her. He found her g-spot and the sensation brought on a surge of panic, followed by squirting fluid and a thundering orgasm, which Zac wrestled out of her as she writhed under his hands.

When it was over, she nearly wept for the second time that night, though she couldn’t have said why. She lay collapsed on Zac, so limp she could scarcely move. He stroked both hands up her sides to cup her breasts, then circled his open palms over her erect nipples.

* * *

He inhaled the smell of Becca—the light citrus smell of her hair, the sweet musk of her juices. He had a raging hard-on, but no expectations of relieving it. He owed Becca her pleasure—she owed him nothing but a swift kick in the ass. He didn’t mind the prospect of being left blue-balled. There was satisfaction enough in indulging her desires—it fulfilled some primal need in him.

* * *

“I like spanking you,” he told her as she slid to her knees before him, taking hold of his cock and looking up at him with big, shining eyes. He cupped her face and realized with a ripple of shock that her cheeks were wet. He had produced tears with his belt. He hadn’t meant to—the way she’d lifted her hips to meet the kiss of leather had led him to believe she craved more and so he’d continued until she’d gone limp.

Shyly, she took him into her mouth, opening her jaw to fully envelop his cock, still gazing at him as if he were a Greek God. The way she laid herself bare to him—not her body, but her soul—her vulnerability, her trust in him, a perfect stranger—was so far removed from anything he’d experienced in his life that he found himself powerfully bound to her, as if she were weaving some spell that would leave him forever changed.

“I like you on your knees,” he murmured, guiding her head forward and back. “I like you over my lap. I like you all tied up and ready for me.”

His words excited her and she moved over his length with enthusiasm, taking him into the back of her throat, though the depth caused tears to glitter in her green eyes.

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, her eyes closed and breath deepened. He lay for another half hour, enjoying the feel of her in his arms, then wrapped the blanket back around her and picked her up, carrying her to the second bed in the room where Parker slept.

His phone buzzed and he picked it up. “Yep.”

Marcus’s voice was clipped and efficient as always. “Nothing on the laptop, but listen to this. Cell indicates a call from a Black Ops phone. It’s scrambled, so I don’t have an ID on the caller, but the scramble is one of ours.”

“Shit.
Has Demo been sighted?”

“Not according to my intel, but maybe there’s some cover-up.”

“Why would there be a cover-up? There’s already a kill on sight order out for him—why keep it a secret?”

“I don’t know, but get this—Beatty’s on a flight to San Diego. Said he wanted to see all the intel in the morning.”

The hairs stood up on Zac’s arms.
Why would Beatty care about this?
His mind spun around the facts—Becca’s father, dead to his family for over 15 years, was a former operative known as El Demo, short for demolition, named for his affinity with explosives. He disappeared several months before his daughter’s wedding under suspicion of espionage. A kill order was placed on him, but he never resurfaced. All operatives and all agencies had him as a top wanted, so the need to place a private-hire hit woman with Becca didn’t add up. Unless El Demo had an inside partner when he sold intel to Afghani rebels and that partner now wanted to ensure his death before he was questioned. Remembering Marcus was still hanging on the line, he clipped, “Keep me posted if you find anything else.”

“Yep.”

“Is their apartment scrubbed?”

“Should be ready by morning.”

“Thanks,” he said and shut off his phone.

He rubbed a hand over his closely cropped hair and debated waking Becca and Parker to evacuate the premises. But the target was El Demo, not them. If a private hit was out on El Demo, the hit man would gain nothing by harming his bait.

He spent the night on the sofa, the need to properly guard his family unhindered by logic, which had already told him they were secure. By morning the idea of his time with Becca and Parker soon ending pressed in on his chest. Unused to emotions of any kind, the suffocation aroused his fight instinct, though for once, there was no one to fight, no danger to dodge.

He heard the sound of light feet and Parker rushed into the living room, taking a wild, happy stance. “Surprise!” he yelled gleefully.

He groaned and sat up, rubbing his stiff neck. “Good morning, champ.”

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Hmm, I’m beginning to think all you talk about is food,” he said, swinging his legs off the couch to stand and pad toward the kitchen.

“Bacon and eggs. Or cereal.”

“What kind of cereal?”

“Golden Grahams,” he said, holding up the cereal he knew was a favorite of Parker’s and only allowed on special occasions because his mother did not consider it nutritious enough. “All right!” he exclaimed.

“But you have to have a banana in it,” Zac ordered, imitating Becca’s usual admonishments.

“O-kay,” he said, drawing out the last syllable as if it were a great burden.

Zac poured the cereal and milk, cut the banana into it, and handed it to Parker. Then he pulled out a frying pan to fry up the bacon.

“Good morning,” Becca mumbled with a sleepy wave as she stumbled to the bathroom. His chest tightened even more. Just the thought of interacting with her pained him. When she re-emerged, her hair lay in wet ringlets over her shoulders, and she was wearing the clothes he’d grabbed for her when he’d packed her bag, a pretty peasant blouse and jeans. He drank in the sight of her—so much better in real life than on the video feed he’d been watching. There was a freshness, a blooming innocence to her, yet everything about her was sexy. She was wholesome and hot at the same time. He wanted her—not just to have sex with her, but to devour her, to possess her, to own her. He wanted to wake up every morning to this visage.

And since that was impossible, he could only manage to grunt, “Bacon and eggs?”

“Sure, thanks,” she said, with a morning-after shyness about her that only amped up his guilt. He served them both and sat down, shoveling the food into his mouth to finish in less than three minutes. He sat back and gave his plate a surly stare. Parker finished and ran back to his bedroom, the sounds of his imaginary play floating back to them.

Becca looked up timidly. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

Oh, God.
She thought he was disgruntled about
that.
He waved a hand dismissively. “I expected it.”

She cleared her throat. “Thank you—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, holding his hand up to stop her. “You’re going back to your apartment today, as soon as I get word it’s clear. I want you to call in sick for both you and Parker, though.”

She nodded.

He handed her his phone after looking up the number of her school. “Call from this phone.” She reached for the phone, but he didn’t release it. “Look at me.”

She met his eyes.

“Do not give any clues about where you are or who you are with. If I have to punish you again, it won’t be the fun kind and it won’t have a happy ending.” His voice had a meaner edge to it than he intended and she blanched, her eyes widening before they narrowed.

The dilation in her pupils this time had nothing to do with arousal and her hands shook slightly as she snatched the phone out of his hand with a murderous glare. “Fuck. You,” she hissed, but her voice wavered and her eye contact faltered. He could hear the telltale rasp of her breath in closing lungs. He admired the show of bravado when her real fear was so obvious. He stood to retrieve her inhaler, listening to her wheezing voice as she told her work she wouldn’t be in.

“Good girl,” he said when she hung up, handing her the inhaler, and taking the phone back to look up Parker’s school.

Chapter Three

She wanted to stab out Zac Casper’s ice cold eyes right now. Or whatever his real name was. Her sense of violation skyrocketed by the minute as the stranger handed over his phone with a menacing look. Her mind flashed to the efficient, brutal fight that took place in her apartment the day before, reminding her that all she really knew about this man was that he was a killer. She glowered at him, struggling to slow her breath while the phone rang. She left a message with Parker’s school, then tossed the phone in the direction of his face. There was no surprise or fumbling; his reflexes fired so quickly, she never saw his hand move before the fingers closed around the phone as easily as if they’d been playing ball. Remembering those same fingers had been inside her the night before made her sick.

A beep sounded at the front door swung noiselessly open; at the same moment Zac drew his gun and pointed it steadily at the man in a crisp dark suit. He ignored Zac and the gun, entering as if he owned the place. Parker must have sensed something, because he came trotting out of his room on cue.

“Go back to the bedroom and shut the door, Parker,” Zac ordered, his voice steely.

Parker froze, looking at the gun and the newcomer with interest.

The man looked from Parker’s face to Zac’s, and she could feel him make the connection—the similarities were too obvious.

“
Now
, Parker.”

Trance broken, Parker obeyed, scurrying back to the room and shutting the door with a resounding click.

The intruder still ignored Zac’s gun, simply crossed the room and pulled out a chair at the table next to her, sitting in it. Zac looked wary, but he put his gun away and joined them. “You have an unsanctioned relationship.”

“There’s no relationship,” Zac said firmly.

He looked pointedly toward the bedroom where Parker had disappeared. “Unreported offspring.”

“But no relationship.”

The man tented his fingers and looked at Zac. “I flew out here myself to find out why my best agent acted out of character. Now it makes sense.”