Superlovin' (3 page)

Guards lay scattered like so much debris, tasers useless in their hands as they groaned and clutched miscellaneous body parts.

Shit.
Where was he? She replayed the last few minutes, cursing herself for allowing him to lull her into complacency. She’d relaxed her guard. Not a lot, but enough for him to capitalize on her inattention. Too busy mooning like a damn schoolgirl to do her job, and now he was gone. She’d lost him. She
never
let the bad guys get away.

“DynaGirl. What happened?” one of the guards exclaimed.

She’d failed. That was what happened. DynaGirl, bested in full view of a half-dozen guards.

Who
was
he? And how had he managed to get the better of her?

Prior engagement.
The gears in Darla’s brain suddenly snapped back into motion. He’d said he had a prior engagement. What if he hadn’t just been being cute? The Crypt. He was going back to the Crypt to get whatever she’d prevented him from taking the first time. He wouldn’t have another chance after tonight. Now that the vault had been compromised, all the files would be moved.

She could recapture him there. Redeem herself. He may be fast, but he couldn’t fly.

Darla launched herself into the air, snaking through buildings and dodging streetlamps as she rocketed through the city, faster than she’d ever flown before. Litter fluttered along the sidewalks in her wake.

Pushing as hard as she was, she should have beaten him back to the Crypt by a fair margin, but as she rounded the last corner and city hall came into view, she was just in time to see a dark figure exit the gaping hole in the side of the building, moving so swiftly his body blurred. Superspeed. She’d known he was fast, but that was just cheating.

Darla put on another burst of speed, barely managing to keep his blurry shape in sight as he raced toward the river. Superspeed or no, he hadn’t gotten away clean yet. She swooped toward him. They’d just see which of them had a firm hand.

Chapter Four

Terms of
Endearment
Surrender

A sudden gust of wind from behind him made Lucien spin and look to the sky, just in time to see DynaGirl bearing down on him.

A smile twisted his lips. You had to admire the girl’s tenacity.

If he was honest, he was relieved to see her unharmed. He’d never hit a woman before, and cold-cocking Darla hadn’t exactly been his finest hour, but from their first altercation in the Crypt he’d known he couldn’t take it easy on her. Not unless he wanted to join Mirabelle in Area Nine.

Darla looked quite healthy, hurtling toward him, green eyes blazing.

Not just healthy. As sexy as she was fierce. Too bad he couldn’t let her catch him again for another shot at that sweet ass.

Lucien gauged her speed and changed direction a fraction of a second before she would have swept him into the air. Not that flying hadn’t been a thrill in itself, the wind, the lights, her body tight against his, but it had put him at a disadvantage, and that wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. Spotting a subway entrance, he veered across the street, dodging cars and hurtling down the stairs into the tunnels where Miss I-Can-Drop-You-Whenever-I-Want would be handicapped by the tight confines.

He vaulted over the turnstiles, never slowing, and crossed the platform fast enough to send a discarded newspaper spiraling up in a mini-cyclone at his passing. He heard a train rattling toward the station and leapt onto the rails in front of it, running full out into the mouth of the tunnel in a sudden burst of speed.

He threw a glance over his shoulder to see DynaGirl narrowly miss being flattened by the stopping train as she flew into the tunnel behind him. His heart stuttered. A nanosecond slower and she would have been paint on the train. Darla didn’t have a reputation for recklessness, but he must bring out the worst in her. Either that or she was just that pissed he’d gotten away.

The schematics he’d gone back for crinkled in his pocket as he ran. Weak yellow lights flickered along the tunnel, casting gothic shadows across the dingy walls. The smell of oil and something far less sanitary saturated the space. Lucien would have taken shallower breaths to avoid inhaling God-knows-what, but his lungs were already burning from exertion.

Something brushed the back of his neck, and he heard a muttered curse just behind his ear.
Dammit.
She was closer than he’d thought. Lucien put on another burst of speed, but even with his super enhancements, he was overextending. His legs were starting to ache, and a starburst of pain had started behind his eyes. He’d crash soon.

And DynaGirl would be there to fly him back to justice’s not-so-friendly arms.

He needed a plan. They were too evenly matched for him to defeat her in hand-to-hand combat, and he couldn’t outrun her—not with his endurance already flagging. Which would’ve been nice to figure out
before
he trapped them both in a subway tunnel, forced to outrun the train he could hear whistling down the rails behind them.

Shit.
A great use he’d be to Mirabelle if he got himself killed tonight—if the train could kill him. He didn’t know what his usually near-invincible body could survive when he was already so close to burnout, but he’d do whatever he had to for Mirabelle. They only had each other. He’d never failed her before, and there was no fucking way he was going to start tonight.

He was moving so fast, he almost missed seeing it.

The small platform was dark, what had once been a station long since boarded up and bricked in. Lucien bounded onto the platform, DynaGirl on his heels. She connected with him in a flying tackle, and he didn’t have the energy to arrest his momentum. They went catapulting together into the far wall. They fell into a heap, Lucien on top, bricks tumbling around them.

The train screamed through the station without pausing.

Imminent death avoided. Check.

Now to escape DynaGirl.

He levered himself onto his forearms, half on top of her lush body and pleased to see she was panting just as hard as he was. She fisted a hand in his hair—apparently assuming he wasn’t as likely to race off without that as he had his torn jacket.

“You’ll never…escape,” she declared breathlessly, looking rather adorably determined laid out flat on the cement with rubble in her hair.

He would’ve laughed if he could spare the oxygen. “You don’t know how to…admit defeat, do you?” He couldn’t help but admire her tenacity. Deluded though it may be.

“What makes you…think I’m…defeated?”

“The inability to get a full sentence out without gulping for air is a tell, sweetheart,” he grunted, barely getting the sentence out himself without taking a gulp.

“I’d like to see you fly across the city twice in an hour, one of those times carrying a two-ton delinquent.”

He arched a brow. “I’m a big boy, but I’m not quite that big, princess.”

Her eyes narrowed at the suggestive lilt in his voice, pretty mouth pursing. “I was talking about the weight of your ego.”

“Then you must be constantly exhausted. How do you manage to lift yours, even with the superstrength?”

She made a face at him. The darling of the press, always poised and perfect, crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him. Which, perversely, just made him want to kiss her.

Not a bad idea, actually.

He needed something to distract her at the right moment, and nothing was likely to unsettle the Powers Princess more than one of the unwashed masses daring to lay his lips on her. And, yeah, he was a guy, so he’d pretty much wanted to lay one on her since she’d posed for
Maxim
’s Women of the Cape issue. He’d dreamt about that magazine—dark, steamy, grinding, Technicolor dreams with Miss Goody Two Shoes as their very naughty star. Those pillowy lips were an open invitation, far too wicked for someone so sanctimoniously pure.

Sadly, DynaGirl didn’t seem to be in the mood to play.

“What did you take?” she demanded. The very proper Miss Powers was like a freaking terrier when she set her mind to something. She shoved hard on his shoulder, rolling them over so she knelt straddling his stomach. He let her be on top. For now. Her gaze flicked down his body, searching for a spot he could’ve stashed the papers. “What did you go back for?”

Lucien kept half an ear out for the sound of the next train and conjured up a lazy grin. He let his gaze linger on the way the dark, stretchy fabric of her supersuit cupped the curve of her breasts. “Would you like to frisk me? Cuz I know I’d like it.”

“Knock it off. You’re caught. Give it up.”

“I’m caught, am I? How are you planning to get me back to that lovely holding cell? Flying didn’t work out so well for you last time.”

She reached to the belt on her hip, pulled out a phone, swiped a thumb across the touchpad without looking and held it up to her ear with a smugly triumphant smirk. A smirk which faded as she pulled it away from her ear to glare at the uncooperative device.

“No service?” he purred.

Thank God for the crappy reception of subway tunnels. His abilities were too far blown to handle the cavalry right now.

“I’ll fly you there if I have to,” DynaGirl declared, but the first waver of doubt edged her tone.

Supers could do superhuman things—hence the name—but there was only so far they could push themselves before they crashed with a power hangover that would bring the gods to their knees. Lucien was inches from his own breaking point and, from the tremor in her voice, it sounded like his tenacious little sex kitten of a nemesis was right there with him.

Which meant she was vulnerable. He just needed one more sprint. He could last a few more seconds before his brain exploded into white-hot agony. He had to. For Mirabelle.

He heard the distant electrical whine of a train coming down the tracks. Three minutes, give or take…

Lucien let the icy-hot pain starting to spike in his temples show on his face. “I could come quietly,” he said, making his voice tight with strain. “For a price.”

“I don’t negotiate with supervillains.”

“Not even for my surrender? My
complete
surrender.”

Interest lit her up-tilted emerald eyes, but her jaw remained clenched in an unyielding line. “No deals. I won’t bribe you to play nice when you’ve already lost.”

“But all I wanted was a kiss.”

She went motionless above him, as if she’d forgotten the need to breathe.

“One little kiss,” he purred. “And I’ll go meekly to my jail cell. No tricks. No trouble.”

He couldn’t read her expression. Something odd and almost hopeful colored the suspicion in her gaze. She hesitated. The train rattled closer. Her fingers eased their death grip on his hair.

“Why?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted a shot at the great Darla Powers. Who hasn’t? That
Maxim
spread changed my life.”

Her eyes darkened. “That damn magazine—”

“Hey, don’t damn that magazine. I could compose sonnets to that magazine. Especially your issue. I think you single-handedly launched a generation of twelve-year-old boys into puberty with that spread.” The picture had become a cultural icon. Darla Powers, the super answer to Marilyn Monroe. “Tell me you still have the bustier and I’ll die happy.”

She blushed. “That is none of your business.”

Dear God, she still has it.
Unwholesome interest stirred below Lucien’s belt. He’d been joking, but now he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Her incredible figure overflowing the snug black lace with a shimmering red D curled under one breast in a parody of her suit. Maybe she still wore it. Maybe she put it on for the schmuck boyfriend who’d let her walk out on their date. Jealousy gave his gut an ugly twist, but he ignored it. She wasn’t with her schmuck boyfriend now.

“One kiss,” he said, the words coming out as more of a demand than he’d intended, his voice so dark and hungry he barely recognized it. “One kiss and I’ll do whatever you want.”

The words were supposed to be a lie, but at the moment he almost believed them himself. Darla Powers was a woman who could own a man’s soul if she put her mind to it. If she could let herself be that bad…

She leaned over him, and he sank his hand into the curls at the base of her skull. “C’mon, princess,” he coaxed, his gaze locked on her pillowy lips. “Even good girls get to be bad sometimes.”

She went rigid in his arms. “No. We don’t.”

The train was nearly there now.
Ten seconds…
Darla began to resist his hold, but Lucien had run out of time for persuasion.
Now or never
.

He sat up and twisted abruptly, using a pulse of superspeed to get her sprawled on her back before she realized negotiations were over. He caught her startled gasp on his lips.

The kiss was a sneak attack—quick and fierce and designed to startle and unsettle her. It wasn’t supposed to sear across his nerve endings with unexpected heat. He wasn’t supposed to be tempted to fall into the taste of her and abandon his will to fight. Soft, warm, luscious—the definition of a dangerous woman.

Her hands fell away from his hair, shoving at his shoulders without any real strength as she made the most deliciously wanton noise in her throat.

In a different world, he would stay here and finish what they’d started, explore this incendiary chemistry, coax that sound from her again and again. But she was still a hero and he’d long since been cast in the villain role. If he wanted any future for his sister, he couldn’t waste time playing doctor with DynaGirl.

The first train car thundered into the abandoned station.

He threw himself off her. “Sorry, princess.” The last of his reserves went into a surge of superspeed as he leapt onto the tracks and sprinted down the tunnel in front of the engine. The racing train sealed the tunnel entrance behind him before DynaGirl could gather herself to follow.

He didn’t have time to thrill at the victory of escape. He was too busy trying to maintain his speed until he reached the next platform so he didn’t end up a bloody smear on the tracks.