Tempted by Fate (22 page)

She buried her head into the comforter to muffle her groan.

His tongue traced a line up the nape of her neck. “Tell me you want my hand there.”

“It figured you’d be this autocratic during sex, too,” she said, wishing she sounded more unaffected. But the base of his finger pressed her right there, and it was all she could do to breathe, much less pretend like she didn’t want to beg for him to stroke her to orgasm again.

He pressed harder, but his finger remained still. “I’m waiting.”

“Impatiently.” She rolled her hips back and opened her legs enough so he slipped between them.

Nipping the side of her neck, he felt his way to her opening and pushed in. The shock of him there made her gasp. He stretched her wide. Full. His slow, deep thrusts caused goose bumps to rise up and down her body. His teeth scraped her skin before a soft murmur caressed her ear. “I just want to know that you like it, too.”

She fisted the covers, trying to ground herself. “It’s all right,” she teased.

She felt his smile against her skin a moment before he levered her hips up, found the right angle, and drove all the way into her. As if that weren’t enough, his finger got busy, gliding through her wetness until the tip focused on her clit. Her cry was high and keening. She panted, trying
not to come. Not yet—not until she got to savor it for just a little longer.

“Come for me,” he commanded, softly, but it was a command nonetheless. His weight rested on her, heavy, but she didn’t care, not after his right hand snaked under to join the left. His fingers strummed her in tandem, insistent, as he slid in and out. The focused touch short-circuited her brain. She rocked back against him, over and over, and screamed as she came.

He gripped her, controlling her frantic motions so she didn’t dislodge him, driving into her with increased fervor until his triumphant cry echoed in her ears. He stiffened behind her, rigid both inside and out, and then collapsed slightly to her side.

She tried not to think of his consideration. Of course he wouldn’t want to continue to rest his full weight on her. For a man like Ramirez, that’d be a given. She stifled the part of her that wanted that caring to be special, specific to only her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to move away from him. She needed a little space to regroup. Somehow she felt flayed open, and Ramirez was the kind of man who’d not only sense that, but would use it to his advantage. Surprisingly, he only allowed her enough space to move his weight off her. His strong hands held her between her legs as he scooted her back, and he spooned her again. “Just relax. Be still.”

That was easy for him to say. He didn’t have long, skilled fingers nestled intimately into him, waiting to drive him crazy.

He kissed her neck. “Sleep, Willow.”

Right—like that was possible.

Only, with him wrapped around her, warm and solid, she found herself relaxing. She felt his heart at her back, the rhythm strangely comforting. She could feel herself settling into it, meeting it, and something odd struck her chest.

What was that?

Something she hadn’t felt in twenty years.
Safety,
she realized right before drifting off to sleep.

T
he pier was deserted, which was exactly how Edward wanted it. Some business needed to be conducted in the dark of night, and the piers along the Embarcadero were excellent for that. During the day, they teemed with people, but at night even the seagulls disappeared.

Edward scanned the bay, the surface reflecting light from the bridge and surrounding cities. The arms shipment slated for the Russians had been delayed, and he goddamn hated waiting.

Slipping his hand in his pocket, he ran a finger along one of the sharp edges of the silver throwing star. He had been so awkward and unskilled with them when he’d first picked one up. Even with the five edges, he hadn’t been able to sink it into his practice target. But once he discovered Lani’s weakness with metal, he’d been determined. He’d practiced for hours on end, until he could nail his target to the millimeter. Now he always carried one. It was his signature weapon. He loved the choked gasp a person made when it sank into his victim’s flesh.

“Edward.”

He turned to watch Deidre totter up the walkway in her high heels. As usual, she was dressed to perfection. If it weren’t for her uncharacteristically pinched face, he wouldn’t have suspected anything was wrong. But that expression spoke volumes.

“I have unfortunate news.” She strode up to him, stopping three feet away. “She got away.”

Of course she did. He felt that usual mixture of pride and fury whenever Willow evaded him. “Tell me what happened.”

“My men surrounded her, but somehow she managed to escape.” Deidre shifted her weight, but she never dropped her direct gaze. “I don’t know precisely what happened. The tales my men recounted were fantastical.”

He nodded. Willow used her powers. He wondered just how strong she was.

“And then there was the man.”

“Man?” Edward stilled. “What man?”

“The one who helped her. I have no idea who he was.” Deidre’s lips formed a peeved moue. “You never told me she had an accomplice.”

Because he hadn’t known, and that infuriated him. Who the hell was it?

Deidre continued, oblivious to his anger in her own agitation. “She shouldn’t have been able to escape. I sent my best men. They’ve never failed me. Who is she, Edward?”

“It doesn’t matter who she is.”

“The hell it doesn’t.” Her voice rose, shrill and grating. “I feel like I was set up to fail. You led me to believe she was a simple woman with some survival skills, but I’ve
come to find out she’s Wonder Woman. And now she’s gone—”

“Gone.” The word fell off his tongue flatly. “What do you mean
gone
?”

“I mean she disappeared with that man who helped her.” Deidre glared at him as though it was his fault. “My men couldn’t trace her. Now she’s going to be doubly hard to find, because not only will she be extra vigilant, but she apparently has someone watching her back. You might as well chalk her up to lost.”

Edward gritted his teeth, fighting back a sudden surge of irritation. “She is not lost.”

“She is,” Deidre insisted. “Only an idiot wouldn’t go into hiding after being attacked twice, and by so many people. And this woman is no idiot. She’s gone, and not even you will be able to find her.”

Rage filled his chest. He gripped the throwing star, feeling the blades pierce his palm.

Deidre pointed at him. “You better not blame me for this, Edward. You didn’t disclose all of the information. If I knew what I was up against—”

“What? You would have sent more men?” he asked derisively.

“No, I would have used a different tactic.”

“And you would have still failed.” He withdrew the star and held it up to the streetlamp light.

Eyes widening, Deidre stepped back. “Come on, Edward. You can’t blame me for this.”

“Of course I can.” He followed her, step for step. “You yourself said Willow was going to be harder to track now. Whose fault is that?”

“
Yours. You
didn’t give me the full picture of what I was up against.”

Her desperation rolled off her in waves. He wanted to gag, it reeked so badly. Lani had been many things, but she’d never been desperate, not even at the end.

Deidre tripped on an uneven slat of wood, grabbing the railing for balance. “It’s not hopeless. There’s still a chance we can get her.”

He smirked at the
we.
“A moment ago, you said just the opposite.”

“I said this before, if we just offer her something she wants, we can lure her to the surface.” Deidre stumbled again as she hit the corner of the pier. The expression on her face was priceless as she realized he’d backed her into a corner. When she spoke, her voice held a thread of hysteria. “What does she want, Edward?”

“Me.” He tucked the star back into his pocket.

Deidre wilted in relief. “For heaven’s sake, you had me scared there. I thought—”

“What did you think, Deidre?” he asked softly, walking up to her and taking her in his arms.

She laughed shakily. “I thought you were going to treat me like one of your employees.”

“You aren’t an employee.” He lifted his hands to hold her face up to his. “I trusted you more.”

Confusion lined her brow, but he caressed it away. He let his fingertips linger across her cheeks, soft and plump—so unlike Lani’s sharp angles. Then he lowered his hands to her neck.

Closing her eyes, she hummed and dropped her head back. It was feigned for his benefit—he could tell
from the start. Deidre recognized how much he enjoyed lavishing attention on her neck and tolerated it.

Lani used to love having her neck touched and kissed. It was one of the few times he felt like he had her under his control.

His thumbs caressed the pulse points under Deidre’s jaw. He felt the delicate fluttering of her heart beneath her skin.

And he squeezed.

Her eyes flew open. The alarm in them was almost as satisfying as her strangled gasp.

He leaned in and whispered. “I might be able to tolerate failure in some instances, but not where my daughter is concerned.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her hands came up to grasp his wrists. He’d always been mesmerized by the agile elegance of his wife’s fingers, especially as she played her flute. This slut’s pale, delicate fingers repulsed him.

He’d choked Lani, too. He’d squeezed until he’d felt her weaken in his hands, saw the fear in her eyes, just like what he saw in Deidre’s. But it wasn’t until he saw her body go limp in submission that he knew he’d won.

When Deidre’s eyes glazed with defeated resignation, he let go. She slumped backward, swaying and coughing weakly, hands holding her neck.

Edward stepped back and took the throwing star out of his pocket.

Her expression didn’t change.
Pity.
Lani’s had sparked with hate, a last surge of life. It had excited him. He should have known Deidre would ultimately disappoint him in this way, too.

He lifted his hand and flicked his wrist, releasing the star in one fluid motion. It sank deep into her heart. The irony of it made him smile.

Deidre fell to the ground, her eyes startled.

Edward bent down in front of her. He stared into her face, watching the life drain from her, metaphorically drinking it in. He waited until her gaze was flat and empty in death; then he picked her up. He carelessly tossed her over the railing into the bay, wiped his hands with a handkerchief, and walked away.

Her staff clacks against her mother’s as she blocks.

Mama nods. “Good. Try again,” she says, and then launches into a series of moves so fast that each movement blurs into the next.

Willow struggles to keep up, but her mother comes at her with fury. She stumbles backward and trips, tumbling to the ground.

Her mother swings her staff at Willow’s head, stopping an inch from her temple. “You dropped your guard, Willow. Never drop your guard, not even with me. It could prove to be fatal.”

Willow laughs at the silly idea. “You won’t hurt me, Mama.”

Her mother pauses, her face serious. “Never trust anyone, Willow. At best, they’ll leave you. More likely, they’ll betray you first. The only person you can rely on is yourself.”

“What about you, Mama? You won’t leave me.”

Mama smiles at her sadly. She bows, her weapon at her side, and then turns to run.

“Mama.
” Willow runs after her, through the
tarata.
Only the branches begin to grow, obscuring the path, tangling in her hair and grabbing her clothes. She looks forward, but she can’t see her mother any longer.

Her mother’s voice, ghost-thin and tinny, drifts through the foliage. “Remember, Willow, trust no one…”

She tries to push her way through the thick bushes. “Come back!”

A branch wraps itself around her wrist, holding her there. The bush closes around her, the lemony scent strong in her nostrils.

“No.
No.
” She struggles against its hold, but she can’t break free. “Let go.”

“Willow,” the
tarata
whispers softly.

“Let
go,
” she yells. She has to find her mama.

“Willow, wake up…”

She looks ahead, but the bush has closed her in. There’s nothing but darkness. Her mother is gone.

Sobbing, she cries out. “Mama!”