Nauti Dreams (32 page)

them. He stood still as he set the security system, his gaze focused on the digital settings,

glaring at them, trying to push back the need to destroy something.

He’d mastered those uncontained rages years ago. The ones that left every stick of

furniture around him in slivers. The ones that left his hands bloody from ramming them

into the walls.

He breathed in deeply and caught Chaya’s scent. A fresh, clean smell that almost, just

almost, pushed past the putrid scent of betrayal in his mind. The smell of his own blood,

his own pain.

“You lied to Timothy,” she whispered then.

Natches turned back and watched her. Dressed in his T-shirt and another pair of

borrowed leggings. He was going to have to remind Dawg to check on her luggage, see if

she had any of her own clothes left.

“Why did you lie to him, Natches?” Her voice was soft, and the sound of it tried to ease

the ragged edges of his soul.

“How do you know I lied?” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at the

woman who held his soul with such silken bonds that he knew he would never be free.

And he felt just as unworthy of those bonds now as he had in Iraq. Not that it was going

to stop him from tying her to him, and better she learn what he was now, rather than later.

But sometimes, in the darkest reaches of his soul, there were moments that he cringed at

the thought that he was dirtying her.

“I’m a trained interrogation specialist, lover. That’s what I do. Remember?” Her smile

was just as hard and just as tight as his had been earlier. But that word on her lips. Lover.

Hell, no one had ever called him “lover,” even teasingly. It was such a simple word, and

often used so carelessly. But it wasn’t a word Natches had used, or had used for him. And

it sank inside him, tried to warm him in all the places he had gone cold and hard. For

years, he had existed on autopilot, a Marine, a man who knew he had no true home, no

family other than the cousins and uncle who still yet belonged to others. Nothing was his

alone.

Until Chaya. And here he stood trying to protect that one precious thing in his life,

perhaps two, and he could tell she was going to fight him tooth and nail. Just as his

cousins fought him.

He shook his head and moved into the room, staring around it, and realizing why he had

moved from the houseboat to the garage apartment the year before. This wasn’t a home.

He hadn’t wanted it to be a home.

“Natches, you’re not talking to me.” His head jerked around at the slightest thread of fear

in her voice.

She stood across the room watching him, her arms wrapped across her breasts as she

stared at him. And those pretty eyes, such a warm, sweet honey color, seemed to spill

inside him.

“He was part of the reason your daughter was killed.” He spoke the words slowly and

watched her flinch, watched her and made her accept that betrayal. The group Dayle

Mackay was a part of had found a way to authenticate a strike that had never been

approved. The strike that had killed her child.

“You weren’t.” She swallowed tightly as he watched her battle her tears.

He had only seen her cry once, and God help him, those tears followed him in his

nightmares. Wrenching sobs tore from her soul as he held her safe beneath him, forced

her head to his chest and watched that hotel explode.

And that night, the first time he had loved her, the night her daughter had died, he’d had

to tear his gaze away from her, turn his back on her and clench his fists to keep from

going after Dayle Mackay then and there. Killing him would only solve a part of the

problem. Just one part out of a dozen. But he wanted to kill.

Because he remembered her screaming sobs as he dragged her back to the small hotel

where he stayed sometimes. There he had held her, rocked her, loved her, and he let silent

tears fall from his own eyes.

“His blood is mine.” He turned back to her and shook his head as he felt the chill inside

him.

“And your blood?” she whispered as she moved to him, took his hand and placed it on

her stomach. “You’re blood is here, Natches.”

He caressed her stomach through the clothes; he couldn’t help himself. Her heated flesh

met his calloused hands, and as he did when he held her at night, he imagined he felt life

there. Hope.

He shook his head and wanted to pull away from her, but he couldn’t force himself to.

“And when this is over, you may curse the night you allowed me to come inside you.” He

found the strength to pull back from her, to walk away.

“You son of a bitch!” He didn’t get far before her fingers gripped his wrist and she

jumped in front of him. “Excuse me here? But are you daring to walk away from me?”

He dragged his fingers through his hair, a frown jerking between his brows at the anger

on her face, the accusation in her eyes.

“I have things to do, Chaya.”

“And of course you’re not going to do the ‘partner’ thing you’ve been preaching about

here and tell me what the hell they are. Right, Natches?”

He nodded slowly. “That about sums it up.”

She looked as though he had slapped her. Natches stared back at her in confusion as she

backed away from him, her face paling.

“So much for all my courage and strength that you so highly respect,” she sneered. “I

guess, once again, I’m delegated back to the weak little woman who has to be protected.

Right?”

“This is my fight,” he bit out.

“Because it’s your blood?”

“Fucking A,” he snarled.

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Mackay, but there’s a damned good chance I’m carrying your

blood inside me, so I think that makes it my damned fight as well.”

And how the hell was he supposed to counter that argument?

“It doesn’t work that way, Chay.” He tried pure male dominance and decisiveness.

“Because you decree it?” Her eyes were fiery now, not just in anger, but in confrontation,

in determination.

Hell, he was getting hard. He could feel his arousal stretching to life, the ice that had

encased his emotions beginning to melt as she glared back at him.

“You can decree to hell and back, Natches, and it’s not going to do you one damned bit

of good. You dragged me into this relationship, you’re the one that made damned sure

my soul was so tied to yours that I couldn’t breathe without feeling you, and then you did

everything in your power to help create life from it. Damn you, you’re not backing away

now.”

“Backing away was never in the cards.” He lowered his head and growled the words at

her. “Did I say you could leave this relationship?”

Her eyes widened and disbelief filled her face. And that made him grow harder, because

the disbelief was filled with scornful amazement.

“Oh my God, you take the cake.” Her hands went on her hips, and his cock just got

harder still. “I can’t believe your complete arrogance.”

“You should, you’ve dealt with it before.” He wasn’t budging. If he told her what he had

planned, then she would just stick her nose into it. Her nose was far enough on the

chopping block; he wasn’t going to allow it to go any farther.

“You are not doing this without me!” The words were said with such snap that his brow

lifted mockingly.

“And you’re not going after him with me.” She’d lost enough in her life; he wasn’t going

to allow her to lose any more. Not her life, or their child’s. And he knew that child was

there, resting securely within her. He intended to make damned sure he kept that child

safe. The child and his or her mother.

“I’ve worked this case for five years,” she said furiously. “Five years, so you could come

in with your lies and your damned charm and force me out of it? ‘Oh, Chay, I just admire

your courage and strength,’” she sneered, her face twisting in fury. “Fuck you, Natches.”

“And I didn’t lie.” His voice rose, unintentionally, fueled by the anger and the arousal

rising inside him. “Do you think I don’t admire it? That I’d want to change a damned

thing about you? I’m not trying to change anything, damn you, but I will protect you.”

“Screw your protection.”

He clenched his fists, not in rage, but to keep from touching her, to keep from jerking her

to him and taking all the wild passion, driving into it until they both forgot the pain and

the danger moving in on them.

“Chay, don’t push me on this,” he growled back. Damn her, she was tearing him apart

inside. He could see the betrayal in her eyes, the hurt, and he hated it. “This isn’t a fight

you can be a part of.”

“And it’s not a fight I’ll let you push me out of,” she yelled back.

Turning, he watched as she stalked to the table and snapped her laptop shut. She gathered

the files, stuffed them with the laptop in her case, then jerked her boots from the floor and

sat on the couch.

“What the hell are you doing?” He grabbed the boot from her hand and held it out of her

reach as she came off the couch, fury stamped on her flushed features. “You’re not

leaving here.”

“The hell I’m not.” When she couldn’t jerk the boot out of his grasp, she pulled the case

on her shoulder and moved to the door barefoot.

“You can’t go outside without shoes. It’s cold out there.” He parked himself in front of

the door as she stood before him, breasts heaving, her little fists clenched at her side as

though she were actually going to use them on him.

“Better the cold outside than the cold in here.” She slapped his chest. “Now get out of my

way.”

“Chay, you don’t want to keep this up,” he grated out. “Calm the hell down.”

“Don’t you tell me to calm down, Natches Mackay.” A finger was in his face, pointing

too close to his nose as he looked at it, then slowly looked up at her.

“Put that finger down, Chay.” There was something about that finger in his face that

made every male instinct inside him stand up in outrage.

“Make me.” That finger jabbed into his chest. “Come on, tough ass. Make me. You’ve

cheated everywhere else in this relationship, you might as well cheat here, too. What are

you going to do? Tie me to the bed? Because damn you, that’s the only way you’ll keep

me here.”

SEVENTEEN

There was something about that finger in his chest and the complete and total fury

transforming Chaya’s expression that did it to him.

“It” being completely wiping his mind of everything but possessing her. “It” being

imagining her on her knees, naked, nipples tight, hard, and red, while he fucked that

sarcastic little mouth with shallow thrusts.

“It” being owning her soul because she owned his. He knew, even as he stood there mad

as hell and fighting it, that there wasn’t a chance in hell he could keep her if he did this

alone. And that just made him madder. Just made him hornier.

“That finger is getting ready to get you in trouble,” he warned her softly.

Her lips flattened, then she did something he would have never imagined. Something that

had his eyes widening in shock. She lifted that cute little hand and her middle finger shot

up like a flag.

She didn’t have to say a word. Her expression said it all as she turned her back to him and

began to move through the living room. Probably heading to the back deck door.

Oh, that was just too bad.

He jerked his boots off and let them thump to the floor as she reached the kitchen. And

she kept going. His shirt came off as he moved after her, and he tossed it to the couch.

And she knew. She threw a look over her shoulder and almost managed to run a step or

two. Before she made it past the table his arm hooked around her waist and he dragged

her to the stairs.

And like the little hellion she was, she fought him. She kicked, she wiggled, she snarled,

and he swore she bit his shoulder. But she wasn’t fighting hard enough. All that heavy

breathing wasn’t just because she had her mad on. Hell no, she was as wet as he was

hard, and he was betting his cock on that fact. Because that was the portion of his body

that was going to fall off if he didn’t get it inside that hot little body of hers. Fast.

He couldn’t remember a time that he had been so enraged and so aroused at the same

time. He could feel his muscles pumping with blood, his dick throbbing like an open

wound, his balls tight with lust.

She wasn’t getting by with a single bout of anything today. Double helping, he thought.

He was going to have that wet, impudent little mouth, and he was going to have that

slick, heated little pussy, and when he was finished . . . hell, when he was finished, he

was going to figure out how to give her what she needed and keep her safe at the same

time.

But he didn’t have to tell her that yet. Hell no. She was spitting mad and clawing at his

shoulders, cursing him even as he tossed her to the bed and stripped his jeans off.

Chaya tore off the shirt she wore, then the bra. She was certain the strap snapped at some

point. As Natches stepped out of his jeans, she wiggled out of the leggings and panties

and she was waiting on him.

His shoulders were scratched from her fury, and she was certain she would be reasonably

sorry for that later, but right now, smug possessiveness curled her lips instead.

“I marked you,” she snarled at him as he stepped toward the bed.

He smiled. A slow, lust-worthy curl of his lips that had a fist punch of reaction jerking in