#2 Dangerous Games (13 page)

"I'm twenty-six years old," she continued softly. "You don't have the right to do this. None of it. You should have worked with me-"

She breathed in roughly as the truck executed a hard turn, pulling into a deserted office parking lot on what she swore was two wheels.

Clint didn't speak. She had no warning before his seat belt was released, then hers. Her first sign that he had finally lost control came when he tangled his hand in her hair, jerked her to him, and slanted his lips over hers.

Morganna fought the grip, fought his kiss, for all of a second. Maybe. His lips were hard and burning, his tongue pressing between her lips, licking at her before his teeth nipped demandingly and he growled. A full-throated, wicked, carnal sound of hunger.

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Morganna's lips opened to him, her hands sinking into his hair as he pulled her closer, then lowered her until her back met the wide seat.

Bench seats. You had to love them.

Then anything else she could have thought was wiped away. Clint's kiss changed; it stripped her mind, filled her senses, and stole reason. He devoured her lips, sipped at them, sank into them, his tongue thrusting past them, tangling with hers as she whimpered into the kiss.

Pleasure tore through her as heat wrapped around her senses. His lips were like velvet, rasping and demanding, his tongue carnal, tasting her as his lips ate at hers.

She was consumed by him. Every nerve ending in her body felt the possession and reveled in it.

Clenching her hands in his hair, she arched closer, pressing her leather-clad breasts into his chest, whimpering with the need to feel his flesh against hers. Her nipples rasping against the coarse hair on his chest.

"I told you to shut up," he muttered, dragging his lips from hers, his teeth rasping her neck as he raked down it.

His free hand moved between them, loosening her belt, stripping it from her first before working on the closure to her leather pants. Once the material parted, his hand moved farther up her body.

One hand held her head back; the other gripped the thin, elastic edge of the leather cups above the corset and pulled. They raked over her nipples, sending blinding waves of pleasure shrieking through the hard, gold-studded points.

She had worn the thin gold chains she had purchased for the piercings, letting them dangle below her nipples erotically rather than tightening the subtle noose the two connected chains made as they dangled below the hard points.

"God. That has to be the sexiest sight in the world."

His hand cupped the mound, lifting it as he stared down at her, his eyes glittering in the dim light reflecting from the parking-lot lights.

His lips were swollen, parted, as he breathed roughly. His eyes were narrowed, the rough slash of his cheekbones emphasized by the tense set of his expression.

She arched to him, needing his lips on her, his tongue, the feel of his cheeks drawing on the sensitive flesh.

Instead, his thumb and forefinger gripped the point, tightened, sending her awakened senses exploding with heat and pleasure.

Morganna cried out, writhing beneath him as the flash of pleasure-pain tore through her. This was pleasure. The dark edge of ferocity, a hunger that couldn't be controlled. It rose within her like a demon, raking at her womb with merciless fingers, convulsing in her vagina with the warning tremors of nearing orgasm.

"I like the nipple rings, Morganna," he whispered as she stared up at him blindly. His fingers moved from
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her nipples, gripped the gold chains, and tugged at them gently.

Her head twisted on the rough truck seat, a whimpering cry tearing from her.

"So hot and ready," he whispered. "Would you be this hot with Drage, Morganna? Would one touch have your body twisting in need?"

"No. Oh God, Clint. You. I need you." She was past lying. She knew she would regret it, knew Clint was going to destroy her with her own body, but at this moment nothing mattered but his touch.

"Damn you. Damn you to hell for what you do to me." He may damn her, but his head lowered, his lips covering the hard point and burning her with the sensation.

"Oh God. Yes." The whiplash of heat that suffused her body left her gasping.

The moist suckling heat of his mouth, the lash of his tongue tugging at the gold chains on her nipples, were nearly unbearable. She twisted against him, not knowing if she needed to get closer or escape the electrical impulses of pleasure tearing into her womb as his other hand slid into her pants.

Her fingers clenched in his hair as she felt his fingers rasp over the swollen bud of her clit. She was wet.

So damned wet his fingers sank into her juices as they slid through the narrow slit awaiting him.

He played with her. Toyed with her arousal. He circled the throbbing opening of her vagina, his fingertip brushing over the entrance with firm strokes. Hips writhing, her moans echoing in her own head, Morganna fought for penetration. Oh God, she needed penetration.

"Please, Clint." Surely he wouldn't be so cruel as to deny her. To bring her so close, only to pull back.

"So sweet and hot," he muttered against her breast. "For God's sake, Clint, please ..." A strangled scream tore from her throat. He didn't penetrate with just one finger. He used two. Slow. Easy.

Stretching her, burning her. She felt her pussy convulsing around his fingers, felt her orgasm close, so close.

"Do you need me, baby?" His voice was torn, rough, thick, and edged with the same hunger that ripped through her. "Tell me what you need, Morganna." "You."

"What part of me?"

"All of you, Clint," she cried out as his fingers flexed inside her, sliding deeper before withdrawing.

"Please. All of you..."-

He thrust inside her, a hard, long impalement that had her hips lifting, her body reaching for orgasm. She could feel it whipping along her nerve endings, thrumming in her blood, and pounding in her head.

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"Son of a bitch." Before she could understand the sudden desertion, Clint was jerking from her. His fingers pulled from the clenching depths of her pussy as he jerked the leather back over her breasts and lifted his eyes. His expression was tight as he stared beyond the window.

"Clint, it's Officer Zane Roland. Is everything okay in there?" There was an edge of suspicion, of amusement, in the voice beyond the door.

"Come on." Clint levered himself from her, quickly helping her sit up before the pounding at the window made sense to her.

He lowered the window enough to glimpse the police officer standing outside before lowering it halfway.

"Thought that was you, Clint." Surprise surprise, he knew the police, too.

The stoic expression of the officer creased into an apologetic smile for a moment.

"We're heading out, Zack," Clint breathed roughly, pushing his fingers through his hair as he slanted the officer a wry smile. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Understandable." Zane nodded, glancing at Morganna as she ducked her head. "Just thought I'd check and make sure everything was okay. I heard about the shooting at Diva's last night."

Clint nodded abruptly. "You're right; this was real dumb." He glanced at Morganna, but his gaze wasn't angry now; it was ... perplexed maybe. "She goes to a man's head."

"So I see," Zane chuckled. "See you around, Clint, and take care."

"Yeah. I'll do that," Clint grumbled as he hit the electronic lever that raised the window.

Morganna was still fighting to breathe, to pull her emotions and her senses together, when Clint put the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, back into the traffic as she moved to fasten her pants.

He didn't have to warn her to keep her mouth shut now; she didn't think she could form a coherent thought, let alone produce speech.

What was she going to do about Clint? Her body awakened to him with nothing but a look, and what his kisses did to her should be illegal. It probably was illegal.

She stared through the windshield until he took the turn leading to her house, rather than his apartment.

She breathed in slowly, pulling herself together, pushing back the pain she could feel clawing through her.

She had a feeling he had no intention of joining her in her bed. It was a repeat of that morning, except for the orgasm. She would definitely be left wanting tonight.

"We need to talk." The anger wasn't there, only the aching well of sadness she had sometimes glimpsed in him.

"We tried that this morning. It didn't work." Wrapping her arms over her chest did nothing to soothe the aching void inside her. "Besides, Clint, you don't talk; you order, demand, or command. When that doesn't work, you tattle. Why should we break the habit now?"

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"God, Morganna, you have no idea what you're getting mixed up in." He sighed, the weariness in his voice pricking her conscience. She knew he had slept in his truck the night before and that couldn't have been restful.

"I can't sit on a shelf and wait for you and Reno to decide to take me down for a visit," she whispered, swallowing tightly. Emptiness stretched ahead of her, years alone, if she didn't do something to change it.

And God knew she was so tired of being alone.

"What happened to marriage? Children?" he bit out, his voice rough. "Morganna, what you're doing will get you killed."

"Are you proposing?" she asked as he pulled in front of her house.

"This isn't a joking matter." He jerked his head around, staring at her as he put the truck into park.

"No, it isn't." She shook her head dismally. "Because it wouldn't matter if you were proposing, Clint. I've found what I want to do." She stared back at him directly. "I found some-thing I believe in. Something that gives me purpose. I won't give that up for you. And it wouldn't work if I did. Because, quite honestly, you don't want me, not really. It wouldn't matter if you were fucking me or that redhead tonight.

We would both be the same in your eyes. And I need more from a lover than that."

"And you think Drage Masters is going to give you more?" Clint asked in astonishment. "Do you think you can sell your soul to the devil and walk away later, Morganna?"

"Then rescind your request that I be barred from the clubs," she said gently. She wasn't angry any longer. She was tired. Tired of loving a man who didn't need her. Who didn't truly want her. "Don't take this away from me, Clint. I've worked too hard and too long. Don't force me to choose like this."

"You'd play the whore for him?" He frowned back at her, his expression heavy, set.

"I have to find a life, Clint. A lover. Someone who sees something in me other than his best friend's sister or a responsibility he can't run away from this time," she pointed out, aching inside. "I love you. I've always loved you. For as long as I can remember. But I can't continue to wait on a man who doesn't even respect me enough to work with me. A man willing to steal years of my life for his own selfishness.

I've worked for this assignment. I trained for it. And you pushed me out as though what I want, what I need, doesn't even matter."

He said nothing in his defense, no explanation, no denial. The pain of it ate at her heart as the years she had wasted stretched out behind her.

"Good-bye, Clint," she whispered. "Just say good-bye. I don't need a babysitter; I need a lover who's willing to care. Drage might not love me, but he's willing to put effort into some part of me. That's more than you've ever done."

She gripped the latch, pulling it toward her to open her door, when Clint caught her arm. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned back to stare at him.

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His eyes blazed from his face, his expression torn and, for the first time, reflecting the conflicting emotions she had always felt raged inside him. Emotions she would have jumped with joy to have seen in the years past. Now it was just too little too late. Clint couldn't change who he was; somehow she had always known that, always sensed it. She had kept their confrontations light, kept from pushing too hard, because of that instinctive knowledge.

She couldn't fight it anymore, though. She couldn't fight him.

"I care...." The words seemed torn from him. They ripped through her chest, tore at her heart with slicing, agonizing blows.

Lifting her hand, she touched his cheek. The growth of beard was sensually rough beneath her fingertips, sending an aching hunger to pulse through every cell of her body.

"Not enough," she whispered tearfully. "Not enough for either of us, Clint."

She pulled free of him before jumping out of the truck and running up the cement steps to the front yard.

Now was as good a time as any to say good-bye.

CLINT HUNG HIS HEAD, HIS jaw clenched, his head pounding with a need that wracked his body.

And he was sitting here in this damned truck letting her run away, letting her give up on him. Hell, he had never let her give up, he realized. He had pushed her away with one hand, pulled her back with the other, and tortured them both with the arousal she fired in his blood.

No one could affect him like Morganna, and she terrified him because of it. Terrified him because he had always known that something wild and free beat inside her. She needed a man who could stand at her side, not one who would stand in front of her.

And Clint needed to stand in front of her. He needed to protect her, to shield her. The thought of losing her forever ... God, it was killing him.

He groaned, a low, torn sound that shocked him. She was giving up on him. He had heard it in her voice, and that affected him more than he would have ever guessed. Affected him, hell. He couldn't do it.