#2 Dangerous Games (34 page)

She had a feeling she now knew why she had never met the men in Reno's and Clint's units. Clint didn't want her anywhere around them.

"Be sure you do," Clint muttered. "And while you're undressing her with your eyes, try to leave enough clothes on her for decency's sake."

That one surprised her. Morganna lifted her brow as the other men chuckled, turning from her, but Clint's gaze lingered, dark, assessing. She winked back at him, pursing her lips in an airy kiss before rising from the couch.

"Have fun plotting and planning, boys." She looked at the clock on the wall. "I need to get showered and dressed if we're going to get out of here on time."

She had left it to the last possible moment. It wouldn't do to give Clint time to actually protest the clothes she had chosen to wear for the night.

"There's a duffel by the bed. Pack the rest of the clothes in there, Morganna. We'll be taking them with us," Clint stated absently as she headed for the bedroom.

"I'll be sure to, cupcake." She kept her back to him. "See you in a bit."

"Cupcake?" Ian turned back to Clint, his gaze going over the tall, lean form and the fierce scowl that creased his expression.

"Get fucked!" Clint growled, turning back to the plan they had laid out.

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"Only one game in sight right now; do we take dibs?" Kell murmured.

Clint lifted his gaze, his midnight eyes turning icy, filled with a promise of retribution. "Ask Mace." Ian turned to Mace, a smirk on his lips. "You're still alive." "Trying out for soprano, though," Mace sighed.

"That woman has a wicked knee and perfect aim. Watch your hands there, Ian my man; she can do some damage." "And if she doesn't, I will." And there was no mistaking intent behind that voice. Deadly.

Menacing. Clint McIntyre had staked his claim. "Now get your head out of your pants and back to protocol here. We want to finish this up fast. I want this taken care of and taken care of now."

CLINT DIDN'T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT he expected in t way of Morganna's clothes. Tight leather, maybe. The 1ittle schoolgirl outfit. His blood pressure could have had died either one. But what she walked out of the bedroom wearing an hour later damned near sent him into cardiac arrest.

The long-sleeved crop top and matching pants had sexy cutouts on the front and at the sides. Cutouts nothing, the hips and thighs were nothing but stretching straps of material and too damned narrow for his peace of mind. Her soft little pussy was barely concealed. Long sleeves covered her arms and fitted over the sides of her breasts. It covered her nipples. Maybe. The straps on her thighs were copied across her breasts, and the material stopped just below those full breasts. There was way too much silken skin left bare from the bottoms of her breasts to the juncture of her thighs, It was made to fit like a glove and that was exactly what it did.

The four-inch black heels made her legs look a damned mile long and fit for nothing but wrapping around his thighs. Clint was aware of the other three men staring at her, jaws unhinged, their eyes bulging, as she paused halfway across the room, swung out a hip, and propped her hand on it and tilted her head mockingly.

"Are you going to get dressed?" Her gaze met his, jerking him back into reality rather than the fantasy of fucking her silly in the middle of Mace's basement.

"I will if you will." He forced himself to speak, though how he managed it with the lust choking him to death, he wasn't certain.

"You're funny." She smiled gently. Gently. She didn't even bother to show the least bit of concern that he was about to cover her with a blanket and hide her in a damned closet. "But you'd better hurry. I think you said Drage was supposed to be waiting to slip us into the club."

"And leave you here alone?" He blinked back at her. Yeah, he really thought maybe he should just drag
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her into the bedroom and put those pajamas back on her. They were a lot better. They weren't capable of causing a riot.

"Yes, you are going to leave me in here alone with these three yahoos just waiting to make a smart comment." She arched her brow at the other men. "I'd hurry if I were you, too. Or I might end up making pancakes."

Pancakes? Oh yeah, she cooked when she was pissed.

He glared at the three men. "Touch her and I'll kill all of you. Better yet, stop looking at her. It's pissing me off."

He stomped from the room before he heard more than a snicker. He didn't pause as he passed Morganna; he couldn't. If he did, he would end up throwing her over his shoulder again and hauling her straight to the bed. Damn. Could a man die of a hard-on?

THE MUSIC WAS PUMPING FROM Diva's as Clint pulled the BMW up to the back entrance. The door opened smoothly, revealing Jayne Smith, outfitted in skintight leather, biker boots, and a pistol held close to her thigh.

"Righteous." She grinned and lifted her fist to Morganna as she glanced at the outfit.

Meeting the other woman's fist with hers, Morganna slid a look to Clint's closed expression, winking back at Jayne subtly. He hadn't said two words since he had come out of the bedroom dressed in the leather pants, shit kicker boots, and black shirt and leather jacket. He looked hot as hell, in more ways than one, Morganna thought with an inward laugh.

"Everything is in place." Jayne hid her smile as she nodded back to Clint. "The lower suite has a private entrance to it, or you can use the main entrance. We'll slip you down in the private elevator and you can come back upstairs through the main entrance. No one will know you just arrived."

She slid a key card into the elevator's security slider and ushered them inside.

"Is Joe's team in place?" Clint questioned as the doors slid closed.

"All but the tech in the van." She nodded. "I managed to get a little bug inside the vehicle, though. If he calls out to Fuentes, we'll know it."

Morganna caught the look Clint slid her way. "Where did you get your bugs?"

"I make them myself," Jayne drawled. "Want a few?"

His answer was a noncommittal grunt.

"I think he's upset with you, Jayne," Morganna sighed, "He doesn't like the outfit."

"What outfit?" he growled. "There's no outfit to it. A few strips of cloth, that's it."

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Jayne lifted her brows mockingly as she glanced at Morganna. Morganna sighed. Again.

"She'll be noticed." Jayne shrugged in unconcern. "The object is to have her seen and to push Fuentes into making his move soon. If he makes it while we're prepared, we have a better chance."

Morganna glanced at Clint as he turned his gaze to Jayne. The flat, knowing glint in his eye had her lips twitching. Yeah, he was aware of all that, but that didn't mean he liked any of it.

"Here we are," Jayne announced as the elevator slid to a smooth stop. "We've had all the security pass cards into the suite changed." She handed Clint a key card, which he tucked into the front pocket of his pants. "You're fully stocked with drinks and snacks; if you want anything in the way of meals, Drage's chef will take care of you. His number is beside the phone in the kitchenette."

Morganna stepped from the elevator, entering an opulent, richly designed sitting room the size of the lower floor of her house. A wide leather couch and matching chairs sat well back from a gas-lit fireplace.

The opposite wall held a huge wall-mounted television.

The small dining room and kitchenette were open into the living room except for gleaming marble columns used as ceiling support. A wide hallway led to the bedrooms. Clint set the duffel bags he had carried from the car beside the couch and turned back to Jayne. "I'm carrying. Make sure your men are aware of that." Jayne grimaced. House policy was no weapons, period. The entrance and exits were equipped with advanced electronic sensors to help pick up any handguns being slipped into the club. "I assumed you were. Stay away from the en-trances and we'll be fine. I've already alerted my men. The bouncers on duty tonight were handpicked by me and are trustworthy. So we should be good to go." He nodded. "We'll be up momentarily." Jayne's lips twitched as Morganna rolled her eyes; the invitation to leave was clear.

"I'll see you upstairs then." Jayne nodded briskly as she turned back to the elevator.

Silence filled the room as she stepped into the elevator and the door slid shut. Clint turned to Morganna, his gaze brooding as he swept over her outfit. "I wouldn't start over the outfit again, Clint," she warned him softly, her eyes narrowing at the dangerous glint in his eyes.

He looked rakish, wicked with the new growth of beard that he hadn't shaven. His midnight blue eyes were dark, filling with lust and just a hint of danger as he advanced on her.

Morganna backed up warily.

"Do you think I'd hurt you?" His voice was a sensual rasp across her senses as she swallowed with difficulty.

Morganna shook her head slowly. "No. You would never strike me." There were other ways to hurt her.

He could gain her cooperation with his touch, make her dress in a nun'* habit and enjoy it, until the haze of sexual pleasure wore off. He made her weak. He made her want to give in to him, made her wonder if that would hold him to her forever, even though she knew better.

"Then why are you backing away from me?" He continued to advance on her. She continued to move backward until she came up against one of the thick column supports.

She breathed, a quick, hard inhalation as he caught both wrists, gripping both in one hand as he pulled
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her arms over her head, holding them against the post.

"Do you know what that outfit does to me, Morganna?" he whispered.

"Pisses you off?" she guessed, fighting to tamp down the nervousness rising within her.

"It makes me very hard. Very horny. It makes me warn to prove to every moron looking at you exactly who you belong to."

"I belong to me, Clint." Oh man, God was gonna get her back for that lie.

"And that outfit proves it," he growled, his other hand gripping her hip, jerking her against his harder body as his knees dipped, driving his erection against the soft mound of her sex. "But baby, we both know the real truth."

His lips covered hers, but rather than the fierce, dominant kiss she expected, they sank into hers instead as a hungry growl left his throat.

Morganna felt her chest tighten painfully as his eyes grew heavy lidded but still stared deep into hers. His lips moved over hers, his tongue licking at her lips, his hips moving against her, stroking the suddenly swollen, throbbing bundle of nerves between the folds of her sex through the material of their clothes.

A whimper of longing, of emotion, left her lips at the exquisite pleasure, the sense of slow-building heat, overtaking her.

Clint owned her with this kiss, and she knew it. The soft rasp of his beard against her skin, the way his lips stroked hers, his tongue tangling with hers as his eyes held her gaze.

She strained against him, feeling her heart racing in her chest as her nerve endings sensitized, heated. The extreme tenderness of the kiss was like velvet, but beneath it was steel, fire-forged, dominant.

"When I get you back here," he whispered, "what's left of those clothes you're wearing will be peeled from your body, Morganna. Slowly. And then you're mine. While you're mine ..." He took small kisses from her, pulling at her lips,

making her moan at the threat of the deeper, darker passion she could feel just beneath the surface. "I'll show you what happens to bad little girls who run around half-dressed."

"Hmm, promise?" Her teeth caught his lips as he moved to pull back, seeing the flare of surprise, of possessive dominance, that flared in his eyes.

The primal growl that rumbled in his chest was her only warning before he stole the kiss from her.

Catching her closer, releasing her hands as his fingers gripped her hair and pulled her head back for the deep mating thrust of his tongue into her mouth as his lips slanted over hers.

Oh yes. This was what she liked. A powerful, convulsive clench of her womb had her breath hitching as her hands tangled in his hair to hold him closer. The rasp of his beard, the corded power in his long, leanly muscled body, combined to overwhelm her senses.

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"Enough." He pulled back, his breathing as harsh, as heavy, as her own. "You would tempt a saint." His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a grimace of pain-filled hunger that echoed in her body.

"Well... you're not a saint..." she panted. "Am I tempting you anyway?"

He groaned, a snort of laughter mixing with the sound as he laid his forehead against hers and stared back at her with heated need.

"Be careful up there," he whispered. "Reno would kick my ass if anything happened to you."

And how would he feel? She smiled, knowing, feeling the determination in him, the emotion, unspoken, undefined, but whipping from him like invisible waves of power.

"I'll keep you safe from Reno then," she promised softly "Come on, big boy; let's go fight some bad guys."

THIS WASN'T GOING TO WORK. Clint could feel the blood rushing through his veins, pounding beneath his flesh. A fine film of sweat covered his skin, his sensitive skin. The heavy beat of the music was almost a physical caress as the waves of sound rushed around him. heavy with the singer's strident moans, her throaty, sexual cries of passion. Cries that reminded him of Morganna's. And as he listened, he watched.

She moved to the dance floor within the first half hour in the club, joining her friends Jenna and the dark-skinned young man, Sandy. Sandoval Mitchell was of South American descent, twenty-seven years old and a student at the university. He was a regular club-goer, though not an active part of the peripheral BDSM community.