Iris Johansen - Dark Summer

If he'd pushed harder, she would probably have been in his bed tonight, she thought. She was still hot and aching and empty.

"Me, too," he said softly and she knew he had read that unspoken response. "But I can't go on the attack now. I'd be wondering if you were still trying to heal my misspent youth."

Disappointment.

"Look at me." He was holding her eyes. "It's just the beginning. Once you think about it, you're going to run away. You'll change your mind. I just hope you change it back pretty damn quick. You may not be backing off because I'm a half-breed, but I'm still too wild for you. So I'll be ready to go crazy by the time we come together. But I can wait… if you can."

She couldn't look away from him. There was too much there, passion, humor, understanding. Emotions were swirling around her, around them.

LINCOLN GAVE A LOW WHISTLE, HISgaze on something beyond Bridget's shoulder. "Well, what do you know…?"

Bridget looked over her shoulder.

No .

She stiffened and swung around to face Marrok and Devon. The electric tension between them was palpable. You could almost see it, smell it, warm your hands at the heat. They weren't touching, but they didn't need to touch. The bond was there, waiting only for the final melding. She had never seen Marrok and Devon together, and it came as a shock. It was too strong, too primitive, too earthy.

Lincoln was chuckling. "What do you bet he kicks his faithful Ned out of his room tonight?"

"Maybe." Didn't Lincoln see anything but the obvious? she wondered. If he didn't, she wasn't going to call his attention to what was coming through to her.

"Or maybe our savage won't wait to get her into bed. Bed may be too civilized for him."

Malice. Let Lincoln be as malicious as he wished. It might keep him focused on the sexual side of the scene before them. Because she was seeing something much more dangerous between Marrok and Devon, tentative, fragile, but more frightening than any sexual bond.

Shit.

"HELLO, MARROK." BRIDGET BOUNDEDup the porch steps. "I guess Devon told you I struck out?"

Devon shook her head to clear it. The atmosphere had been so intense between Marrok and her that it was hard to be jarred out of it by the intrusion.

Marrok didn't look at Bridget. "I expected it. I'll handle it from now on."

"No, we've got it worked out," Bridget said. "She'll work with me. She thinks I need to be watched." She called to Lincoln, who was coming up the steps, "Your fault. She believes I'm your mole."

"Why would she think that?" Lincoln asked. "We're all friends, working together." He turned to Devon. "But I applaud the decision. You're safer with Bridget than Marrok. Though you'd be much better off going home and getting away from both of them." He shrugged. "And it would do no good to tell you that I'm your best bet of all." He moved toward the door. "So I think I'll go inside and make a few calls to London. Good night all."

Lincoln had the right idea, Devon thought wearily. Just walk away and avoid all this tension. "And I'm going to bed." She turned away. She was tired of the guarded interplay among all of them. She wanted her life clear and simple again.

She almost laughed at the thought. The moments before Bridget had run up the steps and interrupted them had been neither clear nor simple. It had been like being caught in a tropic windstorm, hot, dizzying, robbing her of breath, and bending her, leading her. She should be grateful that Bridget had broken the spell.

She wasn't grateful. She wanted it back. She wanted him back.

Crazy. All the more reason to get away from here and rebuild her defenses.

She opened the screen door. "Come to think of it, I have to call Nick. I'll see you in the morning."

She didn't wait for a reply but escaped into the house. Escape was the right word. She had been so calm and clear when she'd faced Marrok earlier. Even when she'd left him and gone down to the barn, she hadn't felt this ragged. It was those last moments that had been so hard. She'd had to fight both the desire to let him take her to bed and the intense sympathy that had made her want to hold him, soothe him, make everything all right in his world.

But she didn't even know how to cope with his world. He had grown up wild and undisciplined, and she had always had order in her life.

Forget it. Go to sleep. Wake up to a fresh morning with fresh perspectives. Nothing had happened that had changed anything.

She just had to keep it that way.

"IT'S NOT GOING TO WORK, Bridget," Marrok said quietly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Devon. Why are you set on keeping her away from me? What difference does it make to you?"

She didn't try to pretend she didn't know what he meant. "She could be an Achilles' heel. If anything happens to her, I don't want her near you."

His brows rose. "It's really none of your business."

"It's my business to take care of the dogs," she said. "Anything that affects my ability to do that will have to be addressed." She started down the steps. "I thought it would be okay if you screwed her. It would be over, then we could go on. But it's not going to be okay. It's not going to be over…" She looked back over her shoulder. "It might get worse. So I'll try to keep you apart as long as I can."

"Do you know how ridiculous you sound?" he asked sarcastically.

"Hell, yes." She strode away from him toward the bunkhouse. Ridiculous as trying to stop a raging forest fire with a garden hose. Marrok wouldn't let her get in his way for long. She couldn't blame him. She'd bitterly resent interference in her affairs if the situation were reversed.

But something had to be done. She had to have help. God, she hated admitting to anyone that she couldn't handle the job.

Bite the bullet.

She reached for her phone and dialed London. It rang three times before Jordan Radkin answered. "It's the middle of the night here, Bridget. It had better be important."

"Dammit, do you think I like calling you?" She drew a deep breath. "Something's changed. It could get out of control. We may have to bring Danner in sooner."

"WE'VE GOT IT!" PAUL CASWELLthrew the computer slip down before Danner. "Not everything. That bastard changed the code three times during the message. But we've got a start. The location of the golden retriever. Addie."

"If he hasn't moved her by now," Danner said bitterly. "We should have had that translation yesterday."

"He hasn't moved her," Caswell said. "I sent a man to the house as soon as I got the first line of address." He paused. "But it will be difficult to get at the retriever. She's staying at John and Sarah Logan's place on the Seventeen Mile Strip."

"Logan." He started to curse. Dammit, he knew that name well. "Difficult? It will take weeks to find a way to take the dog away from him. I can't afford to stir up a hornets' nest with Logan. He's even got the ear of the president. Keep watch on the retriever and go after the other dogs. If they try to move the retriever, go after her. And I want that second location by tonight."

"We're doing the best we can," Caswell said. "And in a few hours we'll know everything that's going on at Logan's place. We might be able to find a weak link."

He needed a weak link, Danner thought. Marrok had been running rings around his men since Santa Marina. He'd thought Enright would be the answer, but the bastard was moving as slow as those translators trying to locate the dogs. But it was going to end. He had to find a way to bring Marrok to his knees. The thought of Marrok humbled gave him a flash of enormous plea sure. Perhaps he'd make Marrok watch as he slaughtered the dogs one after the other. That would make him realize how futile it was to oppose him.