Christine Feehan - Conspiracy Game

His hands tunneled in her hair, rubbing the strands back and forth between his fingers. “They probably do.”

She laughed. “I should have known you’d side with them. It’s some sort of male bonding thing to think women aren’t capable of running their own lives.”

He nuzzled the top of her head with his chin. “It’s ego and sheer desperation. We have to keep you thinking we’re the superior species.”

“News flash, Jack-no woman on the face of the earth believes that anymore.”

He trailed kisses down her cheek. “But men don’t know women know that. We still live in our little fantasy world, so don’t muck it up for us.”

“I’ll try to be good about it.”

“You were telling me about your life.”

She shrugged. “There really isn’t all that much to tell. I’m adopted. My birth father insisted on designing my education as well as being responsible for any medical problems, mostly, I think, because I’m so different. He was aware of my differences and had a special doctor flown out whenever I had so much as a stubbed toe. He also insisted on developing my physical training. Running, gymnastics, martial arts, under water, that sort of thing. I liked it most of the time. I could use the skills for our performances, and it just felt good to use the speed and endurance I actually have, instead of hiding it all the time. Mom didn’t want our friends to know I was different.”

“Why did you all stay with the circus?”

She gave a little shrug. “They love the circus life, the camaraderie, the traveling-especially the traveling and, of course, performing in front of thousands. I think that’s as big a thrill as the actual aerial act. Jeb loved it so much he didn’t stay in the SEALs and you know he loved that. The money Whitney gave my parents when they adopted me and agreed to his terms enabled them to buy in as full partners of the circus. Performing and the circus are in their blood. We’ve been offered so much money to perform in Vegas, but it isn’t the lifestyle any of them want. The circus has their hearts.”

“But not yours.”

Briony turned over to stare up at the ceiling, a small smile curving her mouth. “ They have my heart, so of course I perform with them. We’re family and it’s what we do.”

“And you know their act wouldn’t be quite the success without you. It’s your stunts that set them apart from other top aerialists.”

“I contribute, but the boys are awesome flyers. They invent tricks most of the other performers copy. I’ve always been stronger and faster, and obviously it gives me an edge. I do a quadruple somersault, but truthfully, I could rotate five or six times before Jebediah catches me. I just wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It would be too dangerous for others to try-and it would set me apart. I don’t want the spotlight shining too heavily on me.” She reached up and touched his face. She loved touching him, but there were few places on his body she could do so without hurting him. “What about you?”

He caught her hand and carried it to his mouth, nibbling on her fingers. “What about me?”

“What do you do when you aren’t being sent into jungles to rescue people?”

“My brother and I own a piece of property up in the mountains. It’s wild and suits me just fine. If he’d ever stop with his plans, we might be able to sit on the porch and enjoy it.”

Briony heard the affection in his gruff response. “His plans?”

“Ken always has plans. He designed the house, and every time I think we’re finished and I can just sit and enjoy the mountains, he comes up with a new idea for me to work.”

Briony laughed softly. “He makes you work, does he? Somehow I’m having trouble believing that.”

Embarrassment flickered in his eyes and was gone. He shrugged. “The man whines. I don’t know. He wants it done and he just keeps at me, so it’s easier just to give him what he wants so he’ll shut up.”

Briony’s smile widened. “You pushover you. Who would have guessed?”

He found himself fascinated by the shape of her mouth and the laughter in her eyes when she smiled. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone. Ken loves to design, but he doesn’t necessarily like to do the carpentry work.”

“And you do?”

“I like working with my hands.” He shrugged. “Of course, it might be out of necessity. Ken brings me all kinds of ideas and someone has to keep him quiet.”

“Ideas?” She tilted her head, one eyebrow raised. “What kinds of ideas?”

“Furniture. New rooms. Buildings. All kinds of things.” He sighed as if greatly put upon, but there was too much admiration and affection in his voice to believe he was annoyed with his brother.

“You make furniture?”

“I made all of our furniture. And the cabinets.” He shrugged. “Just about everything in the house. I told you, I like working with my hands. There’s something satisfying in taking wood and making something long-lasting out of it.”

She took his hand, running her fingertips over the calloused skin. “I love your hands.” Briony smiled up at him. “If you do all the building, what does he do?”

“The ideas are his. And he talks to people, does all the ordering. Handles details. I’m not good at any of that. Ken thinks if someone screws up an order I might shoot them.” He bent to brush a kiss along her temple. “There might be a little truth to that. I can’t take incompetence.”

She burst out laughing again, the sound playing through his body like a musical instrument. He could feel the vibration of every note running through his veins, heating his blood.

“I’ve always wanted to do stained glass,” she confided. “I sketch. I’m not that good, but they’re all original designs.”

Jack caught the wistful note in her voice. “Have you tried making stained glass?”

“I took a few classes and made small pieces. I have a lot of books. It isn’t practical when we travel so much, but someday, I’m going to have my own studio. I see differently. More bird than human, I think, and sometimes, especially in the evening, I sense people through heat and have no idea why. I actually see images in colors. When I look at things in nature, I see it all differently and want to use the colors in glass.” She traced his tattoos, her fingers stroking caresses down his arm.

He was silent for a moment, savoring her touch. “I see the same way. Heat imaging. And I have a highly developed sense of smell.” He bent to bury his face in her neck, inhaling her fragrance. “You always smell so good.”

“Probably not when I finish performing. I’m hot and sweaty.”

“You’re beautiful, Briony.” He kissed her throat, lingered for a long foray over her neck, sending shivers through her body. “I like you hot and sweaty.” He pushed the sheet down to her hips, exposing her bare breasts and flat belly.

“You would.” Briony relaxed under his wandering mouth. She could feel the urgency in his mind, but it never dictated to his hands. He might kiss her with fierce hunger and ravenous possession, but he stroked tender caresses over her body, slow and easy, as if memorizing every detail. His mind might be in chaos, howling for her, demanding he take her as if she were nothing to him but a female body he craved, but his hands were gentle-reverent-his hands spoke of deep emotion.

Briony traced his weathered features, her fingers lingering over the stubborn set to his jaw. He trembled beneath her touch, turning his head to draw her finger into his mouth. He looked at her with eyes filled with raw desire. Her breath caught in her throat. She could see that look forever and never get enough.

“Lie back, baby. We’re a little hampered by my stitched together body, but we can try a few things that might make you feel good.”