Christine Feehan - Street Game

She could feel hurt radiating off of him in waves. It was crippling, the way the emotion battered at her, swamped her, reached out and claimed her. Betrayal. That was what it felt like to him. She’d already turned him inside out and now this. She didn’t want to experience his emotions but somehow, their energies were so knitted together that she did, regardless of her own desires.

Jaimie closed her eyes as her body rippled with need. “I’m well aware they were sent to kill me, Mack. I had to take the chance.”

He went absolutely still as comprehension dawned. “You knew they’d kill you.”

His breath caught in his lungs. “Oh, God, Jaimie. You knew they were going to kill you.”

She nodded slowly, afraid to move now. “Yes. I had to find a way to keep you all safe.”

“Damn it, Jaimie. It was suicide.” His hands gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Did you even for one moment think about me?”

“You’re all I was thinking of,” she defended. “You were out there risking your life, and you didn’t even know the danger was from the one sending you out.”

Mack’s fingers flexed on her hip. For a moment he laid his cheek against her back, breathing deep, his hands caressing her skin. “I don’t want to live in a world without you in it, Jaimie.” His mouth pressed tightly against her spine. “Never put yourself in jeopardy like that again.”

Her heart turned over. The fury was gone from him in an instant. She’d delivered more than a body blow; it had been a knockout punch. She hadn’t meant to shake him. Her decision had seemed so intelligent at the time, her way of saving him, the only way she could.

He trailed kisses along her spine. “I don’t know what this is between us, Jaimie, but it isn’t just sex. You’ve never been just sex to me. Don’t sacrifice yourself, not for me, not for anyone. If I didn’t have you, what would be the point?”

Were there tears in his voice-dropping like burning acid along her back? She couldn’t tell and when she tried to turn her head to look over her shoulder at him, he began moving again. Her body responded instantly as he drove deep, a sizzling stroke of pleasure that sent rockets going off in her head. She gasped and pushed back into him, merging, one skin, one breath. Her eyes burned. It was always this way, the mindless pleasure coursing through her veins, her every nerve ending alive the moment he moved in her.

He could rule her body and heart so easily, and right then, when he’d been so furious with her, she felt more emotion from him than ever. It felt like love. Every stroke. Each time he thrust into her, driving deep, taking her up, swelling inside her, pulsing with her, while her sheath tightened around him, gripping with hot intent. She heard his groan, knew he was close. He stopped and she nearly cried. Mack leaned over her body again with infinite slowness, this time pressing against her most sensitive spot, sending her body spasming, the roar of her orgasm tearing through her womb and up to her stomach so that she went into overdrive, shaking, shuddering. She felt the hot splash of his seed deep inside, but instead of his hoarse cry, she felt his mouth at her ear, his lips moving, small, soft brushes against her lobe. I love you.

Her heart clenched. Her mind stilled. She wasn’t certain he’d actually said the words, but she felt them etched into her mind.

Did you hear me?

She knew better than to look at him. She barely inclined her head, wanting to weep with joy. It was so like him to pick this moment when she didn’t know whether he was angry, sad, or overwhelmed with physical lust, but emotion rocked his voice and that was enough for her.

Don’t ever leave me, Jaimie.

He knelt up, slowly pulled his body from hers to get shakily to his feet. He helped her up and pulled her into his arms, just holding her to him, his face buried against her neck. “You can’t ever do something like that again. I want you to stop this, Jaimie.”

He pulled back to look into her eyes.

She saw so much raw emotion there it shook her. “You have to hear me on this, Mack. Really listen to me, because it’s important. My programs and computers are my weapons. In my own way, I’m still out there fighting like you are. You risk your life and you wanted me right there with you. I can’t do that, but I can do this. Why is risking my life any different than you risking yours?”

He frowned. Opened his mouth. Closed it. “Damn it, Jaimie.” His fingers tightened on her shoulders and he pressed his forehead tight against hers. “Just damn it.”

“That’s what you always say when you know I’m right.” She brought her hands up to his chest. “I’m good at what I do, just as you are. I’ve never asked you to stop, Mack. I wanted you to open your eyes and see what Whitney was. It was too late to undo what he did to us, so okay, we have to live with it, but we don’t have to close our eyes to what he is or what he’s capable of doing. I promise I’ll be careful and I’ll keep you informed every single step of the way.”

“Who did you send your backup to?”

“Another GhostWalker, a woman good with computers. I ran into her hacking the CIA computer.”

“You can’t hack their program.”

“I can if I wrote it. She couldn’t. She was looking for the same thing I was. We’ve been sharing information”-she held up her hand-“and before you lose your mind, I’m careful.”

“Did it occur to you she might be a plant?”

“She was more worried about me than I was about her,” Jaimie said. “I hacked into her computer and found all her files. We established an uneasy truce and I sent her several things she didn’t have on Whitney. She doesn’t know who I am. I know her identity, though. She’s married to a GhostWalker. She was an orphan Whitney experimented on. He gave her cancer more than once.”

“You have to go, Mack,” Kane called over the intercom.

Mack sighed. “Give me a few more minutes, Kane. I’m gathering intel.” He began pulling on his clothes. “Get dressed, baby. And don’t leave this place while I’m gone. Stick close to the boys.” He leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“I’m going to take out Thornton and any threat to Kane, Brian, and Sergeant Major.”

“Just be careful,” she cautioned.

“My middle name.”

Gideon eased the ache in his leg with the smallest of stretches. “No movement yet, boss, he’s still in there sitting by his fireplace with a drink as if he has all the time in the world.”

Mack glanced at his watch. The lights in Jefferson’s house had been on for hours. He wasn’t retiring anytime soon. He seemed to be waiting for someone-or something. There was no way he could possibly know he was a target. The three had slipped from the warehouse unseen and boarded a military flight. Tucked in the trees, they’d already spent enough hours to be getting cramps, waiting for Jefferson to go to bed.

“Well, he doesn’t have all the time in the world, Gideon, and you’re right, he’s waiting for someone.”

The tree they’d set up in was enormous. The great sprawling branches were thick, and they dipped and twisted, giving them a tremendous platform to work from. Phillip Thornton’s house had been modest, in a quiet neighborhood at the end of a cul-de-sac. As James Bradley Jefferson the third, the man had treated himself to a home he felt he deserved. The long drive led to a two-story brick estate. Tall pillars rose around the wide verandah, a proud Southern home, surrounded by shrubbery and rolling lawns. The property was nestled in thick trees, an old growth of evergreens, one of the few stands left in the area. The terrain lent the estate a natural seclusion.