Atlanta Heat Page 6

  “Lift your breasts to me, Emerson,” he growled. “Lift those pretty nipples for me.”

  She cupped her breasts and offered the hard sensitive points to him, then screamed out her pleasure as his lips surrounded one tight peak.

  It wasn’t just the hard, heated suction of his mouth, but the thrusts of his cock, the rasp of his pelvis against her clit. It combined to push her higher, but held her back just enough to keep her locked to earth rather than flying in release.

  “Not yet,” he bit out, moving from one nipple to the other. “Not yet, baby. Feel good. Feel so fucking good for me.”

  “It’s too much,” she cried, trying to push past that final barrier.

  “It’s not enough. Not yet.”

  She released her breasts to grab onto his shoulders. The sensations were too much, too violent, too much pleasure. But it didn’t stop him. He cupped them himself, his mouth devouring first one then the other as he began to stroke his cock inside her in a smooth, controlled rhythm.

  Each thrust, each draw of his mouth stole another piece of her mind until she was nothing more than a creature of his pleasure. His pleasure, her pleasure. It whipped through her, broke through barriers she hadn’t known she’d erected against him and had her fighting for release, fighting him for her release.

  His hoarse chuckle pushed her higher. The slam of his hips as she writhed against him, then his hard hands gripping her hips, his lips latching hungrily to her nipple and his thrusts increasing.

  That was what she needed. She lifted to him, her gaze filmy. Ecstasy washed through her veins, built and burned until she was screaming his name, screaming and exploding beneath him in a cataclysm of pleasure that ripped through her body.

  She heard his shattered male cry, felt him tense and shudder as her arms tightened around his shoulders and the pleasure burned through her. Like lava. Like white-hot electricity shot straight to her soul.

  EIGHT

  SHE WAS IN LOVE with him. She may have denied it before the mind-blowing sex, but hours later, curled against him in his bed, exhausted and sated, she couldn’t ignore it any longer.

  Letting him go was going to bite. Watching him walk away, that careless smile on his face, would break her heart.

  “This should be over in time for the March-Illison-Beckinmore family reunion.” Amusement laced his voice. “The biggest damned get-together in the state of Georgia. We hold it on Grandpa’s farm further south every year. And every year most of the men walk away with bruises from a fight or two, and the women walk away irritated and grumbling because they fought again. And everyone agrees it’s the best year we’ve ever had.”

  Her head was pillowed on his chest as he spoke, though a frown edged her brow as he spoke of it.

  “Sounds like a big family.” She had no idea what a big family constituted. There were no family reunions in her family, no get-togethers outside the occasional dinner with her parents and godfather.

  “One of the biggest. Over three hundred last year.” His hand smoothed down her hair, her back. “Tents and RVs crowd the place for a full week, and the main farmhouse is packed with sleeping bags and overnight mattresses. Grandma March swears every year she’s canceling the next one, but come June, she’s the one making the calls and organizing it. The woman is seventy and runs around the place like a woman half her age. She amazes me.”

  “Sounds like an organizational nightmare.” She could respect someone’s ability to pull it together, but knew it had to be a pain. She just had no idea why Macey was telling her about it.

  “Every morning for a week we pile outside for a dawn breakfast, cooked over every barbecue grill, gas grill, and fire ring on the place. Scrambled eggs, biscuits, gravy, sausage and bacon are heaped on picnic tables and everyone eats like they’re starving. For lunch the tables are piled with sandwich fixin’s and pulled pork barbecue, and for dinner, good God, fresh catfish, steaks, burgers and hot dogs. It’s like a camp for the insane.” But she could hear his love for it in his voice.

  She just couldn’t imagine Macey with a family that size. She couldn’t imagine anyone with a family that size.

  “How do you keep everyone straight?” she asked, confused. “Over three hundred people? That sounds more like a convention than any kind of reunion.”

  “It resembles one sometimes too,” he chuckled. Through it all his hands stroked over her hair, her arms, her back. They were never still, always touching her.

  Was it normal for him, she wondered, to want to cuddle after sex? He must be the only guy in existence who did, because it was the first time she had ever experienced it.

  Hesitantly, she let the hand that lay on his chest move, to stroke over the silky hairs that grew there and enjoy the feel of them against her palm.

  She hadn’t imagined how much she would love his tough, hard body. The barbed wire tattoo around his left bicep, the scar on his thigh, the packed, lean muscle. Just laying against him turned her on and made her want to ignore the little aches and pains in her body and take another taste of him.

  It wasn’t just his body she loved, though, and that’s what frightened her.

  “You could go with me, you know.”

  Her thoughts slammed to a halt and her head jerked up. Her hand paused in the middle of the hard abdomen she had been stroking, growing ever closer to the erection stretching from between his thighs.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said you could go to the family reunion with me.” His eyes narrowed on her. “You’d have fun.”

  “I’m not part of the family.”

  “You’re mine. That makes you family.”

  Emerson felt everything inside her slow to a quick stop as time seemed to take on a heavy, sluggish quality. She stared into his eyes, seeing the determination, possessiveness, and total resolve in his eyes.

  “You know better than that, Macey.” She had to force herself to breathe, to push back the need to believe.

  “Do I, Em?”

  “You should.” She eased from him, wrapping a sheet around her body and moving for the doorway. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Not now. I’m not a starry-eyed teenager that needs a proposal and professions of love to excuse a little sex. You’re off the hook. I won’t cry on the admiral’s shoulder or accuse you of taking advantage of me. So do us both a favor and don’t make more out of it than what it was.”

  She needed her clothes, fast. She needed to shower, to wash the scent of his body from hers and get dressed.

  “Do you really think I’m going to just walk away from you, Em? For any reason?” Quiet understanding. It was in his voice, in his eyes as he stood up and walked over to her. “Did you think a one-night stand was all I wanted?”

  “What else am I supposed to think?” Her heart was racing in her chest, her mouth dry with a sense of panic now. “You’re not exactly known for your monogamous lifestyle, Macey.”

  “And you still went to bed with me?” He tilted his head, his gaze gentle as he smoothed his hands over her bare shoulders. “Why did you do that, Emerson?”

  “I wanted you.”

  “Do you just go to bed with every man you want, Em?”

  No. She stared up at him, mesmerized by the softness underlying the steel in his gaze. He was a SEAL; she knew what that meant. Filled with purpose. Determined. Slick. He knew how to get what he wanted and he didn’t stop until he got it.

  Emerson licked at her lips with trepidation. She could feel a trap, she just couldn’t figure out where that trap lay.

  “I don’t sleep around.” She tried to pull away from him and put distance between them.

  Macey wasn’t having it. His hands held her close to him, the warmth of his body enfolding her, making it harder to think, harder to resist.

  “Then why a one-night stand with me? What made me so special?”

  NINE

  MACEY FELT HIS HEART melt, right there in the underground living room. His gaze locked with Emerson’s, seeing the conflicting emotio
ns in her eyes that shadowed the rest of her features. Panic, fear, hope, and hunger. Not sexual hunger, though that was there as well, but a hunger for more. A hunger to see where the emotions building between them would go.

  He knew where they would go. He knew that within the year he’d have his ring on her finger and her soul melded with his.

  But he swore he could spank her for being so damned stubborn, so unaware of her own fierce heart, and so frightened of her own emotions.

  “You’re not answering me, Em,” he pointed out, making certain he kept his hands on her. “If you don’t have one-night stands, what made me so special?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like, sweetheart?” He lowered his head, touched her lips, kept his eyes on hers. “I love you, Emerson. Do you really expect me to walk away now that I’ve found the woman I’ve searched for my entire adult life?”

  He loved her? How could he love her? She was gawky, accident-prone, and she didn’t know how to love. She would mess it up. Just by being her, she would exasperate him, frustrate him, until he didn’t love her any longer.

  “You’re wrong.” Her heart was racing in her chest, making it hard to breathe. “It’s just sex. It’s always just sex with you. Everyone says it is. All your lovers—” She shut up, her hand clamping over her mouth as a wicked smile bloomed across his lips.

  “You bothered to check me out with old lovers? I’m impressed, Emerson. I really am. Tell me, how close were you to clawing their eyes out?”

  So close it had terrified her each time. But she wasn’t about to admit it. “You’re crazy.”

  “I’d hate to run into one of your past lovers.” He was stalking her now, drawing closer. “I know who each one of them is, where they live, where they work, and what could destroy them. If I had to meet one of them, I’d break their bones.”

  Her eyes widened. He couldn’t be serious. It had to be a game.

  “Macey.” She held one hand out as he drew closer and she blinked back her own tears. “Don’t. Please. I can’t handle this.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Em. You have to face it, and you have to handle it. Because you’re going to have to look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing for me to stop this. Can you do that? Can you tell me that all you wanted was a one-night stand?”

  Her lips parted, the need to tell him just that, to take the escape he was offering. But she was staring in his eyes, saw the pain in them, and the hope.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Her hands fisted in the sheet as her control broke. Years of control, the determination to never cry or ask for love again.

  Her parents had always given her that vague pitying look whenever she cried, whenever she asked for hugs as a child. As though they weren’t quite certain what to do with her.

  “Because I won’t watch you run away from me.” He moved too quickly for her to avoid, pulling her into his arms before she could retreat further.

  “Put your arms around me, Em.” He lowered his lips to her ear as he held her against his chest. “Hold onto me. Let me hold onto you. Don’t you know, when you’re in my arms, I finally feel like I belong to one person rather than just having parts of me allotted out to family, friends and the Navy? When I hold you, Em, I’m whole.”

  “Don’t do this to me,” she whispered against his chest, and wrapped her arms desperately around his neck, terrified of falling.

  She was strong on her own, she knew how to do that. She knew how to be alone. She didn’t know how to be a part of a couple, she had proved that.

  “What am I doing to you, baby?”

  “You’re making me weak, Macey.” Tears slipped from beneath her lashes. “Don’t make me weak. I won’t survive when you walk away.”

  “I won’t walk away, Emerson.” He leaned back, one hand threading through her hair to draw her head back, allowing him to stare into her eyes. “Don’t you know that about me? I never walk away.”

  She did know that about him. Everyone knew Macey was stubborn, hard-headed, and he didn’t back down.

  “Why? Why do you love me?”

  His lips quirked. “Why do you love me?”

  Because he was funny, flirty, strong and certain. Because looking at him made her soul ache and her heart hope. But she didn’t say that; she couldn’t say that.

  “I love you, Em, simply because you’re you, and you belong to me. Your heart belongs to me. I want your kisses and your touches, your laughter and your fantasies to belong to me.”

  They had belonged to him for years.

  “Give us a chance, Em.” He touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, brushed her lips with his thumb. “Just a chance for more than a one-night stand. Can you do that?”

  She would give him her life if he needed it.

  “I don’t know how to do this.” She swallowed, the movement difficult with the emotions clogging her throat.

  His smile was rough, rugged, and filled with sensual, wicked certainty.

  “We’ll learn together. Learn with me, Emerson. God, baby, learn with me.”

  The kiss took her by surprise, as did the roiling emotions that fired in his eyes a second before he took her lips. It was fiery, demanding, hungry. So hungry it seemed to feed her own hunger, to stoke it with ruthless licks, rough nips and pure demand.

  The sheet fell away from her body and within seconds they were back in bed.

  TEN

  DRACK WAS AN UNFEELING creature. She had no emotions, no loyalty, no sense of honor or dishonor. She didn’t care what day it was, what part of the day it was, and she had no particular feelings for the creature that she shared her space with.

  She knew he was strong. She knew that pitting her own strength against his wasn’t advisable because he would only lock her into the cage when she wanted to be free to roam rather than giving her the freedom to come and go as she pleased.

  She wasn’t a thoughtful creature. She didn’t think, plot, or plan. She didn’t particularly care about anything but where the next meal was coming from and the occasional need to mate.

  But there was one thing Drack did hate. Drack hated guns. She hated the scent of them, she hated the feel of them, and she particularly hated the nasty wounds they had once torn into her body. She hated them to the point that even when the creature who housed her carried one, she felt nothing more than the overriding instinct to kill. To destroy. Pain was the one memory, the one instinct that held sway when she felt the vibration of the small door open in the bathroom.

  That door led to dark places, places where she could depend on a source of food if she ever reached it. Not that the creature didn’t keep her well fed, but she loved the hunt.

  Tonight she would hunt more than rodents or lizards. Her slitted eyes narrowed, her tongue tested the air, and a hiss of rage left her throat as she butted against the glass that held her confined.

  She wanted out. Why wasn’t the creature who slept with his mate in the soft nest moving? He should be awakening. Didn’t he smell the death moving in, the weapon held by the creature that moved into the room?

  Drack watched from her glass-enclosed cage, hissed and slithered to where the door latched. Her tongue flicked, testing the air, and she smelled the offensive scent of evil.

  Instinct and rage converged as she lay coiled, tense, waiting. The door would open, and when it did, she would be free. When it did, the evil that had stepped into her lair would die.

  She knew it would open. It always opened. No one entered for long without detection. The creature who housed her, he would give her her chance. When he did, she would kill.

  * * *

  MACEY CAME AWAKE CERTAIN in the knowledge that somehow, some way, he had managed to fuck up. How had he done it? Had he set the security parameters wrong? Had a power supply failed?

  It didn’t make sense. He was careful, he was always careful, especially when it came to his cave. He had one main entrance, blocked by pure steel and set
with enough alarms to bring down the house. There was a bolt hole, just as heavily secured, that led to a sewer drain beneath the streets and any number of manholes scattered throughout the city.

  The bolt hole should have been even harder to find than the main entrance, but someone had managed to not only find it, but to crack his security as well. And that someone had managed to slip into the bedroom where he slept with Emerson.

  He could hear Drack scraping against the door to her glass cage. A door that should have opened when either entrance was activated. But Drack was scraping against it, which meant she was still locked in. There were no alarms screaming through the cave, no lights flashing, no hard rock blaring. And he was defenseless.

  “Come on, Lieutenant Junior Grade Mason March. Wakey wakey.” Amused. Familiar. Deadly.

  Macey opened his eyes and prayed Emerson would stay asleep just a few minutes longer as he stared into the shadowed face of the admiral’s executive aide, Pierce Landry.

  Hell, he had never had liked that weasely little bastard. Macey especially didn’t like him holding that automatic weapon to his head.

  Macey sighed in resignation and hoped he could manage to get under the former Green Beret’s guard for a second to reactivate security and release Drack.

  The anaconda could smell the weapon Pierce was carrying, and she hated guns. Hated guns so much that Macey had to bar the few friends allowed access to the basement from carrying weapons.

  “How did you get past the security?” he asked, hoping to stall, to find that window of opportunity. Unfortunately, he knew Landry’s service record.

  “All it took was finding the entrance; the security wasn’t that hard. After all, I’ve read most of your mission reports, March; I’ve studied your file and your abilities. Reasoning your system out wasn’t that hard.” Pierce’s gaze went to where Emerson appeared to still sleep against his chest. “You must have fucked her half to death. She hasn’t moved.”