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She twisted, arched to him as his lips slid down her neck to her breasts. His teeth rasped the tender tip of a nipple as his free hand pulled the cup of her bra beneath the swollen mound.
Then his mouth was covering it, his lips closing on it, sucking it inside with tight, hard pressure that sent sensation ripping to her womb.
Long, broad fingers speared inside her vagina, drawing another cry from her. Flesh unused to any touch but her own since he had taken her so long ago. Too long.
She came instantly. The stretching heat, the feel of his mouth sucking her nipple, his tongue lashing her, it was too much. She exploded in a prism of light and color, his name on her lips and in her heart.
Oh God, she was never going to be free of him. And in this moment, exploding around his fingers, she wondered if she ever wanted to be.
She struggled to open her eyes, then lost her breath as she watched him. He pulled his fingers free of her, lifted them, and tasted her. Right there, beneath the sun, the breeze whipping around them, he opened his lips and sucked the taste of her from his fingers.
“Natches. ” She could barely do more than breathe his name when his face suddenly stilled, his head lifting, like an animal scenting danger.
“Son of a bitch Cranston. ” He was jerking her bra in place and pulling her shirt down when she caught the sound of a helicopter coming closer.
Pulling back from her, Natches let her fix her jeans, his green eyes filled with mocking amusement as the helicopter flew around the sheltering trees and came over the clearing.
It couldn’t land, but she knew who it was. The Department of Homeland Security had found her. They had nearly seen more than she could have safely gotten away with.
Natches drew farther back from her, his expression hardening. “Come on. I’ll lead you back to the main road. Then you can call Cranston and tell him to meet with me. I’ve had enough of this crap. It ends now. ”
What was going to end now she wasn’t certain, but she was more than ready to get the hell out of there, away from him. Let Cranston deal with him, because she knew, as sure as she was standing there she knew, there wasn’t a chance in hell that she could handle him.
ONE
Somerset, Kentucky
October, One Year Later
Natches Mackay sat silently in the jeep and watched as Chaya Dane hauled her luggage into the hotel she had reserved in town. The Suites were just that. A nice hotel that offered a variety of live-in suites with a bedroom, a small living room, and a kitchenette for those required to be in town for an extended stay.
Chaya was registered for a two-week stay but the luggage she brought wouldn’t have kept one woman for four days. A single large suitcase, an overnight bag, and a laptop case. She was definitely traveling light.
Eyes shaded behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, he rubbed the short growth of beard at the side of his jaw and considered this new development.
It had been a year since she had been in town. A year since he had pulled the trigger and buried a bullet in his first cousin’s head. And seeing her again brought the memories he tried to suppress back in vivid detail.
Johnny Grace had been a disgrace. He had masterminded the hijacking of a missile shipment as well as the sale of the weapons, and attempted to place the blame on a young woman who his other cousin Dawg Mackay was in love with. To add insult to injury, he had then attempted to kill her when he found out Dawg was onto him.
Saving Crista hadn’t been easy, and Natches had known, as he drove to the rendezvous point where Johnny Grace was meeting his lover and coconspirator, that Johnny wouldn’t leave there alive. It was a promise Natches had made to himself. Rowdy and Dawg were family, like no one else was. If it hadn’t been for them and Rowdy’s father, Ray, Natches wouldn’t have survived the turmoil of his own life when he was younger.
People who knew the Mackays knew you didn’t strike out at one of them. All of them came running if you did. And Rowdy’s and Dawg’s wives, Kelly and Crista, were strictly hands-off. It was hands-off or Natches would go hunting.
Johnny should have known better. He should have known Natches would be waiting with a bullet for him. But the little fucker had been convinced he could pull it off without anyone being the wiser.
His death had ended the investigation. The missiles had been recovered, the prospective buyers had been arrested, and all was supposed to be right in this little part of the world. Not that Natches slept any easier at night, but he had found a measure of peace. That peace had been hard-won over the past five years, and he had been enjoying the hell out of it.
Until last year.
He watched as Chaya disappeared into the hotel. Chaya was the pet agent of Timothy Cranston, the special agent in charge of investigations. She was his gopher and shit wrestler, and as much as it grated on Natches to see her following the snide little man’s orders, he had still considered her rather intelligent. Smart enough that he had tried to stay the hell away from her.
Maybe she wasn’t as smart as he had thought. Because she was back here, and he’d be damned if any of his sources had warned him of an operation going down here.
What that operation was, either no one knew, or no one was telling him.
He rubbed at his lower lip and stared at the hotel entrance she had disappeared into. She hadn’t looked happy to be back—she’d looked worn, tired, as though she had slept about as much as he had in the past year. Which amounted to less than nothing. And she looked damned good enough to eat. Unfortunately, she wasn’t much into being a snack for him.
So why was Miss Dane currently taking up residence in his fair town again? It had to be under orders, because he’d warned her, she wasn’t safe here, least of all from him. If she wanted to keep to that cold, lonely bed of hers then she should have found another town to sleep in.
