After a moment, Devon nodded slowly. “I see what you’re getting at. I’m the potential bad guy again. You presumably call your contact at the bureau and report me as possible trouble, a couple of agents in three-piece suits show up somewhere public to have a little talk with me, and they leave me in the clear. A shell game.”
“Right.” From his expression, Lara knew that he thought it was a pretty good idea, even if he still didn’t like it one bit. “Assassin or agent? The assassin knows who he is, and if he sees a couple of obvious agents dismiss you as no threat and then leave as quickly as they came—”
“I don’t know you’re in the program and don’t connect the questioning with you? We’ll have to come up with a good cover story as to why the agents question me.”
She realized Devon was hardly aware that the agent in him had already accepted her plan as viable; but it was the man she had to convince, and she knew it. “Yes, something the cartel’s man would believe. Then I’ll have to seem to be relieved about you, but still worried that I’m in danger and not willing to involve you in my troubles.”
“You wouldn’t have told the FBI about the attempts against you so far? I don’t know, Lara, that’s pretty hard to swallow.”
“I haven’t told the FBI anything. I’ve told only you.”
He acknowledged that point with a rueful nod, but didn’t drop the objection. “But how do you convince the cartel’s man that you’ve kept your mouth shut? The usual reaction of protected witnesses is to suspect anything that looks odd. You were almost run down by a truck, your apartment was searched, and your car was tampered with.”
“He can’t be sure that I know about the car yet,” she pointed out thoughtfully. “No one was outside when we left the theater, and I have been riding with you.”
“Granted. But it’s a very fine line, Lara. You’re suspicious enough to run the ads and try to protect yourself, and yet not scared enough to yell for help?” He was hoping to make her see reason, but a coldness deep inside him warned that Lara had already made up her mind.
After a moment she said, “I hope I’m a good enough actress.”
He knew she wasn’t talking about her part in the play Rapunzel. “How good?”
“Good enough to very subtly convince everyone at the theater that I have a strong—but mysterious—dislike of the FBI. If the cartel’s man believes that, he just might be willing to believe that I’m determined to handle the threat myself.”
“That’s too many mights and maybes,” Devon said flatly. The coldness inside him was growing, spreading out. God, didn’t she realize that the chance she’d succeed was so slight, it was almost nonexistent? If a trained and experienced agent had suggested it, he would have been willing to try, because it was their best chance of getting at the cartel, at least as things stood now.
But not Lara. Not Lara.
“Can’t be helped. And you know there’s no other way.” She was still hoping to convince him without resorting to the ace up her sleeve, because it would be a very painful card to play, she knew only too well.
Devon sighed roughly and held her a bit tighter. “Look, even assuming we have the time necessary for the cartel to read the ads, and even if we manage to convince everyone involved to believe what we want them to believe—what then? There’ll no longer be any question that you’re a threat to the cartel; they’ll have to make their move, and fast.”
If he could only make her realize…
“Then we set the trap.” Quite deliberately she added, “With me as the bait.”
“No.” The word almost jerked out of him.
It was very difficult to sound cold and hard with a man whose lap one was lying across and with whom one had shared a rather extraordinary night-before in the bed just down the hall, especially with desire burning hotter with every passing second and her heart aching because this was hurting him, but Lara did her best. “Yes. For the first time since this situation started, I’m going to be in control of my own actions. Me, Devon, not someone else. Not even you.”
He got her off his lap. “No.”
Lara wasn’t hurt by the physical withdrawal; he was just attempting to get back on his agent footing, and she knew it. She also knew that he would be forced to realize that she had already won the argument. The man could seduce reason and leave her virtually helpless if he chose, but the helplessness would only be temporary; and the agent couldn’t fight the knowledge of a good plan when he heard one. Especially when it was the only solution.
“There’s no other way. You have no evidence against the cartel’s man. When he follows me to the house, you’ll be waiting there.”
“And you’ll persuade him to confess while I hide somewhere and get it on tape? Not bloody likely.”
She studied Devon’s face for a moment. He had a look she recognized, even though she’d never seen him wear it before; it was a look of sheer, iron determination. There was only one way she knew to break through that resolve of his—and she didn’t want to use it. Despite the strong affinity between them, their relationship was fragile in its very newness, and she was afraid that if she pushed him too far their bond would snap under the strain.
She could lose him.
And yet, what choice did she have? Two million years of evolution had instilled in the male half of humankind a protective instinct that no amount of intellect could erase; every iota of knowledge and experience Devon possessed, as well as his professional responsibilities, weighed virtually nothing in the balance.
Lara knew that. It wouldn’t have been true of all men, but it was true of Devon. If she allowed him to, he’d fight all her battles for her. And especially this one, whatever it cost him—not because he thought her unable to fight herself, but because the bond between them, blessing or burden, made her a part of him somehow, a part he would never willingly endanger.
She sat back slowly on the couch and braced herself inwardly for what she had to do. “All right,” she said quietly. “Then I’ll call my contact at the bureau, and tell him what I have in mind. You know he and his group at the bureau will agree to it.”
Devon drew a short breath, and when his vivid, haunted eyes searched her face, Lara knew he was looking for any sign that she was bluffing. She also knew that he didn’t find what he was looking for.
“I won’t let you do that,” he said evenly.
“You don’t have the right to stop me. I haven’t given you that right.” Lara could feel something shift between them and almost held her breath. Her instincts told her that Devon would respect strength, but she wasn’t sure if he could accept being backed into a corner; in that situation, his instincts would demand that he fight.
“Don’t do this to me.”
She got up from the couch, moving jerkily, and took a few steps away from him. It didn’t help. The bond between them was a living thing, quivering tensely in the air, strained almost to the breaking point. It hurt her, pulled at her like nothing she’d ever felt before, and it would have been so easy to give in to him and stop the torment.
So easy. And so impossible.
She turned her back to him, feeling something hot on her cheeks. It was hard to see, but she wasn’t looking at anything anyway, except something inside her where it was blurry, too. The thick sound of her own voice startled her. “I have to. I won’t let you tear yourself apart trying to decide. It’s my decision. And I’ve decided.”
She didn’t expect what happened then, couldn’t have anticipated it. For an instant, she felt the pain of being tugged sharpen almost unbearably. Even in her anguish, she was conscious of awe; she had known the strange bond of affinity they shared was a deep one, but until then she hadn’t understood how complete it was. It was an empathic thing, and she felt his raw emotions as keenly as she felt her own. He was fighting, she realized, trying to draw back from her emotionally because it was instinct to shy away from being known so totally.
Then, suddenly, the dreadful pain eased and she could breathe again. H
e was behind her, his arms enclosing her and drawing her back against his tense body. He was swearing softly, his beautiful voice rough and shaken, the sound of it not quite defeat but something close.
It wasn’t his pride or ego that had absorbed the blow she had dealt, but a deeper, more nameless thing. And he had given in, not because of her threat, but because of what his own struggle against that threat had done to them both.
Lara turned in his arms, her own going up around his neck. The chaos of emotions she felt were hers and his, wild and burning inside her. She wanted with a fury that was almost numbing, like something cut loose inside her. She wanted freedom for herself, her roots back and to choose the direction of her own life, wanted justice for her father—and, most of all, wanted Devon. He was in her heart, embedded more deeply than her soul, yet what she wanted most from him he hadn’t offered and she couldn’t ask for.
“All right.” His voice was still shaken, he could hear it, and he could feel the aftershocks inside him. “All right, Lara.” A part of him refused to believe what had just happened, yet he couldn’t deny the inescapable reality of it; the lingering agony he felt was all too genuine.
With an adulthood of secrets and shadows at his back, the shock of realizing how certainly she defined—and felt herself—his emotions had caused him to withdraw automatically from her. Or at least try to. It had been like reaching the end of a rope after an abrupt fall, a wrenching halt that had quite literally knocked the breath from him and hurt like nothing he’d ever known before.
“You can’t choose!” she said fiercely, staring up at him out of wet green eyes. “I won’t let you.”
Alone all his life, Devon couldn’t quite believe in this. The affinity he had sensed with her he had assumed to be based on the loneliness they both felt, and the overwhelming passion they had shared seemed to spring from the same source despite her astonishing words of love. But not this, not this amazing tie that was a tangible thing. This was something else, something too starkly powerful to come only from loneliness.
“All right,” he repeated, giving in because there was nothing else he could do; despite his doubts about the reality of this, he could see that his own struggles were hurting her as well as himself—and he couldn’t hurt her.
He kissed her, needing to soothe the pain with a touch. If he had thought about it at all, he would have believed that the strange, raw emotions between them would have been a kind of barrier against desire, that only tenderness was possible at such a ruthless moment; but he was wrong. The dull ache of pain receded in a rush, like a wave retreating from the shore to make way for the next, and hunger washed over him.
“Lara,” he murmured huskily against her lips. A throaty sound escaped her, and her eyes were darkening, fixed on his with wonder and need.
He lifted her into his arms without thought, carrying her down the short hallway to the bedroom. Just as it had been the night before, he felt a certainty in his inability to control this. And just as before, he felt the same uncontrolled hunger in Lara. He stood her by the bed long enough for their clothes to be flung aside, and there was a surge of almost savage delight in him because she was as eager as he.
Lara pressed her naked body against his, and her hands stroked compulsively over the solid muscles of his back, feeling them move under her touch. Dear Lord, she wanted him so badly…It was like a craving in her soul. Her mouth explored his throat and shoulders and chest, glorying in the hard strength of his body, the warmth of it. All her senses expanded with a rush that was wildly exciting, until she was so acutely aware of him, it was as if only he existed. As if only he were real.
And her excitement built as she felt his response. His breath was coming as roughly as hers; his flesh was burning as if some mortal fever raged inside him, like hers; and she could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his powerful body shuddering as she touched him.
“How I want you,” Devon muttered in a rasping voice, lifting her naked body easily into his arms.
Lara clung to him as he lowered her onto the bed and joined her. “Yes,” she whispered, her throat aching as she stared up at his taut face, conscious of a sense of awe that she could make him want her with the almost desperate hunger she felt herself and saw reflected in his eyes.
She forgot the pain of before, forgot the sword hanging over her head and the dangerous, difficult times that certainly lay before her. She could think only of Devon and the feelings he roused in her. His mouth brushed between her breasts, then trailed fire across the flushed, swollen curves. His hands were caressing her body with sure knowledge, bringing every nerve ending wildly alive and quivering.
She was burning, aching with sweet torment that seemed to fill her consciousness until there was nothing else. Some part of her was aware that her body began to move against him, restless and wanting, her hands shaking as she held on to him with a rising urgency. “Devon…”
His mouth was on her breasts, moving with exquisite slowness as if he had all the time and patience in the world, driving her mad with his teasing. And yet his own body was taut and shaking, his handsome face fixed in a look of control that was almost masklike. And his eyes were blazing, the shadows burned away by a primitive inner fire.
Devon felt that fire intensely, roaring inside him, and some deep part of him recognized that only one emotion was powerful enough to fuel such an inferno. It was a bittersweet realization, because he was convinced that Lara’s love for him, born in a prison, could not survive freedom.
In helping to free Lara, he would lose her.
Chapter 7
Without even thinking about it, he followed his instincts. The bond between them was amazingly strong; he would do everything in his power to strengthen it even more. He wanted to fill her with himself, make her a part of him until she’d never be rid of him.
A growl rumbled in his throat as he held her shaking body firmly and kept a rigid grip on his own threadbare control. Lord, she was so beautiful, as wild in his arms as the emotions ripping through him…as necessary as his next breath.
“Devon.” She moaned softly and tugged at his shoulders, desperate to feel him inside her. The spiraling tension was building unbearably until she thought she’d scream under the shattering force of it. He resisted her plea, teasing her aching breasts with fiery licks and maddening nibbles, letting her feel the sharpness of his teeth and the soothing touch of his tongue.
Wild with need, Lara instinctively fought his restraint with a seduction of her own. Her trembling hands moved over him, exploring hard muscles, tracing the straightness of his spine with just the tips of her fingers. She could feel him tense even more, heard another growl rumble from his throat, but it wasn’t enough.
She slid one hand down his hard stomach, closing her fingers around him. She heard his hoarse gasp, and her own excitement spiraled violently as she felt the throbbing power of him, hot and rigid in her hand. She stroked him slowly, watching his vibrant eyes grow hotter, his face tighten in a spasm of pleasure that was almost agony.
Devon groaned raggedly, and his control shattered. Swiftly, he rose above her, slipping between her cradling legs and pulling them high around him. He thought he’d go out of his mind when her hot, moist flesh tightly surrounded him, and he buried himself in her with a primal need to merge their bodies completely.
Lara responded with all the fire he had ignited in her, accepting his almost savage passion with her own lithe strength and a consuming need that matched his. In her mind were words of love, cried out in silence, because the only sound she could make was a wordless whimper of searing pleasure.
—
Neither of them mentioned the strangely painful, silent struggle between them; Lara knew they weren’t ready for that yet. Devon still had his doubts, and she knew that, too. He hadn’t mentioned her declaration of love even when he could have during their verbal argument.
You love me. Don’t do this to me.
He could have said that, and she might well have lo
st. But he hadn’t. And she had won.
If it could be called winning. Lara was afraid. She knew the odds were against her survival. The stakes were too high to allow the cartel the luxury of time to consider her fate; a dead possible threat would always be judged less trouble than a live one.
Much less trouble.
All she had as a bargaining chip was the elusive evidence against them. It might not exist, but she had to convince the cartel’s lurking watcher that it did, and as quickly as possible. She had to remove all pressure from the watcher, convince him that he had the luxury of time and at least a chance of obtaining the evidence from her.
“It’s been less than a week since the first move was made against you,” Devon said thoughtfully as they planned that afternoon. “Maybe we can steal a few more days. It’s chancy, though.”
Lara was already counting on her acting abilities; she was being utterly matter-of-fact about the situation. “No more so than just waiting. At least this way, we’ll give them all a few things to think about.”
“Maybe too many things.” Devon had given in because he had no choice, but he was using every ounce of his experience and intelligence to anticipate and plan for every possible reaction to the various threads of their strategy. His biggest concern was, of course, Lara’s safety—and that was by far the most difficult certainty to ensure. “And I don’t like your being out in the open.”
“Just for a few minutes,” she reminded him. “It’s necessary. I’ll have to go right away, otherwise he won’t believe the agent has had time to get here.”
“I have four men around you; one of them can follow you to the newspaper office.”
“And he’d certainly notice I was being followed. He’ll be looking for it. We can’t let that happen, Devon.” They were, she thought, risking a great deal just by assuming that the watcher was indeed watching. Because if he wasn’t, their plan was ruined before they had even begun.