Michel/Striker

  And now that he’d kissed her…

  The awareness she’d always experienced since catching sight of the mysterious spy had intensified into something a thousand times more annoying. She felt restless. On edge. As if there was a need vibrating deep inside her that was about to explode. She’d never experienced anything like it before.

  It would be easy to tell herself that it was a reaction to the Pantera blood she’d injected over the years. It might very well be setting off some strange mating urge now that she was staying in the Wildlands.

  A damned shame the reasonable theory didn’t explain why only Michel seemed to inspire the intense reaction.

  Still rifling through the files, she was brooding on her unwelcomed hunger for a male who considered her the enemy when there was the sound of approaching footsteps and Michel’s rough voice sliced through the air.

  “What the hell?”

  With a jolt of alarm, Chelsea dropped the files and rose to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  Striding grimly forward, Michel held out a small picture frame he’d obviously discovered in the bedroom.

  “Do you want to explain this?”

  She didn’t need to look at the photo he was waving beneath her nose. She knew it was an image of herself standing beside a lake with Locke at her side. They were gazing at each other and smiling. Two people who were clearly intimately familiar with each other.

  Crap.

  “It’s a photo,” she muttered.

  A growl rumbled in his chest, his eyes flashing gold. “Don’t push me.”

  Without warning, he threw the picture across the room, as if it somehow offended him.

  And maybe it did. She’d always known she was taking a risk in not revealing she’d been Locke’s lover. But…

  She hunched her shoulders, absently chewing her thumbnail. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why does Locke have a picture of the two of you together?”

  She glanced toward the broken frame and glass that was shattered over the floor. “I’ve never hidden the fact we worked closely together.”

  “How close?” Wrapping his fingers around her wrist he pulled her hand away from her mouth in a growingly familiar habit. Then, when she refused to answer, he tightened his grip and tugged her until she was pressed against his chest. “Dr. Young?”

  Tilting back her head, she sucked in a sharp breath as she met his smoldering gaze. His cat was studying her with an intensity that made the hairs on her nape stand upright.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He leaned down until they were nose to nose. “How close?”

  She shivered. Even as he glared at her in furious suspicion, she couldn’t halt her feminine reaction to the feel of her breasts pressed against his hard muscles.

  Clearly she was demented.

  “Dammit,” she breathed.

  “Tell me,” he commanded, his voice a low growl.

  Chelsea heaved a resigned sigh. “Very close.”

  “You were lovers.”

  “Yes.”

  Without warning he released her wrist and stepped back to study her with a scowl.

  “You didn’t think you should share that little tidbit of information?”

  She absently rubbed her wrist. Not because it hurt. For all his suspicions, Michel had always touched her with a surprising tenderness. But she could still feel the heat of his touch scalding her skin.

  “No.” She gave a lift of her shoulder. “Like I said, it’s none of your business.”

  His jaw clenched, the air pulsing with the force of his anger. “We both know that’s a lie. Your relationship with Locke is very much my business.”

  She tilted her chin, not even caring that her scars were showing. “Why?”

  He clenched his hands. “Because it proves you have every reason to betray us.”

  “You assume everything proves I have reason to betray you,” she accused, suddenly tired of playing the role of villain. Had she made bad choices? Yes. Had she trusted the wrong people? Yes. But she’d been punished and now she was doing everything in her power to repair the damage she’d caused. Enough was enough. “What do I have to do to prove I’m no longer working for my previous employers?”

  He pointed toward the shattered picture. “Tell me the truth.”

  She gave a grudging nod. “Fine, but not here.”

  There was a long pause before he moved to scoop the stack of files she’d discovered off the floor.

  “Are you finished?” he inquired, his voice oddly flat.

  She glanced around the office. She’d searched everywhere she could imagine Locke would have stashed his private files.

  “I’ve found everything I’m going to.”

  “Let’s go.”

  In a tense silence they left the building and returned to Michel’s car. The silence lingered as they drove a few blocks and halted in front of a small house surrounded by a high fence. Pulling out his phone, Michel punched in a number and seconds later a gate slid open. He gunned the engine to pull up a short drive and directly into the open garage bay.

  Barely glancing in her direction, Michel shut off the engine and crawled out of the car. Chelsea sighed, hurriedly moving to join him as he walked to the side of the garage and placed his hand on a small scanner that was designed to read his prints.

  She got that he was pissed. She should have revealed she’d been intimately involved with Locke.

  But, yeesh.

  The prickling heat that was filling the air threatened to choke her.

  “What is this place?” Chelsea inquired, her brows lifting as a hidden door glided open and Michel stepped into the short tunnel that led into the attached building.

  “This is the closest safe house,” he said, leading her through a small but ruthlessly clean kitchen and equally tidy living room that was decorated with flowered sofas and tables filled with knickknacks.

  Anyone glancing through the window would assume it was the home of a traditional granny. Chelsea, however, didn’t miss the cameras tucked in the corners of the ceiling and the steel shutters that could be closed to keep out an intruder.

  Michel continued his swift pace into the hallway and up a narrow flight of stairs. It wasn’t until they were in the bedroom at the very back of the house that he at last halted so he could turn to face her.

  Chelsea glanced around, taking in the wide double bed covered by a handmade quilt, and the sturdy walnut furnishings. It was…homey. A sudden weariness flared through Chelsea.

  She wanted nothing more than to crawl onto that bed and tumble into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  “Is this my room?” she demanded.

  “It is.” Michel stabbed her with a threatening glare. “I’ll warn you now that the phones are tapped and there’s no way to get in or out unless I unlock the doors.”

  Her lips thinned, and she barely resisted the urge to punch him in the junk. “You’re wearing on my nerves,” she rasped.

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  She met him glare for glare, trying to ignore the tiny shivers racing through her body.

  “Now what?” she challenged. “Handcuffs and whips?”

  The hint of gold in his eyes abruptly deepened as his anger transformed into something far more dangerous.

  Stepping forward, he deliberately wrapped her in the thunderous power that radiated around his hard, muscular body.

  “Now there’s a thought.” His voice was husky, filled with hunger that echoed deep inside her. “I’m sure I could find any bedroom toys you might need to turn you on.”

  Her mouth went dry, her pussy clenching at the thought of being handcuffed to the bed while this male stripped off her clothes.

  Would he be quick or slow?

  Would he want to torment her by licking and stroking down her quivering form? Or would he take her with a swift fury that would leave them both aching from pleasure?

  And what did he mean by bedroom toys?

  A
strangled groan was wrenched from her throat as she tried to squash the treacherous images searing through her brain. What was wrong with her?

  “I meant, do you intend to beat the truth out of me?” She forced the words past her stiff lips.

  He hissed, as if offended by her question. Then his jaw tightened.

  “I could torture you like you did to Reny and Sév and a hundred other Pantera,” he accused.

  “Don’t,” she breathed, not bothering to explain she’d never been involved in torturing anyone.

  Whether she’d personally caused the patients pain or not, she’d been a part of Benson Enterprises. That made her guilty by association.

  “Then explain,” he snapped.

  Stepping back, she wrapped her arms around her waist. She hated talking about the past.

  It dredged up all the pain and guilt that stained her soul like a cancer.

  “I was thirteen when our house caught on fire and burned to the ground,” she said, grimacing at the memory of acrid smoke that had blanketed her bedroom, waking her in the middle of the night. “When I heard the alarm I tried to find my parents and younger brother, but the flames were too intense.” She touched the scars that marred her face. The agony of her burns had taken months to fade. “Eventually I jumped out my bedroom window.”

  She thought she heard Michel suck in a startled breath. “They died?”

  “Yes.” She kept her gaze averted, feeling painfully vulnerable. “I went to live with my grandmother, but it wasn’t easy.” She gave a humorless laugh. That was the understatement of the century. Her grandmother could barely stand to look at her, and enduring the horror of her classmates…yeah, not fun. “Not only did the scars make me different from the other students, but they were a constant reminder to my grandmother of her loss.” She shrugged. “I had a crazy idea that if I could erase the scars I could somehow erase the pain.”

  Michel moved toward her, but thankfully, he didn’t try to touch her. She didn’t think she could concentrate if she was battling her intense reaction to him.

  “That’s why you agreed to help Locke,” he murmured.

  She nodded. “He approached me after I published a paper on my research in genetic engineering. He promised me the sort of funding I could only dream of.”

  “And it didn’t bother you when you discovered he was holding innocent people captive for your experiments?”

  She hunched her shoulders, knowing that he would never understand. Not just her desperation to heal her face, but to satisfy her scientific curiosity.

  The mere thought that she could create an antidote that could help heal almost any wound or disease was intoxicating.

  “At first I had no idea where the blood came from,” she admitted, unable to believe how naive she’d been. “Then when I eventually learned the truth I was so close to a breakthrough that I didn’t let myself consider who was being hurt.”

  He made a sound of disgust. “The end justified the means?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And you were in love with Locke?” he accused.

  There was a strange edge in his voice that made her at last lift her head to meet his smoldering gaze.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I was in love with the man he might have been if he could have walked away from his master.”

  The cat was briefly visible in his eyes. Watchful. Hungry.

  Then the male regained control.

  “You mean Christopher?”

  “Yes.” She’d already shared all the information she had on Christopher, although it wasn’t much.

  “Why did they make you a prisoner?”

  She blinked at the unexpected question. She didn’t think he cared why she’d been voted off the island.

  “I tried to leave.”

  His expression was stripped of all emotion, his body clenched with a tension that hummed in the air.

  “Why?”

  “It wasn’t one thing,” she admitted. “It wasn’t just a growing realization of how many lives were being destroyed.” She started to lift her hand only to drop it when he instantly reached out, as if to prevent her thumb from reaching her teeth. This male might very well break her childhood habit. Or, more likely, drive her to drink. “And a fear.”

  “A fear of what?”

  “Of what they intended to do with my research,” she said. She wrinkled her nose. Her fights with Locke had been epic when she’d tried to destroy the computer files that held her research. “I tried to convince Locke that things were spiraling out of control, but he refused to listen.” She shrugged. “So I decided it was time to quit.”

  His gaze narrowed. “That’s when they imprisoned you?”

  “No.” Her features tightened. “There was only one way out of the organization, according to Christopher.”

  He frowned in confusion as he easily realized what she was implying. “You said you were a prisoner.”

  “I was. Locke faked my death and hid me in a house in New Orleans, complete with locks and a guard.”

  He gave a slow nod, his expression still impossible to read. “You escaped?”

  “No, he released me before he fled.”

  “Why?”

  “He claimed he still had feelings for me,” she said with blunt honesty. If she was caught in another lie, she knew beyond a doubt this male would never forgive her. “But I can’t be certain that he didn’t expect me to do exactly what I did. Run to the Wildlands.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Michel studied her pale face, the last of his resistance crumbling beneath the stark revelations.

  Raphael had been right. Dammit. What he was feeling was more than sympathy. He truly did understand her pain. He’d suffered the same knowledge he was different from others.

  Unlike Chelsea, however, he hadn’t been alone.

  During his darkest days, he’d had a loving family and pack who’d supported him. Without them he might very well have turned out to be a bitter recluse who cursed a fate that had left him crippled.

  “Do you believe me?” She interrupted his dark brooding, her expression defensive.

  Michel heaved a deep sigh before giving a grudging nod of his head. “Yes.”

  “Well, don’t leap for joy,” she muttered. “You might hurt yourself.”

  He lifted a hand to rub the short stubble of his hair. He could continue to act like an ass, or he could admit the truth. It was the way she squared her shoulders, as if preparing for one of his scathing retorts, that made his decision for him.

  Shit. He’d done enough damage.

  More than enough.

  “It’s…” He struggled for the words to explain his behavior.

  “Complicated?” she mocked.

  A humorless laugh was wrenched from his throat. She had no idea.

  “When I first caught sight of you I was stunned,” he told her.

  She wrinkled her nose. “You made it clear what you thought of me.”

  “No, I didn’t.” He held her gaze. Odd. He’d assumed his pride would take a beating at his confession. Instead he felt nothing but a surge of relief. “Not even to myself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you only hours after you arrived. I was dazzled by your beauty.” He frowned as she reached to cover her scars. Stepping forward, he brushed aside her fingers so he could frame her face with his hands. “Stop,” he commanded in stern tones. You’re beautiful. A few scars will never change that.”

  Her eyes widened, a heartbreaking vulnerability shimmering in the emerald depths.

  “You hate me.”

  He flinched. Her words felt like a knife slicing through him.

  “As I said, I saw you and I felt like I’d been hit by a truck,” he insisted, his cat purring as the scent of autumn spice saturated the air around him. “Then Raphael told me you’d been working for Locke. I was—”

  “Furious,” she interrupted.

  “And thankful.”

  She blinked in confu
sion. “Thankful?”

  He grimaced. “It gave me the perfect excuse to fight my attraction to you.”

  There was a long pause as she studied his expression. What was she searching for?

  “And that was important?” she at last demanded.

  “Yes.”

  Her lips flattened with annoyance. “Because I’m connected to Locke or because I’m human?”

  Ah. If only it was so simple.

  “Neither. I wanted to fight my attraction because it was too powerful,” he bluntly admitted. “I didn’t like feeling that my emotions were spinning out of control.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, an unexpected hurt darkening her eyes. “Is this some sort of sick game you’re playing with me?”

  “Hell no,” he instantly growled, lowering his head until he could brush his lips over her scarred cheek. “I’ll admit I’m a master at playing games, but this is all too serious.”

  She stiffened, her fingers curling around his wrists as she tried to pull away.

  “Michel, don’t,” she pleaded.

  He lifted his head. For an agonizing minute he thought she was rejecting his touch. Not that he didn’t deserve it. But damn, he was just now accepting how desperately he needed this female.

  It couldn’t be too late.

  Then he abruptly realized she was protesting his kiss against her scars.

  His brows drew together as he scowled down at her wary expression.

  “It wasn’t your fault that you survived.”

  “I know, it’s just…” She made another bid for freedom. “They’re ugly.”

  Michel lowered his head, once again pressing his lips to her cheek. “Not to me.”

  “Right,” she muttered.

  He nuzzled a path to the curve of her ear. “You don’t believe me?”

  She trembled. “No.”

  Michel knew how he wanted to convince her that he found her profoundly and utterly enchanting. Scars and all.

  But he forced himself to pull back. He wanted to make damned sure she understood that there was nothing that could make her anything less than beautiful to him.

  “Then let me show you,” he said, stepping back to pull off his boots before straightening to undo his zipper.