She gave a weary sigh. It hadn’t been just Journey that had drawn her here, though. One of the Ops former agents and his wife lived here. Others visited nearby D.C. often. Tehya had wondered if perhaps one of them would contact her. But they hadn’t called. No one had called, and she had too much pride to make the move to call them first.
Breathing out heavily, she moved across the ceramic tile of the kitchen floor, to the gleaming hardwood of the open living room and dining room. The warm colors never failed to welcome her, even on nights such as tonight when it seemed she would never be free of the fear that had followed her most of her life.
The warm autumn colors of the couch, sofa, and recliners went perfectly with the earth tones of the pillows and light throws draped over them. Colorful rugs were scattered over the floors and vibrant drapes pulled closed to ensure prying eyes couldn’t spy on her. It was her home, and losing it might kill her.
Tonight, she didn’t stop to watch television or grab another beer. She didn’t stop at the computer to check her e-mail. A quick glance to the telephone showed no messages or missed calls.
God, what a pitiful life she was living. In the six months she had lived there she hadn’t made many friends or acquired a lover, and every instinct she had was screaming at her to run, even as another, more vital part of her demanded she stay and fight. Tehya just wished she knew what she should be fighting.
Stepping into the bedroom, she began unbuttoning the white silk sleeveless blouse she had worn with the leather pants. Her mind was on a shower and ignoring the hard, almost panicked throbbing of her heart. It was racing so hard she could barely breathe as panic began to edge through her. The almost nightly attacks were beginning to fray her nerves.
She should have heeded the warning.
As she moved into the bedroom the lights suddenly went out, blinding her with darkness as the door slammed closed behind her.
Seconds. She had only seconds to escape, or reach the weapon on the other side of the room.
She was ducking and rolling as hard fingers glanced her shoulder obviously intent on restraining her. Kicking out in the direction the attack came, she was rewarded with a solid thump, but not a fallen body or a groan of pain. Dammit.
Rolling across the room, she came to a crouch, straining to see through the pitch-blackness of the room to catch a shadow of movement, the gleam of a weapon. She wasn’t close enough yet to the nightstand where her own weapon was hidden.
Cold determination replaced panic. There was no fear. She had stopped feeling true fear years ago, long before she had joined the Elite Ops, even before she had put a bullet in her brother’s and her father’s chests. She had always sensed she wasn’t truly free, and this no more than affirmed it.
She was at a disadvantage, though. She was wearing white, and whoever was in the room with her was obviously dressed in black. Fighting an enemy she couldn’t see was a bitch. The only positive note was that evidently they didn’t want her dead, or she would already be bleeding from a gunshot wound.
She could barely glimpse a shadow if it moved. Damn, she hated being played with and whoever was there was obviously enjoying their game.
She inched closer to the nightstand and the weapon hidden beneath.
Her fingers reached a folded towel she kept there, less than inches from the gun, when she saw a shadow moving swiftly toward her. No warning, just a quick, silent attack.
A hard kick against the thick carpet and she launched herself away from the attacker, almost making it. Hard fingers gripped her ankle as she twisted and kicked out, breaking the hold and rolling to the side before a hard, heavy male weight suddenly came over her. She was pinned to the floor nearly immobile as she began to fight for freedom.
Her fingers curled into claws and moved for his face, only to have her wrists caught and jerked over her head as hard, muscular thighs trapped her legs. In that instance, something familar, some sound, scent, or sensation warned her of what was coming.
“You’re wearing white, baby. Didn’t I teach you better than that?”
Jordan.
She froze. For a second, Tehya felt her heart stop just before it began to pound with a hard rush of adrenaline and sexual excitement. The cold, hard determination to survive changed. It rushed through her system, became brilliantly hot, sensitizing her flesh, rushing through her and burning away the chill that had been wrapped around her for the past nine months. As though her body were suddenly jerked from deep freeze and infused with vibrant life, making her feel again. And just that fast, she felt too much. She was too hot. Her flesh was too sensitive. Her hunger for this man was too strong.
Jordan’s fingers tightened on her wrist as she suddenly bucked against him, the urge to survive suddenly morphing into something she didn’t understand. Into a hunger, a need, an anger that terrified her.
“Get off me!” she hissed, uncertain if it was fury or lust suddenly raging through her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
His lips cut the furious words off, covering hers, slanting across them and stealing her anger with the sudden overflow of need that left her helpless to do anything but take the kiss and demand more in return.
Her eyes flared open, then drifted closed. Sensual weakness began to race through her body, surging through her bloodstream with a punch of heat so brilliant it felt blinding. Pleasure wrapped around her and held her in thrall as their tongues met, stroked, then dueled in an erotic dance of delight.
Suddenly, she was starved for the taste and the feel of him. Dying to take back the months she had been so alone, drifting, uncertain what to do or how to feel, because she no longer had his presence to hold onto, or a day filled with at least the sight of him. She arched to him, whimpering need tearing through her, a desperation to get closer to him overwhelming her common sense.
As his hands loosened around her wrists, one hand cupped her face and his tongue possessed her, licking at hers, and a groan vibrated against her lips. She was starved for him, desperate. The world could explode around them and all that would matter would be his kiss.
Tehya arched against him, her legs parting as his hips lifted, and she moved to press against his thighs as he settled between them. The hard ridge of his cock rode against her sensitive cleft, pressing the seam of her leather pants against her clit and stroking it sensually.
Nine months of restless nights, tortured fantasies, and the memory of a touch she sometimes believed had branded her soul, had all but destroyed her. And now in one brilliant second she could feel the life pouring back into her.
Heat wrapped around her, a wonderful, building warmth that bloomed through her belly and rushed to wrap around her swollen clit.