A Father's Sacrifice (18 page)

Natasha opened her eyes. “Dylan?” she whispered. “Did I—”

He shook his head, trying to control his uneven breathing. “You didn’t do anything,” he said breathlessly, “except turn me on so completely that I’m about to come.”

She gave him a shaky smile, her eyes dewy with desire, her mouth open slightly.

He concentrated on undressing her and himself, hoping the distraction of peeling off two pair of tight jeans would slow him down. He pushed her blouse up and off, and removed first his jeans, then hers.

The sight of her slim naked body sent him dangerously near the edge. His erection pulsed. So much for slowing down. Her body was beautiful. Slender, strong, yet undeniably feminine, with curves in all the right places.

He leaned up on one elbow. “You are so perfect, so beautiful,” he whispered. Carefully, reverently, he trailed his fingers down her stomach, enjoying the way her muscles fluttered beneath his touch. He ventured farther, skimming the narrow patch of pale hair to caress her inner thighs. Teasing, tantalizing her until she clutched his wrist.

“Dylan…” she begged breathlessly. “Please.” She couldn’t stand his teasing another second. She craved his heat, craved his touch. She had to feel him inside her.

“Not yet, Tasha.” Dylan kissed her with the same intensity he applied to everything he did. She felt like a stick in a flowing river. Time felt endless, flowing, yet at the same time rushed. She knew, like the stick, that she was about to be shattered, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. Nor did she want to.

Dylan flattened his palm against her belly. Natasha arched against his hand, anticipating what was to come, and he groaned quietly.

“Be still,” he whispered. “Don’t go so fast.”

“I can’t—”

His fingers moved lower, to caress her int
imately. She knew she was ready for him, but he was relentless. Stroking, teasing, again and again he brought her to the brink of release, only to stop and start it all over again.

He bent and kissed her ribs, the tiny hollow between her breasts, then he trailed his tongue from her midriff to her belly and over the slight swell of her hip bones. All the time his fingers fondled and teased her most sensitive area. She gasped and closed her fingers around his wrist, but she didn’t really want him to stop.

He pushed her hand away, then bent farther, replacing his fingers with his mouth, and drove her nearly insane with the feel of his lips and tongue.

She was mad with passion by the time he lifted himself above her.

She gazed into his eyes as she ran her hands down his chest, over his ribs and his taut, muscled abdomen.

His fiery blue gaze burned her. His intensity engulfed her. His gentle desperation mirrored her own.

She clutched his buttocks and urged him to finish the seduction he’d started.

Dylan gasped as he entered her. She was tight and hot and ready for him. As he buried himself in her she opened beneath him, accepting him fully, rising to meet him.

The feel of her surrounding him was too much to bear. He fought the overwhelming urge to move, to feel the delicious friction of her tightness.

His urgency warred with his determination to coax her into a slow, endless orgasm.

Beneath him, she shifted and took him more deeply.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “You win,” he whispered. He couldn’t keep it slow.

She followed his movements, synchronizing perfectly with him, as if they’d always been lovers.

Immediately, her body began to soar toward climax. He could tell by the change in her breathing, by the alteration in the tone of the small sounds she made.

“Look at me,” he muttered hoarsely, lifting himself on his arms so he could see her breasts with their puckered nipples rise and fall as he stroked within her.

Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. She moved in perfect rhythm, taunting him, taking him in, building the passion to a fever pitch.

“Tasha, look at me,” he demanded, not sure how long he could last. But he wanted them to feel each other, to reach the ultimate peak together. So he clenched his jaw and waited for her to open her green eyes.

She looked at him. He thrust more quickly, more deeply, and her wide green eyes glazed over. She threw her head back and cried out his name.

Her cry destroyed the last of his control. His body spasmed and his entire being convulsed in a climax so intense he thought he might pass out.

“Tasha,” he grated through clenched teeth as he poured into her all the pent-up passion of three years alone.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as the pulsing of their bodies slowed. He tasted salty tears, but he didn’t even wonder whether they were hers or his own.

He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

“N
ATASHA
,
WAKE UP
!”

Natasha’s eyes flew open and she reached under the pillow for her gun. No gun. No pillow. She blinked.

“Here. Here are your clothes.”

Dylan was standing over her, holding out her jeans and top. The room was dimly lit and the sound of an inkjet printer echoed loudly.

Suddenly, she realized she was naked. The only thing covering her was a thin blanket. She sat up, pulling the blanket with her.

Frowning, Dylan dropped her clothes beside her on the couch and turned away. By the time she’d dressed, he was collecting pages from the printer.

The interface.
She glanced at her watch. Seven o’clock in the morning. They’d slept all night. If she knew Dylan, he was furious that he’d wasted eight hours. And furious with her for distracting him.

She watched him. He’d put on a T-shirt with his jeans, and his stern expression made him look like the intense genius he was, rather than the tender lover she’d known briefly last night.

Last night.
She shivered as small aftershocks of her climax rippled through her. Her experience was relatively limited, but she knew with an unshakable certainty that what had happened between them was special.

A sudden panic surged through her as she studied Dylan’s face. Her first thought—that he’d be angry with her, was right on the money. But that was okay. He had every right to blame her for the time they’d wasted. She knew NSA would have waited until this morning to transport the device, but Dylan didn’t.

She pushed her fingers through her hair and started toward him.

Her movement caught his eye. He looked up from under his brows. “Get out of here. I don’t wan
t anyone walking in on us. I’m sure Alfred has already figured out where we are, but the rest of the staff doesn’t need to know.”

His voice was even, but though she’d expected them, his words hurt. “Dylan, I know you’re—”

“Don’t say anything. I apologize. We were both exhausted. Our defenses were down. Leave it at that.”

“Our defenses were down?” She gaped at him as doubt began to erode her confidence. Anger was one thing. But his cold arrogant analysis of the intimacy they’d shared frightened her. She’d given him everything. Now he was rejecting it. Rejecting her. Turning what happened into a mistake.

He nodded and turned his attention back to the printouts. “I’ve got to review these, make sure I’m right. Then I need to get the device packed for transport. There’s a lot to do if I’m going to operate on Ben tomorrow.”

Natasha stood there for a moment as she tried to reconcile the coldly determined scientist with the tender lover who had held her and loved her the night before, or the desperate loving father who would do anything to save his son’s legs.

As pain arrowed through her, she told herself again that she couldn’t blame him. He was trying to save his son.

She turned toward the door just as a click and a faint sound of metal sliding against metal told her someone was coming in. The door swung open.

It was Mintz.

Natasha breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. Alfred might disapprove, but he was discreet.

He barely acknowledged her as he strode up to Dylan, his face ominously grim.

Dylan looked up, his face shining like an angel’s. “Alfred! The interface is finished. We need to get in touch with NSA. I’m ready to operate on Ben’s legs.”

“Dylan—”

Natasha heard the dire tone in Mintz’s voice. It spooked her.

She moved closer to Dylan, following an instinctive urge to shield him.

There was something wrong—terribly wrong. Mintz was more upset than she’d ever seen him.

Dylan frowned at him for an instant, then his frown turned into a mask of abject fear. “Alfred, what’s wrong?”

Mintz wiped a shaky hand down his face.

Natasha froze, her heart catapulting into her throat.
No. Not Ben.

“Son, something has happened.”

Chapter Ten

“Something—? What? It’s not Ben, is it?” Dylan’s voice rasped. His face was pale as he held out his hands in a defensive gesture. “No, Alfred. Don’t—”

Natasha met Mintz’s gaze. He nodded. She moved closer to Dylan’s side.

“Alfred, tell me!”

“Ben and Charlene got to the safe house by five yesterday. A short while ago, their guard was shot and they were removed from the house.”

“Removed—?” Dylan laughed, a short sharp sound with no amusement in it. “Where is he?”

“Son—”

“No! He was supposed to be
safe
there. You said he would be. Where—is—my—son?” His voice was broken. His blue eyes were dull. He was disintegrating right in front of them.

Natasha reached for his hand but he pulled away, still warding them off. Doing his best to ward off the truth.

“I’ve got to find him. Alfred, we’ve got to find him.” His face distorted with grief. “Dear God, what will I do?”

Mintz gripped his shoulder. “Dylan, you’ve got to calm down. The FBI is already on it. They’ll find him.”

Dylan could barely think. His entire body was on fire with fear for Ben’s safety. His chest cramped, cutting off his breath. Alfred’s words echoed at the edge of his mind.

FBI.
He glared at his friend. “FBI? Are you kidding me? The FBI hasn’t done anything, but make things worse.” He included Natasha in his glare.

“What did they do when my wife was killed? Nothing.” He swiped at his stinging eyes. “Everybody keeps telling me everything’s going to be fine. But that’s not true, is it? Nothing is fine.” He took a shuddering breath.

“You two got what you wanted. You took Ben away from me—for his
safety.
” He swallowed against the huge lump in his throat. “Now he’s in danger. He was safe
here!
”

“Dylan,” Natasha said. “I promise you they’ll find him.”

“
You!
You can’t promise me anything. You don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You can’t even figure out who the hacker is.” He stopped, his hand on his neck.

The hacker.
Of course. “Can you send him a message?” He frowned at Natasha.

She narrowed her eyes. “The hacker? I could, but why? You’re not seriously thinking of—”

“Send him a message. Tell him I’ll give him everything if he lets my son go unharmed.”

“You can’t do that.”

He sent her a withering glance. “I can and I will. The hacker took him. Didn’t he?”

He intercepted the glance Natasha sent toward Alfred. “Both of you know it’s the hacker. Do it.”

“Dylan, you can’t negotiate with terrorists. It’
s suicide. They’ll take everything you’ll give them, but there’s no guarantee they’ll let Ben go.”

“He’s three years old. He can’t identify them. He’s of no use to them after they get the interface program.”

“Exactly. Dylan, he’s of
no use
. This is a ruthless, greedy man who doesn’t care about anyone except himself. He’ll never let Ben go.”

He met her gaze, suspicion tightening his chest. “He? You know who he is?”

Her eyes widened. “I—I can’t be positive.”

Dylan glared at her. “You know. Who is he? Are you protecting him?” He reached for her arm, but she whirled out of his reach.

“All right, both of you—that’s enough.” Alfred stepped between him and Natasha, gripping Dylan’s shoulders.

“Agent Rudolph, your fellow agents have been pulled to join the search for Ben.” Alfred held Dylan’s gaze as he spoke. “And Special Agent Decker asked me to have you contact him.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned on her heel and left the room.

Dylan watched her go. He could hardly think, he was so numb with shock and fear. “She’s protecting the hacker.”

Alfred shook him once. “She’s not. And when you start thinking rationally you’ll know she’s not.”

Dylan squeezed his eyes shut. His throat burned, his chest ached. His pulse thrummed in his temples. “I’ve lost him, haven’t I? I sent him away. I betrayed my little boy.”

Alfred shook his head. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes.” He looked into his friend’s eyes. “Do you know what I did? I spent the night
with her. I indulged myself like a horny kid. Know what I was doing when my child was stolen? I was sleeping.”

“Dylan, listen to me. I want you to snap out of this.” Alfred released his grip. “I’m glad you finally got some sleep, no matter how you managed it.”

“You’re glad?”

“That’s right. You weren’t going to last another day without collapsing. At least now you’re rested.” Alfred glanced beyond Dylan’s shoulder toward the clean room. “Did you say the device is finished?”

Dylan nodded miserably.

“Good. Let’s get it packed and transported to a secure facility. Then it will be ready and waiting when we get Ben back.”

Alfred’s husky voice penetrated Dylan’s grief and guilt. He was right. Dylan couldn’t afford to break down, couldn’t afford the luxury of wallowing in guilt. He had to be ready.

He straightened and met Alfred’s gaze. “Call NSA. It’s ready to go. I just need to get it packed into the special transport box.”

Alfred nodded. “I’ll send Campbell down to help.” Then he quickly and awkwardly hugged Dylan and gave him a pat on the back.

Dylan’s eyes stung and his throat clogged up. “Alfred,” he croaked as the older man turned to leave. “Thanks.”