A Kiss to Kill (22 page)

She jumped up and stalked into the bathroom to get ready for bed. The pathetic part? They’d probably do just
fine
without women. In fact, the obtuse jerks probably wouldn’t even
notice
anything was missing. Well. Except late at night, of course. Probably the only time female presence would be missed.

When she came out again, Gina was asleep, clinging to her pillow like she wished it were Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Scary hugging her back.

Rebel turned off the light and crawled under the covers. And wished she had the courage to march over to Alex’s room and make
him
listen.

Tell him how she felt about him. How desperately she loved him. That he was making the biggest mistake of his life by shutting her out.

But was that really true? Or was he right? In years to come, when she hadn’t felt the amazing joy of giving birth, and knew she would never look into the eyes of a child and see the man she loved . . . would she resent him? Would their happiness slowly fall apart because she could never accept the crushing finality of his condition?

Honestly, she could not see that happening. She loved him too much. And there were other options available. Good options.

But could she convince him to give her a chance to plead her case? And if he did . . . even then, he may not trust her promise.

Because Gregg van Halen might not believe in love, but it was pretty obvious . . . Alex Zane did not believe in
her
.

And in the end, wasn’t that what love was all about?

THE
night was dark, and cold, and went on forever.

Tossing and turning and freezing, no matter how many blankets she piled on, Gina could not get warm. But the problem wasn’t with the room’s temperature, or the blankets. It was with her.

She missed Gregg.

She missed his heat. She missed his protective arms around her. She missed his steady heartbeat at her back, reminding her with its even rhythm that if she woke from another nightmare he’d be there to kiss her brow and soothe her fears.

Which was why, before she realized what she was doing, she once again found herself standing in the middle of their old suite, working up the courage to go into the bedroom and confront him.

She’d been vaguely surprised her key card still worked; he must have forgotten to have it reprogrammed. Around her, the sitting room was dark and still, only the low hum of the minibar fridge broke the silence. He’d left the French door curtains open, and through them the indigo sky of the city night basked in the glow of the moon and a smattering of pale stars.

On bare feet, wearing nothing but the plush hotel robe—a girl could dream, couldn’t she?—she padded to his bedroom door. And quietly opened it.

The room was a gaping maw of total blackness, so quiet she could hear her own blood sussing through her veins. But she could smell him, the subtle scent of her lover beckoning to her body like a whispered command. She took a step in.

And another.

It was so dark she couldn’t see the bed. Or the door to the bathroom, or even her own hand when she raised it to feel her way through the pitch blackness.

“Gregg?” she whispered.

Right behind her came the metallic
snick
of a gun slide unracking.

She whirled, almost tripping, clutching the robe to her breasts. The bedroom door had closed. She sensed the specter of a figure standing in front of it. Her heartbeat stalled. For a second, terror held her mute, and unable to move. Then her body started to tremble.

“What are you doing here, Gina?” Gregg’s voice asked from the darkness.

Relief jellied her limbs. She wanted to run to him, to fling her shaking body into his arms. But God knew what he’d do.

“I came to talk to you,” she managed.

“Not interested,” he said brusquely and brushed past her.

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice cracked on the desperate question. “Being so cold?”

His gun clattered onto the nightstand. “You really have to ask that?”

She listened carefully, trying to follow his movements. But it was no use. He moved like a ghost. “Working with STORM isn’t a bad thing, Gregg. They know you’re innocent. They want to help us.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with STORM,” he bit out.

She drew in a calming breath. “Look, I’m sorry I left the suite this morning. I’m sorry I—”

Suddenly he was looming over her. “You
betrayed
me, Gina. You called them when I told you not to.”

“No! I—” She stumbled backward, panic searing through her at his palpable anger. His huge body crowded over hers.

“Revenge, sweet thing? For me bringing you to ZU-NE? Is that what what your artful seduction was all about? To convince me I could trust you, so you could—”

“No!” Her breath lodged hard in her lungs when he grasped her shoulders and yanked her up against his chest.

“You want to try again?” he growled. “I crave you enough it just might work.”

She was quaking so hard her teeth started to chatter. He didn’t under
stand
. She had to make him understand.

His mouth crashed down on hers. Brutal. Bruising. His tongue slashed over hers, punishing. She’d never known him like this before. So out of control. It terrified her.

She tore her lips from his and wrenched her face away. “S-stop!” she stammered, digging her fingers into his biceps. “G-Gregg, s-s-stop!”

He ground to a halt. His breath came fast and hard, his whole body coiled tight as a sailor’s knot. “No? Not into it? Too bad.”

“Listen to me,” she pleaded hoarsely.

“You’ve done enough talking.” He tried to pull away, but she grabbed him and clung. “Let go of me, Gina.”

“I didn’t call STORM!” she cried, finding her voice. “Didn’t Quinn tell you?”

“You really think I bought that story?”

“But it’s true! I just went out for ice. I ran into Alex and Rebel in the hall. It was a total accident, Gregg, I swear it’s the truth.”

He went still.

She slid her arms around his rigid torso. “I’m sorry. Yes, I broke my promise and left the room. But I just wanted some ice. I never . . . Not in a million years did I think . . . I’m
so
sorry, Gregg. But I did not call them. Please, don’t be angry with me.”

He stood silent for a long time. She could feel his rapid pulse where her breasts pressed into his chest. Her own heart beat wildly.

“You’re really trying to tell me,” he finally said, “that STORM being at the same hotel as us was nothing more than a coincidence.”

“Yes! They checked in last night. Before we even left New York. How could they know?” He didn’t answer. “Call the front desk if you don’t believe me!”

Finally he moved. Set her away. Swore under his breath.

This time she let him go. He paced to the window, whipped open the curtains and stood rigidly, his dark form silhouetted against the bright silver ribbon of the moonlit Potomac River and the twinkling lights of Virginia beyond.

At length he turned and looked at her. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Thank God,” she whispered, relief a living thing.

He held out his hands to her. “Come here.”

She rushed into his arms. “Oh, Gregg, I really am sorry.”

After a moment he said, “I’m sorry, too. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have leapt to conclusions. Shouldn’t have shut down your explanation. I let my emotions rule my head. God knows, I should know better.”

Emotions? Did that mean he actually felt something for her? Something more than simple lust?

“Emotions aren’t always a bad thing,” she said softly, burrowing into his embrace. Letting the panic ebb away and the comfort of his physical presence wash over her. Maybe she had a chance with him, after all.

“They’re always bad for a man like me,” he refuted. “My job, my life, all depend on keeping a clear head and being able to make rational decisions. Emotions will kill you every time.”

Or so he thought. Because he’d learned long ago that love meant only pain, betrayal, and death. She understood that was why he always had to be in control, master of everything around him. Never trusting his emotions enough to let go and just feel.

“You’re wrong,” she said with an aching heart as he leaned down to kiss her . . . a soft, melding, seductive kiss. She wanted so badly to be the one to show him that it didn’t have to be that way. That emotions and letting go could sometimes be a
good
thing. So very good. She dissolved into him with a sigh. “Oh, Gregg. Please. Let me show you how wrong you are.”

TWENTY-ONE

GREGG
knew by making love to Gina again he was just digging himself a deeper emotional grave, but he wanted her too badly to resist. He
needed
her too badly.

“My sweet Gina,” he whispered. “How I wish it were true.”

He slid the robe from her shoulders. If there’d been any chance of being able to back away, it vanished when he realized she was naked under it. With a groan, he swept her into his arms and carried her to his bed.

“How do you see in this darkness?” she murmured when he pulled off his sweatpants and followed her down onto the feather-soft quilt.

“Instinct,” he murmured, and used it now to sense what she wanted most from him. She made it too easy. She put her arms around him and drew him down on top of her, guiding his lips to hers with a hand on his cheek.

“What are your instincts telling you?” she whispered.

“To kiss you,” he said, and covered her mouth with his. The taste of her poured through him, drowning him in a torrent of desire. He angled in deeper. He didn’t know what it was about this woman, but he could never get enough of her. Never taste her enough, never touch her enough. It was frightening how much he wanted her. The craving to own her completely, to control her every move, was a powerful, living thing within him.

When he’d drunk himself dizzy, he lifted to trail kisses over her cheeks and eyes. He settled his body between her thighs, and she spread them wider, inviting him in.

“What are they telling you now?” she asked.

It had been too damned long. And those instincts were telling him she was ready. He reached over to the nightstand and picked up the handcuffs he’d tossed there earlier. He removed the key and tucked it under the pillow.

“This.” He trailed them down her arm, letting her feel the cold metal against her skin.

Her breath sucked in. “Gregg . . .”

“It’s okay, baby. You trust me, don’t you?”

He felt her heartbeat start to race. “Yes, but—”

“With your life?”

“Of course, but I—”

“Remember all the times we’ve done this before?” He wanted it back. Needed her to be okay with it. With him. The way he really was. Not just this kinder, gentler version. He felt her nod reluctantly. “Did I ever hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered. Her body undulated under his, pressing his cock against her crease. She’d started to tremble. “Can’t we just—”

“I want you to know absolutely you have nothing to fear from me. I want to get back what we had before. Complete and utter trust between us.”

He heard her swallow heavily. For an endless moment they lay there, almost but not quite joined, their bodies hot and pulsing with need for each other. “Okay,” she finally whispered.

A thrill of anticipation sang through him. He tamped it back down. He must be gentle with her. He kissed her as he slid one cuff around her wrist and locked it. She let out a soft whimper as it snapped shut.

“Listen to your instincts, sweetheart. What are they telling you?” he murmured into her mouth.

“To trust you.”

“Trust them,” he whispered. “Trust me.” He raised her arms above her head and threaded the free cuff around one of the wooden spindles of the antique four-poster bed, then put it around her other wrist. “Okay?”

“Yes,” she managed.

Her whole body was shaking now. From excitement? Or fear? Impossible to tell.

His fingers sought her breasts. Her nipples were hard little knots, spiraling tighter at his touch.
Excitement
. He groaned and put his lips to one of them, sucking hard.

She gasped. But it was definitely the good kind. A gasp of pleasure.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled back and slid into her with a single thrust. The slick, wet heat of her surrounded him, pulling twin groans from deep within them. He gathered her in his arms, holding her body tight and close under him. He withdrew and thrust home again. The handcuffs jingled.

“Good?” he asked.

“More,” she gasped out.
Thank God
.

He almost lost it. He had to slow things down.

“But first, this,” he said, swiftly pulling out. He shifted himself downward to give her an even more intimate kiss. She gasped low when his tongue circled and flicked, her slim form bowing up under him, letting him know his instincts were exactly right. She was so ready for him. For all of this.

He filled his senses with her entirely, stoking his own excitement with her passionate response. She moaned his name, and an urgent spill of possessiveness shimmered through his blood. She was his completely.

His
.

He lost himself in her delicious surrender to the mastery of his lips and tongue. He loved doing this to her, loved the stark sensuality of the act, loved the total submission it always brought her to. He could tease, incite, withhold, reward, all with lethal precision, to give her more pleasure than she could stand. With this, he ruled her body completely. And in doing so, his own pleasure increased tenfold.

He finally let her come, riding the shuddering crest of her explosive release until she lay limp and helplessly spent beneath him.

He quickly sheathed himself and levered back onto her. He kissed the lingering moan from her lips and thrust his cock deep into her. She hummed and lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist, the way she knew he liked it.

He enjoyed rough power sex, but this moment of acceptance was what he loved best of all. When he had conquered her completely, and she was warm and soft and open, helpless in the palm of his hand, all tied up and utterly his for the taking.

He pushed his cock deeper, as far into her as he could go. And then he held himself perfectly still for a handful of pounding heartbeats. Enjoying the pure throbbing pleasure of her acquiescence. She reached up and kissed him, an openmouthed kiss of breathtaking adoration.

“What are your instincts telling you now?” she whispered against his tongue.

That he loved her.

The thought was so quick and devastating that his breath sucked in in an implosion of denial.

No! He didn’t love her. He couldn’t. He didn’t know how to love. Wasn’t even sure what it was.

He shoved aside the impossible thought and whispered, “That I’m very glad you’re mine.”

The darkness wrapped them in a blanket of comfort, isolating them from the harsh reality of the outside world. He wished he could stay here with her forever, just like this.

“I
am
yours,” she whispered. “I love you.”

The words hit him like a shotgun blast in the chest, crashing him from his warm fantasy. She’d said it before. On that first day. Except then it had been in the past tense, and shouted at him like a curse.
I loved you!
she had cried,
Why did you betray me?
But he’d thought she was lying, using emotions to try and get to him.

“Don’t,” he quietly begged her now. “I can’t be what you want me to be, Gina. I’ve already told you that.”

“I know,” she said. “I don’t expect you to love me back. I just needed to say it once. To let you know how I feel. I do love you, Gregg. So much.”

A thread of panic wound around his heart. God, could she really mean it?

“You’re killing me, baby. I really wish—”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she gently said. Her body moved under his. Tempting. Seducing. Hot and willing. “Do you trust your instincts, Gregg?”

The panic hummed through him.
Did
he love her? How could he know?

“I mean really trust them?” she pressed. “About me?”

He felt her body under his, joined with his, so warm and accepting, so full of life, and love, and trust. Even handcuffed and completely under his control, and after all she’d been through, she was still so fucking strong and true it filled him with awe. Love? Who knew? But one thing he did know.

“I do trust them,” he whispered. “And you.”

He felt her lips smile against his skin. “That’s all I want. It’s enough for me.”

But it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to do more. He needed to prove his trust to her. As she had, time and again, for him.

As frightening as it was, he knew how he could do it. How he
must
do it. To show her in actions what he couldn’t put into words.

Reaching under the pillow for the key, he unlocked the handcuffs that bound her to the headboard. He lowered her arms, and pressed the cuffs into her hands. Then he rolled off her, out of her, going onto his back.

“Me,” he said. The panic wound around his heart like a greedy monster, nearly robbing him of his willpower.

He sensed her profound hesitation. But he needed to do this. To prove to himself that he could.

“Quickly,” he ordered. “Do it!” He beat back the inner demons that threatened to make him rip the cuffs from her hands and throw them across the room.

“Are you sure?” she whispered. “It’s okay, really, you don’t—”

“But I do,” he said. He didn’t know why, but doing this was suddenly more important than anything he’d ever done before in his life. For her. But mostly for himself. “I trust you.”

He heard her swallow. “All right.”

With trembling fingers, she found one of his wrists and snapped the cuff around it. He gritted his teeth. The fact that she was so reluctant helped. The urge to spin her on her back and resume the dominant position was urgent and powerful. It would be so damn easy. But he resisted with everything in him. He had to know if he could do this.

She slid the open cuff around a spindle and reached for his other wrist. He fisted his hand reflexively. She sucked in a breath.

He took a deep breath. Forced himself to relax his hand. “Go on. Don’t be afraid,” he told her. And she snapped the other cuff home.

His heartbeat took off. He yanked at the metal bracelets. He was well and truly caught.
Jesus!
What was he doing? She could—

She canted over him. And whispered, “Now I can do anything I want to you.”

His pulse doubled. But as her hands touched his body, a strange thing happened. Instead of panic, his body felt an electric jolt of pleasure. Then she kissed him. And all at once he didn’t know whether to be terrified or excited beyond belief.

“Gina . . .” he choked out.

But she didn’t listen. She climbed onto his body, pressed her beautiful breasts against him, and put her clever mouth to his skin, and proceeded to tear his world order to pieces. He groaned as she touched him in places he never allowed anyone to touch, shivered as she licked his flesh into a frenzy of desire, and shook with infinite pleasure as she took his rampant cock in her mouth, and tortured him with her tongue.

“Gina, please,” he begged, and once again he felt her smile.

“I think I like you helpless,” she murmured.

God help him!

“Don’t get used to it,” he returned through a clenched jaw. He was so over his panic. Now he was just ravenous. Explosive. He wanted her
now
. He tugged at the handcuffs. They just got tighter. “Let me loose!”

“No.”

“I want to be inside you when I come,” he ground out, teetering on the very edge of losing control.

Something in his tone must have clued her to his sincerity. She hesitated. He heard a soft moan of agreement. She reached under the pillow for the key.

Fuck that.

“Hurry,” he said. “Slide up on top of me.”

She did so, and before he could draw a shaky breath, he was deep inside her. Wet and hot, she felt
so
fucking good. But handcuffs or no, he wanted her under him. Two decades of hand-to-hand combat took over and, handcuffs and all, in the blink of an eye he’d spun their bodies and pinned her under him.

“That’s better,” he murmured, gripping the spindles of the headboard. Taking over.

“Not fair,” she protested breathlessly as he drove into her. But she wrapped her legs around his waist. He’d proven his trust. Now she just wanted him.

He kissed her deep and long, and started to move. More and more urgently. Filling her and worshiping her flesh with his. Showing her with his body and soul what his rational mind still refused to acknowledge.

That he
wanted
her to love him. Desperately. Longingly. Deep inside, he yearned for her to fill the dark, empty place that had been his heart for as long as he could remember. A heart he’d deliberately allowed no one to enter.

Until now.

She gasped as he pounded into her. Clung to him as he rode her toward oblivion. Both of them cried out in a single explosion of pleasure and emotion, the unexpected power of their combined climax blowing them away completely.

“Oh, Gregg,” she sighed breathlessly when their pulses returned from the stratosphere and they floated back to earth.

“I’m here,” he told her, holding her close after she finally brought out the key and released him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time ever, he really wished he didn’t have to leave.

BUT
he did.

As soon as Gina fell asleep, Gregg slipped from the bed and padded quietly to the bathroom. He quickly dressed, then went into the sitting room and closed the bedroom door silently behind him.

He lifted the phone and asked for Rebel Haywood’s room.

“Hello?” came the groggy answer before the first ring ended.

“Sorry for waking you, Special Agent Haywood. This is Gregg van Halen.”

“Oh?” There was a micro-pause. “
Oh
. Hang on. Gina’s right—” There was a muffled cry. “Oh, no! She’s not—”

“Gina’s with me,” he cut in. “Sleeping. She’s fine.

“Oh. Thank God,” the FBI agent breathed. “Give me a heart attack.”

“I have a favor to ask. Can you come over and stay with her? I have something I need to do, and don’t want to leave her alone.”

There was a rustling of bedcovers. “Uh, sure. Just give me five minutes.”

When she arrived, dressed and armed, Agent Haywood didn’t ask where he was going or for how long. But when he opened the door to leave the suite, she did say, “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “Just keep her safe until I do.”