Burned: Black Cipher Files #3 (Black Cipher Files series) (15 page)

I blinked. What kind of answer was that? From a guy who quoted scientific laws and was a computer programmer and self-proclaimed geek, shouldn’t his answer make more sense? Be more grounded in fact?

“That’s it?” I asked skeptically.

Because I can?

“Do you really want me to say that I’m inexplicably drawn to you? That I feel a connection that is impossible after knowing you less than twenty-four hours?”

It was as if he were in my head, spouting the same nonsense that I kept feeling. The same strange and wondrous emotions, terrifying because of their intensity, that were not logical.

“Because if I told you something like that, it would probably make you freak the fuck out,” Zeke gutted out harshly. “And take off running.”

I trembled violently. My entire body flooded with adrenaline, fear, and most importantly longing. As if I teetered on a cliff about to dive into treacherous waters, I stood on an emotional precipice. Poised, yet not moving either forward or backward. Afraid. Wasn’t this what I wanted? To live. To be afraid of something other than being discovered. Because the end result of conquering fear was joy.

I wanted that. I wanted to admit to him that I was feeling the same. If he knew me at all he would know that truth by the simple fact that I was here in this hotel room with him. That was already a huge leap for me.

But the words constricted in my throat, which tightened until I could barely swallow let alone force the confession out. As if I was glued to the chair, I couldn’t move. Stuck on the wish to change, but the fear of it too. And the fear of what that change would bring.

I was comfortable in my rut and I realized that I might wish for change but I was frozen by the actuality of it.

Zeke jumped up from his perch on the bed. “Sorry.” He turned his back to me, then he bent his head and rubbed the back of his neck, while muttering, “Fucking curse. That was exactly what I was talking about.”

I opened my mouth to confess, but it was too late.

He whirled around and crouched down next to me. “Don’t run.” Zeke reached his palm toward me then curled his fingers and dropped his arm.

“I’m not running.” My words grated along my throat. And while I couldn’t bring myself to take that step. To actually say aloud the words that would admit I had the same feelings, at least I could reassure him that I wasn’t going anywhere.

I reached out tentatively and touched his shoulder. No more than a flutter of my fingers against the worn cotton t-shirt. His muscles bunched and released beneath my light touch. His body was full of power. Full of strength.

I repeated the words again more firmly. “I’m not running.” Not anymore.

He lifted his gaze to mine. The shadows in his blue eyes were tinged with hope. “So, I didn’t completely freak you out?”

I had to be honest. This was the new me. The beginning of my life. “Not
completely
,” I said.

Zeke grinned, his mouth split in a wide smile that tipped up at the corners and crinkled the tan skin around his eyes. “Cool.”

And before I could chicken out, I smiled back. My fingers had flit against his hard muscles, but now I curved my palm over the ball of his shoulder and let it rest, heavy and somehow meaningful, against him. His skin was an inferno. Heat poured off his body and traveled up my arm, through me. Warming me, heating up places that had been frozen forever.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

My lips parted on a quick indrawn breath as I realized how close we were. I sat on the chair while Zeke was on his knees on the floor. Less than a foot separated our bodies, and he knelt between my spread legs, which had widened further to accommodate his broad chest. He was tall enough that our mouths aligned with seamless ease.

Fine blond hair dusted his forearms, thick veins, and sinewy muscle corded as he lifted his palm to cup my cheek. His thumb brushed over my cheek. My cheek! And my heart thudded harder beneath my breastbone, and my mouth buzzed.

Arousal spread, like the thick local honey I used in my body scrubs, through me and I wanted to melt into the capable shelter of his arms.

Zeke leaned closer, his chest pushed my legs further apart as he tilted his head and gently eased me against him. His lips brushed my top lip, a mere second of contact and yet the effect was startling. My heart beat a hard tattoo against my ribcage, and my nipples tightened. My entire awareness had tunneled to the places we touched: his palm against my cheek, his lips against mine, his rib cage against my knees.

I swiped my tongue over my ultra-sensitive lips, aware that he hovered almost protectively waiting for my move. Waiting for my acquiescence rather than just taking. Which I appreciated since so much had already been taken from me, but I didn’t know what to do. My body tilted toward his, leaning ever so slightly into his embrace. His lids drooped, and he pressed another kiss against one corner of my mouth and then the other. His lips were firm, and yet, so soft.

How was that possible? He’d seemed so hard, so primed just a minute ago.

With a gentle, persuasive stroke his tongue traced the seam of my lips and then sucked my bottom lip into his mouth. I parted mine, hoping he would recognize my subtle surrender and take the contact further.

With one long, lazy lick, his tongue stroked mine, the sensual invasion caused me to shiver, the tingling zipped up my spine. I sank to the floor on my knees, our bodies in alignment. Zeke wrapped one arm around my waist and held me carefully, as if I were a precious abalone shell, and he continued to sip at my mouth with sensual nips and increasingly intense forays.

I felt like I was floating, lighter than air as I swayed against him. His hold was gentle, easy, and I thought that he was merely kissing me because I’d somehow transmitted my desires. But then his erection brushed against my thin cotton skirt and burned my belly through the material. He was thick and long against my stomach. He might not be moving with urgency but his body was on fire.

Everywhere I softened, he hardened. My sex clenched and relaxed as if preparing to welcome him inside. My breasts swelled and seemed to plump against his hard, firm pectorals even as my nipples tightened painfully. My bones felt as if I was liquefying.

He trailed a chain of kisses along my jaw until he reached my earlobe then he suckled the sensitive skin behind my ear.

The soft moan in the quiet room shocked me.

That had been me. What was I doing? Kneeling on the floor of a hotel room with a man I’d just met? I never trusted anyone, let alone a guy who lied to me before he told me the truth. Assuming he’d even told the truth. Because Zeke had spouted some seriously strange ideas about what had happened thirteen years ago.

It was like I’d fallen under a sexual spell. A total cliché, the inexperienced ingénue falls for the older, more sophisticated man. I stiffened in his arms, rejecting the powerful attraction that blanketed me and snuffed out all my defense mechanisms. I couldn’t trust him. So I certainly couldn’t trust him with my body.

What in the holy heck was I doing?

Before I had a chance to push him away, Zeke had released me and executed an athletic hop to his feet like he was jumping on his surfboard to catch a wave.

He rubbed his hand through his curls, and I thought he might be about to apologize. So I waited.

He held out his hand, the strength in his callused fingers, belied the subtle way he tried to put me at ease. “I just want to help you up.”

I hesitated for one more moment, his gesture seemingly innocuous but somehow, I had the feeling that if I took his hand things would change forever. Irrevocably. And I would never be the same.

His face flushed. And his fingers started to curl. The awkward embarrassment at my unintentional rejection shot a protective bolt through me. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings which was crazy. Weird.

So I placed my hand in his and hoped I wasn’t making a huge mistake.

Twenty

October 20

5:00 pm

San Luis Obispo, CA

Zeke wasn’t sure what had just happened.

Dammit, he was so much better at code and patterns than he was with people. Women. He shouldn’t even attempt to make a connection. He’d just mess it up.

Zeke paced around the hotel room that seemed to be shrinking exponentially with every second they spent in close confines. He needed to figure out what to do next. But the thing that kept coming back to haunt him was the fact that John Stanley had
married
Sunshine’s mother.

Shouldn’t someone, somewhere have been keeping track of the sleepers and known that he was breaching protocol?

He glanced over at the bed. Sunshine was sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, hands rested on her knees, palms up and thumbs and index fingers touching. Her chest rose and fell in measured breaths. The difference between their reactions to stress was almost comical.

Her face was the picture of serenity. He noted the graceful arch of her midnight eyebrows and the delicate line of her collarbone as her sweater slipped off one shoulder. One bare shoulder. No bra strap showing, reminding him she was naked beneath that sweater.

Zeke swallowed. He had to stop obsessing about Sunshine and his physical reaction to her. But he’d never responded to another woman the way he did to her and that fact had his brain returning again and again to their physical interaction.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

He needed more information. How could he protect her against the threat of Stanley if all he knew was that he’d married a woman named Stella Smith, which wasn’t even her original last name?

Before he could give himself time to think about whether this was a good idea or not, Zeke punched in Carson Black’s cell number.

Carson wasn’t his boss. They were in completely different divisions of the NSA but he’d been Zeke’s contact after his grandfather died. Carson had taken care of his family and become Zeke’s mentor both personally and at the NSA. He’d become more of a father than Zeke’s biological father ever had been.

He glanced at the time on his phone. It was 8 pm in D.C., which meant there was a fifty/fifty chance that Carson was still at the office. If that was the case, Carson wouldn’t be able to answer his phone since cell phones were strictly forbidden inside the NSA headquarters.

But at the very least, Zeke could leave a message.

Zeke quietly stepped outside into the empty hallway to gain privacy for his call.

The phone rang once, twice. “Black.”

“Carson?” Zeke couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

“You were expecting someone else to answer my phone?” There was a touch of amusement lacing his words and Zeke could almost see Carson’s bald head gleaming in the lights as his mouth quirked up in a very small smile.

Even though it had only been a few days since he’d last chatted with him, Zeke felt disconnected and out of touch.

“How did last night go?” Zeke had recommended that Jordan and Staci involve Carson in a sting against a U.S. Senator.

“For the most part, excellent. We were able to get to the bottom of the mess with Staci and get her name cleared. Did you see the press conference?”

Press conference? “Um, no.”

“Staci Grant has been cleared of all wrongdoing.”

Which could only be good news for Zeke since it would eliminate one of the counts of impropriety lodged against him. “That’s great.”

“Yes,” Carson agreed. “Unfortunately Jordan suffered a gunshot wound.”

“What?”

“But he’s expected to make a full recovery.”

“And Staci?” Zeke didn’t know much about Staci Grant but he had nothing but respect for Jordan Ramirez. And he hoped everything worked out for them.

“She’s fine.” Carson’s voice softened. “David Armbruster has been handling the logistics and sensitive details of the press conference and personally looking out for Staci.”

“Good. That’s good news.”

Armbruster was a champion of the field operatives. Zeke didn’t have much call to interact with him since he was primarily involved with Vulnerability Discovery and not active in the field. But Zeke knew that Armbruster took the safety and necessity of maintaining covers for their agents very seriously.

The fact that Armbruster was such a supporter of field agents actually worked in Zeke’s favor. Armbruster wouldn’t condemn what happened with Zeke out of hand but would make sure he researched all the nuances of his kidnapping and subsequent actions before a verdict was handed down. It was the one piece of this whole clusterfuck that gave Zeke the most comfort.

Armbruster protected his people.

Zeke took a deep breath and gathered his scattered thoughts. “I have a situation.”

All amusement erased, Carson snapped, “What’s going on?”

“If a sleeper were to marry a member of the target’s family, wouldn’t that be a breach of proper conduct?”

“Jesus,” Carson blurted out. Not much surprised the man, but this clearly had. “Are you saying—”

“John Stanley, Sunshine Smith’s stepfather, killed her grandparents.” As Zeke imparted the information, he realized one important fact. Carson had not known that Stanley was the assassin.

A rush of sadness hit him. For Sunshine, for him. His Grandpop’s death thirteen years ago hit him all over again.

“How are you doing?” Carson didn’t respond to Zeke’s flat statement, clearly also remembering the date and the significance for Zeke.

Once again, Zeke pledged to find out who had masterminded the attacks on those twelve families. His Grandpop would be avenged.

“Fine,” Zeke said shortly and went right back to his revelation. “How did that fact slip through the cracks?”

“It shouldn’t have.” Carson was silent. “Why didn’t Stella tell me?”

Zeke hesitated. “So this is a problem.”

“Yes.” Carson waited knowing that Zeke wasn’t done with whatever was on his mind.

“He’s stalked them for years.”

“That I knew.” Carson replied somberly, “That’s why they dropped off the grid nine years ago.”

Uncle
Carson. “You helped.”

“Yes. When Stella asked me for help, he hadn’t done anything illegal. I should clarify, he hadn’t done anything illegal that I knew of. It’s very difficult to enforce a restraining order until a crime has been committed. Dammit.”