Dancing on the Wind (47 page)

cuticle. “But then he’s going to start putting two and two together if the Supervisor

doesn’t do it for him. He’ll wonder why he hasn’t just laid down and died. When

another day or so passes, he’s going to know something isn’t right then he’s going to

know for sure!”

Matty drew in a harsh breath, afraid of what she might be considering. “If anything

happens to Fallon, Keenan will…”

“Nothing
can
happen to him!” Lily shouted. “Don’t you think I know what would

occur if something did?” Her eyes were blazing with fury. “As much as I’d like to see

that bastard with his throat slit, I’ve given strict orders he is not to be harmed.” She

pounded her fist on the seat.

Matty shrugged helplessly. “What are we going to do to keep him from coming

after her?”

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“There’s nothing we
can
do,” Lily said. “He can’t get on my island. There’s no way

he can, so if and when he realizes she’s alive, there’s nothing he can do about it!”

“So why worry?” Roland asked. “He can’t get to her. For a few days he will suffer

the agony of the damned. Is that not what you wanted?”

Lily nodded slowly. “Yes, that is what I wanted, but I wanted that pain to last him

for a long, long time.”

“Knowing she’s alive and there’s no way he can get to her, find her,” Roland said.

“Won’t that be bad enough?”

“It’ll have to be,” she muttered.

Lily said nothing more until they were airborne. Beckoning the steward over, she

ordered a gin and tonic and told him to give the men whatever they wanted.

“Nothing for me,” Matty said. “I get airsick if the first drop of booze hits my

stomach.”

“Vodka,” Roland ordered. “No ice.”

Swigging down her drink like a thirsty lumberjack when it came, Lily demanded

another. She was staring out the window as she explained to Matty what was about to

take place.

“There are two weekly flights to the Island,” she said. “One brings passengers and

the other brings in supplies. The supply jet will fly in day after tomorrow at 10 a.m. and

will depart the Island around three in the afternoon. A flight carrying passengers is

scheduled to land at 4 p.m. the same day and depart two hours later. It will be an hour

late arriving.”

Matty shifted uneasily in his seat. He really didn’t want to listen, but it was obvious

she felt the need to talk about what was going to occur.

“There are only four crewmen on the supply jet, but the passenger plane will have

three crew plus seven passengers. Royce has arranged for the plane carrying the

passengers to make an emergency landing at the airport we just left. He and his men

posing as mechanics will board the plane, take out the crew as well as the passengers

with nerve gas canisters and take control. The flight plan to the Island is stored in the

jet’s computer so all Royce has to do is fly the jet to its destination. Once they land, they

will disperse and eliminate all the Island’s inhabitants except for two.”

Matty flinched. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, it is! I have a very personal reason for wanting to strike back at the

Exchange,” Lily interrupted him. “Not only did your precious Supervisor take my

daughter from me, but he insulted me when I was there.” She narrowed her eyes. “No

one insults me, Groves, and does not feel the consequences. He won’t know who his

enemy is, but he will know one is out there and that the strike on the Island was as

much his fault as Fallon’s!”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Matty stared at the woman and realized she was not quite sane. The glow in her

eyes was evil and it made him distinctly nervous. When that steady gaze fell to Roland,

he shivered. The odds of the Rom living to a ripe old age were very slim.

* * * * *

He had never wanted to make love to her more than he did at that moment.

As he watched her put the dishes onto the rolling cart then push it from the room,

his eyes locked on the gentle sway of her sweet ass. He loved seeing her barefoot with

her hair still wet from the shower. He inhaled the fresh scent of her, the womanly scent,

and when she came back into the room, he knew his lust must be broadcasting clear

and strong for she halted abruptly, a hand to her lips.

“It’s the sugar, isn’t it?” she asked.

He lifted a hand to her. “It’s the woman,” he replied in a husky voice.

She smiled, shucking off the caftan. “Oh well, if that’s the case…” She came to the

bed, laced her fingers over his and climbed atop him, swinging one long, delicious leg

over his, but then just kneeling there, not sure if she should put any pressure on his

hips. She joined the fingers of her other hand with his.

“You’re not going to hurt me,
lhiannan
,” he told her, and barely recognized his own

voice for it was filled with rampaging desire.

“Then what’s the point?” she said, saucily flinging her hair over her shoulder.

His heart did a funny little flip at her challenge. She was swaying their hands back

and forth playfully then brought his to her breasts.

He molded his palms over the full globes, feeling the nipples hardening. He slid his

hands to her back and pulled her down to him so he could suckle one rosy tip. He

nipped at the tip then drew the puckered nub into his mouth, sweeping his tongue over

it.

“Were you breastfed?” she asked.

“Uh-uh,” he mumbled then released that nipple with a loud pop. “Old man

wouldn’t allow it.” He shifted his attention to the other nipple.

Keenan squirmed against him, carefully lowering her legs to either side of his. At

one point he tensed and she knew she’d touched his injury, but he kept his arms tight

around her, not allowing her to slide off him.

He moved his mouth from her flesh and looked up into her face. “Put him in you,

babe,” he asked, arching his hips toward her. His cock was hard and steely as it lay

between them. “Ride your man.”

Keenan felt his words like a slow stroke that ended with a fierce thrust into her

cunt. It made her womb clench.

“You sure?”

“Never surer.”

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Dancing on the Wind

She sat up so she could push her body away from his. His hands went to either side

of his head as she reached down to guide his thick shaft into the damp folds between

her legs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.

“Baby, hurt me all you want,” he gruffly commanded. “Ride him ’til he’s sore.”

His hands came down to clamp on her hips, his fingers digging into the shapely

softness. As she slid her flesh over his, he closed his eyes and sighed.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Yeah.”

Very slowly at first, he lifted her gently and lowered her on his cock, impaling her

deeply with each upward tilt of his hips. She could feel the broad head of his shaft

pushing at the entrance of her womb—it was a delicious pain that she wanted to last

forever.

Fallon was guiding her strokes, and when he increased the speed of his lifts, she

tightened the muscles of her cunt.

“Oh baby!” he hissed, and began rocking his hips up to meet her.

Her hands were on his biceps and she loved the hardness of them, the heavy

expanse of bulging muscle that made her feel so feminine, so protected. Her fingers dug

into that toned flesh and the bed bounced beneath them.

“Come for me,” he ordered. “Come hard for me, Keenan.”

She looked down into his face—the face she loved so dearly, had almost lost—and

the first ripple of release undulated through her body.

“Fallon!” she cried out, slapping one hand to the top of the padded headboard as

she pushed down hard on his cock.

He lifted his hips brutally, thrusting deep into her, then made quick little in and out

pushes as her orgasm exploded around him. He could feel her tightening, releasing,

tightening, releasing, and the wash of her fluids scalded him in pleasure.

Her head fell back—her long hair sweeping his thighs—and she screamed as wave

after wave of unguarded delight rocketed through her.

Seeing her like that, Fallon knew nothing he’d ever done in his life was as sweet as

the enjoyment he was giving her at that moment in time, and his seed shot hard and

strong from him—into the wanting body of his mate.

Sated, depleted, drained, she collapsed against him. She was gasping for breath and

he could feel her heart beating a wild tattoo against his.

“God, how I love you,” she said, her lips against the base of his throat.

“I love you too,” he said. “Do you have any idea just how much?”

She mumbled a reply he didn’t catch then realized she had slipped into sleep. He

placed a gentle kiss on her head and tried slipping into her mind to see if any of his

power had returned. He wanted her to know just how much she meant to him, how

much love he had for her.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

At first he couldn’t find a pathway, but he tried again and this time he was able to

wind his way through the gentle corridors of her brain. He realized she was slipping

into the fantasy realm where dreams are born. At first he started to pull away but then

she made a little sobbing sound that stopped him. He ventured back through the

otherworldly avenues and what he found in her dreaming mind disturbed him. He saw

the images flitting through her memory, saw her with the Supervisor, heard her words.

“I failed him. I should have been watching his back. If I had, that thing wouldn’t have gotten

to him.”

There was enormous guilt housed within her very soul. She blamed herself for what

had happened to him.

For just a moment he wanted to shake her awake and tell her he did not blame her

for what had occurred. She was not the one to blame. Roland was.

But then he realized she had given him something very useful, and though he was

loath to wield the knowledge, he knew one day he must for the evil was bubbling inside

him, and it was growing more powerful every day. He didn’t know how long he could

keep it at bay.

* * * * *

Two weeks later

Fallon lay awake all night with Keenan in his arms. He could feel her soft breath

fanning across the hairs on his chest. Her head was on his shoulder, one arm flung over

his waist and a leg resting on his. He was uncomfortable and much too warm despite

the air conditioning and the fan circulating briskly above the bed, but he didn’t want to

relinquish his hold on her. His lips grazed her hair and he inhaled deeply the sweet

scent of her. He wanted to remember that scent and the night that had just passed for

the rest of his days.

He turned his head so he could see what time it was. It was nearly 5 a.m. and he

frowned. He only had half an hour at most with her before he had to be at the clinic for

more physical therapy.

More torture
, he thought to himself.

But the therapy was working. Eight long, miserable hours each day from six to two

with one fifteen-minute break for a shitty-tasting power drink loaded with vitamins and

minerals for his breakfast and another fifteen blessed minutes in which to consume

more rabbit food at noon. Could life get any more exciting? he wondered.

Keenan drew in a long breath then eased her head back so she could look up at him.

“You are broadcasting all kinds of garbage about some poor cartoon rabbit being

thrown into a blender. That’s sick, lineman.”

“Never liked that wascally wabbit, anyway,” he mumbled.

“What time is it?”

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“A little after five.”

“Umm,” she said then rolled away from him. “I need a shower.”

“I’ll be here when you’re through,” he said, folding his hands behind his head.

“Don’t want to take a shower with me?” she asked.

“Don’t feel up to it,” he replied. “You wore my ass out last night, woman.”

“Complain, complain, complain,” she said as she closed the bathroom door.

He lay there for a few moments more then turned his eyes to the crutches propped

against the wall beside the bed. Lowering his arms, he sat up, and with a terrible scowl

on his handsome face, swung his bad leg off the bed. Sweat broke out immediately on

his forehead and upper lip, but he was determined to hobble to the crutches, make use

of them to get to the closet. It took some doing and a whole lot of teeth grinding but he

was dressed in all but his right deck shoe when Keenan came out of the bathroom,

wrapped in one towel, drying her long hair with another. She came to a stop when she

saw him.

“Well, aren’t we the industrious one, Agent Fallon?” she asked, surprised to see

him standing on the crutches with his injured leg crooked behind him.

“If you’ll help me get my other shoe on, I’d appreciate it,” he said solemnly.

She smiled. “I’m so proud of you, lineman.”

“For what?” His words were curt, his eyes angry. “I’ve been dressing myself for

years, McCullough. It’s not a big accomplishment.”

Keenan tossed the towel with which she was drying her hair on the bed and made

no comment as she went over to retrieve his shoe from the closet. She brought it over to

him then hunkered down to put it on his foot.

“I don’t need you to escort me over to the clinic,” he said as he started out of the