Fire's Touch (The Enlightened Species Book Three) (13 page)

“Perhaps,” Osiris seemed to ponder out loud. “Open your back door.”

Huey just wanted to get the hell out of there. “I’m on my way.” He threw open the door. One of the Hulven males … err … Osiris’s sons stood on the porch, his arms folded over his massive chest. “Thank you for sending an escort to protect me.” He felt tremendous gratitude to Osiris.

The male quirked a brow at him and held out his hand. Huh? “Give him the thumb drive. You’re returning to Greenland,” Osiris ordered.

“Wha—” Huey’s stomach dropped. That wasn’t the deal at all. He’d done what Osiris asked, now he would get his lab.

Osiris cut him off. “Do what Herme wants you to do, then report back to me.”

Oh, Fates. “If they catch me, they’ll kill me.” He could hear the whine in his voice. He was being sent into the lion’s den.

“Then don’t get caught.” Osiris hung up. The male on his porch crooked his fingers; Huey looked into his other hand. Did he have a choice? Sooner or later Herme would find out about the files. He set the drive into the large hand of Osiris’s son. The male’s facial expression held zero reaction. He stepped back and ported away, leaving Huey alone.

****

“Then you’re an idiot.”
Conlon grinned at the thought of the annoyed expression on her beautiful face. Her sapphire eyes flashed confusion, worry … and yep, not a small amount of residual desire.

It had only taken a little prodding to get Stacey over her fear that she’d hurt him and back to her feisty self. Conlon hadn’t even felt the burns. Sinking into her heat had been the greatest feeling he’d ever felt. Everything else had come into play after his euphoria of being in her was over.

When Stacey sent him to get changed before her meeting, Conlon couldn’t wipe the satisfied smile off his face. In near panic, she pulled her silk blouse over her head giving him a visual feast of her generous breasts supported by a lacy bra that had matched the panties he’d torn from her in his urgency to be inside her. Sweet, luscious curves were perfectly kissed by motherhood. Enlarged, dark-pink nipples winked at him from behind the lace before she stepped into her closet.

“You just going to stand there staring with your Wang hanging out? We’re already late.” She popped her head out of the closet; a grin lifted the corner of her mouth as her eyes landed on his “Wang.” “Go sheath that weapon before you put someone’s eye out.” Holy shit … was that a joke? Had she really just teased him? Conlon felt like sheathing it all right, and he knew the perfect spot too, till he felt her send a pulse of kinetic energy to the wall, opening it for him to exit. All right, hint taken.

In truth, he had not planned what had happened between them when he’d followed her retreat down the hall. Racing behind her, the thought had barely registered in his mind. She put on a formidable front in the face of the added SOSC warriors, but he was beginning to see through the bitch-front she held between herself and others—to see the vulnerability she strived to keep hidden, the gentle, loving side she fought to deny to everyone, including herself. He understood in a certain respect. She used harsh words and a dismissive demeanor; Conlon used silence and an image of mystery.

He had never bared his soul to anyone. She had been hurt, brutalized, and traumatized, and then saddled with an ability that obviously terrified her. What had she been like before her capture and Becoming? If she ever turned that ability on someone as a weapon … there would be no saving her target.

The phone call with Sargon replayed through his mind. Why had Sargon wanted to know if Stacey were his bloodmate? It wasn’t as if he’d posted that tidbit on the front page of the New York Times. Conlon had to admit it made it easier to bring it up to Stacey once he’d already told Sargon.

He’d entered her slowly, wanting her to have an opportunity to stop him should any bad memories creep into her mind. Not Stacey—nothing would ever beat her, not even the brutality of a breeding lab. She met his passion with her own, held nothing back, gave herself to him with complete, focused abandon. Fates, she was beautiful. Her full, kiss-bruised lower lip had trembled as she stared at him in wonder. And her heat—he’d never felt anything so hot.
Pyrokinesis?
He’d heard of the rare gift, though he didn’t know much about it. Like his brother Miguel’s reader ability, the few that had that gift must keep quiet about it.

Thank the Fates she wasn’t a warrior. He’d always shied away from female warriors; their muscular bodies had never been to his liking. Unfortunately, females with the bodies that turned his head usually didn’t share the same interests and strength to deal with a battle-proven male. It had never worked out. Stacey was the whole package—internally formidable and psychically powerful enough to challenge and surprise him, yet soft like a female should be.

Conlon found his bag inside the room next to Stacey’s. Black jeans and a button-down shirt tucked in would have to do. He wasn’t a tie man, hated things around his neck. Stacey stood in the hallway when he stepped from his room. Off-white slacks caressed her full hips, topped with a deep-indigo sweater blouse that brought out the blue of her eyes. She had pinned her hair into another up-do, matched with a paisley-patterned scarf worn like a headband to hide her directional hearing musculature. She stood with her arms folded and an impatient look, but her eyes traveled his body with the same detail he’d taken in hers, and the pulse at her neck gave her approval away even as she gave him a disapproving grunt and strode off toward the living area where the others were waiting.

Conlon appreciated the view. The sway of her hips pulled him behind her as surely as a lead-and-platinum chain. Jack and Mark stood when she entered the room. Conlon knew Greyton and Greycia where present too, though invisible by the shadow ability of Victor and Eros Sicarius. The fact the SOSC had sent four of their best assassins from two separate species to guard Stacey told of how great the threat to her had become. Sargon had mentioned enough for Conlon to know that someone had infiltrated SOSC headquarters and pilfered Stacey’s medial records. Why?

Jack and Mark entered the elevator first, and Conlon knew one of the Sicarius shadows and either Greycia or Greyton travelled up with them. It was obvious Stacey wasn’t aware of the two invisible guards remaining with them when she turned to press her generous breasts against his chest and cupped his ass in her hands the second the elevator doors closed. Beads of sweat sprouted on his forehead. “You’re not dressed for business, Conlon,” she berated as she fondled him.

“You should be happy I’m dressed at all.” Conlon found himself trapped in the blue pools of her eyes. The sound of Eros clearing his throat while Stacey jumped away from him, gasped, and looked around wide-eyed had him laughing out loud.

“What the hell are you laughing at? Didn’t you hear that? Some warrior you are,” she snapped at him.

“Stacey, are you telling me you don’t know who
Eros Sicarius
is?” Conlon tried to stifle his humor. “He is the ancient shadower assassin and father of Umbrae Sicarius, the mother of the quads. Eros is mated to the first enlightened human. Your son is probably playing with this guy’s grandkids right now.”

“I KNOW WHO HE IS!” She snipped and then her tone softened. “I just didn’t put it together.” She reached out an arm as if trying to find the shadower in the seemingly empty space.

Eros dropped the shadow, revealing himself holding a conductive length of chain collared around Greycia’s neck. They were leaning against the wall, smirking, and then shimmered from sight again.

Greycia’s voice floated over. “I understand, Chickie. The Einar brothers have fine asses.”

The elevator door opened, saving Conlon from answering Greycia’s comment. No, he hadn’t slept with the beautiful Aquatie … his brother Shane had. It had been a subtle competition between him and Shane for a while. Greycia called Shane a “one hit wonder”—like the rest of his brothers, Shane had found his bloodmate already and was no longer on the market.

Much to Stacey’s obvious frustration, Conlon held her back from entering until Eros and Greycia checked the elevator thoroughly. Then he shoved her into the far corner and stood between her and the door for the ride.

“Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard on this? I had the protection installed by the best … and I added a touch extra to it myself,” she whispered, her breath hot against the back of his neck.

Conlon fought the urge to give her a repeat performance of earlier. The scent of coconut swirled around him in the tiny space. “If Johnny were here, would you still think we were overdoing it?”

“No,” she snapped. “I’m not a baby.” Stacey voice seemed more stressed than usual. Was she worried about her meeting?

Conlon hit the stop button and the elevator jerked to a halt. He swung around to face her fully, uncaring of the other occupants. Indignant fury flashed from her eyes when he palmed her chin and cheeks in his hand. “Do not underestimate the threats against you. You are the most important female on the planet. I will protect you until the last drop of blood leaves my body, and I will do it despite you if I have to.” He placed a feather light kiss to her lips puckered by his grip. The expression in her wide eyes held a tinge of something Conlon couldn’t recognize, blended into the daggers she shot at him. Appreciation? … love? Whatever it was, it vanished quickly as she jerked her face from his hand and shoved against his chest, pushing him into Eros. His chest burned from the contact.

Conlon chuckled in the face of her indignation. Her dentes erupted as her finger tapped his chest like a red-hot poker, reminding him of when his mother took after his father when they were alive. “Don’t you manhandle me.” Poke. “If I want your hands on me, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, keep your fucking meat-hooks to yourself.” Poke. “Got it?”

The temperature in the small compartment had risen ten degrees. Conlon’s internal temperature had skyrocketed. His dentes burst into his mouth, throbbing for her in beat to the throbbing of his manhood. Magnificent. He’d never been more turned on in his life. Her eyes widened in response to his low growl. She took a step back, and Conlon covered more than the distance to her. “You are baiting a tiger, heiress. And you’re about to get bit.” Her shoulders pressed against the corner of the compartment, the vixen had the audacity to lift her chin defiantly in the face of his feral impulses.

“Better make it good, warrior. I will bite back.” Her voice sounded husky and seductive. She would be the death of his control.

“I’m counting on it.” He crushed her lips, plundered her mouth with his tongue, savoring the sweet taste of her—one hard, brutal kiss to put her in line. Only she matched it, sucking his tongue deeper into the scorching heat of her mouth. Conlon didn’t know when he lost command of the kiss; Eros’s hand to the middle of his shoulder blades halted his reverse momentum. Stacey had gained ground. When she broke the kiss, desire, triumph, and a promise of future challenge shone in the sapphire pools. Damn.

“So … you want us to leave or get a video camera?” Greycia chuckled from the opposite corner. Stacey turned an unrepentant smirk in the direction of Greycia’s voice and hit the red button to restart the ascent of the elevator.

Mark, Jack, and another male Hulven stood in the hallway waiting for them. Stacey seemed completely unruffled by their exchange a moment earlier when she strode up to the trio, addressing the Hulven male. “Get to Cey Textiles and find the vice president. His name is Ling. Take him to COO Brinker’s office for the video conference.” The male nodded and retreated down the hall. Stacey took a deep breath and entered the door. Conlon and Mark followed her, leaving Jack and the four shadowed assassins guarding the hall. Mark looked somewhat confused by Stacey’s order to the guard but kept his mouth shut. The human has grit, Conlon thought with a grin.

A white-haired gentleman rose from his seat when Stacey entered and walked to the head of a long glass table. “Michael,” she acknowledged him.

His broad, honest smile and shrewd gaze met Conlon’s before returning to Stacey’s face. He shook her hand. “Ms. Winkel,” he used his other hand to indicate the wall of monitors filled with men and women. One monitor was black and empty. Stacey took her seat at the head of the table with Michael on her right. Mark took the seat to her left. A small touch-screen control panel was inlaid into the glass in front of each seat. Conlon took a position against the wall behind Stacey where he could see everything she did.

Without bothering with niceties, Stacey jumped right into commanding the meeting. “A sexual harassment lawsuit against Winkel Holdings hit my desk a few days ago. Now I ask you, is our sexual harassment policy unclear to any of you?” The people in the screen shook their heads and voiced no’s unanimously. “Well, just in case, I want each of you to personally review the policy and ensure there is no mistaking the consequence of violating it with every staff member and employee under the Winkel Holdings umbrella.”

She tapped a couple of commands into the panel in front of her. The black screen came on line to show a man in his mid forties seated behind a desk. The look of ecstasy on his face was undeniable, as was the rising and lowering of the blonde head in his lap. Some of the men on the monitors smirked and shook their heads; the women looked angry, their hands lifting to their mouths in shock as the monitor became visible to the meeting members. Stacey leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table as her fingers came together in a steeple shape while she watched the chief operating officer of one of her companies getting a hummer at his desk.

A moment later the sound of a door closing caused the man to jerk upright. The guard Stacey had sent from the hallway entered with an Oriental man trailing behind him. Mr. Brinker fumbled to do up the crotch of his pants as a red-faced girl barely out of her teens jumped up, wiped her mouth, and rushed from the room. Brinker’s horrified expression darted back and forth from the guard and Mr. Ling to the monitors showing Stacey and the other COOs.

“Mr. Brinker—” Stacey’s syrupy-sweet voice was far more intimidating than her usual harsh tone, in Conlon’s opinion. “So sorry to interrupt.”