Nauti Dreams (10 page)

that fucking desert.

And he had let her go.

He pulled into the hotel parking lot and spotted her immediately where she stood,

propped against the trunk of the rented sedan.

Her arms were crossed over the light blazer. She wore another silky top beneath it. Those

short little thin-strapped tops were making him crazy. Jeans hugged her legs; the top of

them rose barely to her hip bones, where the top she wore beneath the dark blazer barely

met the band. And she wore boots. It was one of the first things he noticed last year; she

wore leather boots. He surely did like a woman who wore boots. And boots on Chaya

looked damned good.

He pulled up beside her, then he reached over and unlatched the door before swinging it

open.

“Get in.” He didn’t ask. He’d gone too far to ask. He could feel the dominance, the

possessiveness rising inside him, fighting against the restraint he was attempting to

maintain.

She slid warily into the jeep and closed the door behind her before hastily locking her

seat belt.

“Where are we going?” Her voice was soft, just a bit nervous, reminding him of that

hidden hole and the darkness and the intimacy that had wrapped around them.

“Someplace where we can talk.”

Where they could talk. Chaya stared out the windshield as Natches drove, his command

of the vehicle confident, but obviously restrained. She could feel the fine thread of

tension moving through him, the obvious control he was exerting over it.

And she knew what he was like when that control slipped. When the restrained man

became the dominant lover. When he became a force she couldn’t deny.

“What do we need to talk about, Natches?” she finally asked as he turned onto the main

road and headed in the opposite direction of the marina.

“We’re not going to the boat?” The Nauti Dreams had been his home last year.

“Winter’s coming on.” His voice was as frosty as that season. “I moved out to the

apartment over the garage last year anyway. Damned lake is getting too busy.”

There was leashed anger in his voice, a temper she didn’t want to chance right now. She

had heard of his dangerous temper, the cold, lashing rage he could project, but she had

never experienced it herself.

Chaya couldn’t imagine where she had found the courage tonight to actually get into the

jeep with him. At one time she was known to have nerves of steel. Now she could feel the

wariness moving through her. Not fear, but something female, something that recognized

Natches as perhaps more man than she could handle.

Sometimes, Chaya reasoned, a woman just knew when she had too much man on her

hands. Too much lust, too much strength, too much hunger. And all that described

Natches only too well.

“You’ve been watching me,” she finally stated. “Why?”

He removed the glasses from his eyes slowly. How he managed to drive wearing the dark

shades she hadn’t figured out. But when he looked at her, it happened again. The same

thing that happened every time she stared into the perfect forest green of his eyes.

The breath seemed to rush from her lungs, nerve endings heated, and between her thighs

she felt a flood of liquid warmth she couldn’t control.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he finally said as he turned and took a side road that

led to his garage. “You should have resigned from DHS like I heard you had and gotten

the hell away from Cranston.”

“What does that have to do with you watching me here? You knew there would be further

questioning conducted in Somerset, Natches. Did you think it was really over? It won’t

be for Timothy until he finds the money and Johnny’s coconspirator.”

“You’re so certain he had one?” He shook his head at that. “Johnny didn’t share that

easily, Chaya.”

“Unlike the Nauti Boys,” she murmured.

She knew the rumors that the cousins shared their lovers and wondered at that, because

Rowdy and Dawg seemed more than possessive over their women.

“Long ago and far away,” he muttered.

There was something in his voice that had her gaze sharpening on him. An ache of loss,

of regret. Something that assured her he was right. Whatever sharing may have gone on

in the past, it was over now. Her question, though, was how much he regretted it.

Silence descended then. Chaya watched as the darkened scenery sped by and they drew

closer to the garage and the apartment over it.

“Here we are.” He pulled in behind the garage and parked the jeep beneath the wooden

steps that led up to the second floor.

The light on the overhead porch threw a glimmer of golden rays below to add to the

subtle landscaping lights behind the shrubs that grew close to the building beneath the

porch.

Chaya moved from the jeep and watched warily as he waited for her at the front of the

vehicle.

“Have you had dinner?” he asked, placing his hand at the small of her back and giving

her a firm push to the steps.

“Sheriff Mayes and I ate after the last interview,” she told him, feeling his hand tense at

her back.

She swung her head around to try to see him in the dim light. She could have sworn he

growled something not quite complimentary where the sheriff was concerned.

“Keep going, Chay.” He crowded her, pushing her up the stairs, his larger, broader body

making her feel too feminine, too weak.

She was a trained agent, or she was supposed to be, but every time she was around

Natches the agent became overwhelmed by the woman.

He was her weakness; she had figured that out at a time when she hadn’t needed to know

it. And the certainty of it had only grown.

She stepped onto the landing and stood aside as he unlocked the door, stepped in, and

looked around before turning back to her.

“Come on in.”

Her heart nearly strangled her as it raced in her chest and jumped to her throat. She

stepped inside, staring around the starkly masculine area as she felt her palms dampen.

Here, she was in his territory, completely surrounded by Natches. She stepped farther into

the room, then paused at the mantel over the gas fireplace. A smile tipped her lips. There

was a picture of Faisal, the young goatherd who had managed to contact Natches on a

shortwave radio channel to inform him that a female agent was being held and tortured in

the desert.

He was her savior as well that day. Faisal had covered Natches while he pulled her out of

that dark, hellish cell. She knew the extraction team that had picked them up had made

certain Faisal made it back to his goats.

“I talked to him a few months ago,” he told her. “He said you were still sending messages

and money.”

She nodded slowly. She couldn’t protect him; all she could do was try to make things

easier.

“He makes a monthly trip past one of the bases in the area. I make certain he has

something waiting for him there.”

She could feel him behind her as he asked, “Do you ever talk to him?”

Chaya lowered her head and shook it. “No. I don’t contact him personally.”

She couldn’t. She’d tried several times, had actually gone so far as to purchase the phone

cards and send him her number. She knew he had his own cell phone now. One he was

very proud of.

She turned back to him. “Do you talk to him often?”

He nodded, the movement sharp. “His family was killed just before your rescue. I’ve

been trying to make arrangements to get him over here. I haven’t had much success yet.”

Yes, she knew that, just as Cranston did. It was one of the promises versus threats he had

made to force her into this operation. Cranston would make certain Faisal would be given

his entrance into America, if this operation completed to his satisfaction.

She felt a chill race over her head at the thought, then down her spine. Then it sort of

went over her body as she forced herself to move away from Natches. Once Natches

knew who DHS had targeted, he was liable to kill her and Cranston.

“What do you want from me, Natches? You know I can’t give you this mission or

Timothy’s suspects; so what’s left?” She stared around the large living room with its

heavily cushioned furniture and male accoutrements.

There were pictures of Natches and his cousins Dawg and Rowdy. A few that were taken

while he was in the Marines with buddies. There was a picture of Natches with Faisal.

A table had been set up at the side of the room with a jigsaw puzzle. Hell, she didn’t

know people still did those.

There were some oil lamps on a table and a heavy lamp on the end table next to the

couch. The kitchen and living room were separated by a bar. There was no dining room,

but the kitchen was large enough for the heavy oak table that was set to the side of the

room.

She assumed the doorway off the living room went to a bedroom, but she wasn’t

checking that one out.

And as she stared around, she realized Natches hadn’t answered her.

She turned back to him, watching nervously as he strode past her and moved into the

kitchen, his expression stark, furious. This was it and she knew it. Natches wasn’t going

to let her avoid the past any longer.

“I’d have followed any other agent,” he finally growled, pulling out a beer from the

fridge and unscrewing the top with a quick jerk of his hand.

Broad, long fingered. Those hands could make a woman think of heaven even as hell

moved in around them. And she knew they could make a woman fly, steal her senses and

her thoughts with their touch.

Would he ever want to touch her with those hands after Timothy’s operation finished

here in Somerset?

“I didn’t think I’d see you back here,” he said, staring back at her with a hint of

sensuality, a hint of anger.

“Cranston has a way of convincing agents to do his dirty work for him.” She shrugged

with a mocking smile. “Come on, Natches, you know how it works. The follow-up was

important. He wants that money and he wants to make certain no one else is involved

here. That’s all.”

“Are you investigating my family?” Short and to the point. And here was where things

were about to get sticky. Because she couldn’t lie to Natches. He had saved her, not just

once but twice, and then he had held her and let her fly while she found her sanity once

again.

“As far as Cranston is concerned, everyone is suspect,” she reminded him dryly. “You’re

all on my list to question.”

“Why did he send you?” He lifted the bottle to his lips and drank, his gaze never leaving

hers, the dark green depths dragging her in and leaving her breathless.

She was an agent, fully trained to ignore sexual need or even fear during a mission. But

she couldn’t ignore Natches. He made her weak, made her need, and he made her fear

herself.

“Because it amused him?” She lifted her shoulders as though she didn’t know and didn’t

care. “He was pissed over my attempted resignation and decided to play with me.

Cranston’s good for games like that.”

“Cranston’s good at games, period.” Natches finished his beer, then tossed the bottle in

the trash as Chaya watched him closely now.

He ran a hand over his face before staring back at her.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” he said, his voice soft. “How much I

ached for you last year?”

Chaya backed up a step, her movement jerky as she tried to look everywhere but at

Natches. She didn’t want to talk about last year; she didn’t want to talk about five years

ago. She wanted this over with. She wanted to run and hide, to bury her head in the sand

and pretend this mission and this man could be ignored.

“That wouldn’t have been very wise then, and it wouldn’t be now,” she answered, her

throat tightening as she watched him, as she watched his expression flicker with primitive

lust.

He wasn’t going to just let her go this time, and she knew it. He was going to force her to

face everything she didn’t want to face, and she didn’t know if she could do it.

Chaya shook her head at the look. “Don’t, Natches.”

She couldn’t handle his touch, not now, when this entire mission hinged on betraying

him. She wasn’t cold-blooded enough; she wasn’t the agent Timothy thought she could

be.

“Don’t.” He shook his head wearily before running his fingers through his thick hair and

staring back at her with an expression of torment. “How long is it going to lie between us

like a double-edged sword, Chaya? When are you going to forgive me?”

No. Oh God, she couldn’t deal with this. Her throat tightened and closed with pain and

fear as she saw the determination in his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” She gave her head a hard jerk. “We can argue over this

operation or Cranston or anything else. But not that.” She had to fight her tears, her sobs.

She had to fight the memories that wanted to return in a rush of agony.

“Damn you.” He was across the room before she could avoid him. His hands gripped her

arms as he jerked her against him, and she felt the heat of him, felt the weakness that

threatened to flood her as she dragged in a hard, gasping breath.

“Five years.” He moved, forcing her to back up as she stared up at him in shock. “Five

fucking years, Chay. How much longer do we have to suffer for something that neither of

us caused?”

“No.” Her cry sounded too close to hysteria. “Stop, Natches. I can’t discuss this. I