Shepherd (8 page)

“I’m sorry we didn’t find you.”

She swallowed uncomfortably. “I’m out now.” She nodded at the image of Lockdown. “Whoever it is you’re trying to get free isn’t leaving unnoticed unless there’s a well-thought-out plan.” She ignored his silence. Although he wouldn’t give her more details of his mission, she refused to pretend she didn’t know what he was doing. “It would help if the guards considered his survival impossible and didn’t come looking for him once he’s out.”

“What’s your point?”

“Bring up the latest overlay.”

His brow rose at her command, but he brought up her screen.

“Compare the size of the sewage intersection against the diameter of the kegs and the physical dimensions of the subject.”

The metrics allowed a keg to slide within the connecting joint of the sewage lines with several centimeters of leeway. A man would fit as well. More importantly, a man could be extracted through a blown intersection without being fried by the lasers.

The first smile she had seen on him broke at the corner of his mouth. “We can work with that, Sugar.”

Chapter 5

The delicate fiber optic strand slipped into place, and Esme released her breath.

Unfortunately, Clay reached over her shoulder, extracted the optical filament roll, the box of crystal dust, and an energy coupler from her hand, and pushed them aside. “Stop poking through all the equipment.”

“I haven’t damaged anything.” She gave a quick glance to the segregated mounds he’d salvaged. “You have equipment here that’s perfectly functional. I can even recycle some other pieces. Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I don’t have time to babysit you while you play.”

“Because I’m so darn dangerous?” She snatched a scrap of filament and moved to his work area before he could reach her. After snapping each end into two ports at the edge of his command console, she dragged her palm across the plasma top, initiating the connections, and tapped her middle finger on a manual switch. Three additional screens blinked to life in the air, their appearance enough to surprise Clay. His breath on her neck proved she hadn’t evaded him. More likely he’d given her enough rope to see what she’d do. “See?”

He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “First you wheedle your way into this room. Then you manage a chair and now more screens. I can see you’re brilliant, but you are skirting very close to being put back in the other room.”

“I’m bored.”

“Really?” His anger reverberated through the quiet room.

She met his stare and held her ground. Granted, she had to look up and push her shoulders back with quiet determination. However, it wasn’t as if he physically threatened her, though battling him for each small measure of freedom was exhausting.

With a frustrated exhale, he turned away and then whipped back, pointing at the far corner of the room. “I’ll project the screens back there. You can architect some way—design only—no piece parts, a quiet way to maneuver the kegs into place and detonate them safely without human casualties.”

Not bothering to point out that she could set up her own screens, she waited. She could afford to be generous, since he’d given her a concession. The digital screen sockets she activated relaunched alongside the rear wall’s plasma panel. Live and shimmering, they reflected additional scenes of the surrounding areas beneath New Delphi’s grid.

Illuminated by bright neon lights, the merchant square perimeter reflected on one and a small back alley by a grid support beam on another. The final screen displayed piles resembling rubbish.

The silence and slow burn of Clay’s scrutiny made her turn around. He stood, arms crossed, his eyebrow arched. Tempted to question his choice in views, she held back, driven by strong internal satisfaction at achieving more ground. He didn’t have to let her in on everything, but the screens he offered must pose some value when combined with a 3-D schematic section of the sewage pipeline. She would discover what soon enough. For now, he permitted her to work and challenged her with the mission’s meatiest problem. More than enough to occupy her, for a while.

He snaked the virtual keyboard away from her and typed in her code name. “Most of my supplies in this facility are cataloged. If you find something you require, note it.” He skirted out of her way before she could touch him. Too intent on delving right into the problem, she allowed his escape without more questions.

She touched the intersection of the 3-D image, rendering statistics for the visible pipeline’s width and angles. After a second assessment of the kegs, she pulled the keyboard closer to search in his library for tools to alter the kegs’ appearance. It was unlikely there were many breweries in the area, but providing evidence that would lead the Regent guards to their doorway was counterproductive. Camouflage or building an eradication device worked in her book. Planning for both was safest.

She paused as she realized the error in her assumption. Perhaps not “her” doorway. She glanced over her shoulder at Clay’s back. His hands were busy between his three keyboards, notations on one screen and messages scrolling faster than she could read on another. His splayed legs were half crouched, prepared for movement in spite of his sedentary activity, and matched the tension in his broad shoulder muscles. Each twitch relayed the small measures of stress he seemed reluctant to release. Alertness registered in every gesture. Evidently, there was no taking the seasoned soldier out of the man. Oddly, despite Clay’s large silhouette and powerful potential for damage, Esme had never felt safer.

Eyes closed to erase his image and the restlessness it provoked, she turned back to her work. A muscular torso and strangely compelling allure weren’t reasons to lose her focus, though it was a totally new experience. Ivan had elicited no sensual response during all the ten years of their marriage. Perhaps she’d just been too young and inexperienced to understand how to handle her husband. More likely, he had been too much of an ass to bother with her.

Esme brushed her cheek against the shirt she wore. Clay’s scent lingered in his clothes, a light male musk, distinctive and heady. Had Ivan doused himself in pheromones, she doubted he would have elicited the same heated tingle along her skin. The memories of Ivan’s harsh, grating voice made her wince not hold her breath to hear more.

She released a sigh, turned back to the pipelines, and called up the half-barrel keg image on her screen. Swiping the 3-D rendering of the image to the hover in the air beside the pipelines, she pulled and manipulated the kegs’ design until she was satisfied with an aerodynamic prototype. A series of marks indicated where she would cut to elongate and bullet the end. Another small mark denoted the insertion point for the navigation and energy propulsion component required to maneuver the keg.

Now she needed a stable energy source for the detonation.

With a glance over her shoulder to confirm Clay was still entrenched in his activities, she edged toward the supply table and took more optic wire, the crystal powder, a solenoid, and several more parts she’d spied. Praying she could avoid detection until she at least had a chance to construct her prototype, she quietly assembled the one-inch-long energy module.

The conductive crystal powder, sealed inside a protective canister with a stable isotope module and blanketed with a nonconductive barrier, provided a minimal emission of energy. She frowned, glancing at the remaining pile of parts.

“Too small to propel the keg.” Clay’s voice echoed beside her ear as he took the device from her.

She turned, placing them eye to eye. He moved back before she recovered from the vibration he’d created in her stomach. “It’s only a prototype but safe. No residual radiation and if we ignite the shield on the scaled model, the explosion would only expand ten to twenty feet at the most.”

He tossed the small power cell up and down in his palm. “We. I don’t remember authorizing you to construct power supplies, much less promising you a position with the ignition switch.”

“So you’re going to dedicate one of the team members you’ve assembled to stand by the wayside and twiddle their thumbs with this task. If something goes wrong, they’ll have no idea how to fix it or create a work-around.” She sidled up to him and gripped his biceps in an attempt to provoke him, hoping to force another concession.

Instead, he stared at her, the examination hot and disturbing, but it was his lack of response she found the most unsettling. Clay annoyed at her was one thing. Annoyance she could fight with words or action. The heavy, dark look he gave her increased the rapid slam of her heart, a reaction she couldn’t stop or fight.

He slowly brushed her hands away and took several steps backward. She felt the emotional distance his actions created—painful and stark. Another thing she didn’t know how to combat, and it opened a hole so deep inside her, she thought she just might drown in the disappointment. He deposited the cell on the table, turned his back, and walked away, leaving her empty. The void of his heat and lack of his normal roundabout compliments punctured a hole in her self-control. He hadn’t even bothered with his usual subtle attempts on how to give her a little more wiggle room to keep her busy

“I’m sorry I touched you. If you find me so offensive, why don’t you just let me go?” Esme looked away and blinked, annoyed at the emotions tightening in her chest. She was totally unprepared for the arm that turned her around and the hand cupping the back of her head to meet the onslaught of full lips.

Whatever rational thought she might have mustered ended as she clung to Clay, her mouth opening beneath his tongue’s demand. He didn’t settle for a gentle kiss or give her time to think. This wasn’t the soft test she experienced with Ty. Instead, Clay pressed her against the wall, dominating her with his body as he claimed her. He pushed and drove the need in her body to levels she’d never experienced before.

He took one breath, his lips still pressed against her cheek. “Offensive isn’t anywhere on my list when I think about you, Esme.”

She caught the wild echo of desire in his eye before the guarded look returned and he backed away.

No
. She refused to feel so much just to have it ripped away. Her fingers traced over her lips. The rough texture of his kiss still tingled as she took one wobbly step toward him. “Is that all you’ll give me, all I’m allowed to experience? Aren’t I worth more?”

Choking back her embarrassment at having voiced her wants aloud, she bit her lip and kept her gaze on him. No one had ever given her this much. For once, damn it, she wanted to feel too much, to lose control, to be the center of someone’s universe.

The wild, heated look replaced his shocked expression before he crossed the distance between them and swept her into his arms. Her breath caught as he placed her on the table and shoved the supplies aside.

Afraid he still might leave her there, she wrapped her arm around his shoulders. He only moved between her knees and pulled her to him as his mouth claimed hers in a slower, lingering kiss.

She didn’t want gentle, but as his tongue stroked against hers, coaxing a response instead of demanding a claim, she relaxed into his hold. A groan escaped her as his palms swept beneath her shirt and along her skin to cup her breasts. Heat raced through her veins as the thundering of her heart escalated. She dug her fingers into his back as much to make sure he didn’t leave as to ground herself. With a growl against her cheek, he tugged on her hair, pulling back her head. Uncertain, she dug in tighter. Instead of leaving, he swept off her shirt and lowered his mouth to capture her nipple in a long, hard suckle.

Damn
. She might have screamed. He tried to pull away, probably thinking he’d hurt her. She gripped him and dug her knees into his waist to cement her hold.

With a nuzzle, he whispered from between her breasts, “I’ll give you more, Sugar. Trust me.”

Not about to put up resistance, she held him close as he lavished the same attention on her other breast. The day-old bristles along his jaw delivered a prickle of heat along her skin. When his hands cupped her ass beneath her drawstring pants, her sighs became moans.

He pressed against her, cuddling her to his chest as he pushed her down to the table. Intent on the sensations of his lips above her navel, she didn’t realize her pants were gone until his breath feathered between her legs.

Suddenly, uncertain what to do or how to react, she froze.

He glanced up. Perhaps it was the intensity of the blue in his eye, the flush of desire across his cheekbones, or his satisfied growl as he kissed the insides of her thighs. Her hesitation and fear vanished before the promise on his face. She’d never experienced this pleasure, this want, with another man. Hell, even her husband had never expressed more than a passing interest in her body. But Clay, the tightening of his hands on her thighs and reverence with which he kissed her skin, promised she would never forget this experience.

The one last fear she held, that she’d never get over this encounter, fled as his tongue dipped between her legs. His eyes closed in what she could only describe as an expression of bliss.

God, she hoped so.

Esme stretched her neck and tried to breathe as the pleasure curled just out of reach with his touch. She wanted him to feel at least some small measure of what he was doing to her. That was her last coherent thought as he spread her for his feast, licking and nibbling until all she could do was pant in rhythm with his strokes.