UndercoverSurrender (9 page)

Damien and Michael Reynolds were two of the most powerful
men in the world, and they were both right now scared shitless at the thought
of what might be happening to one headstrong, spoiled, rich little girl who
they both loved very much, whether she believed it or not.

He picked up the phone again and dialed a number that was so
important he had never used it before, although he and his father both knew it
by heart. When the party on the other line answered, he said, “I need a favor.”

Chapter Four

Vik jolted awake, managing not to move a muscle in the
process. He took quick inventory of his surroundings—the dark cabin, the soft
hum of the yacht’s motor, the silky bare leg draped over his own.

With no other motion in the cabin, the door still closed, he
surmised that that was what had awoken him. That bare silky leg, perilously
close to the huge erection he was getting under his shorts as a direct result
of the contact.

The girl was draped all over him, her leg not only over his,
but her long hair trailing over his chest as her head tucked into the crook of
his arm and her arm came across his waist. And by the sound of her soft, even
breathing, she wasn’t troubled a bit by the proximity. The chit was sound
asleep.

When he had told Samantha that there were more important
things going on than whether he was lusting after her, he had meant it. But
nobody would ever know it by the state of his cock right now. In this moment,
the fate of the free world could hang in the balance and he might just choose
fucking her over going off to save it.

He drew a martyred breath. If he pushed her off him, she
might wake up and start that infernal whimpering or, worse yet, chattering
again.

Nobody wanted that.

On the other hand, despite jacking off earlier,
twice
,
much more of her sound-asleep-seduction and he just might come in his shorts,
which would occasion waking her up anyway as he got up to change and he doubted
she’d appreciate the reason. She’d probably rather wake up pre-ejaculation
rather than post-ejaculation. He’d probably like that better too.

Don’t go there…

She made a sleepy little sound that tore at him and it was
all he could do not to roll over onto her and kiss her awake.

“Fooled you, didn’t I?” she murmured and he started. She
lifted her head and he could see in the faint moonlight that was streaming in
that she was grinning. “You thought I was asleep, didn’t you?”

“Uh, yeah.” His voice sounded kind of strangled to him, but
she didn’t seem to notice.

“I was practicing pretending.”

She sounded pretty pleased about it, so he held off on lecturing
her about not pretending things that would lead to other things that she didn’t
want to do for real. He just lay perfectly still, hoping she would undrape
herself from off him, and at the same time praying she wouldn’t.

She shook her head. “You have an erection again,” she
muttered.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t exactly news to him.

“But I suppose you really can’t control it in your sleep,
right?”

He said nothing.

She scooted up a little, and he felt her foot graze his
calf.

“You’re awake now, though,” she commented.

“It’s not a faucet I can turn on and off,” he finally ground
out. “You’re laying all over me.”

“I don’t exactly see you pushing me off.” It sounded like a
taunt.

And then, goddamn it if she wasn’t leaning up to kiss him.

Samantha was losing her mind. She really was. After hours of
lying here, unable to fall asleep, turning over in her mind worst case
scenarios and unexpressed regrets, she just couldn’t stand it anymore. She
couldn’t stand to be alone with her racing thoughts anymore, and the man
peacefully sleeping next to her, looking like some kind of guardian angel when
he should look like the criminal he was, was all she had. So she resolved to
wake him up.

But good God, when had that morphed into trying to kiss him?
It was really all about the fear and the regrets. Daddy was right. She never
had done anything with her life, with her mind. And now she realized that life
might be very short indeed. She had known, almost since the minute her father
informed her that her mother would be slotted to only the occasional supervised
Saturday visits, that she loved her father very much but that she would never
stop hating him.

So whereas she had adored learning before that and her eager
mind had always gobbled up knowledge, she would never let her father see the
fruits of it again. Although her father claimed to cherish family, she
purposely held herself apart from her many brothers, never reciprocating any of
their attempts to show affection. And though Daddy despised weakness, she
sought out weak man after weak man just to spite him.

But this was
her
life, not her father’s, not her
mother’s. It was hers. And she loved to learn. She loved her brothers—she
really did—even Michael with his domineering ways so like their father’s. And
she was attracted to strong, capable men…like this Vik.

And that was apparently where her thinking had gone all
wrong. As Vik slept next to her, she let herself feel how solid and dependable
his big body felt next to hers. He
had
saved her up on deck before. He
was
protecting her now and asking for nothing in return. She let the attraction she
had fought before flood in on her senses and overtake the fear, the regret,
until they were crowded out and the sense of horrible helplessness that she had
always felt, but most especially since this whole nightmare began, receded into
the background. As she slid her hand along his narrow waist and tangled her
legs with his muscled strong ones, she felt a power that seemed to increase
proportionately with that ever-present resilient erection. She had a very
special power indeed and for once, goddamn it, she would use it.

As Samantha pressed her lips up to his, Vik jerked back in
surprise.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment and then
she said, “What? Don’t you want to teach me another lesson?”

“Yes.” He brought her hand slowly to his stiff cock. “I want
to teach you not to treat me like I don’t have one of these.”

If he thought that would make her pull away in protest, he’d
misjudged her. She clasped him firmly through his shorts, stroking, eliciting a
groan from him. He yanked her own baggy shorts off abruptly so she was down to
her underwear and rolled over on top of her, kissing her wildly, shoving her
knees open with one leg. And when he had her bare thighs spread open for him
and her wrists anchored by the side of her head, he warned, “Don’t play with
me, Samantha. I said I wouldn’t touch you but—”

“I want you to touch me,” she whispered. “I want you.”

He forced himself to remember who she was and why she was
here. “You’re just scared and you’re turning to me because of it.”

“Yeah. Stockholm Syndrome. I remember.”

“Right. So just give all this comfy chatter and flirting a
rest. I’m getting you out of this. I swear I am.”

She rolled over on top of him before he knew it. “Shut up.”

He let the kiss go on a half a second too long. Just long
enough for her little tongue to insinuate itself between his lips before he
groaned and turned his head away like a fucking virgin maiden. “Stop this,
Samantha.”

She kissed his neck and he actually shivered. “Why? You want
it, Vik. You know you want it.”

Right then, right there, what he wanted—besides shoving his
dick deep inside her of course—was to tell her who he was. Why he was here. He
wanted her to see him not as a criminal or a pseudo-good-guy. He wanted her to
see him as the genuine article. And, incredibly enough, he was more than a
little pissed off that she was willing to fuck him without knowing that.

“You’re a fool for playing with me like this,” he said
instead.

“Who said I’m playing with you? I just want to sleep with
you.”

“Yeah? Would you sleep with Santiago? Gunderson?”

“Don’t give me that whore versus Madonna complex thing. You
say I’m treating you like you don’t have a cock? Well, you’re treating me like
I’m a Barbie doll.”

“What?”

“Nothing between her legs,” she muttered. “I’m a real girl,
a big girl, and I know what I want.”

He ripped the flimsy strip of cotton covering her delectable
ass right down the middle and helped himself to the silky flesh beneath, taking
one cheek in each hand and squeezing, hard. “Yeah, I get that you’re real.”

He had to stop. This was so wrong of him. But Jesus, she was
on top of him, hovering over him, her ass in his hands, her tits so close her
could just, just…

He flipped her off him abruptly and scrambled up.

“No,” he said sternly. He turned on the lamp, hoping it
would help, but he’d forgotten he’d divested her of the shorts and underwear a
second ago and had long ago pulled off her tee shirt. So when the light came
on, he saw that she had rolled up to her knees, crouching, her heaving tits
with the nipples clearly visible through the camisole and the bottom half of
her was…bare. Completely bare.

He was breathing as if he had run a mile uphill in five
minutes flat, and his eyes zeroed in on that naked pubis. “You wax your pussy,”
he muttered. “Christ. I’m not a fucking saint.”

She smiled and the force of it stunned him almost as much as
the wax job had. Not surprisingly, he’d never seen this girl smile. It
was…beautiful, blinding. In right that moment, he felt like some lovesick
adolescent. Or a horny old professor with his prize student throwing herself at
him. Or both.

He should go lock himself in the bathroom. But the absurdity
of that image made him come to his senses.

“Stop this. You’re not thinking straight.” He sure as hell
wasn’t anyway.

Leaning up farther on her knees, still smiling that killer
smile, her long delicate fingers wandered down to the region where he normally
would have expected dark curls and where there was just smooth white skin. He
noticed irrelevantly that her nails were short.

“Don’t your biker babes or drug runners or whoever you
usually sleep with ever wax?”

Her fingers dipped lower and he swallowed. Not that he
really wanted to talk about this, but he guessed talking was better than not
talking as it kept him from stomping back to that bed and shoving her fingers
aside so he could feel her soft skin down there himself and dip in her bare
pussy. “No. I guess the salon service hereabouts must be pretty limited. Or
maybe it’s the hundred bucks you must drop every few weeks to keep it like
that.”

“Oh, much more. Much, much more.” Her middle finger slid
forward to the hood of her clit, which was clearly in evidence and distended
with excitement, and she rotated her finger against it lightly.

“I’m surprised you don’t have long nails.” Somehow, keeping
her talking seemed like his best strategy, pathetic as it was.

“No. Too much trouble working on a computer. Why? Do you
like long nails?”

He’d never thought much about it one way or the other, but
shook his head no.

“It’s easier to do this, too,” she commented as she played
with herself.

He groaned, gripping the edge of the bureau behind him.
“Jesus, what are you doing? Torturing me? I said I’m sorry we kidnapped you.
Give me a break. Please.”

Continuing to rub herself, she laughed. “What? Everybody
does it. Isn’t that what you said? And don’t you think the sight of you fisting
your cock turned me on?”

His cock eagerly jerked at what it apparently interpreted as
a compliment, tenting his shorts further in its enthusiasm to be freed to join
in the fun.

But he was a trained Interpol agent. If he could withstand
waterboarding, cigarette burns, tasering, he should be able to withstand one
gorgeous girl playing with herself right in front of him.

He tried to think of her as an enemy agent. Maybe that would
help.

Her finger massaging her clit dipped lower between her
thighs and then came back visibly wet. She rubbed the wetness into herself, her
eyes narrowing as she did so.

Shit. If she
had
been an enemy agent, the fate of the
free world would be so screwed right now.

“I’m dying here, Samantha. Please. Stop. You don’t want to
do this. You’re just scared.”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head defiantly, her
little chin tilting up. “No, Vik, I’m not scared. That’s the point. In just
this moment, I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be,” he muttered.

“Why? Because you want to slip your hard cock into my wet
pussy?”

Great. He loved it when a woman talked dirty. Was this girl,
like, reading his mind or something? Or were all men just such simple dopes?

“That doesn’t scare me. In fact, in right this moment,
you’re
scared of
me
, aren’t you, Vik?”

“Yeah.” It came out way too easily. He should have lied or
at least protested a little or something.

Man up, asshole
.

She laughed again. “So who has the power here?”

She did. She had the power. And God, it felt so
intoxicating, so right. For whatever reason, this huge, strong man who was
completely in her thrall right now was resisting her and having a hell of a
time at it. This was even better than if he had slept with her right as soon as
she climbed on top of him.

She was insane. She was playing with fire.

But she sure as hell wasn’t thinking about getting murdered
or never getting home…or being scared.

She masturbated blatantly, loving his ragged breathing as
she did so, his inability to look away, and most especially the tremendous
hard-on batting so furiously against his shorts she was surprised the cotton
could take it.

“I get that you’re not like these other guys. That even if
you don’t want them to know it, you’re a
nice
guy, at least when it
comes to women.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he warned.

But despite a lifetime of being told she had no judgment
when it came to men, she knew she was right about him. She
knew
she was.

“There’s not a guy alive who’s nice when confronted with,
ah, something like this.”

“Seduction,” she murmured. “I’m seducing you.”