White lies

It irritated her that he’d frightened her for nothing; it reminded her of the morning when he’d tracked her in the snow. "Don’t do that to me," she snapped as she threw open the door and slid out. The snow crunched under her boots.

"Do what?"

"Scare me like that."

"Scaring you is a hell of a lot better than walking into an ambush," he replied evenly.

"How could anyone know we’re up here, and why should anyone care?"

"Frank thinks someone would care, or they wouldn’t have taken the trouble to hide us." She climbed the steps and knocked the snow off her boots before entering the cabin. It was cold but not icy, because they had left the backup heat system on. She took the bags from him and carried them into the bedroom to begin unpacking while he built a fire.

Lucas watched the yellow flames lick at the logs he’d placed on the grate, slowly catching and engulfing the wood. He couldn’t tell her, not yet. This might be the only time he’d ever have with her, an indefinite period of grace while Sabin’s men hunted Piggot. He’d use that time to bind her to him so tightly that he could hold her even after she found out his real name, and that Steve Crossfield was dead. She had told him she loved him, but it was Steve Crossfield she’d been saying the words to, and, oddly, it had been Steve Cross-field hearing them. He was Lucas Stone, and he wanted her for himself.

His need was fast and urgent, like a fire low in his belly. He walked into the bedroom and watched her for a moment as she bent over to remove her boots and socks. She was as slim as a reed, her skin silky soft. He caught her around the waist and tumbled her on the bed, immediately following her down to pin her to the mattress with his weight.

She laughed, her blue eyes no longer filled with irritation. "The caveman approach must be fashionable this year," she teased.

He couldn’t smile in return. He wanted her too badly, needed to hear her say the words to him, not to a ghost. The yellow glitter was in his eyes as he stripped her and surveyed her nakedness. Her nipples were puckered from the chilly air, her breasts standing up round and firm. He circled them with his hands and lifted the tight nipples to his mouth, sucking at each of them in turn. She gasped, and her back arched. Her responsiveness did it to him every time, shattered his control and made him as hot and eager for her as a teenager. He could barely tolerate taking his hands off her long enough to hastily tear at his own clothing and throw it to the side.

"Tell me you love me," he said as he adjusted her slim legs around his hips and began entering her.

Jay squirmed voluptuously, rubbing her breasts against the hairy planes of his chest. "I love you." Her hands dug into his back as she felt the muscles ripple. "I love you." Slowly he pushed and slowly she accepted him, her pleasure already rising to an urgent pitch. Her body was so attuned to him that when he began the rhythmic thrust and withdrawal of love-making her sensual tension swiftly reached a crescendo. He held her until her shudders stilled, then found the rhythm anew.

"Again," he whispered.

She wanted to cry out his name, but couldn’t. She couldn’t call him Steve now, and she didn’t dare call him Lucas. She had to bite her lips to keep his name unsaid, and a moan rose in her throat. He controlled her, his slow, deep thrusts taking her only so high and refusing to let her go any higher. She was on fire, her nerve endings exploding with pleasure.

"Tell me you love me." His voice was gravelly, the strain apparent on his face as he kept his movements agonizingly slow.

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you."

He wanted to hear his name, but that was denied him. Sometime in the future, when this was all over, he promised himself that he would have her as he was having her now, and she would scream his name. He had to be content with knowing it himself, and with the way her eyes locked with his as she whispered the words over and over again, until his control broke and sweet madness claimed them both.

He couldn’t get enough of her, ever, and knowing that he might lose her was intolerable. Physical bonds were the most basic, and instinctively he used them to strengthen the link between them. He would make himself a part of her until his name no longer mattered.

Two nights later, Frank had just gotten into bed when the telephone rang. With a sigh, he reached for it. "Payne."

"Piggot’s in Mexico City," the Man said.

Forgetting about the good night’s sleep he’d been anticipating, Frank sat up, instantly alert.

"Do you have a man on him?"

"Not at the moment. He’s gone to ground again. It’s about to unravel, and this move tells me who snipped the thread. I’ll take care of that little detail, but you get Luke out of there. The cabin’s location has been leaked."

"How much do you want me to tell him?"

"All of it. It doesn’t matter now. It’ll go down within the next twenty-four hours. Just see that they’re safe." Then Kell Sabin hung up, wondering if he’d cut it too fine and endangered a friend, as well as an innocent woman.

Chapter Twelve

At the first beep from the palm-size pager lying on the bedside table, Lucas was on his feet and reaching for his pants. The tone told him it was the communications beeper, not the alarm caused by the laser beam being broken, but the very fact that Frank was contacting him in the middle of the night was alarm enough. Jay roused and reached for the lamp, but Lucas stopped her.

"No lights."

"What’s going on?" She was very still now.

"I’m going out to the shed. That’s the communications beeper. Frank’s trying to get in touch with us."

"Then why not turn on a light?"