Deadly Games Page 2

  It had taken her most of her life to realize that she was enabling Colton. “Water under the bridge.” Great, now she was talking to herself.

  She’d told him the last time that she was done with him helping himself to money that didn’t belong to him. She’d meant every damn word, and every threat. She didn’t give a flip how she accomplished it, but she wasn’t leaving South America without the Moms money, which Colton was using as his buy in for this “Amazing, chance of a lifetime” investment. The money now inconveniently converted to diamonds.

  How and when had he acquired the knowledge to convert cash into diamonds? Certainly not at the Life Insurance company where he worked. The little shit had taken their Mothers’ life savings while they were in Asia, and hied his ass off to Ecuador. Without a thought for the consequences of his actions. Hannah in hot pursuit.

  If she didn’t have the money when they returned to shore, she was going to press charges this time and have his sartorial ass thrown in jail.

  A South American jail. No more enabling, no more empathy. No more excuses. She was sick and tired of being self-sacrificing. If nothing else, this last stunt of Colton’s made her seriously rethink the choices she’d made so that everyone she loved would be happy. What she had given up for everyone around her.

  A gifted musician in college, she’d had aspirations of being a concert cellist, of performing on the stages of the largest concert halls in the world. But her mother had needed her help getting the business up and running.

  So instead of playing her beloved cello on a stage, she managed Provenance Inc. while the Moms played across Europe on their perpetual buying trips. They hadn’t asked, she’d offered. But a year had turned into six. They hadn’t taken advantage of her, Hannah knew that. She was a pleaser. It never occurred to her to say no. That was going to change when she got back home. Maybe she’d have “NO” tattooed on her arm as a constant reminder.

  Chewing the corner of her lip, she got out the pouch holding her insulin pen and needles from her tote. Yesterday she was rehearsing what she’d say to the Mom’s when they returned home in a couple of weeks from this latest buying trip. They didn’t need a store front to travel. Between them they had enough money to lead a comfortable, and trip filled life. They could sell Provenance Inc. and she could finally have her own life.

  Except that when she’d checked, there was no money. At freaking all. One call to the family travel agent, and she’d followed Colton to Ecuador, prepared to be gone from the store for a day, two at the most. Twenty-four hours more than she anticipated needing to knock sense into her friend.

  Get the money back. Fly home.

  But now that she’d met the men Colton was dealing with, now that she’d seen the obvious wealth, and the slew of no-neck-bodyguard types all carrying enormous guns- “I have no damned idea how the hell I’m going to pull this one off.”

  The other two investors had each produced a pouch of uncut diamonds as well. There was zero chance of her taking the pouch Colton had handed over under the watchful and vigilant eyes of the businessmen, and their dozen bodyguards in the salon without being caught.

  Sick to her stomach at the thought of losing everything the Moms had worked for their entire lives, Hannah prepped her dose on auto-pilot.

  As a type one diabetic, she’d been injecting herself since she was old enough to do it on her own. Grayson had been the one to patiently read every scrap of information her mom had brought home from the doctor’s office. He was the one to talk her down from freaking out at the thought of injecting herself. He’d calmly and efficiently administered the first, then stood with her as she’d done the next and the next, until she had the hang of it. Grayson was many things, but the man had the patience of a saint.

  Hannah still hated him.

  And she refused to think about Grayson when she had much bigger fish to fry at the moment. She didn’t care how impressive the plans for the resort were, or how much the projected earnings were, the Moms’ retirement was not, under any circumstances, going to be part of it.

  Ejecting a couple of drops of insulin into the air to remove bubbles, she dialed in the appropriate dose by rote. Whoever these men were, she, Colton and the other investors, were pretty much hostages as the slow moving Stone’s Throw sailed toward the island where the resort was under construction.

  When had her friendship with the man she thought of as a brother, turned into her being his freaking nanny? She’d never felt sisterly toward Grayson. It was Gray who’d given her her first kiss, Grayson who’d been her first lover. The fact that she was still trying not to be in love with him after what he’d done had nothing—okay, it had everything to do with trying to rectify the biggest mistake of her life.

  She knew better than to waste time thinking about him. Especially now.

  Untucking and lifting her shirt, Hannah pinched a fold of skin at her waist and administered her shot. A loud thump on the door startled her, causing her to jerk her hand. The pen dropped to the floor, then rolled under the edge of the bed skirt.

  Damn. Hannah dropped to her knees to find it. “Some-“ one’s in here!

  “Savrov spoke my name.” The male voice, American, and very, very angry, was right on the other side of the cabin door while she was in the downward dog position. “Get rid of him.”

  Not moving an eyelash, Hannah held her breath, waiting for them to keep moving.

  A second man, sounding younger and Latin American, asked, “Permanently?”

  Something cold and slithery prickled her skin. What did that mean?

  The first guy didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Had he walked away after giving the order? Hannah almost let out the breath she held. “Is the device set?”

  Heart lodged in her throat, and pulse thumping uncomfortably she remained on the floor, too scared to move and alert them to her presence. Who were these people?

  “As you instructed,” the younger man said, deferentially. “Exactly thirty minutes, eighteen seconds from now.”

  “Excellent. I’ll bring the others up to the helipad in three minutes. Be ready to take off immediately. Before anyone notices we’re missing. I want to be out on open water to watch the show.”

  What show? Hannah mouthed, afraid she knew the answer. Had she seen too many Bourne and Die Hard movies? Maybe they were talking about something completely different than killing someone, stealing the diamonds, and blowing up their fancy ship as they flew off into the sunset?

  Or maybe that’s exactly what they were saying.

  “What about the crew?”

  “What about them?” The American said coldly. That sounded ominous. “Are you offering to be part of the fireworks?”

  Hannah’s stomach lurched with dread. What the hell? She missed the mumbled response as their footfalls disappeared down the corridor. What had the two men been doing below decks? Looking for her? Setting a bomb? Either thought sent an icy chill across her skin.

  Her heart knocked triple time. Colton, plus diamonds, plus the hair on the back of her neck lifting after hours of having a ‘bad feeling’? Whoever these men were, Hannah’s gut told her in thirty minutes, and however many seconds, the ship was going to blow up with herself and GQ on board.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  CHAPTER THREE - RICOCHET

  Grayson entered the well-lit, gleaming mahogany paneled corridor where the cabins were situated. Two men, twenty yards ahead, one in the white crew uniform, the other a salt-and-pepper-haired guy in jeans, dark shirt, a handgun tucked in the small of his back. The Stone’s Throw, pirated half a world away, had been fully crewed. Those same people were still on board, but it was unlikely the hapless crew knew anything useful about Stonefish.

  Collateral damage was inevitable.

  With a silenced pop, Grayson got off one, well-placed shot, hitting the jean-clad man in the back of the neck just beneath his skull. Half his brain splattered on the mahogany paneling in front of him, dropping like a felled oak part-way up
the carpeted stairs. Without hesitation, the crewmember broke into a run, disappearing up the stairs, where the rest of Grayson’s team lay in wait. They’d contain him. Done and done.

  Using the skeleton key, he systematically checked each cabin, finding the woman in the second to last room, at the far end of the hall from the stairs where the man had disappeared. Long legs, and a shapely, jean-clad ass was all he could see of her. He wasn’t sure if she was dead, passed out, or taking a nap on the floor half under the bed.

  Soundlessly crossing the room, Grayson gave her ankle an economical yank, pulling her free of the bed hangings, and hauled her to her feet in one smooth move. Pressing her back against his chest, he palmed her mouth well before the scream he felt vibrating in her chest erupted.

  He’d killed women in the line of duty, but he hated doing it. A pop to the back of the skull, like the man out in the corridor, and it would be over. In his line of work he didn’t have time to linger or get soft.

  She, however was soft. Soft and fragrant and madder than hell as she fought him for all she was worth. But since his arms were banded over hers, and he was holding her tightly against him, she was pretty ineffective. His head jerked back as she tried to head-butt him, harmless, except that her blossom-scented, honey-blonde hair, lashed across his cheek.

  Grayson’s senses filled with a unique, scent-induced memory, and a struggling woman whose body felt exactly like Hannah’s. His momentary distraction was all she needed to twist out of his hold, and come at him with her full body weight.

  Fuckit.

  Grayson felt as though he’d just taken a shot to the chest.

  He hoped his mind was playing tricks on him, because God only knew he’d had this particular fantasy before. A time or two…or a thousand.

  He reached out, grabbing her, and twisted so he landed on top of her on the bed, clamping both slender wrists in one hand over her head. He used his weight to hold her thrashing legs down with his feet bracketing her ankles. Furious blue eyes met his as she bucked beneath him.

  Fucking hell. No mistake. “Jesus. Hannah?”

  With her honey blonde hair spread in a wild tangle around her head and shoulders, and her breasts pressed against his chest, she looked more perfect than that girl next door. More heart-stoppingly beautiful now than she’d been on that summer night by the lake where he’d taken her virginity, and only slightly less pissed than when he’d returned home to claim her on the anniversary of their wedding day.

  Going deadly still, she stared up at him in shock and horror, big blue eyes wide. “Grayson?” she gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, this nightmare just gets better and better.” She shoved at his shoulders with both hands. When he didn’t budge, she stopped struggling and just lay there, glowering up at him, her soft mouth a flat, angry line.

  He considered the two men in the corridor. “Did you come in here alone?”

  “Just me and the Chicago Blackhawks.” Tone dry, eyes blazing, she held onto whatever deep emotion she was feeling. A new skill. She used to be an open book. He was the one lousy at communicating. Unless they were in bed, He did just fine communicating there.

  He could almost feel her anger lashing out like a sharp cat o’ nine tails ripping into his flesh, his heart, his brain.

  Her chest rose, then fell as she sucked in a calming breath. Her eyes were shockingly blue, and as cold as the tundra. The look was unfamiliar to him, and her fear and disdain made something hot and tight clench inside him.

  “For God sake, Pumice, I’ve been going to the bathroom by myself since I turned three. I came to take my insulin shot before dinner.” She looked him over, with a scowl. “Why are you dressed like a giant black sperm?”

  Her presence in the middle of this clusterfuck was so out of context he had a hard time wrapping his brain around it. “Were you coerced?” he demanded flatly. “Kidnapped?” Experience told him that there wasn’t anything too improbable, too dangerous, too vile, to be a possibility.

  “I might ask you the same damn question. Why are you here, Pumice? Because as we both know, you never do anything that isn’t completely self-serving. In that, you and your brother are frigging peas in a pod.”

  Because his friends and family didn’t know he worked for T-FLAC, they figured he was some kind of underworld criminal. It killed Gray, but that’s the way it was. He lived with it. And this woman with the soft, sassy mouth whose loving heart had turned to stone between one beat and the next, tied him in knots because he knew, being here, just cemented what she’d thought all along. “Answer the damn question, Hannah.” He kept his voice brusque and all business.

  “News-flash Grayson Burke. Talk to me in that tone again, and I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to you as a little snack.” He didn’t miss the way the word little was stressed.

  He gave her a feral smile. “Hard to do all that when said balls are pressed up tight against you.”

  “You have to get up sometime,” she responded sweetly. “I’ll wait.”

  “No, as history proves, you don’t wait.”

  She made an inarticulate sound of anger, and her cheeks flushed. “You decide to follow me halfway around the world to attack me, so you can discuss old news? Worse. Imply that I was in the wrong? Go to hell, Gray, just go to hell.”

  “Answer the damn question. What are you doing here, Hannah?” Grayson repeated grimly. Through his comm he could hear his men gathering outside the salon, ready to burst in. He should be up there with them.

  She returned his frown, not looking any happier than he was. Soft breasts pressed against his chest as she sighed. “Colton’s upstairs.”

  “Christ.”

  Of course his brother was involved in this goatfuck. Hannah was always bailing him out of some damned mess.

  She didn’t move, but the suppressed fury in her voice was like a third party in the room with them. “Get off. You’re hurting me.”

  “If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t be speaking right now.” Gray inhaled her light citrusy perfume, which still affected him the way it always had. That perfume, and his reaction to her, hadn’t changed. At least he was consistent.

  This dainty, five-foot-four, feisty fairy of a woman was his Achilles Heel. Always had been, always would be. Her pulse throbbed hard beneath the manacle of his fingers around her wrists. He wanted to touch more than her bare wrists.

  One thousand and ninety five days since he’d held her. Dear God, smelling the achingly familiar scent of her skin took his breath. His eyes burned as the ache grew. Smelling her hair, touching her silky skin, seeing her again, after fantasizing, scared the crap out of him. The reality made the memories pale into insignificance.

  Despite the dangerous situation, his dick pushed painfully hard against the confining LockOut, and his heart thudded heavily against his rib cage. Hard enough that she must feel it too.

  He had to go back to work, he knew he did, but his entire world focused down to the woman beneath him. She had an incredible mouth, soft and beautifully shaped, he remembered how those lips felt all over his body.

  Her breath caught, and a tremor rippled through her as she read his intentions quite clearly. “Oh, no you don’t! I’m warning you, Pumice. . . “ She braced herself, eyes, the vivid blue of forget-me-nots, flashed dangerously.

  He studied her generous mouth. The dark length of her eyelashes. The soft, petal-pink of her cheeks. His memory hadn’t done her justice. Everything about Hannah was delicate, her slender body, the slim column of her neck, her graceful hands. But there was nothing fragile about her inner strength. She could be stubborn and intractable if she believed she was right, and he knew this encounter could sway either way. After her initial surprise- like a nanosecond after- she was mad as hell.

  Still. But when her eyes darkened – like that, and her pink tongue made a sexy swipe, he knew he’d won half the battle.

  “Do not do it!” she warned in a dire voice.

  Her warm, intensely female scent, with just a hint of orange bl
ossom, rose up to meet him from the velvety V between the collars of her plain white shirt. He wanted to drink in the smell. Bottle it to save for later. Heart pounding with anticipation, he lowered his head the last inch, covered her mouth with his, brushing her soft lips. Once. Twice.

  He made a low sound of desire and need. “This?” he whispered, cupping her flushed cheek in one hand, while holding her wrists firmly over her head with the other. He lowered his mouth over hers, trailing his fingertips over her cheekbone, reacquainting himself with her the feel of her. So soft. Silky. Inhaling deeply, he breathed in the intoxicating scent of the citrus blend soap she’d been using for years.

  To Grayson, Hannah epitomized everything good. Everything clean. Every joy and every hope. She’d always been a part of his life. A part of him.

  His fingers spread at the base of her throat where her pulse jumped unevenly. His body’s visceral response to the mere brushing of their lips was way out of proportion. Hunger, simmering just under the surface for years, erupted in a hot blast of lust impossible to contain.

  She attempted to clamp her lips closed against the invasion of his marauding tongue, but Gray wasn’t playing fair. He knew that stroking the back of her neck made her melt, knew how to angle his head, so that their mouths seemed to function like parts of a whole. She let him in, her slick tongue dueling with his, hungry for him, just as she’d always been. God. He reveled in her taste—sunshine, love, promise- intensified as he lost himself in her moist, yielding mouth.

  Wanting her so bad, he couldn’t think straight and he closed his eyes, giving in the driving, need. Tangling his fingers in the silky, fragrant strands of her hair he drove the kiss hotter, deeper.

  With the cool silk of her hair brushing his wrist, he cupped the back of her head, angled her head, nipped at her lips. Stroked her tongue with his until her breath hitched and he felt the rapid pulse throbbing behind her ear. Her scent became her taste, oranges, a slick mix of erotic, heady textures.