Cover
About the Book
About the Author
Praise
Also by Sydney Croft
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
About Rouge
Available this month from Rouge
Teaser Chapters
Acknowledgments
Copyright
“One of those rare reads where the characters linger long after the story ends. Intense intrigue, action, eroticism, and a fascinating world combine to create an enthralling winner. Sydney Croft is a fabulous new talent.” Cheyenne McCray
“Keep your eye on Sydney Croft … this Storm packs one powerfully erotic punch..” Jaci Burton
“Red-hot romance and paranormal thrills from the first page to the last! Sydney Croft writes the kind of books I love to read!” Lara Adrian
“This erotic romance delves deep into the paranormal world of ghosts and humans with special abilities. Each page is filled with attitude, danger and sex that heats up fast and goes well beyond the norm …” Romantic Times
There’s a storm rising. Electricity crackles in the air. For Kira Donovan, it’s that time of year again: when the need floods her flesh, when almost any man - the bigger and the stronger the better - will do.
For Kira, an animal psychic, the heat is a matter of life and death, and this year it has come a just the right time. Tom Knight, a natural-born predator, has arrived at her isolated Idaho farm - for reasons all his own. …
Sydney Croft is the alter-ego of Larissa Ione and Stephanie Tyler, who came together to blend their very different writing interests into adventurous tales of erotic paranormal fiction. Though they love to write together as Sydney Croft, they also write individually.
As Sydney Croft, they are the authors of Riding the Storm, Unleashing the Storm, Seduced by the Storm, Taming the Fire, Tempting the Fire and Taken by Fire.
Also by Sydney Croft
Riding the Storm
Unleashing the Storm
Seduced by the Storm
Taming the Fire
Tempting the Fire
Taken by Fire
TUESDAY 4 P.M. MST
KIRA DONOVAN WOULD BE dead by now if Ender needed her to be, another victim of his steady hand and expert marksmanship, which were part random gift of nature and part honed by years of training.
He lay in familiar sniper position, on his stomach on the broad, grassy slope overlooking the farm, mentally lining up one perfect shot after another as the woman he’d been sent to persuade walked in and out of the dilapidated barn without a care in the world.
The woman born as Charity Connelly was going to require a hell of a lot of training to bring her up to spec. And she was going to have to stop wearing those shorts and T-shirts that showed off too much tanned, curvy flesh too, because that was much too distracting for everyone involved. Ms. Freakin’ Doolittle and her merry band of animals were going to have a rude awakening.
He sighed, put his forehead down against the cool earth and breathed in the scent of nature that always seemed to be a part of him, no matter how hard he’d tried to get away. And even though he so didn’t want this assignment, he was here, and he had a job to do. And his jobs always got done.
Speaking of done, what hadn’t been was the beautiful woman he’d picked up last night, someone who shared his tastes in bed and his penchant for no-strings relationships. That had to be the real reason for his hard-on.
They’d just gotten to the handcuffs portion of the evening when he’d received the call from work, something he couldn’t ignore. And when Dev, the head of the Agency for Covert Rare Operatives that employed him, and Ken, his direct supervisor, had laid out the plan to him, which meant taking the red-eye from the Catskills, New York, compound to bumble-fuck Idaho, Ender had just shaken his head in a combination of irritation and no-fucking-way.
“Why me?” he’d asked when he arrived at Dev’s office. Because he’d worked for five years as one of their top Convincers, the guy who brought home the big catches. He liked being able to go in and pick off the men and women who’d already been briefed to some degree about the agency’s dealing in Special Ops of a very different kind, was always prepared for one of these rare-ability types to go off the deep end, but never had much more than a casual, passing acquaintance with them.
He did not want to be one of the people who actually had to recruit the talent.
“You’ve got patience,” Ken said.
He snorted. “Patience when I’m waiting for the right shot, yes. My patience where new recruits are concerned is severely limited, and if you mean patience where women are concerned—well, I just went from bad to worse.”
“You’ve got the background for the cover. You grew up on a farm,” Ken continued.
“Shit,” he’d muttered, because he’d put his shit-kickers away when he left the farm, and the horse, when he was sixteen, and never looked back. Hitched around the country for a year doing odd jobs, whatever he could get his hands on—same went for women—and finally, when he hit seventeen and got his GED, he hit the nearest recruiting office. He wanted different—college—something. And the Army had given him that, Delta Force and Covert Ops even more. His parents had given consent, grateful that he’d finally called to tell them he was still alive.
He finally appealed to the head of ACRO. “Come on, Dev. You’ve got plenty of other guys who could handle this one—guys whose job it is to do this. What the hell do you need my talents for so early in the game?”
Dev had smiled, and with his usual straightforwardness, simply said, “Because if she can’t be convinced to join us within forty-eight hours, you’re going to have to kill her.”
Ender had grabbed the file and left the office without another word. Ken hadn’t wanted a trail—needed a quick in and out because of the target’s highly specialized and unforeseen increasingly urgent needs, and the fewer people seen on and around the farm, the better. So it was good-bye Ender and hello Tom Knight for the next forty-eight hours.
If he had his way, the job would be done in twenty-four. Whatever it took, no holds barred, he was going to drag Kira the animal whisperer kicking and screaming into ACRO, or he’d carry out his alternate orders. From what information he’d gleaned from her files, she might actually enjoy being tied down, especially during this time of year.
If it could only be that easy, a seduce and convince special, normally Wyatt Kennedy’s favorite means of persuasion. An ACRO operative who specialized in deep undercover ops, Wyatt was convinced that ninety-nine percent of women would roll with just the right kind of persuasion, and the other one percent would require a tranquilizer gun.
Ender had both plans covered.
Mixing business with pleasure had never gotten in his way before, and from what the first contact person, a psychic who’d gone undercover at the sanctuary, had reported, it might be the only way to get Kira on board. ACRO’s psychic had claimed that Kira’s spring fever was a major issue and, according to Ken, utilizing Kira’s insatiable need for sex during this time was supposed to be part of Ender’s master plan. An open invitation.
Now he pushed up from the ground and headed down toward the barn, taking the main route that led from the driveway. Bag slung over his shoulder, he looked like a man who’d walked in from the one Greyhound bus stop in this one-horse Idaho town, without many possessions or cares.
Still, Kira came out of the barn and headed right in his direction like she had a homing device on him. He hadn’t spotted any cameras, but he’d been told she was paranoid.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice brisk, businesslike and not at all like the soft tones he’d figured on. Immediately his own needs gained quick interest and let him know they’d demand to be heard sooner than later.
God, she was pretty—naturally pretty, all long, light brown hair and full, pouty lips, wide amber eyes and a body to freakin’ die for.
“Hey, I’m Tom. Your new man for hire,” he said, and yeah, he’d let her work him in more ways than one, if she was game.
He hadn’t used his real name in years, preferred the anonymity of “Ender” and the images it conjured up, especially at work. It kept most of the assholes, and everyone else, at bay. Because, at heart, he never was a social kind of guy, and things were not going to change if he could help it.
He approached her, palm out, and she hesitated, the skittish side he’d been expecting showing through. Finally, she extended her hand, her palm rough from work, her shake strong and sure.
“Hello, Tommy,” she said.
“It’s Tom,” he said, then cursed inwardly and shrugged. “But, whatever, it’s all good.”
Yeah, real fucking slick.
She didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth pulled up slightly. “You’re right on time.”
“I try to make that a habit,” he said, became aware of something sniffing his ass and turned to find a goat staring at him. It didn’t look happy either.
“Do you also make it a habit to spy on people?” she asked, and he turned back from the animal to her.
Son of a—“No, ma’am,” he said.
“So you just decided you wanted to stare me down for an hour and a half, then?” She’d folded her arms over her chest, and he let his eyes skim her breasts before meeting her gaze and smiling.
“I got here a little early and wanted to take a nap. Didn’t want to bother you or anything. And then I saw you, walking back and forth from the barn and, well …” He shrugged. “Shit, I’m a red-blooded man, Kira.”
That part was more than true, and standing this close to her, inhaling the scent of apples and honey and cloves that surrounded her, despite the other, more pungent smells close by, was killing him.
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he held his breath because he couldn’t screw this up this soon. Something was wrong—very wrong. He’d never been spotted, not like that. He’d been hidden, camouflaged, and he was good enough at that to know that she’d gotten her information about his watching in some other way than stumbling on it herself.
When the goat poked him in the back again, everything suddenly became clear.
KIRA WATCHED PEEPING TOM for a long moment, allowing Cheech time to sniff him out. The little Nubian goat was a great judge of character, and if he indicated that Tom needed to be watched, then that’s what she’d do.
And frankly, she’d watch him anyway. She’d never been one for the rugged, outdoorsy type, but something about Tom grabbed her in places no man had grabbed for a long time.
Not since her last spring fever.
Now that May had come again, the yearning had begun, the fierce, primal burn that permeated every cell and told her she was days, maybe hours from the insanity that would consume her for upward of four weeks.
She’d been getting antsy, had been unable to concentrate on simple tasks. And simple tasks in the presence of males … forget it. It was definitely time to scope out potential partners and give her battery-operated toys a rest. She’d figured her other hire, a dark-haired, brawny hottie named Derek, would be the first mate she took this season.
But now, as she studied Tom Knight, with his piercing blue eyes and sun-streaked blond hair that was too long for a military cut and too short for a surfer, she began to think he might be more fun until he wore out. High, chiseled cheekbones, firm mouth … yeah, he may not be her type, but during this time of year, all men were her type, and besides, she wasn’t looking for happily ever after.
There’d never be one of those. Not for her. Not for someone people thought was psychotic if they didn’t believe she could talk to animals, or were terrified of if they did believe. Because she didn’t just talk to animals. She understood them, communicated with them through words and body language and scents, but mainly, mental images and sensations that transcended most human understanding.
And the other aspect of her gift, the part that was more of a curse, well, people really didn’t understand that. Hence, the moves. The name changes. The prayers that her latest relocation and identity would be her last.
Cheech gave Tom a head butt and then, with a low bleat, told her he’d keep an eye on the man. The goat seemed to think it was strange for a human to lie on the ground the way Tom had, and Cheech wasn’t going to trust him any time soon.
“Ma’am?”
She blinked, realized she’d been so immersed in her own world that she hadn’t heard anything Tom had said, and the way he was watching her, like he didn’t enjoy being ignored, made her a little jittery.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked if maybe I could move in? Get started working.”
His voice, powerful and compelling, rolled through her like a muscle-deep caress, and she wondered if his effect on her was a result of her growing need or if he always talked with a rough, erotic edge, as though urging a woman toward orgasm.
“Right.” She started up the drive toward the guest house, and motioned him to follow. “I don’t know how familiar you are with Rainbow Ridge Sanctuary …”
He settled into an easy, long stride next to her, and the warm breeze brought his scent to her, a powerful mixture of grass, woods and sun-warmed man no one else would have smelled unless they’d been on top of him. Which, she thought as she glanced at him, sounded like a nice place to be right about now.
Yeah, spring fever was kicking at the barn door, and it was only a matter of time before it broke out at a dead run.
“I know it sits on roughly forty acres, and that there’s a public and private side.” He looked over his shoulder, frowned at Cheech. “Is that thing going to follow us everywhere?”
“Just you. He’s suspicious of strangers.”
“Great,” he muttered, turning his attention back to their surroundings. “I’m guessing this is the private side.”
She nodded. “The people who own the sanctuary live on the front twenty acres with the exotic animals. Fifteen or so volunteers help out over there, and they charge a nominal admission for people to visit. Down here”—she waved her arm in an expansive gesture—“we take care of the domestic animals.”
He slowed to avoid stepping on Peepers, a crippled mallard duck she’d rescued last year from a kid who’d grown tired of his Easter present. “I thought you were in charge of the whole place.”
Nodding, she bent to run a finger over Peepers’s smooth green head, which put her at crotch level with Tom. Heat billowed from him, heat and seductive male scents, and oh, she needed to be alone with him. Soon.
“I’m the manager,” she said hoarsely, and straightened. “So I do the hiring, and I oversee all the animal care and training. I live down here with you and Derek.”
“Derek?”
“He’s my other hire. You two will share the upstairs part of the guest house. The bottom floor is mine.” She thought she saw a flash of irritation in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it. “Is there a problem?”
He shrugged and ignored Cheech when the goat gave him a head butt for the sheer pleasure of it. “I was under the impression I was the only hire.”
They started walking again, his boots crunching gravel, his tread lighter than she’d have expected as they navigated around flocks of farm fowl and three sheep that refused to give way. Tom didn’t miss a beat, moved with her to give the animals a wide berth, and she tried not to focus on the way his lean thighs flexed inside well-worn and well-fitting jeans with every step. Or the way the muscles in his bare arms looked strong enough to effortlessly pin her beneath him.
“Two of my guys quit suddenly a couple of weeks ago. One of them went on vacation and never came back, and the other got up one morning, packed and left before I knew he was gone.”
The kind of labor-intensive, low-pay work they did in a place like this had a tendency to weed out all but the most dedicated animal lovers, but it had still been odd to lose Jack and David like that, and in such a short span of time. Especially since they’d been around last year during her time of need, and they’d seemed happy to stick around for this one.
Maybe she shouldn’t have cut them off when she’d no longer required them. Then again, she knew full well the consequences of trying to maintain a relationship outside her fevers.
“I hired Derek to replace one,” she said, “and you to replace the other.”
They arrived at the guest house she’d partly remodeled with the money she made under the table here at the refuge, and she mounted the rickety steps. “Watch the banister—it’s pretty well shot.”
“I can probably fix it,” he said, going down on a knee to pat one of the three dogs lounging on the porch. When Cheech clattered up the steps and demanded attention, Tom scratched the goat’s brown back.
“That’s okay—Derek already offered. I guess he’s a carpenter in his spare time. He’s going to paint the house as well, as soon as he gets some time.”
“As long as it’s under control,” Tom said. “It’s always good to have someone handy around.”
She bit her lip. Tom had no idea how handy he’d be to have around. In more ways than one.
“You and Derek will always use the back-entrance stairs to the upper floor, but I’m taking you in this way so you can see the place and meet the kids.”
“Kids?”
“The house critters. Mostly rescues I can’t allow outside without supervision.”
She opened the door, and fur exploded as cats scattered and dogs came running.
“Fuck. Me.”
Tom stood there wearing a shocked expression she doubted people saw much. He quickly recovered and plastered on a neutral mask, but his sharp, focused eyes took everything in. She got the distinct feeling he was cataloging the furniture, the animals, the entire dwelling in his mind.
“Is that a lynx?” he asked, as they walked inside and shut the door, only to be surrounded by several happy dogs and one extra-large cat.
“Yep. That’s Rafi.” She crouched on her heels to scratch the lynx behind the ears. “He was on a butcher table, about to be skinned alive for his fur, when he was rescued.” Her stomach churned, as it always did when she thought about how close he’d come to an excruciating, lingering death. “The people who rescued him from the fur farm only had enough money to buy him and one other cat. The rest …” She trailed off, unable to talk about it.
She straightened, waved the animals away, and they bounded off like a bunch of kindergarteners released for recess. “So this is where I live. Nothing fancy. Thrift store furnishings.” She gestured to the left, where the only pieces of furniture, a stained blue love seat and a tiny television she never watched, made the room seem bigger than it was.
“Living room there, dining room to the right, my bedroom and den in the back. Those stairs ahead lead up to your room, but like I said, you’ll use the back entrance.” She took a key off the rack on the entryway wall and handed it to him. “The door on the right is yours. Derek is on the left. You’ll share a kitchen and a bathroom. Sheets and towels are in the wardrobe next to your bed, which is a twin, so don’t expect to have any comfortable nights with guests.”
“Comfort isn’t usually a concern.”
He swung his gaze back to her, blatantly taking in her body from her lips to her thighs, as though the mention of a bed had made him picture her in his. She could certainly picture being there, could imagine his lean, hard body against hers. The potent energy surrounding him, the aura of power and eroticism, promised that time shared between the sheets would be something to savor.
“Anything else, Kira?”
“Yes. We start work at six A.M. You can break for lunch anytime between eleven and two. We work until around six, but we sometimes go later. You and Derek can each have one weekend day off. Work out between yourselves which day you want, Saturday or Sunday. I work both. If you need to run to town for anything, groceries or whatever, you can take my truck parked out back. Just ask first. Ditto with my computer. You can use it, but ask. And there’s no Internet connection.”
“Why not?”
Because Big Brother watches your every move. “I like my privacy.”
He gave her the usual you’re-a-nutcase look, and then rubbed the back of his neck. “Is that all?”
The words, spoken in a flat and emotionless drawl, sounded innocent. But she suspected that inside he was bucking her authority as fast as she could throw it at him. This man did not like being told what to do. How odd that he took this kind of job—when he’d called this morning about a position, she’d been pleased with his credentials, but now she had to wonder if his farm background, typically a male-driven trade, made him a little edgy when a woman called the shots.
So it was with great pleasure that she said, “There’s one more thing. Under no circumstances will you consume meat on this property or in my presence. I’m a strict vegan, and while I won’t begrudge you eggs and dairy products, I will not tolerate the offensive consumption of animal flesh by humans at this refuge. Understood?”
A vein popped out on his forehead and began to pulse. Though there were no other outward signs of his annoyance and unease, she could smell the potent mixture coming off him in waves.
He smiled, hefted his bag high on his shoulder and said, “That’s cool.” And then she watched his fine backside while he took the stairs three at a time, as though he couldn’t wait to get away from her.
But she knew better. Because along with the other smells, she’d caught the scent of lust, pure and simple.
Closing her eyes, she allowed the tantalizing aroma to invade her senses and trigger systemic responses she should be trying to suppress—for a couple of hours at least, because after that, there would be no suppressing anything.
But Tom … there was something different about him, an earthy animal magnetism she’d never encountered. After eleven years of suffering for a few weeks a year, she knew her body, and she’d been sure she had a couple of days to prepare for this, but it seemed as though Tom’s presence had brought the fever on early. Fighting it seemed pointless.
Clenching her fists at her sides, she threw her head back, let her heart rate double, let it flush her body with blood that had heated up a couple of degrees. Her nervous system sparked like someone had struck a match to it, and every nerve ending tingled with hypersensitivity until her skin was on fire. Deep, frequent breaths brought crisp scents and life-giving oxygen into her lungs, and she could almost feel each individual cell distribute the fuel to the pleasure centers that had begun to swell and pulse and crave what only a man could give her.
It had begun.
TUESDAY 5 P.M. MST
KIRA WAS A ballbuster. Again, unexpected. Ender, who didn’t do unexpected unless the surprise came from his end, planned to get up to speed immediately and get back to the comfort of being the cleanup end of the job. He also planned on eating a nice juicy steak, or two, right under Ms. Greenpeace Tree-Hugging Doolittle’s nose. And he was going to enjoy every bite too.
But this Derek thing was going to be a problem—a big one. And Kira had a lot to learn about whom to trust.
Paint the house, my ass.
That phrase, and its ultimate meaning, was one of Derek Martin’s specialties. Ender’s too, and he’d never had a problem admitting it. When Derek and Ender were members of the same Delta Force unit ten years earlier—a team Derek had eventually quit—Derek used to tell Ender that his father had coined the phrase, which really meant to kill a man, when he’d worked for Jimmy Hoffa. Ender couldn’t be sure if it was the same guy until he came face-to-face with him, but his gut told him it was.
Derek wasn’t anywhere to be seen when Ender found the empty bedroom meant for him, went in and shut the door behind him. It was hot as hell up here, and when he opened the windows in a useless attempt to catch a breeze he heard the sounds of children laughing. He looked out to see a busload of preschool-aged boys and girls running through an open field to get to the main part of the refuge, and he sighed. Like this job wasn’t enough trouble already.
Kids, animals and women. Someone owed him big-time.
Using the small device that hooked into the button on the front of his jeans, he made reluctant contact with the Comms Division of ACRO, lowered his voice and spoke rapidly.
“Bryan, I need you to pull the W2s on the two guys who worked here before me. Names are listed in the psychic’s report.”
“Why? What happened?” Bryan asked immediately. Ender was sure the guy never slept, but as head of Communications, he couldn’t afford to. He also heard muffled female giggles in the background.
“I’m betting they were executed. By the guy who I’m going to be working with,” he said.
“Sucks to be you. Stay tight, bro.”
Yeah, sucks to be me.
He slipped his mini-scope and knife into his pocket—the small pistol he always carried would be discovered by that goddamned goat sniffing around him—and slid out into the hallway. He opened Derek’s locked door easily enough and did a quick scan of the area.
No weapons, but he didn’t figure the guy would be stupid enough to leave them lying around. But he did immediately hone in on something shiny and metal sticking out from the bed. Careful not to touch anything he could leave prints on, he pulled on the blankets until he saw the handcuffs lying against the sheets, and his blood ran hot and cold at the same time.
If anyone was going to use handcuffs on Kira, it would be him. Because he had no doubt in his mind that Derek planned on using stronger restraints, and more, when he kidnapped her—these were just for fun.
It was time to get his ass down to the barn. He’d wire the room for sound and video later, because his plan had already taken form.
He went down the stairs, swearing under his breath the entire time. He hit the barn from the back entrance, taking only a second to create a distraction that would ensure Derek leaving him and Kira alone for a few minutes at least.
He heard Kira’s laugh, saw Derek helping her balance—yeah, right—on the ladder that led up to the loft. He took a long look at her legs, the casual way Derek had his hand on her hip, and he knew he wasn’t getting out of there before giving that guy a good old-fashioned piece of his fist before he killed him. Literally.
All’s fair in love, war and the world of rare operatives.
“I’ve got you,” Derek was saying, his voice a combination of big city, old money—too well cultured to be a farmhand, and Ender wondered why Kira wouldn’t have picked up on that.
Kira climbed down from the ladder and Derek kept his goddamned hand on her hip. That is, until she spotted Ender and moved away from Derek’s touch. Derek turned and frowned at him for the briefest second before putting on a fake glad-you’re-here-man smile.
“Derek, this is—”
“Tom,” Ender said, at the same time Derek said, “Tommy,” and continued smiling. It didn’t reach his eyes, and from what Ender remembered, it never had.
Kira looked back and forth between them, and Ender noticed, with no small satisfaction, that her gaze settled on his when she spoke. “You two know each other?”
“Farming community’s not that big,” Derek said, and Ender grudgingly gave him points for the nice catch. Interesting that he chose to admit that they knew each other at all. It was a way Ender would’ve preferred not to go. But he’d run with it.
Another operative in the mix always made things more interesting.
“Good to see you again,” he said to Derek before turning his full attention to Kira. He was finding it hard to think straight or concentrate on anything but her, like she was throwing scent around or something. From the way Derek looked at her, he could tell the guy was feeling it too. “Are you going to get me up to speed?”
“I figured Derek could show you around this evening,” she said, and fuck, no, that was not going to happen. Not when, according to the urgent file the psychic had put together, Kira’s spring mating ritual was about to begin and there was one too many choices of mates.
“Cool. But first, want me to take care of the horses that broke loose? Unless they’re supposed to be wandering,” Ender said.
“I thought you tied them well?” Kira asked Derek.
“Shit. I did,” Derek muttered.
“Well, you need to get them back. And then you might as well finish repairing the fence on the west side of the compound before it gets dark,” she said. “Tommy can finish helping me around here.”
Ender bit back a smile, because Derek would be gone most of the evening and there was nothing he could do to protest without arousing suspicion. Especially when Kira had already turned her attention firmly to Ender, giving off a powerful vibe that made his balls tingle.
Oh, yeah, he was going to help Kira. Right out of her damned shorts.
“Sorry about that. I’ve got it covered, boss,” Derek said. He walked past Ender, gave him a nod that meant I’ll kill you the first chance I get, and Ender watched him get into a truck and drive off in search of the errant horses.
“Guess it’s just you and me,” he said, and Kira smiled at him in a way she hadn’t at Derek. He wasn’t sure why that mattered so much, but it did.
KIRA HAD WATCHED DEREK saunter out of the barn, taking his fierce sensuality with him. Still, he was nothing compared to Tom, whose seductive, primal pull electrified her, spun her off balance and left her grabbing blindly at the air for a handhold.
She’d never experienced anything like it, and she trembled with the massive exertion of restraint she had in place right now.
“You certainly settled in fast,” Kira said with a casualness she didn’t feel. She propped one foot on a bale of hay to tie the loosened laces of her bright pink hiking boot. “Quite the eager beaver.”
Tom smiled, likely the first genuine smile she’d seen since they’d met. He also stared at her legs and butt for the hundredth time. Thankfully, men were predictable.
She got the impression, though, that Tom had a few curveballs up his sleeve, and she’d be an idiot to underestimate him. Then again, she’d gotten that same impression about Derek. Both men exuded confidence, power and raw sexual energy, and both shared a quality she rarely encountered in humans: a subtle, almost gamey scent she could describe only as danger. She’d bet her last dollar—which she’d be down to soon—that they’d both spent some time in the military.
Or prison.
She cocked her head and studied Tom studying her. “Ever been in jail?”
“Nope.” He reached down to pet Morris, one of the barn cats, who had been rubbing on his denim-clad leg. “Why?”
“Just wondering.” She watched him a moment longer, wishing his big hand was stroking her instead of the cat. Heat worked its way through her veins at the thought, and before she pounced on him in a lust-induced fit, she glanced up at the loft.
“I need to store this riding gear. Would you mind handing it to me and keeping the ladder steady?”
“Like Derek was doing?” he asked, his steely blue eyes glittering in the sunlight that streamed in through the dirty windows.
She smiled. She’d known exactly what Derek had been doing, and she hadn’t minded. She’d long ago stopped trying to fight the animal instinct that came over her at this time of year, the frenzied desire to mate often and urgently.
Never had any single man been capable of satisfying her during what she thought of as her heat cycle, and now it seemed that with two virile men within reach, her prayers had been answered.
“Yes,” she said, “like Derek.”
She grabbed a few frayed nylon halters and started up the ladder, which desperately needed to be replaced. When she’d almost reached the top, she tossed the gear onto a pile she’d started there.
“Okay, I’m ready for more.” She turned, and the ladder wobbled.
Tom swore and grabbed the ladder, his big body tensed, the muscles in his arms flexing. “Let me do this.”
“You’re too heavy.”
“If I had a dime for every time a woman said that to me …”
She laughed, because she’d love to feel his weight on top of her and decide for herself whether or not he was too heavy. “Just hand me the bridles, smart-ass.”
Grinning, he did, then braced the ladder as she placed them in an old wooden chest. “So, uh, do you want the whips and riding crops?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yes. I’m going to lock those things up here where no one will find them.”
“You don’t use them?”
“Never. Horses will cooperate without being beaten.”
He reached for a crop, a thick-handled stick with a leather paddle at one end, and slapped it in his palm. “They are good for … other things.” His voice was deep and dark and so sexy she wanted to melt into a warm puddle and let him lap her up.
“Like what?” she asked, aware that she was stirring up a hornet’s nest, and she could only hope he’d sting her.
One tawny eyebrow arched, and a wicked smile turned up his sensual mouth. Bracing the ladder with one hand, he stretched upward with the crop until the soft strip of leather touched her skin just above her boot. A shock of desire shot straight from her ankle to her crotch, where moisture began to pool as he slowly traced circles higher and higher on the inside of her leg.
His gaze caressed her leg along with the riding crop, and then his eyes caught hers, darkened to a stormy blue as he pushed the stick up to stroke and tease the leg opening of her denim shorts.
“This is wrong,” she said, her voice sounding a little winded to her ears.
The flap of leather slipped beneath the material, and pleasant tingles dispersed over her suddenly inflamed flesh. “Why’s that?”
She bit her lip when the tip of the crop tickled the crease of her sex. “Because you aren’t using it right.”
That wicked smile of his became even more so, sending a hot rush of blood surging through her body. He pulled the stick from her shorts and slapped her lightly on the back of her bare thighs. She nearly groaned.
“Better?” he asked.
Better? She had no idea how to answer that, because her need had deepened, focused so her world had become her body and that of the man standing at the base of the ladder.
“Again. Harder.”
The leather cracked across her skin. The sting of pleasure shot straight to her sex.
“Better?” Tom repeated, his voice husky.
Her restraint dimmed, flickered, then finally snuffed out.
Impulsively, she shimmied down the ladder to stand facing him on the bottom rung, which put them eye to eye. Crop in hand, he watched her with half-lidded, inquisitive eyes. She could feel his heat, could smell his arousal, which was obvious in the bulge in his jeans.
“Better,” she murmured, “would involve a lot fewer clothes.”
Unconcealed hunger burned in his gaze, and she got the feeling that under any other circumstance he wouldn’t hold back, but in the middle of the day in a barn where anyone could walk in—not to mention the fact that she was his boss he’d met barely two hours before—he was conflicted.
Conflict was not something with which she had an issue. Not during this time of year when she’d be perfectly fine having sex on a football field during halftime.
“You saying you want to drop in the hay and go at it right here?”
“Dropping into the hay would take too long.”
She didn’t have time to blink before he surged against her, pressing her back against the ladder rungs. His mouth came down on her throat, and she threw her head back, let his teeth rake her skin. One of his hands tangled in her hair, holding her for his demanding lips, and the other, the one clutching the crop, dropped to her ass as he pulled her mound against the hard ridge of his cock.
A low groan rumbled in his chest when she raised one leg to hook the back of his thigh with her calf, putting her aching sex in contact with the seam of his jeans. His fingers drove into her shorts’ leg opening, the callused pads skimming her wet folds.
Desire quickened her blood, and her heart pumped so hard it hummed in her ears. God, even his light touches were killing her. She couldn’t imagine how he’d feel inside her, his thick length stroking swollen, stretched flesh and sensitive nerve endings.
Grasping his arms, she dragged him as close as she could, until she could feel his nipples harden and rub against her chest through layers of clothing. She wanted to rip his shirt off with her teeth and take the hard nubs between her lips to taste them. She wanted to taste all of him, but only after she found relief for the fever that had made her skin stretch tight, her bones ache, her head cloud.
Arching her hips, she rocked her sex into him, creating a rhythm that had them both sweating and panting, burning up from the friction. He kissed a fiery path up from the hollow of her neck to her ear as she slipped her hand under his T-shirt to explore the muscles of his back, which jumped under her fingertips.
Splintered wood bit into her spine, but she didn’t care. She needed Tom inside her. Needed him to take her over and over until neither of them could see straight, until she felt normal again, if only for a few hours.
She bit his earlobe hard enough to make him suck air through clenched teeth, and then she told him exactly what she wanted—and how often.
Groaning, his breathing ragged, he reached between their bodies and cupped her breast, flicked his thumb over the sensitive nipple.
“You’re the boss, ma’am,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to rejoice or be afraid, because she suddenly knew that this man might be the one she’d been searching for all her life.
The one who could satisfy her when no one else could.
CHRIST, ENDER WAS going to take her right against the ladder, in daylight and in the middle of the open barn, and there was no use worrying anymore about that. He wasn’t letting this opportunity slip through his fingers.
Focus, man. Focus. “You always this forward?” he asked, watched her breathing quicken as she ground against him.
“Yes. Do you have a problem with it?”
“I have no problem sleeping with you. I just want to make sure I’m not putting my job in jeopardy.”
“I’m not paying you for stud services. Those need to be strictly voluntary.”
“And here I always thought volunteer work was overrated,” he said as she tugged hard at the zipper on his jeans. She stared down at his cock, then looked into his eyes and back down to his cock, and yeah, Who’s your daddy now, Kira? Her hand circled his dick roughly and he growled. “Ah, fuck.”
“Yes, that. Now,” she said, stroked him while she looked at him with those wide amber-colored eyes and smiled. He wondered when he’d lost control of this situation, even though he knew a man never really had any control when he was fucking.
Still, he’d never been this bad.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he murmured in a moment of clarity. “Gotta come prepared.” He dug in the pocket of his loosened jeans and pulled out a condom, put the wrapper between his teeth to tear, since his other hand was busy up her shirt tugging at her nipple.
Her reaction could only be described as violent. She hissed, actually hissed, and knocked it out of his hand. “No.”
“I don’t play with shit like that.”
“I’m on the pill.”
“I don’t care,” he said, bent to pick it up and she yanked him back to her by the front of his shirt.
“No,” she said again. She nipped his ear again, harder this time as her sex ground against his cock.
“Kira …”
“I’m on the pill and I can’t use condoms,” she said, her voice low and throaty, and she wasn’t going to relent.
She was probably allergic. And if he didn’t take her, she’d move right to Derek, would develop an intimate rapport that might shut him out. It was a move he couldn’t afford to make, especially since instinct told him that Kira hadn’t slept with Derek as of yet. Besides, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken his life in his hands.
“I need you, Tommy,” she purred into his ear, her scent rising around them, the smell of sex and lust and everything in between. In seconds, his only focus was the woman in front of him, the beautiful, horny woman he wanted to take over his knee and spank, the one he wanted to cuff to the ladder and make her beg for him. Nothing else mattered, not the job, not ACRO, nothing except getting inside her pants and inside of her.
His head swam, like he had some kind of transient vertigo, and every one of his senses heightened, almost to the point of pain, and told him to pull away simultaneously. Told him that she was more dangerous than anyone at ACRO knew.
She nuzzled him, everything moved in slow motion and he knew there was no escape as every fiber of his being screamed with the urge to mate. To make her his and his alone.
Dammit. He turned her so she faced the ladder, used the whip on the back of her thighs one final time before he told her, “Drop your shorts.”
She complied quickly, sticking her perfect round ass out, and he kicked her legs apart roughly.
He didn’t bother pulling off any of his clothes. Instead, he grabbed her hips and entered her hard as she held on to the ladder for dear life.
A low keening wail rose from the back of her throat. He gripped her hips as her pussy contracted around him almost immediately, a series of multiple orgasms ripping through her that made his world rock, and still she wasn’t finished. She pushed against him with an intensity he’d never had from any other woman.
Normally, he wouldn’t have allowed that, would’ve had her bound and helpless and he’d be taking her on his terms. But his cock was prisoner to her and it didn’t seem to mind a damn bit. She was taking him for a ride and his balls throbbed from the pressure.
“I think she’s still in the barn …” A woman’s voice rang out, too close for comfort, followed by Derek’s. Ender wasn’t one to put on a show for anyone, but he didn’t, couldn’t care. Something about Kira’s scent drew him to her like he’d never been drawn before. She moaned his name, offered her neck to him, and he heard her gasp when he bit deeply, holding her for his mating like a stallion covering his mare. He knew she’d taste as good between her legs as she smelled, wanted to pull out of her, spread her legs and lick her until she screamed.
Yeah, he was going to do that soon. But the voices drew closer.
The rough denim of his jeans rubbed the backs of her bare thighs, her shirt rode up and they rutted, her orgasms still coming one right after the other again, and still she didn’t stop. Her ass rubbed against him, her rhythm urging him deeper, faster, gave him no choice but to spill inside her with a muffled groan against her neck.
A thin sheen of sweat covered her tanned skin and the last thing he wanted to do was pull out of her. Good thing she felt the same way, because she wasn’t letting go. She turned her head, a wide smile on her face, and when she opened her eyes and gazed at him, the wild, desperate look was gone.
She just looked content as hell. And sexy. He was already in more trouble than he’d bargained for and he was only two hours into this mission.
Derek’s voice became louder, calling out for Kira, but still, Ender didn’t rush pulling out of her. When he did, he barely had time to tuck himself back into his jeans before Derek called again. For a second, Ender stayed where he was, facing Kira so she could pull up her shorts and fix her shirt with a slight bit of privacy.
“Thanks,” she said, gave him a quick wink.
“Not a problem. And now I’d really better get to work,” he said. He grabbed the riding crop that he’d let drop to the floor and trailed it up her thigh before tucking it under his arm. “I’d better take this. You don’t want to let it get into the wrong hands.”
“Kira, I was looking for you.” The woman whose voice he heard earlier came in, Derek close on her heels. “I found Derek tying up the horses and he said you were here.”
“Sorry, I was up in the loft,” Kira said. “Tommy, this is Deb. She’s our resident animal nutritionist. She takes care of feeding all the exotics. Deb, this is Tom, our newest farmhand. He just started today.”
“Oh, hey, Tom. I’d be happy to show you around town later on when you’re finished up here. There’s not much to do around here, but there are a few spots I’ll bet you’d be interested in,” Deb said. She was small and blond and cute, but not his type.
He held out his hand, gave the polite, good ole boy nod and watched Deb assess his face and body. “That sounds great,” he said, knowing he’d never go.
Still, Deb smiled, flipped her hair, and he bit back a laugh when Kira grabbed Deb’s upper arm and shepherded her away.
Ms. Doolittle was more possessive than he’d thought she’d be. Good to know.
Satisfied, he turned and walked past Derek, just close enough for the guy to smell Kira on him like a badge of honor. Derek tilted his head and glared at him, and Ender bared his teeth and let a low growl escape from his throat.
Derek backed away first, muttering about fence posts, and Ender turned to pack up the rest of the equipment Kira wanted out of sight.
Score one for me, asshole. Literally.
When he’d first read the file on Kira and her animal instincts last night before he left his house, he figured that someone had slipped in the part about her spring fever to get a rise out of him.
It was no joke, not the way, when he’d used the crop on her, her eyes had gotten that slightly glazed look that only a major jones to get off could do. And yeah, he’d be more than happy to turn her over his knee and give her a spanking, make her comply with any and all of his whims. And that’s how he was going to work her for this job—get through to her.
If she was this easy to seduce, the enemy would have a field day with her. In the wrong hands, Kira would be a menace to any society, and then some, and ACRO wanted to make sure that she was firmly in their camp, and only a threat to those who threatened the United States’, and her allies’, security and safety.
Hell, he was going to have to recommend that ACRO keep her under lock and key during her spring fevers, not to mention keeping her … serviced. Until then, servicing was his job, and a job he planned on doing better than well.
Once night fell, he’d take care of everything else.
TUESDAY 8 P.M. EST
Devlin O’Malley, head of ACRO and all her operatives, sat at the head of the conference table, rubbing his fingertips along the smooth oak while trying not to tune out the two men who sat across from him, arguing over who would get possession of Kira once Ender delivered her into ACRO’s eager hands.
Henry Stockton, the Paranormal Division director, a man who had been at ACRO since before it was even called ACRO, coughed. He’d only recently stopped smoking, but it hadn’t been soon enough. Six months ago, ACRO doctors found cancer in the man’s lungs after one of the psychics alerted Dev that something was terribly wrong with the older man. So far, treatments had gone well.
“She’s an animal whisperer. Basically, an animal psychic. Which means she belongs in my division. With the psychics,” Henry argued.
“Where, no doubt, department heads are arguing like you two over who would get her,” Dev said.
And Henry concurred. “Mostly the Medium and Telepath departments.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jason Templar, the Special Operations director, said. “She’s physiologically extreme.”
Dev nodded, though they had no idea how extreme she was. The Science Division had expressed concern that through her unique physiology, genetics and diseases could be modified. In the wrong hands, that could spell disaster.
“No matter how psychic she is, her ability doesn’t affect human minds or actions. She’s an RSO,” Jason finished.
“Sure,” Henry scoffed. “Just like Remy.”
Dev sighed at the mention of Remy’s name, because he couldn’t go through this argument again. Remy had a connection to the weather that was almost too extraordinary to believe, and his control over Mother Nature had only grown stronger since he’d arrived at ACRO and gone through the proper training.
The lines between what made a person fit into which of the agency divisions were not always clearly drawn. He’d just gone through this with a new recruit, an excedosapien who happened to be mildly clairaudient. Both Para and Excedo Divisions wanted the guy, who had ultimately gone to Excedo, though Para could borrow him.
And Henry was still fuming over the loss of Remy to the Rare Special Operative department.
“You two do realize that Kira will be assigned to the Animal Division.”
“She still needs a home division.”