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  “But…I can’t…”

  “You can. You will. Feel it build…from the inside. All those sweet, sensitive spots deep inside… You’ll give them to me now too.”

  “But I’m not built like that. I—”

  “Screams, Zoe.” His growl was rewarded by the clench of her tunnel around his cock’s crown, confirming she might actually understand. When her stare sprang wide and a stunned cry burst from her lips, he rumbled in triumph. The next minutes were defined by the most beguiling moans a submissive had ever given him, threaded together by sighs of amazement, arousal, need, and even a few tears.

  Suddenly, she writhed more violently. She tried to ram her buttocks against his fingers while grinding her pelvis on his other hand. “S-Sir,” she panted. “Please. Please.”

  Shay kissed her slick forehead. “Aching, little hostage?”

  She jerked her head in a strange semblance of a nod. “Aaahhhh,” she moaned. “More. More!”

  He broke away to slide a third finger into the petroleum jelly. When he twisted it into her ass with the other two, she let out a high-pitched cry and pushed a fist against the mattress. Her pussy was taut and slick around him, her legs trembling and wobbly beneath him.

  “Better, baby girl? With another finger in here?”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  “But you still need it, don’t you?”

  “Dios. Yes. Yes!”

  “Then take it, Zoe. It’s yours.” He pressed into her mons harder. Jammed his fingers deeper into her asshole. “I’m right here with you. You can feel me, can’t you? Everywhere inside you.”

  “I can.” Tears trickled out of her with the confession. “I…I can.”

  “Then clamp down on me and claim that orgasm.”

  He deliberately made the order into a verbal battle tank. And like a deer caught in front of the Sherman, she exploded into a thousand pieces of sexual mush. Her pussy flooded, her anus constricted, and her legs gave out. As the aftershocks continued, she rolled and cried and swore in Spanish, mixing in a promise that he’d killed her with pleasure, and now she’d pass to the afterlife without forgiveness for her tawdry sins.

  Shay, unable to help himself, chortled softly in her ear.

  “Higueputa,” she huffed. “Are you…laughing about this?”

  He should’ve punished her, at least a little, for the snip. Instead, he closed his eyes, reveling in how she summoned such sass with his cock and three fingers still inside her. It was no surprise that she had him almost hard enough to fuck her again. She gave him such incredible pleasure—bested only by the hunger to give her more.

  With a decisive grunt, he stilled her hips with a shove of his. Then, letting his breath fill her ear and his cock grow in her tunnel, he lowered his hand from her mons to her pussy. And gave just one swipe of his middle finger to the most sensitive hub of her need.

  Zoe, being his perfect little submissive, screamed for him. Over and over and over again.

  Many minutes later, as her breathing calmed and the shivers of her climax faded, he finally pulled free and turned her over, accepting the conclusion that fucking her again wouldn’t be a wise move. Even a pushover like Justine would have limits for a guy’s time on some recreational pump-and-dump with a hostage. Still, he took a long moment to brush the damp hair from her dark eyes, lower a soft kiss on her delectable lips, and tell her through a smirk, “Baby girl, now I’m laughing.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Zoe didn’t hesitate to punch the sexy chingado in the muscled meat of his shoulder. The move was more to save face, though she wasn’t sure what “face” she had left, considering he’d just turned her into the sexual version of a triple-fried egg. After he pretended deep pain, making her hit him again, he dissolved into more laughter. She gave up and joined him, recognizing he probably hadn’t had a lot of chances to indulge even a snicker in the last six months. Her heart filled with warm gratitude, honored to be the one to bring him a little respite in his life.

  And then his radio squawked.

  “Burnett!” The voice was a little garbled, but she recognized it as the hijacker with the gritty voice and creepy gaze. “Pull your dick out of that bitch and join us in quadrant six. We’ve cracked the code, and we’re back on program with the good shit.”

  So much for respites.

  Shay’s gaze gained some new shadows too. She chastised herself for feeling giddy about that. Was it possible that he comprehended it all too? The primal power in the air whenever they stepped near each other… Did he feel it as well? And the pull of their bodies to each other, like they were magnets only able to fuse to one another…and the coils of their souls, only activated by their entwined hands and their crushed mouths…

  No. You’ve gone crazy. You said it yourself, right here, and Shay nodded. He agreed. Remember where the hell you are and what’s happening right outside that door. You think he’s pondering tangled souls with you, when the scary side of “crazy” is waiting for his return?

  Thunder boomed overhead. A flash desert storm. Appropriate, considering the flood of perception that crashed through her at the same time.

  Danger. It wasn’t just a dramatic word in his life. It was reality, waiting to bite him in the ass or worse. Stock and his men weren’t just playing around at the soldier-boy thing. Whatever the hell they were here to retrieve, they were serious as hell about it, enough to steal a jetliner, shoot a man’s knee out, and keep fifteen dancers behind as hostages too.

  Which brought her inevitable reaction.

  As she watched Shay rise and reach for a towel to clean himself up, she couldn’t fight a tremor of fear. An intense one. Even as he smirked at her again, muttering how it was her fault he had to stuff a nearly erect cock back into his cargo pants, she couldn’t force herself to return a smile.

  Shay’s grin faded too. His thick hair fell against his frowning brow, turning his gorgeous humor into rugged beauty that wrenched at her heart—and tugged at her tears. He was so stunning. So strong. So unspeakably brave. She dropped her head, unable to stomach the idea of him returning to those evil cabróns.

  “Dancer? You okay?” His concern only made her torment worse. As the mattress dipped from his weight, the tears came harder. Zoe tried to sniff them back, but they fell anyway, plopping onto the hand he curled over hers.

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  Shay pulled her up and cradled her tightly against him. “Damn it,” he muttered. “I’m sorry, baby girl.”

  “Huh?” She pushed back to fire a glower at him. “Why?”

  “You need hours of aftercare, and I can only give you minutes.”

  His tender tone drew her to bury her face into his chest again. Mierda, it was such a nice chest. She pressed closer, treasuring the thumps of his heartbeat. As she absorbed the strength of the sound, she smiled in deep peace—

  Just before inspiration zapped it to hell.

  She kept her face down, certain Shay would translate her thoughts. She wasn’t even sure about acting on them. It was one thing to be inspired but another thing to sell him on the concept.

  She had to think fast. Playing on his guilt was a direct route. But could she deal that dirty?

  “Meh,” she murmured, taking advantage of the chance to sniffle into his shoulder. “Just get me to the nearest sports bar and we’ll call it aftercare, all right?”

  An angry rumble vibrated out of him. “No goddamn bars for aftercare.”

  Well, that answered her question. She had no trouble at all with the dirty work. But right now, as desperate as it sounded, she’d do anything to stay at his side. Giving herself so deeply to him… It had felt like finding refuge in a mountain cavern after walking through a storm. But now a bulldozer named Cameron Stock wanted to tear her mountain away—or worse. If the man learned the truth beneath Shay’s cover, he’d think nothing of pulling out his handy pistol, jamming it to Shay’s skull, and firing away.

  She shuddered—and just as fast, castigated hersel
f for it. Damn. She was officially torn between the Zoe who’d sworn off weakness during puberty and the Zoe who’d newly discovered Shay’s remorse-is-ruin button.

  But the thought of him lying on the ground, his brains blown into the dirt, swayed her battle in seconds. She gripped his neck and burrowed harder into him.

  “Then take me with you.”

  Shay stilled his hand against her head. His neck stiffened beneath her fingers. “Christ. I really did fuck your brains out.”

  She huffed. “Listen, I’m not going to sit helplessly in some back room while you—”

  “No.”

  “Shay!”

  “No.”

  “Do you even want to hear my idea? How I can actually help you out here?”

  He pulled away enough for her to catch the skeptical jump of his brows. “This should be good.”

  “You could pretend I gave you a shitload of trouble, so you decided to tie me up and take me to hostage holding yourself. Go all One Twue Dom on Justine again. She’ll buy every second of it. Once we’re past her, you can put me down. I’ll smuggle out some of those medical scrubs under my shirt and then can change into them.” When his glower hardened to the texture of pounded gold, she twisted her hand in the front of his shirt. “You’re here because you think this is where Stock is keeping your mom, right? Seems like a big place, mi amigo. You could probably use help. Another set of eyes?”

  Shay expelled a weighted breath. “How long have you been concocting this?”

  She bit her lip. “Long enough.”

  He dropped his head, studying her more closely. “You’re an experienced dancer, right, Zoe? Then you of all people should know that half-assed planning makes for shitty execution.”

  She slid a hand to the sharp line of his jaw. “Or a surprise of brilliance.”

  “Cameron Stock doesn’t like surprises. Just ask the guy from the plane who’s missing a kneecap now.” He wrapped his fingers around hers, closed his eyes for a long second, and then bent his head deeper into her hold. “Cam was telling the truth this morning. He was feeling benevolent, which was why the dumb shit didn’t get that bullet between his eyes instead.” He slowly shook his head. “The man’s not feeling benevolent anymore, baby girl.”

  “But he doesn’t even have to see me,” Zoe protested.

  “I said no.” His voice was grim. “This isn’t a movie, Zoe. We’re in a top-secret facility that I barely know the exit routes from, and even on that point, my intel is chicken feed at best. I hate doing this to you—”

  “Then don’t.” Mierda. The man had her pouting. She never pouted.

  “I have no choice, damn it. I’d rather endure your anger than your death, okay? And, by the way, any other time or place, my palm would be branding your backside for that lip.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “It would not be fun. That’s a guarantee.” Shay barely let her process the strange combination of shivers and tingles from that before scooping a finger beneath her chin. “Listen to me, damn it. Obey me, Zoe. The safest plan for you right now is to let Justine take you back to your friends.”

  “Then just wait for him to kill us?”

  “He won’t let any of you be killed.” His jaw turned the texture of his hard gold stare. “To be blunt, you’re his leverage.”

  “So he’ll just let us be raped.”

  “I won’t let that happen.” He kissed her fiercely. “I promise. But I can hide my feelings easier if they’re tucked behind my guard dog face. I’ll be shit for concentrating on searching for Mom and maintaining my cover with Stock if I haven’t ensured your safety.”

  “But how can you promise yours?”

  He brushed both thumbs across her cheek—through the tears that had rolled out with her rasp. “I can’t.” His own voice cracked again. “But I’m going to try, okay?”

  As he swept his mouth lower, taking her in what she knew would be their final kiss, Zoe’s throat constricted like he’d tossed boulders down it along with his kiss, but she prevented her needy, stupid follow-up from spewing out.

  I just found you. I can’t just…lose you. Damn it, I have to keep you alive! Somehow. But how? How?

  His lungs toiled on breaths as he pushed to his feet again. He stood next to the bed like that for a long moment, keeping their fingers twined until he slanted over her, pressing his lips to her forehead and echoing a command he’d given her hours ago…a lifetime ago. This time, the charge came with a distinct variance.

  “Stay.” He yanked her face against his chest, clasping her against his stone-hard exterior—and the impassioned heartbeat that filled his interior. “Please.”

  * * *

  Stay.

  Twenty minutes later, she still fumed about his damn decree. She wouldn’t have let any man get away with such an edict even once, yet she lay here obeying the damn thing for the second time.

  She had a valid excuse for the first slip, when he’d issued it to her on the plane. Terror had a great way of stealing a person’s brain.

  A heavy sigh rushed out. She had an equally good excuse for her second lapse. No, a better one.

  Shay’s fear.

  She’d seen it in every shard of his gaze, heard it in all the pounds of his heart when he’d held her close one last time. In every beat of that moment, he confirmed what she’d already sensed, that he recognized the rarity of their bond as profoundly as she did. That in just hours, they’d already built a world together. A place she’d only dreamed she’d ever find. Hermoso fuego. The beautiful fire of their power exchange.

  It was a world worth fighting for. Yet here she lay, still tethered to the damn IV tube, all but whining like a puppy in worry for her master.

  She needed to be helping him. Supporting him. Fighting for him, for them, in any way she could.

  Having selective brain again, hmmm, Zo? Have you conveniently forgotten that the man is trained to fight and you’re not?

  She snorted. “Ay. I’m not going to just pick up an M14 and go to town. But he needs help, and—”

  Help? Really? You going to yell at him to duck bullets and hand him a cold towel for comfort?

  How the hell had her own conscience turned into her worst enemy? “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  And you’re supposed to be heeding your Sir.

  “He’s not my Sir.” Hearing her vicious bite on the air imparted new confidence. “He’s my damn captor, is what he is, and he’s still keeping me hostage!”

  He’s keeping you safe.

  “He needs—”

  For you to be alive at the end of all this. But you can’t handle not helping. You can’t let it go, can you?

  “I’m sitting here, okay? Being good, keeping my place…waiting to be hauled off to the holding pen.”

  You have to let it go, Zoe.

  You have to let it go.

  She winced as her head repeated the phrase. The words were worse than “tech run-through,” “pap smear,” and “sold out of Ding Dongs” combined. With hard breaths, she fought them back again, shoving them back from the tunnel of memory, knowing—and dreading—what they’d morph into if they achieved that goal.

  Too late. The echo chamber of the past grabbed the words and ran. At first, the phrase reprised in her own voice, but all too fast, she heard it in Aunt Lena’s voice instead. The woman’s usual strict accent marked each syllable, amplified by the stark white walls of the King of Peace Mortuary.

  Zoe. You have to let go now. Your mamá is with the angels. Let her go now, child. They have to take her away.

  She squeezed her eyes. Forced down a breath. Fought to thrust the memory away. Though she managed to clear her mind, the grief clung to her heart, reduced to its eleven-year-old tenderness.

  And desperation.

  And damn, disgusting helplessness.

  She should have done something. There had to have been something. She should’ve known Mamá’s cough wasn’t a normal thing that grownups got on airplanes. She should�
��ve made her go to the doctor sooner. Hell, she should’ve begged her not to go to Greece in the first place. Why did Mamá always have to go see Giagia and not the other way around?

  “You should have known,” she whispered. “You should have done something.”

  Something other than letting go.

  She jabbed the tears off her cheeks as the door opened with a whoosh. Justine beamed a creepy doll smile while bustling over, a roll of gauze in her hand. Just glancing at the spool made Zoe feel like more of it was crammed down her throat, especially as the memory of Shay’s special use for the stuff blared across her mind. She managed—barely—to choke the anguish back as the nurse approached.

  “Well, well, well,” Justine chirped. “Aren’t we looking muuuuch better? You actually have a little color in your cheeks.”

  Zoe attempted to lift her lips. She couldn’t discern whether Justine was friend or foe, and the woman’s Bride of Chucky stare didn’t help in figuring it out. “Sure,” she managed.

  “Bet you’re more than ready for this bad boy to be pulled out.” The woman giggled as she turned off the IV drip, peeled the tape off her arm, and then gently removed the catheter before covering the site with a square bandage. “Though we certainly can’t say the same thing about all the bad boys and their pulling out habits today, right?”

  It took a much more monumental effort to react “normally” to the woman this time. Whatever normal was around here. The smartass in her brain gave a wry smirk. What did you expect? You’re in the real-life Twilight Zone, remember? There’s a good chance Stock simply found her here and decided to let her stay.

  A frown creased Justine’s forehead. “Damn it,” she muttered. “I forgot your juice. We can’t have you getting released without juice now, can we? I’ll find a little something to help you freshen up.”

  Zoe blushed furiously as the woman glanced over, clearly eyeing the bite marks at the base of her neck along with the top buttons on her jeans, pulled back on her legs but still unfastened. She colored more deeply with the memory of Shay stripping the pants off her in the fire of his passion. “Th-Thanks.”