Page 18 of The Captive (The Kelley Legacy #5)

L ana Kelley had transformed into a lust-crazed temptress right before Deacon’s eyes.

Deep down he knew this had nothing to do with lust, or even desire.

She was desperate to erase the memory of what had happened outside the cabin.

She was still in shock. Completely beside herself with grief.

So beyond the concept of thinking clearly.

But like an ass, he didn’t stop her.

Truth was, he needed this. Just one more time.

The halo of integrity and optimism that surrounded her like a ray of pure light had been so addictive the night at the hotel.

For a short, incredible time, that light had warmed him, enveloped him.

It managed to seep into the darkness inside him, just for a little while, and even now, he could remember how astonishing that felt.

To be someone else for a brief period of time.

Someone that Lana Kelley wanted to be with. A man worthy of her.

His heart thudded like crazy as he dared to look at her.

She wore a black lace bra that hugged her breasts…

which looked fuller than he remembered. Deacon didn’t pause to question what must have been an original error of perspective, because suddenly Lana was back in his lap, and her mouth sought his out like a heat-seeking missile.

She burrowed against him, parted his thighs with her knees, and then she pressed herself directly on his groin. Her lower body ground against his in a wild, reckless rhythm that threatened every ounce of his quickly crumbling control.

He fell onto his back, mad with arousal and unable to stop his hands from cupping those mouth-watering breasts over her bra. He squeezed, drawing a soft desperate moan from her lush pink lips.

“Please,” she whimpered.

Please, what? Stop? Keep going? Her intentions became clear when her hand slid between them and rubbed the hard ridge of his arousal. His erection jerked from the sudden attention, making Deacon groan quietly.

He thrust a hand to the back of her neck, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss, while his other hand continued stroking her breasts.

He slipped a finger under one cup of her lacy bra and caressed her nipple.

It hardened under his touch, and he rolled the tiny bud between two fingers, eliciting another moan from Lana.

His control continued to wither away. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus on anything except the feel of Lana’s warm body straddling him, the sweet and eager swirls of her tongue as she nearly devoured his mouth with hot, breathless kisses.

He was on fire. Just like the night in the hotel, he was powerless to stop the heat shooting through him, the rigid set of his muscles, tight with anticipation. He craved this woman, his need for her so fierce and shattering he didn’t know what to make of it.

But it made him uneasy enough to pull away.

“We can’t do this,” he said hoarsely.

Lana blinked. Her lips were moist, parted sexily, and her breasts still filled his palms. “What…” She blinked again, and then, as if snapping out of a trance, she scrambled off his lap.

“Oh, my God,” she blurted as she fumbled around on the bedspread for the sweater she’d discarded. “What am I doing?”

He was asking himself the same question. He was thirty-eight years old, for Pete’s sake, not a horny teenager anymore, yet whenever Lana was around, he couldn’t seem to control his raging hormones.

What was it about this woman that got to him this way? She was too young for him. Too sweet and fragile. Too good.

“Delta!” Le Clair’s sharp voice outside the closed door had him shooting to his feet.

It was the perfect excuse he needed to get out of this room, to get away from Lana Kelley before he did something incredibly insane. Like succumb to temptation.

Waiting for his erection to subside, he cast a repentant glance in Lana’s direction. She was sitting against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands clasped together. Her head lifted to meet his gaze, and the turmoil in her eyes nearly did him in.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” she whispered.

He let out a breath. “I know.” Then he headed out the door, where Le Clair waited for him in the hall.

“How’s the princess?” the boss asked casually.

Deacon bit back his irritation. “She’s fine. Still a little shaken up, but she’ll be all right.”

“Good, because we’re moving out in the morning.”

“What?” he said in surprise.

“It’s too risky to keep her here any longer. We don’t know who that merc may have contacted, though I suspect he was working alone.” Le Clair’s gray eyes narrowed. “Either way, I want you out on the perimeter with the others tonight, just in case the soldier told a few friends.”

“What makes you think he didn’t?”

“Senator Kelley wouldn’t have allowed it,” was the vague response, and then Le Clair was marching off. “Help Tango load up the truck,” he called over his shoulder, already pulling his cell phone from his pocket.

Deacon watched Le Clair go, wariness crawling through him.

What the hell was going on here? He wasn’t so concerned with the fact that they were leaving; what worried him was that Le Clair seemed determined to hold on to Lana.

This was the time to cut and run. The mercenary’s appearance served as an omen of things to come.

Soon the authorities would be beating down the door, and once that happened, they were all screwed.

It was evident Lana’s father wasn’t interested in paying the ransom.

So where did that leave Lana?

“Tango,” Deacon called as he stepped onto the porch. He headed for the black pickup truck parked in the clearing, where Tango was hauling a few duffel bags into the cab.

The other man turned at the sound of his name, the scar on his cheek puckering as he frowned. “Yeah?”

Deacon picked up a duffel and approached the truck. “Apparently we’re moving out,” he said.

Tango nodded. “That’s the order.”

Tossing the bag into the truck, Deacon lowered his voice and added, “What the hell is going on here, man?”

“I don’t know.” Tango ran a hand through his dark hair. “But it isn’t good.”

“No kidding.”

There was a long pause, followed by an awkward cough from Tango. “Apparently there’s another team in Montana.”

Deacon raised his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Le Clair let it slip that he’s got men watching the senator. Dude’s hiding out on some ranch.”

“Hiding out? Because he screwed around on his wife?”

Frustration seeped into Tango’s harsh features. “I don’t know what’s going on, bro. But I definitely don’t like it.”

A dour voice sounded from behind. “They want the father to come forward.”

Deacon turned to see Echo approaching. There was a deep crease between the other man’s brows. “I overheard Le Clair talking to someone about it.”

As if his ears had been burning, Le Clair suddenly appeared on the porch, his cell phone glued to his ear.

He cast a suspicious look in the direction of the trio, causing Deacon and Tango to bend down and pick up a metal crate filled to the gills with dynamite.

Dynamite, for Chrissake. Why did they need all this crap?

This had been supposed to be an easy grab-and-wait.

“What did you hear?” Deacon murmured.

Echo unlatched the cab so that the other two could slide the crate into it. “Apparently old man Kelley is being asked to turn himself in.”

“Do you know why? What did he do?” Tango asked.

“No freaking clue. But he’s not cooperating, whatever it is.” Echo made a frustrated sound under his breath. “Le Clair doesn’t know what to do with the girl anymore. Whoever hired us is getting mighty impatient. Le Clair’s not too happy, either.”

Deacon sneaked a peek at the boss, whose dark eye brows were bunched together in sheer aggravation.

This latest call in a string of phone calls was obviously not going well.

Deacon’s gut went rigid with trepidation.

“I don’t like this,” he said, echoing Tango’s earlier words.

“Something’s not right with this entire job. ”

“I hear ya,” Tango muttered.

“Ditto,” Echo added. “So…what do we do?”

Get Lana the hell out of here.

He swallowed back the words and pasted on an indifferent expression. “We wait,” he finally murmured. “Let’s get on that plane, see how things play out and figure it out then.”

They stored the last of the gear into the truck and latched it up.

Deacon was slightly comforted by the fact that his fellow mercenaries shared his concerns, but at the moment, none of them could do a damn thing about it.

Whatever was going on in the real world, it wasn’t good.

Sooner or later, Le Clair would need to fill his men in on whatever it was.

And then Deacon would have to decide if he’d need to save his own skin.

Or protect Lana’s.

* * *

Washington, D.C. The irony of their destination didn’t escape Lana as the jet began its descent into the city that had caused her family so much turmoil.

Le Clair hadn’t blindfolded her this time, so she had a clear view of the Washington Monument and the glow of lights from Capitol Hill as the jet headed for the runway below.

She used to visit her dad here when she was a kid. She and her mom lived in California for most of the year, but D.C. was like a second home. Her father’s entire life revolved around this darn city, so much so that he’d neglected all of his children, thanks to his high-profile political career.

Why had her captors brought her here? The choice of location troubled her, but also brought a flicker of hope. Maybe this was it. Her dad would give them the money they desired, and an exchange would be made. Maybe she could finally go home.