Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(13)

There was silence. Outraged silence. Her breath hissed out between her teeth, but only Trap heard it. She turned her back to the bar, leaning on her elbows, which thrust her breasts out toward him. For one moment her jeweled eyes touched his and then skittered away defiantly.


You don’t own me. You have no right to tell me whether or not I can flirt.


You want to flirt, you can damn well flirt with me. You want to get laid, I’m your man. You’re going to get someone killed.


Her eyes came back to his face. Drifted over the angles and planes. Touched on the shadow on his jaw. Trap, you know what we’re feeling isn’t real.


It’s real enough for me, baby. Those two men are brutes. I’ll take my time with you. I’ll make you feel better than you’ve ever felt in your life. His velvet voice stroked her skin, deliberately fed her need of him.


Her breath caught in her throat, and she abruptly spun around again. Get out of my head. I’ve been a prisoner all my life and no one is going to cage me.


He refused to leave her head now that he was firmly entrenched in it. He stroked her again. Gently. Intimately. When I’m inside you, baby, you’re going to fly. No cage for either of us. Ever. You’re mine, and no matter who comes at you, I’ll f*cking kill them before they get to you. That’s a promise. Now get away from those two.


There was a small silence again. Trap made himself breathe. She needed to come to him. If he tried to force her, she’d be in the wind again.


This isn’t what it looks like. Just business.


She was trying to appease him, but that just pissed him way the f*ck off. I know what you’re doing. I don’t like it, and you have to stop before someone else figures it out.


You don’t know what I’m doing.


Her voice was always sultry. Sexy. An invitation, but delivered telepathically, mind to mind, so intimate, his body’s response was low and wicked, a hard punch he didn’t expect. It actually took effort to keep his expression the same.


You’re testing them to see if they meet your personal criteria for setting them up to be robbed.


Again there was a small silence. She turned her head to give Pascal another smile. The man reached over and slid his hand down her spine to the curve of her ass. She moved away instantly, saying something low to him. His brother boxed her in, forcing her body back toward Pascal.


Trap stood instantly. The room pulsed with tension. That shimmer moved from their table through the air, thickening more, making it difficult to breathe. Several men coughed. The other GhostWalkers stood as well. Cayenne turned immediately still, sandwiched in between the brothers. She flashed a smile at Trap, ready to defuse the situation. She could see the intent in his eyes, feel the danger pouring from his body. The icy rage pulsed in the air.


She continued to smile at Trap as if they were old friends. “I didn’t see you sitting there in the dark. Want a beer?”


Pascal leaned down and said something in her ear. She shrugged, snagged two bottles of icy beer that Delmar put on the wooden plank in front of her and slipped out from between the Comeaux brothers. Pascal let out a snarling curse and caught her long hair in his hand, jerking her back toward his body.


Trap got there first, but every team member had his back. All five of them. Men with cool, dangerous eyes that had seen more combat than Pascal could possibly imagine in spite of his years of growing up fighting.


“Let her go,” Trap said softly. Too softly. “She’s mine. You touch her again and you’re a dead man.” He meant it. He let Pascal see that he meant it.


Pascal was mean and he liked to hurt others, but he wasn’t stupid. He was a cunning, cruel man who ruled his world with an iron fist. He knew death when he saw it. He knew a situation he couldn’t win. He shoved Cayenne at Trap.


Trap’s hands were gentle as he caught her to him, trusting the others to keep the Comeaux brothers off of him.


What are you doing? I can’t combat this, even with my voice. I could have made him stop. You know that. He’s very susceptible to my voice. Trap, I can’t make him forget this and he’ll come after you. He’s a coward and he’ll sneak.


He comes after me, he’ll die. You should have just come to my table. He pulled her front to his side, clamped her there with one arm tight around her and walked her back to the table in the shadows where he’d waited for her. He kept his eye on the Comeaux brothers as he did so. Both turned to watch her progress across the room. Then again, he noted, most of the men watched the sway of her beautiful ass. Pascal caught his eyes and drew a line across his own throat. If that worked to intimidate others, it didn’t Trap.


Trap halted at the table, curled his hand around the nape of Cayenne’s neck and drew her to him. She was significantly shorter than him. Touching her bare skin sent tiny electrical charges firing through his bloodstream in a rush of heat. He took the beer bottles from her with one large hand and set them on the table.


She frowned as he drew her right up against him. Both hands framed her face, tipping it up toward his, holding it still as his head came down. His mouth moved over hers. Gently. Seductively. Coaxing her. Her lashes fluttered. Covered the brilliant, shocked green of her eyes. Her lips parted on a gasp of protest. He took full advantage, his tongue sweeping into that heated moist paradise. Tasting her. Taking her inside where he needed her. Stepping back into the shadows, taking her with him now that he’d made his statement to the other men in the bar, sheltering her from the room with his much larger body.