Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(24)

She was throwing out a lure without even knowing it. Trap could tell she was giving them one more chance to walk away.


Pascal Comeaux stepped right up to her. “Maybe you should find a way to thank us.”


Trap clenched his teeth as Blaise Comeaux caged her in on the other side, much like they’d done at the bar.


She raised a hand and swept it over her hair in a long, sexy slide. The action called attention to her high, full breasts. He nearly groaned aloud. Everything she did was sexy. The way she moved. Her voice. That accent. Her body standing between the two large men. He let out his breath.


Pascal caught her around the waist and pulled her front to his easily. His brother moved in behind her, arms around her as well. She didn’t make a sound, but she pressed her head to Pascal, just for a moment. He yelped and stepped back, nearly letting her go, his face dark and red with sudden anger. One hand balled into a fist, the other stayed firmly around her back.


Cayenne didn’t look at him again. She leaned down and bit his brother’s forearm. His cry was higher. Longer. She just watched him impassively as he jumped away from her. Staggered. Pascal’s hand dragged her closer, and she turned back to him. His fist went back, fury gathering in his eyes.


Trap was there before him, catching his arm, holding back the punch. His piercing blue gaze met Cayenne’s. They stared at each another while Pascal’s body shuddered and slowly began to crumple. Trap let his arm go so that he fell in a heap very close to his brother. Both had their eyes wide open, but neither could move.


“What are you doing here?” Cayenne demanded, her hands on her hips.


“Saving your pretty little ass.”


Her chin went up. Her eyes narrowed. That only brought his attention to the beautiful green surrounded by all those thick, luxurious lashes. He really wanted her eyes open when he was moving inside of her.


She toed Pascal. “I didn’t need help.”


“I wasn’t saving your ass from them.” There was contempt in his voice.


Pascal’s eyes blinked. The fury should have set the island on fire.


Trap switched to telepathy, a much more intimate form of speech. Even if Pascal and his brother had their memories removed, he didn’t want even a residue of his conversation with Cayenne in their minds. I was saving you from yourself. Go home. I’ll be there tomorrow. Make a list of whatever you need and I’ll get it for you. You want money or need it, you’re a GhostWalker. The money will be put into an account for you. We have a collective one, and each GhostWalker has received compensation. Whitney’s daughter sets up an account for each of us through a trust.


Something moved in her eyes. Something that made his heart jerk hard in his chest. Her chin lifted, but she followed his lead. For the perfect ones, not the flawed ones. I’m supposed to be terminated, not compensated.


Damn it, Cayenne.


I make my own way.


By robbing? Do you get some kind of thrill from it? This is f*cking bullshit and you know it. Go home. I’ll meet you there tomorrow.


It’s my home. You stay away. She sounded stubborn. She looked stubborn.


I bought it. I renovated it. You know it belonged to Whitney, and he set up Braden there to finish his dirty work. He had all kinds of ways in and out built into the place. He had passageways in the walls. I took out the crematorium and the cells below and added in stairways to the lower level. The place is my home, and it can be your home as well, but no more of this bullshit, Cayenne. Sooner or later the cops will get involved, or worse, the military. If they send an investigator, you’re in trouble.


She toed Pascal. They never remember.


There are already rumors. Why do you think I spent the last few days sitting in that f*cking place counting peanut husks on the floor? He snapped it at her, rather shocked that he was losing patience. He always stayed cool. She just got under his skin with the vulnerable expression she didn’t even know she wore.


She stepped right up to him and put both hands flat on his chest, staring up into his eyes. Her voice dropped low. Intimate. Sliding under his skin and traveling like a fireball, rushing through his bloodstream to settle in his groin.


There’s no need to worry about me, cher, I can take care of myself. She lifted her face to his.


There was no denying her. Her mouth was pure heaven. He already had the taste of her there. His hands framed her face, and he bent and took possession of her mouth. She melted into him. Her mouth moved under his, her tongue sliding and then dancing along his, sending spirals of heat through his body. He wanted her with every breath he took.


He had to breathe for both of them, unable to stop kissing her. She tasted exotic and rare, like a flower he’d stumbled across. Storms. Moody. The taste of a wild wind, elusive and spinning out of control. He drew her closer, locking her to him, uncaring that the Comeaux brothers lay at his feet, unable to move, paralyzed by something she’d injected into them through a bite.


Her mouth was paradise and he could kiss her forever. No one had ever made him feel the way she did – the ferocious burn in his belly and the fire rolling through his veins with a vengeance. He knew she felt it too. The moment his mouth had come down on hers, she’d ignited as if he’d lit a match to a stick of dynamite.