“Damn straight, mon petite enflamme. No sacrifice is too great.” His tongue swirled over the dark smudges as if to soothe them.
Her breath left her body in a little concentrated rush. “Well then, you’d better do a very thorough job.”
He lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over her face. “When I kiss you, what exactly are you planning to do?” Raw huskiness mixed with suspicion in his voice.
She could barely breathe. She had an unfamiliar urge to circle his neck with her arms and press her body tightly against his. “You said no sacrifice was too great,” she reminded.
“That’s when I thought the sacrifice was going to be my brother’s Jeep. Now, I think you have something else in mind. What are you planning to do?”
“Retrieve my knife, of course,” she answered honestly.
His head bent an inch lower until she could feel the velvet of his lips brushing hers. “You don’t think I can distract you?”
“You’ve been distracting me all evening, but no, if you kiss me, the knife is definitely back in my possession.”
He ached to kiss her. The temptation was overwhelming, but he wasn’t nearly as stupid as she thought him. Reluctantly he stepped back away from her, a faint smile on his face. “Cher, we’ve got us a problem.”
Her gaze brushed the front of his jeans. “You more than me.”
His eyes darkened. “Oh, I don’ think so, mon amour, and if you want me to prove it to you, just come closer and let me touch you.”
“Try it and I’ll definitely slap your face.”
His grin widened. “You are wet for me, aren’t you, cher?”
She ran her tongue along her lower lip, her gaze hot. “More than you’ll ever know. Too bad you’re such a chicken.”
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Flame,” he said.
“You’re the one with my knife and motorcycle.”
“That’s not why. You think this is all part of another experiment, don’t you?”
“Isn’t it?” She moved into the heat of his body, her h*ps pressed close. “When you’re with other women, is it this intense? Do the women you meet make you feel like tearing off their clothes right there, right that moment, and the hell with everything you’ve ever believed and valued?”
“If you know I feel that way, why the hell are you tempting me out here in the middle of nowhere when we’re alone? What you did in that club was wrong and what you’re doing to me right now is wrong and with another man, you could be in trouble.” Something dark and burned briefly in the shadows of his eyes and gone almost immediately.
Flame shook her head, her expression defeated. “That’s just it, Raoul, I’m not the one doing it. You are. We are. Don’t you get it?” She pushed a hand through her hair, scattering pins so that strands of red hair fell in all directions. “You do get it. You knew what I was thinking, because you were thinking the same thing. It’s all part of Whitney’s experiments. Take me back. It’s been a long day and I want to go home.”
She did look tired. And sad. And very alone. Gator turned her accusations over and over in his mind. “It would be impossible to manipulate the sexual chemistry between two people wouldn’t it?”
“Why would it be? He manipulated everything else, didn’t he? He was building the perfect army. The perfect weapons. The perfect agents.” She sank down, looking up at him from the seat. “Whitney had years to work things out. And somebody knew he was doing it. Somebody helped him. He wasn’t alone in this, he couldn’t have been.”
Her twisted logic was beginning to make sense to him and that was alarming. “I go out on missions all the time with the GhostWalkers. Of the missing girls, only Lily and Dahlia have been found. And now you.”
“What a shocker that is. Maybe we’re all his little puppets and he’s playing us. You don’t want to consider that could be what’s happening because that would bruise your ego. You think you chose what happened to you so that somehow makes me the poor victim and you the hero in charge of your life. If what I’m saying is this truth, that makes you a victim right along with me and you just can’t stand the thought.”
Gator turned over the words in his mind. The logic of her argument. If she was right he was no more than a programmed robot, a marionette and Whitney was pulling his strings. Worse than that, she was right. On some level he had thought of her as a victim, hell, all of the GhostWalkers thought that way. The women had been bought and experimented on. The men had chosen to be heroes, to save the world. He erupted into another long passionate string of inventive and crude curses.
“I’m sorry to rock your world. But if you’re in with Whitney, and you’re doing what he wants you to do by coming here and trying to take me back with you, at least consider that he’s playing you. Whitney never does any thing that doesn’t benefit Whitney.”
“Damn it, the man is dead.”
“Do you realize you didn’t answer a single question tonight, Raoul?”
“Just don’t talk anymore. Damn it anyway.” He was silent as the boat sped through the canal, his features etched in stone.
Flame couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She felt sad for him. Sad for her. She didn’t even know why.