“Be ready at four. We have an eight-hour drive ahead of us and I want to do some recon before morning. Damn good thing you don’t care if you chip a few nails, brat, because you’ll be doing just that.”
He came to his feet abruptly as the men around him erupted into a furious argument. Merinus could only watch him silently, amazed at his decision. What the hell was up with this?
He ignored the heated protests of his other brothers. The arguments of Merinus’ safety, the lack of assurance that ‘some damned hybrid animal’ wouldn’t infect her. Merinus rolled her eyes, then bit her lip nervously as Kane’s face tightened into a mask of dangerous fury. His eyes went dead. She couldn’t describe it any other way. As though no life or light resided inside him. It was a scary look. The room silenced. No one but no one messed with Kane when he looked like that.
“Be ready, baby sister,” he said evenly as he passed by her. “And if you pack one damned dress or a single tube of lipstick, then I’ll lock your ass up in your bedroom.”
“Ahh, Kane,” she whined sarcastically. “There goes my luggage quota. Asshole.” He knew better than to think she would pack either one.
“Keep your nose clean, brat.” He flicked the ends of her long brown hair as he walked by her. “I’ll pick you up this evening.”
CHAPTER TWO
Sandy Hook, KY
That was not a sight for virgin eyes. Merinus trained her binoculars on the vision below her, stretched out in the warming rays of the sun, as na**d as a man could be and more than a little aroused. That gorgeous, heavily veined shaft of male flesh rose a good eight inches—no less, could be more—from the base below his flat abdomen. It was thick and long and mouth-wateringly tempting. She blew out a hard breath, lying flat on the rock she had found, the only viewpoint into the small sheltered back yard. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Callan Lyons was tall. At least six feet, four inches, muscular, broad chested and narrow hipped, with
powerful thighs and the most gorgeous damned legs she had ever seen. This just wasn’t a sight that a nice, prudish little journalist like herself should be seeing. It could give a girl ideas. Ideas like how it would feel to lie next to him, rub over him, kiss that smooth, golden skin. She shivered at the thought. She and Mr. Lyons had been playing an amusing little game for over a week now. She pretended not to know him, who he was, where he could be found, and he pretended she wasn’t snooping around town asking questions about him and his deceased mother and where he lived. It had gone so far as direct conversation several times. Like she hadn’t come prepared, she thought mockingly. Papers, notes, memos, pictures, the whole nine yards. She had studied the man for weeks before demanding this story. She still couldn’t believe Kane had stood by her and brought her with him to contact Callan. Not that he wasn’t breathing down her neck half the time. He would be now if he hadn’t had to run back to D.C. to talk to a scientist they thought might have been involved with the original experiments. And Merinus was supposed to be finding out about Callan’s mother and making contact with the elusive object of her fascination.
So here she was, on the story of her life, and instead of the investigative reporting she should be doing on the man below, she was watching him sun himself. But what a sight. Tanned, muscular skin. Long, golden brown hair, the color of the lion that was supposedly infused into his DNA structure. A strong, bold face, gorgeous, almost savage in its planes and angles. And lips, full male lips with just a hint of a merciless curve. She wanted to kiss those lips. She wanted to start with his lips and kiss and lick her way down. Across that broad chest, the hard, flat stomach to the erection rising from between his tanned thighs. She licked her lips at the thought.
She jerked as she felt her cell phone vibrating at her hips. She grimaced impatiently. She knew who it was. It had to be her oldest, most aggravating brother.
“What, Kane?” she hissed as she flipped the phone open and settled it against her ear. She was rather proud that her eyes never once strayed from all that male glory below.
“It could have been Dad,” Kane reminded her, his voice flat and hard.
“It could have been the Pope too, but we know the averages on that one,” she muttered.
“Bitch,” he growled almost affectionately.
“Why Kane, how sweet,” she simpered. “I love you too, ass**le.”
There was a brief chuckle over the line, making her smile in response.
“How’s the story going?” His voice turned serious, too serious.
“It’s getting there. I have an appointment later today with a woman willing to talk about the mother. She was murdered in her own home. Dad doesn’t know that.”
Maria Morales, known as Jennifer Lyons in the small Southern California town had died at the hands of an attacker, not a thief or a random victim, but someone who wanted only blood.
“What do you think you’re going to learn researching the mother?” Kane asked her. “You need proof on the son, Merrie, don’t forget that.”
“I know what I’m after, big shot,” she bit out. “But to get to the son, I need information. Besides, someone’s trying to give me the runaround on Morales. You know how I hate that.”
There was a puzzle there, just as big a puzzle as the one stretched out on the deck below her. Sweet Heaven. She watched as his hand moved to his scrotum, not to scratch as she assumed, but to caress, stroke. There went her damned blood pressure.
“I’m research, remember?” he bit out. “You are just contact.”
“Well, I can do some of both,” she hissed.
There was a weary sigh across the line.
“Have you made contact with Lyons yet? Offered him the deal Dad has set up?” Yeah, the deal of a lifetime, show yourself, tell your story for us, and we’ll make you famous. Fuck your life. She hadn’t liked that deal to begin with but she knew it was the only one Callan was ever likely to receive that would provide any measure of security.
“Not yet. Getting there.” She fought to breathe evenly as his hand clasped the base of that thick c**k and he began stroking all that firm, wonderful flesh.