"Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Cayenne? Because had you let Pascal kiss you, touch your body or fuck you, there would have been hell to pay. I have control, but just like you have triggers that can be dangerous, I do as well. I would have killed him."
She sighed and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. "I guess I have a lot of things to learn. I don't know if I'll ever get everything straight. I have to get out of here before your friend on the roof decides I've done something to you."
"He knows you're just visiting with me. We can talk telepathically to one another, and we do often to keep our skill level up."
"Like you do with me."
"Not exactly. It's much more intimate with you." Trap couldn't tell her what the difference was. She would have to feel it. He poured himself into her mind in the same way she did his, filling her with him. He wanted to be there with her, surrounding her and caring for her.
"Are you a white knight?"
Her voice was accusatory, almost as if she was getting angry with him. She started to shift her weight. The movement was subtle, so subtle he nearly didn't feel it even though her body was soft and pliant against his. She felt boneless, all silk. He didn't allow that deception either. He tightened his arms, using his strength to hold her when she would have slipped away.
"Don't," he cautioned. It was a command, nothing less.
Cayenne went still, her gaze drifting over his face, this time wary. Lost. Confused. Fearful. A touch of something else. She didn't struggle, but she was poised to flee.
"What do you mean by white knight?" he asked softly.
"I don't need rescuing."
He stared up at her face. A slow smile curved his mouth and touched his eyes. "Baby." He whispered the endearment softly. "If there's anyone on this fucking earth that needs to be rescued, it's you." He kept his arms steel bands around her, preventing movement. "That's lucky for me."
She shook her head, and for a moment her eyes went wet again. Tiny drops of shimmering opaque tears caught in her long eyelashes. His hand slid into her hair, fisted there and pulled her head down to his. His mouth claimed her tears, brushing her eyes and lashes, down the sweet curve of her face to her mouth.
"I need rescuing too, Cayenne. I've been alone too damn long and I want my own woman. I want a home. One that's yours, mine. You're going to make that monstrosity a home for me."
He allowed her to raise her head, nuzzling her face as she lifted it, with his nose. Silken strands of her dark hair caught on his shadowed jaw. He liked that. He liked any tie between them, no matter how small.
"I don't know how, Trap. I go through this house and I recognize what it is. All the warmth. The laughter. The beautiful things. They weren't made with money, they were made with hands. I don't know how to do any of that."
She sounded sorrowful. So sad it tore at his heart. She looked crushed. He pushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
"You aren't supposed to know how, Cayenne. We're going to learn that together. We're going to live life our way, not how others live their lives. We'll find our way."
"I've never cooked anything in my life. What if you want to eat and you're sick or something and can't cook?"
He laughed softly at the sheer desperation in her voice. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Honey, we're not even in the same house and you're already trying to find things to keep us apart. Don't make shit up. There will be plenty of things about me that will piss you off. We can have a cook if you want one, but since I intend to fuck you every chance I get, anywhere we are in that house, it might get a little embarrassing. I've imagined you spread out in front of me like a feast on that dining room table. I chose the table just for that reason."
Soft color crept up her neck and into her face. Her lashes fluttered, and she pressed her lips together and rubbed them back and forth. "You're very sexual, aren't you?"
"That bother you?" His gut tightened. He didn't mind that she was inexperienced--in fact just the opposite, he fucking loved that she was just his. But he was sexual. He needed sex. He came off a marathon research project and he was exhilarated, as high as a kite, and always his cock was as hard as a rock and even after hours of sex, he often wasn't in the least sated.
She swallowed hard. "I don't know. I don't know what it's like. What if I don't like having sex?"
A slow smile eased the tight knots in his belly. "You'll like it, because I'll make certain you do. Trust me to make sure. We could start now if you wanted." He put a little hope in his voice.
She looked horrified. "Are you crazy?" Her hands went to his shoulders and she pushed, trying to get space between them. "I can't stay. Really. And if your friend comes in here to check on you and sees you like . . ." She glanced over her shoulder to the long, hard length of his cock, fully erect against his stomach and nudging her rounded ass as she lay on him.
"He'd probably say my woman should take care of me," he said.
She gasped. "That's just . . . He wouldn't really, would he?"
"Sure he would. He's got a cock too. If he was hurting the way I am, he'd want me to tell his woman to get to work, so he'd do the same for me."
She studied his face. "You're teasing me."
He laughed softly, his fingers massaging the nape of her neck. "Yeah, baby, I am. A little bit. I would very much appreciate you taking care of my misbehaving cock, but we're not there yet, so I'm not going to be demanding."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Are you going to be demanding another time?"
"Yes. Very." He was honest. His fingers continued to move on her neck, his gaze on her face. "Right now, with me talking to you this way, are you wet for me? Slick between your legs? Burning?"
She nodded slowly, giving him that. "Yes. I get that way a lot around you."
He loved that she was so honest and matter-of-fact. She wasn't embarrassed about sex itself, it was interesting to her, but she was embarrassed that she didn't know how to have good sex. That was more than a start. She hadn't said no to trying to make his house a home either. Not one single time had she objected to him moving into the house. He'd made more progress than he'd expected.
"Cayenne, I've got a project in the lab that's important. I'll need a couple of days to finish it up."
She didn't like that, he could tell by the stillness in her. By the way her expression shut down. He liked that she didn't like it. Already, she was anticipating him living in the same house with her. It was a monstrosity of a house, but she wanted him there with her.
She was afraid, and he couldn't blame her. If he hadn't been so intent on making certain she wasn't going to run from him, he might have been a little afraid himself at the sheer power of the pull between them. He didn't know the first thing about relationships. He knew he wasn't an easy man and wouldn't ever be. He was too driven to find answers. He'd warned her, and so far she wasn't running.
"I would wait, but this is important," he reiterated gently.
She stuck her thumbnail in her mouth and chewed on it, that little frown he found adorable on her face. "You have a really good lab at the house."
That was true. But she was there, and he knew from the peanut discussion at the Huracan Club that she very well might know exactly what he was up to, and he didn't want that.
"I'm a good two-thirds into the project. Moving everything would set me back. If you need me--or anything at all--just let me know. Give me a couple of days." That wasn't exactly a lie. His work on the triplet's venom was a jumping-off point.
Her chin lifted and she scooted off of him. He couldn't help but notice that her eyes dipped to his engorged cock. Her gaze burned over him, and his cock responded with a hard jerk so that she couldn't look away, clearly fascinated.
"I'm not worried. Do whatever you need to do. I'll be fine. I was doing fine on my own," she pointed out.
He reached out and caught her wrist, drawing her back toward him. Her wrist was very small. He could have wrapped his fingers around it twice. He found
it strange that he hadn't noticed that. She was very curvy and those curves were soft and lush, yet when she was close to him, he could see how petite she was. With her curves, it didn't make sense that she could get into small spaces, like the tiny chimney stack Ezekiel had said she'd entered the house through.
"Don't be that way, baby," he said softly. "I'll be home as soon as possible. I'll stock the fridge and bring a few cookbooks. Do you have food to cover the days?"
She nodded immediately, almost defiantly, which sent up red flags. He tugged on her wrist until her gaze met his. "Seriously, Cayenne. I don't want you to go hungry."
"I won't go hungry." She stepped back. "I want to leave now. I don't spend time with people, and this is the longest I've ever really spent with someone. I have a headache."
"From crying."
She scowled at him, clearly not liking the reminder that she'd broken down in front of him. "Maybe. I think more likely that you gave me too much to think about and it made my brain explode."
"That could be as well."
She took a step away from him and then turned back. "Wyatt's grandmother comes to the swamp often and harvests various plants right outside the south side of the fence. Do you know what she's doing?"
"She's created a natural pharmacy there. Wyatt told me she spent a good forty years or more transplanting plants so she could have them in one place. She uses them to help people when they can't go to a doctor."
"Isn't Wyatt a doctor?"
Trap nodded, slowly easing his body into a sitting position. He deliberately didn't cover up because he wanted her to get used to him naked. He liked being naked, and he wanted her to like it as well. "He charges money, babe. That's the way of the world. Of course he takes on patients his grandmother recommends to him and gives away his services if they can't pay. Well, they use the barter system instead of money."
"I'd like to learn about her plants and what each of them does to help sick people," she said, her voice thoughtful. "I'm going to use your computer. I spent a lot of time on computers and found most of the answers I needed. Is there a password?" She didn't sound worried, but there was a challenge in her voice, as if she expected him to say she couldn't have access to it.
"Cayenne, I'm not going to keep you off the computers. I don't like my things touched in the lab, but I created a workspace for you there as well if you want it. Everything in the house is for your use."
He turned his head toward the door just as she flattened herself against the wall, staying in the darkest corner. Trap reached down and hastily pulled up the sheet. There was a knock. They exchanged a long look, both inhaling the scent of Wyatt's grandmother. She smelled of lilacs and baby powder.
You okay, Cayenne? He knew she was holding her breath, holding herself still, much like a wild animal trapped in a snare. Grand-mere wouldn't hurt you for anything.
"Come on in, Nonny," Trap invited aloud, knowing he had to.
I stayed too long. I stayed too long, Cayenne chanted. Both hands went to the wall and she looked as if she would scurry up toward the ceiling.
Breathe for me. You don't want to get so agitated you accidentally hurt her, Trap cautioned. Stay still and breathe. I'll handle this.
The door opened and Nonny's head came into the room while her body remained firmly on the other side of the door. "I know you're up a lot at night, Trap," she said softly, her faded but extremely intelligent eyes studiously on his face. She didn't so much as glance around the room. "I wanted you to know I fixed a few things to eat and left them out in case you get hungry in the middle of the night. You don' eat it all, I'll just have to throw it out."
"You didn't have to do that, Nonny." Like she didn't have a houseful of people to feed. She'd fixed that food for one person, and it wasn't him. He smiled at her. He couldn't help it. Nonny had a way of claiming those men who had stayed to help protect Wyatt's daughters from the constant threat of Whitney. She was helping Cayenne because she knew Cayenne belonged to him.
"When you get old, Trap, you'll learn you don' sleep so good. I cook when I can't sleep."
"Thanks."
"You feel like takin' that food with you to the lab, I put out a few bags to makin' the packin' easier. And Flame left some clothes she wanted to donate to the secondhand store. I haven't gotten around to it yet, so I put the things in a couple of bags by the door. Next time you or Wyatt go to town, would you take them for me or find someone who can put them to good use?"
"Sure thing, Nonny, and thanks. I really appreciate it." The woman made him wish he'd known his own grandparents.
Nonny waved and was gone, quietly closing the door behind her.
Cayenne pressed herself tight against the wall. "She did that for me, didn't she? She knew I came here tonight. She's probably been aware when I've come before. I'm so embarrassed. Sometimes I stayed in her room because it felt . . ." She covered her face. "I can't ever face her."
"Babe, just stop. You freak out when people are nice to you."
"I don't know what to do with that."
"You don't have to do anything, just let them be nice." He could see the panic on her face, in her eyes. She edged toward the door, and he knew he had to let her go. She was too upset to soothe. "Take the food and clothes, babe. I'll be there soon," he assured, but she was already slipping out the door.
CHAPTER 7
Trap stood just outside the tall chain-link fence surrounding his home. There was satisfaction in finally getting the renovations finished enough that he could live and work there. The building was massive. He liked space. He needed space. The laboratory was on the same floor as his living quarters. He had a massive recreation room complete with a pool table and big-screen television, because what man would go without those if he could afford it? At least his teammates had insisted he needed the TV so when they came over they could watch it. He wasn't much of a television watcher.
He also had a home theater for movies--at the urging of the team. He wasn't much for movies either. The team members had a lot of input for the space in the old factory, including a bowling alley. He'd vetoed that one, and there had been some sulking on Malichai's part.
His laboratory was first class. Trap never stinted on his work environment. He had the best and the latest equipment and didn't mind spending a fortune on it because his work made him a fortune several times over. Wyatt's lab had been made as good as they could get it, but this gave Trap so much more room for the various machines he needed.
Light spilled through the windows he'd installed, long rows that brightened every room, especially the lab. His bank of computers was in the far corner, away from the various bottles and tubes he needed to conduct his experiments when he was on to something vital.
He had a desk and multiple shelves for his reference books. Hundreds of drawers were clearly labeled with everything he might need for work. He had the money for anything he wanted or needed, and he had a great assistant who personally brought him everything he asked for, anytime, day or night.
His office was large, a polished and wide mahogany desk gleamed, with his personal computer and two laptops waiting. The chair was one he'd chosen personally after sitting in dozens. He'd had a second office built, the desk smaller, but made of beautiful wood. The room was cozier, the shelves filled with every kind of reference book imaginable. He'd included works of fiction, every genre, so if his woman decided to go on a fiction reading spree she had choices.
His kitchen was awesome. He didn't cook much, but he set it up with the best appliances and cookware possible, mainly because he considered he would be living there for years. The kitchen was huge, and it actually was two kitchens: the appliances mirrored one another from opposite walls with a long aisle down the middle. Double rows of pots and pans hung overhead. He wanted to make certain his home could accommodate the entire team and their families if it should be needed.
He added a shelf for cookbooks, because he liked to learn new things and he would be cooking for Cayenne as well. He wante
d good, nutritious food for both of them.
In his blueprints, he'd included many bedrooms, telling himself they'd need them if the GhostWalkers and their families had to retreat to a fortress, but that didn't explain the nursery set up right next to the master bedroom, or the reasoning for positioning several bedrooms close, but not so close that his hopefully great sex life would ever have the slightest interference.
This would be his home base. He'd changed every entrance leading to the tunnels and to the house itself so Whitney wouldn't have the new specs. That would make it more difficult for his private army to penetrate. The windows not only were bulletproof, he had installed armor-plated screens that came down with the touch of a button. Every door in the house both inside and out was plated as well.
He had stashed weapons throughout the building, in every room and in the tunnels. He had an arsenal, enough for a small army--which his team was--should they need it. He'd had the roof redone in several places, giving them shadows to work with, small places that concealed and protected their bodies should they have to fall back on his home as a fortress. What he didn't think of, the other members of his team had.
There was a helipad outside with a state-of-the-art helicopter, several armored vehicles and a private plane waiting at the small private airstrip he'd purchased. The hangar there housed a small jet as well as the plane.
Security cameras had been installed everywhere throughout the house. He had access to the security screens from his own computers as well as every other device he owned--and he owned a lot of them. He'd done a sweep of the house before he'd moved his things in. The furniture was untouched, but Cayenne had been in the kitchen. She'd been hungry enough to eat the food Nonny had fixed for her.
He'd sent Wyatt over with more groceries when he was working longer than he'd expected. Instead of a couple of days, it had taken four long days and three nights working on an antibody that hopefully would neutralize any toxin she might inject in him. To his shock, he'd worried about Cayenne every moment of that time. That was unheard of. As a rule, he focused so completely on what he was doing, nothing else entered his mind. He knew the pull between them was strong, but strong enough to disturb him while he worked? That was . . . unsettling. Disturbing. Ominous, when he thought about the days and nights ahead.