There was a long silence. He looked up from beating the egg mixture. He already had the potatoes in the pan. She had gone very still. So still, he knew if it was dark and she was pressed against a wall, she'd be next to impossible to see. Like most of the GhostWalkers, she could change her skin color to mirror what was around her. She hadn't done that, but her eyes had gone from a clear vibrant green to multifaceted. He was beginning to recognize her signs of distress.
Immediately he made certain the flame was low enough and turned to her, one hand cupping her face, his thumb sliding under her jaw. "What is it, baby? We talk about things, remember? We have to do that for this to work. It's new territory for both of us."
Her gaze slid away from his. She studied her hands, her fingers twisting together. He put his other hand over hers to still her fingers. His thumb caressed the soft, vulnerable sweep of her jaw.
"Baby," he said softly. There was no response. He kept up the brushing strokes to soothe her. To let her know he had her back. "Cayenne, tell me what's upsetting to you about going to Nonny's and learning from her. I love this, the two of us, but honestly, I have limited knowledge of cooking. You don't have to learn, but if you wanted it, she's there and she would welcome you."
She remained silent for another long moment. Finally, finally, she lifted her gaze to his. Her tongue touched her lower lip, leaving a wet gleam that instantly drew his attention.
She sighed. "I can barely force myself to trust you, Trap. This. What we're doing, it terrifies me. I have no idea how to talk to anyone, what's polite and what isn't. I left all the talking to the men in the bar. I just laughed occasionally and murmured a word now and then. They were satisfied with that. It wasn't like with you, where I feel like I can ask you questions and you don't care if I screw everything up."
"Do you think Nonny would form some sort of judgment of you if you made a mistake?"
She shrugged. "It's her home. I wouldn't care, but she means something to you. I can tell she does. Wyatt too. The others. Even Pepper. I feel that in some way, because you are choosing me, I represent you. I don't want to make you look bad or silly or wrong for your choice in front of your friends."
Trap let out his breath slowly. He was putting a lot of pressure on Cayenne without realizing it. She really didn't have any experience with other people. She had no idea how to make small talk. She was good at taking cues from others, because she was extremely observant and she learned quickly, but she had to be a wreck inside.
"Baby, I love that you feel that way. I would never be embarrassed or upset over anything you did in front of my friends. Not ever. Nonny is the last person in the world to ever make a judgment on another human being. She's the perfect woman to help you learn the things you feel are necessary to be with me. I can teach you anything you want in the abstract, or sex, or even in the lab, but I'm not good with niceties. In fact, Draden, a close friend of mine, is always handing me books on manners."
"Really?"
He had no choice, he had to turn back and flip the potatoes and then pour the egg mixture into the skillet. "Yep. All the time. I could give a flying fuck about other people, but those people, Nonny, my team, Pepper and girls, they matter to me. But, Cayenne"--he turned back, looking her straight in the eyes, wanting her to see he meant exactly what he said--"you're my family. You're my woman. You're going to be my wife. You'll need to know the things Nonny can teach you, because out in the world, far from here, there are men with cameras and they will be all over us, the moment we step one foot outside the swamp. Sometimes they don't wait for that. Pictures of me command a lot of money and if anyone gets wind of you, that picture will be worth even more."
"I don't understand."
Of course she wouldn't know the first thing about gossip magazines or the frenzy for stories and pictures on one of the world's most eligible bachelors. The burning question remained, why had he joined the service and why had he put himself in harm's way by training in the Special Forces? That alone was fodder for articles and speculation for months, years even.
"I'm just saying, honey." He pushed the eggs around, making certain to pull the pan before they were entirely cooked. He didn't like undercooked eggs, but he really detested overcooked ones. This method seemed to work. He pushed them around a little more, allowing them to continue to cook without the flame, just from the heat of the pan. "I'm not pushing you, but letting me take you to Nonny is a good idea."
"I'll think about it."
He caught her around her small waist and lifted her to the floor. "Sit at the table. The plates are in the cupboard along the wall there." They were in plain sight, but he wanted to give her a task to take her mind off meeting his friends. He needed a little more time to figure out how best to get her to a place where she felt comfortable with him and then with others. "Silverware is in the top drawer beneath the cupboard where the plates are. Grab a couple of the smaller glasses for orange juice as well."
He watched her moving in silence, her body swaying as she stood on her toes to reach for the plates, stretching all the way out. He nearly went to help her, but he knew that could be dangerous. The sight of her like that, her back to him, long hair swaying, caressing the curve of her shapely ass, her tiny tucked in-waist with just a bow around it, had him as hard as a rock all over again. He had to fight off the hunger in his cock.
She used silk, attaching it to the two plates and drawing them toward her. Her drag lines were strong, he knew that. Spider drag lines could be every bit as strong as the Kevlar used in their vests. She was adept at using silk. She pulled the plates to her, caught them and transferred them to her other hand so she could pull out the silverware. She used the same method to get the small glasses out of the cupboard.
He didn't have fancy. He hadn't thought about fancy. He should have. For her. His dinnerware wasn't fine china, more thick crockery that appealed to the man in him. She didn't seem to mind. She actually ran a finger over the plate a little reverently.
"These are beautiful, Trap. I've never seen anything like this."
He should have known. Fancy was all relative. She'd been fed nutritious rations, probably on a paper plate, nothing she could turn into another weapon. The crockery was stoneware, hand-cast and painted. He had big hands. He needed plates and glasses and mugs that didn't make him feel he would crush them if he wasn't thinking about it every second. "Glad you like them, babe," he said, as he put the eggs and hash browns on their plates. "When we're finished here, I thought we could head into New Orleans and pick you up some clothes. That way, if you want to return those camisoles and jeans you can, although I have to tell you, I like the camisoles."
She glanced up from pouring the orange juice and sent him a little smile. "That's a little scary too, Trap."
"Not when you're with me. You don't have to say or do a thing. We'll look at the clothes. Either of us likes something, you can try it on and we'll buy it."
"I don't have money, and I'm not taking yours." She sat down in her chair, lifting her chin at him, her face set in stubborn lines.
He stared across at her for a moment, and then slowly, his grin came. The smile started around his heart and just continued from there. "Baby, that would sound a lot more intimidating if you weren't so fucking cute sitting there with your chin on the table. You need a booster seat."
She glared at him.
"I'm just stating a fact."
"Very funny." She shifted, drawing her knees under her. "You aren't paying for me, Trap. I've read enough to know that's not how it works, so don't try to convince me otherwise."
He leaned across the table, holding her gaze, wanting her to know this was a point he wouldn't yield on. "I don't give a fuck what other people do in their relationships, Cayenne. I'm the man. I take care of my woman. I don't care if you make a million bucks spinning webs and selling them, I still take care of you. That's who I am. That's the man you're going to spend your life with. I pay. You let me. And you do it graciously."
"What do
I give you to make things equal between us?"
His gaze moved over her face with swift impatience. "What you give me is everything I ask of you. Being here with me when you're scared out of your fucking mind. Trying to cook for me when you don't have a clue how. Wearing an apron and nothing else just because I ask you to. Following my commands when I tell you to touch yourself. Letting me leave my mark all over you because you knew it was important to me. Sitting on my face when it was frightening. Giving me the gift of watching you come apart with just my mouth on you. Sucking my cock and swallowing when you didn't have to, just to please me. Having a fucking brain and not being a nitwit so I'm not tempted to tape your mouth closed like I am with nearly every other woman I've . . ."
"I get it, Trap. Stop talking about your other women. I'll go into town with you, and you can buy me my own shoes. The ones I have are too big and I hate them. I have to stuff paper in the toes and they're so uncomfortable."
He scowled. "You should have told me right away."
"It's no big deal, but since you want to buy me something and you're getting all manly and growly and caveman about it, then shoes are what I need." She took a forkful of eggs tentatively. "I like these."
"Try the potatoes. Manly? Growly?" He poured approval into his voice. "Now you get it. That's me, baby, I'm the man and you concede in all things to your man."
She rolled her eyes, and he wondered just where she'd gotten that particular gesture or whether it just came naturally to her. He was fairly certain the eye roll meant she wasn't taking him all that seriously.
CHAPTER 10
Cayenne moved closer to the protection of Trap's body. He was such a big man and fitting under his shoulder the way she did, his arm around her, she all but disappeared as they walked together toward the boutique he'd asked Wyatt about. She was aware of the two men flanking them, trying to give them space, which she was grateful for, but she didn't like that Trap thought they needed them. Draden and the man they called Gino gave her a half salute with their chins and then acted like they were busy noticing the sights.
She felt sick. She bunched her fingers in Trap's shirt with one hand and shoved her fingers into his back pocket with the other.
"You're trembling, baby," he said softly. "We're not going into battle."
"People are staring at us," she pointed out.
"You'll get used to it, Cayenne," he said, his stride even. He didn't look down at her, but he kept his arm tight around her, sheltering her with his body as much as possible.
"Why do we need your friends with us?" she asked.
"We've both got enemies," he said tersely.
She flinched at his tone. Ducked her head. Clearly he didn't want to talk. She hadn't wanted to come, and now he seemed a completely different man, his face an expressionless mask and his answers to any questions abrupt to the point of rudeness.
She sighed. "We don't have to do this, Trap. Really. I don't mind the shoes." She was wearing a pair of Wyatt's sister-in-law's jeans. She had to roll them up and they were a little snug through the hips and very loose around her waist. The top was pretty but again, tight across her breasts and too long for her. She didn't care what she was wearing, but walking even the short distance from the car to the shop she observed other women and they certainly were put together a lot better than she was.
"We have to do this." His eyes didn't meet hers, but instead, scanned the buildings and the rooftops above them.
Cayenne realized that he had her body tucked close to his in order to hide her face from a man across from them who had a camera. He was shielding her. Shielding her. From a camera. She also knew he hadn't brought Gino and Draden and any other members of the team to New Orleans because of a camera. That meant he was expecting trouble. She was not the type of woman to cower from danger. She might not like going out in public because she didn't like making mistakes and she hadn't had the time to study others around her to see what they did, but she refused to have Trap shoulder the danger.
She straightened her shoulders, composed her face and let go of the death grip she had on his shirt. If they needed Gino and Draden with them, it was probably for a reason. She inhaled sharply. She didn't have the best vision, that was true, but she had a really good sense of smell. The air brought information to the tiny, microscopic hairs on her body, and her brain processed data quickly.
There were several people on the street in spite of the fact that it was closing in on four thirty. She realized that Trap had timed their shopping spree for the end of the shopping hours in order to make certain the sun would begin to go down by the time they finished. She recognized more than Draden's and Gino's scents. Malichai was close with his brother Mordichai, and if she wasn't mistaken, Ezekiel was on a roof across from them, probably with a sniper rifle. Trap was definitely expecting trouble.
"Tell me," she murmured. "And don't bother with explaining that you're the man and I'm the woman. I want to know what you think we're going to run into."
His eyes, glacier cold, shifted to her face. His arm tightened around her body, clamping her to his side, and one big hand cupped her face, pressing her head into him. He never missed a stride. Then his eyes were gone and he continued walking toward the row of shops.
You know better than to fuck up a team mission. You may have been trained as an assassin working alone, but Whitney would never neglect your training to that extent.
I had no idea you were running a mission, Cayenne pointed out. Because you didn't mention it. I thought we were going to shop for shoes.
He kept his hand on the side of her head, pressing her face into his side. You don't face that camera. You know it's there, don't pretend you haven't seen it.
You're worried about a camera?
Among other things. Just keep walking and acting like we're out on a date. We're going shopping for shoes.
She was silent. His voice was brusque, almost to the point of rudeness. There was no emotion. No soft whisper of "baby," no connection of any kind. Trap had shut down emotionally. She couldn't decide between hurt and anger at him. Since hurt was an alien emotion and one she didn't know what to do with, she settled for anger.
I may know better than to fuck up a team mission, but unless I'm told there is a mission, I can't possibly know that's what I'm doing by asking for information. And just so you know, I'm not hiding from cameras. If they get a picture of me, what's the difference? Whitney knows where I am. You wouldn't have brought an entire team in to prevent somebody from taking my picture. The termination order is still out on me. That's why the team is in place, not for some man with a camera who is not military.
Nice to know you have a brain. Try looking up at me and smiling.
Cayenne resisted the urge to just stop right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Try looking down at me and smiling. You keep this up and I'll be sinking my teeth into your side and you'll go down like a ton of bricks.
She was looking up at his face, and his lips twitched--the beginnings of a smile--but he got it under control and kept moving both of them until they were at the door of a shoe shop, Gino and Draden closing in behind them. Close. So close she could feel them almost against their backs. They didn't brush up against her, but still, she didn't like their close proximity. She felt trapped. Icy fingers slid down her spine and she felt the venom rising in reaction.
Trap opened the door to the boutique, took her through, and the instant they were inside, she felt the coiled tension in him ease. Stay away from the windows. Keep to the interior of the shop.
At last. Trap wanted to let out his breath and all but pushed Cayenne into the store. This was supposed to be his surprise for her. Shopping. Teaching her the thing women seemed to love. He'd wanted to give her that gift. Instead, he was giving her fucking hell. He'd planned to take two bodyguards, Gino and Draden--not for him--but for Cayenne. He knew there was a possibility of an enemy waiting for them. He'd known there was a possibility of a photographer as well. It wasn't as though the leeches di
dn't ferret out his whereabouts every moment of the day. Still, he thought he could control the situation enough to give his woman a great experience.
Ezekiel had insisted he go into town ahead of them and do recon. He had been assisting Cayenne into the vehicle when word came that a full assassination team seemed to be waiting in town for her to show.
He hadn't been prepared for the emotions choking him. Making it so he couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't use his fucking brain. She'd done that to him. She'd shut down his ability to function when she was in danger. That black hole inside him, always at the edge of his vision, yawned wider, threatening to consume him. He was falling in before he knew it.
He'd known fear and anger when his father had shot Dru. He'd known fear when his aunt had been kidnapped and rage when she'd been thrown at his door like so much garbage. He hadn't known terror. He'd had four months of thinking about her night and day and now Cayenne was so far under his skin there was no getting her out and no surviving if something happened to her.
He didn't want her part of the team as the others insisted. He didn't want to take her into town and set her up as the bait so they could destroy Whitney's supersoldiers. He wanted to lock her away somewhere safe, a place where there was only the two of them.
That black hole inside of him was icy cold. It reached out to devour him. Swallow him whole. The roaring in his ears nearly drowned out the sounds around him. He was aware of Cayenne, acutely aware of her. Every movement. He knew he was making this trip a nightmare for her. All he had to do was talk to her. Explain. Say something. Anything.
He couldn't, not without losing himself in that icy black void. He had not allowed himself to live or feel after he'd lost his aunt. He held himself away from everyone so that he couldn't be destroyed, so that his father and his father's family wouldn't win. He felt nothing. He ate, he drank, he fucked and he worked, but he didn't feel--not until he'd gone through a wall and he'd seen a woman caged and under a termination order.
He watched her struggle to survive for four months when both of them knew she could come to him. He'd waited for her, and then finally, because he was obsessed he went after her. She'd given him so much. Coming to him and wrapping him in silk, giving herself to him when she was so afraid. Trying to cook for him. Giving him that as well. He hadn't known she was so deep. So entrenched. He hadn't known a man could feel like this.