Page 26 of He is… Creed: Part Three

“The transformation period is the serum’s super-powered effort to rid his body of all weakness,” Chin says, again reminding us of what we already know, but he seems to believe she’s forgotten. “We have no idea how adaptable it is during that time. We don’t want to risk it building up immunity to the formula you’ve created. Let the transformation fully complete.”

“How much time?” I press.

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Make it twelve,” I state, no give to my voice.

Chin shifts uncomfortably. “There’s still a question—”

“Then go find the answer,” I snip, uninterested in where this is going. “Now.”

Chin nods sharply and heads for the door.

Good. He needs to get to work. I’ve provided him with every resource known to man. The facility we’re standing inside might be small, but it’s nothing shy of state-of-the-art. As a bonus, it’s safely hidden beneath Jocelyn’s home, with military-grade technology in every facet of its creation.

Up to a point, I’d kept things all business with Jocelyn, but when you make a woman moan, you control her, and along the way, I’ve found we share a mutual pleasure. Hatred for one person is quite intoxicating.

Creed Taylor is the source of our hate.

The soldier who disgraced me—by sleeping with my daughter and damn near killing me. Creed turned his back on his country as he had on his mother.

My gaze rakes over her curvy but slender figure, tracing the line of her hips and the swell of her breasts, then back to her lovely face. “I do believe it’s time we open that bottle of champagne we’ve been saving to toast our success.”

“I thought you didn’t consider us a success until Red Dart was implemented.”

“Then we’ll toast the years of brilliant collaboration it took to get us to this point.” I hold out my hand to her. “What do you say?”

She hesitates an instant, but her resistance slides away, her features softening with the promise of submission. Her fingers settle against my palm. Our eyes meet, simmering with our familiar shared attraction and a carnal need to fuck.

Now.

Here.

I lead her past her desk to a leather couch and chair in the corner of the room. This is her personal workspace, and unlike the adjoining rooms down the hall, I’d taken care to add comfort here.

I urge her to sit on the couch. Tentatively, she perches on the edge, watching me with a heavy-lidded stare, her black slacks hugging slender thighs. I walk to the hutch against the wall and pull out the bottle of champagne I’d chilled a bit ago, filling two glasses. Joining her, I sit down beside her and offer her a glass.

“To us,” I murmur softly, and what my words do not say, I ensure my eyes do.

Her lips part and her cheeks flush a pretty pink. She touches her glass to mine. “To us.”

We sip the bubbly liquid, savoring it, but not for too long. I take her glass and set both on the table. “Tell me, Jocelyn,” I say, my hand resting on her leg. “Does saving the world turn you on as much as it does me?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Brock

I float into consciousness with the sound of voices in my head. Heavy shadows blocking out the excruciatingly bright light beyond is the last thing I remember. When was that? Minutes ago? Hours? I blink several times, trying to focus, feeling the heaviness pressing against my face. A mask—I have on some sort of mask to cover my eyes.

I open my mouth to speak, to call out, but my throat swells with the effort. I drag air into my lungs, the success of the effort calming me. I’m not dead. A familiar voice pierces the fog. No, moans. Female moans.

“General,” she whispers. “Oh my, General.” More soft moans and pants. A guttural male growl.

Reality slices through my mind, possessiveness coursing through my veins. I have no idea why—no understanding of the reason it has to be—but Jocelyn is mine. I try to sit up. Try to scream out—Jocelyn!—but there’s no sound.

Jocelyn’s voice carries through the darkness. “General, wait. General, stop.” I draw in a breath and force myself to calm, clinging to the shattered pieces of her voice. “General, wait!” she repeats. “Brock’s awake. General, please stop! He’s awake.”

The general grunts. “I don’t give a damn right about now, Jocelyn.”

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