Page 46 of Smoke and Shadows

“I don’t know. He was . . . um . . . feeling sweet?”

Oh, Angel, wrong answer, Derek thought as an overwhelmingsense of possessiveness and jealousy washed over him. When he got into this mood, he wanted nothing more than to fuck his mark into her. He was semi-erect by the time he gripped her waist and hauled her against him.

His mouth crashed down on hers. Sophie yelped in outrage and tried to push away. But his tongue ruthlessly pushed through her lips and duelled with her tongue. He delved deeper, tilting her back as far as he could. She tore her mouth away, “Derek, I can’t breathe—”

He shut her up again with his mouth. Her struggling only fanned his lust. He tightened an arm around her, his other hand lifted her skirt, fisted her underwear, and tore it off. She struck his shoulder. He growled and took her down to the floor. He buried his face in her neck, kissing her down the length of her jaw.

“Derek?” Her whisper brought him momentarily out of his haze of alcohol, lust, and jealousy.

He raised his head and looked into her eyes.

“Are you making love to me because you’re angry?”

“No, Sophie, I’m making love to you because you’re my wife, and there’s nothing more I would want to do than remind you of it.” His nostrils flared with righteous ownership.

His fingers sought her core and found her already wet and ready. He slipped a finger inside her and watched her eyes close in ecstasy.

“Let me remind you, Sophie.”

“Yes, Derek.” Her sweet surrender took him over the edge. His hunger turned primal. Replacing his hand with his mouth, he feasted on the addictive nectar flowing from her core. Groaning with satisfaction as he speared his tongue into her slick channel, knowing she was bucking her hips wildly because of him. After wringing every last tremor of her orgasm, he crawled up her body, lowered the zipper of his trousers, and freed his cock.

“Are you mine?” He trapped her wrists on either side of her head.

“Yes, Derek,” Sophie whispered.

“No one else gets to do this to you.” He buried himself inside her, canted his hips and shifted the angle of his thrust. “Understand me? No one.”

“Yes!” Sophie cried out.Jesus, is she having another orgasm?Her inner muscles gripped him. He wasn’t going to last. He jackhammered his hips, thrusting hard, desperate to mark every part of her.

“Fuck!” he roared at the same time Sophie screamed his name, both of them reaching their climax simultaneously as they spiralled into erotic oblivion.

Stuart Kwon stoodat the pier at the Port of Murmansk, located in the Murmansk oblast of Russia. It was the dead of winter, the waves of the Barents Sea crashed desolately against the hull of the Cassiopeia—the ship that would bring destruction to his enemies.

He watched his men load three shipping crates into the belly of the ship. Each crate was labelled as a chemical agent for petroleum refining, but mixed within its depths were the binary agents for his SK nerve gas. Yes, he had grown into his father’s egomaniacal proportions. To brand a death-dealing device with his own initials was the ultimate sign that he had crossed into the line of a sociopath. Daliyah knew what he was capable of, and kept that darkness at bay by absorbing the responsibility from him. But with her death, nothing could stop him from being a threat bigger than his father.

His poor nephew, Rafiq, was nothing like his mother. The boy was only consumed with revenge and had none of Daliyah’s cunning. It matters not; he serves his purpose well—a distraction for Viktor Baran and his cohorts, the CIA.Giving his nephew a bone to chew on would keep him out of Stuart’s own insidious plan to unleash destruction on Washington DC. If Rafiq managed to destroy AGS, the better. His plan would be easier to carry out without Baran breathing down his neck.

He would have loved to watch Baran take his last breath, knowing that everything he’d worked for was destroyed. But Stuart wasn’t sentimental. He loved Daliyah, but he had no problem having Rafiq plunge and twist the knife.

“Crates are loaded,” Owen Reed, his associate, informed him. Reed was an American citizen and had a solid front as an importer. This made it easier to smuggle the binary agents and canisters onto U.S. soil. He was a former Army Ranger—one of the best snipers— disenfranchised by the U.S. government, turned mercenary. He had worked for Stuart for the last six years.

“Excellent.” Stuart ignored the shiver of excitement that slithered through his body and chalked it up to the freezing temperatures at the pier. He adjusted the collar of his expensive wool coat and said, “Are you sure you can do this without Stan Morgan? Do I need to send another one of my men with you?”

“I’ll be fine without him,” Reed said with a trace of irritation in his voice. “I already have men in place on the other side.”

Stuart smiled inwardly. Nothing inspired a person to work harder than to imply doubt in his abilities. It was still unfortunate that their regular transporter, Morgan, refused to accept the job without knowing its contents. He’d become harder to engage lately and seemed to be sticking to more legitimate business. “Anything else you need from me?”

“Keep your nephew out of my way,” Reed said. “And make sure the money is there when I need it.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Stuart replied. “I shall talk to you in two weeks.”

Reed gave him a two-finger salute and headed up the gangway.

Stuart stared for a few more minutes at the Cassiopeia before turning around and slipping into the awaiting limousine.

9

Two weekslater

---