Spider Game

By: Christine Feehan

Her face was an oval, high cheekbones, a wide, generous mouth with lips that took a man’s breath away and gave him way too many fantasies. Her eyes were large, a deep green framed with long, thick black lashes. The dark lashes served to play up the brilliant green color of her eyes so that all a man could think about was staring into them when he was deep inside of her, watching her as he gave her orgasm after orgasm.

Stop. One hand went to the wall beside the door.

The word was whispered in his mind. Sultry. Sexy. A wisp of sound like butterfly wings fluttering gently against the walls of his mind. The sensation didn’t stop there, it floated through his body – such a light touch – but it brought every nerve ending possible alive in his body. He was wholly aware of her. Every detail. Trap was watching closely, so he noted the slight trembling. She wasn’t nearly as confident as she appeared.

He’d also been broadcasting his thoughts to her. Mind to mind. A detail that vaguely shocked him.

She wore soft vintage blue jeans, worn, as if she’d had them for years when he knew very well she hadn’t. They clung lovingly to her hips and framed her ass like a caressing hand. Her camisole was a deeper blue with a light blue contrast – the ribbons binding her breasts behind the material, so that all he could think about was loosening the tie to help himself to those soft, inviting curves. He wanted to see her creamy breasts spilling free for him, with all that dark blue material tight around her rib cage and impossibly small waist framing them.

I mean it, stop right now, Trap.

She might have meant it in her mind, but her body didn’t mean it. He could see the faint change in her breathing. For that moment, her green eyes clung to his, and he saw beyond the mask she wore, just as he was certain she could see the real Trap Dawkins. That wasn’t a good thing. Not by a long shot. He wasn’t a nice man. He was rough. Rude. Insisted on his own way in nearly everything. He had been dead inside until he laid eyes on her, and he blamed her for pouring life into him. Definitely not a good thing.

Cayenne forced her face to remain exactly the way she wanted. Soft. Confident. Interested in everything and everybody. She wasn’t any of those things. She was exhausted, starved, light-headed from being so hungry and bordering on desperation. More than anything else, she was terrified. She often came to the Huracan Club. They had free peanuts, and she’d been surviving on them for the last three months. The money she stole she left as payback for the clothes and then the shoes she’d stolen. A few times over the last four months she’d bought burgers right there at the Huracan Club.

She kept air moving through her lungs as she paused just inside the door. He was there. Trap Dawkins. She had avoided coming for the last five days, but she didn’t dare go without eating much longer. She was too weak and she needed the protein the peanuts provided to keep going. Once she had a little money, she could buy another one of Delmar’s burgers.

Her gaze immediately went to Trap as if he were a magnet. There was no pretending he wasn’t there. He dominated the room. He was just… big. Tall, very wide shoulders, a thick chest, all muscle. He looked intimidating, and he was. Yet, he was the only human being on the face of the earth that had showed her any kindness. He had looked at her and saw a human, not a monster.

Cayenne pushed a shaky hand against the wall, her knees threatening to give out. She’d lived her entire life in a very small cell. They’d allowed her a toilet, a bed, books and a computer. And their fear. For as long as she could remember she felt their fear. She could look into a person and see inside of them – their goodness or their cruelty. Every man who came near her during her childhood had that streak of evil in them, whether too much greed, the desire for power, or their need to hurt others. If they were afraid of her – what did that say about her?

Time seemed to stand still. It tunneled, the walls of her mind curving until there was only Trap there. The way he’d been when he’d come into her cell. She had been moved to the basement cell for termination. They would kill her and cremate her before taking her ashes out to sea. She’d been created in vitro and held in a laboratory all her life. No one would ever know she existed. Or care. Until Trap.

He was a miracle. So gorgeous. A beautiful man. One moment she’d been alone without hope and the next, there he was. He’d appeared as if he’d come right through the wall. He’d slid down to the floor just outside of her cell – the cell with triple locks that were impossible to open. He’d sat there a moment, and then he’d opened his eyes. The impact had been physical, like a wicked punch to her stomach.

His eyes were a vibrant blue. He looked terrifying. All that muscle, those wide shoulders, the strength of him, even his piercing gaze that seemed to go straight to her heart. She hadn’t moved. She couldn’t. Her heart pounded, and she’d waited, because when she didn’t feel the cruelty in him, she’d been so stunned she couldn’t think properly. He looked scary and felt dangerous, yet deep inside, she knew he wasn’t a cruel man.

He felt like all kinds of other things, things that confused her. They still confused her. Trap Dawkins was the reason she hadn’t fled the area the moment she was free of her prison. He’d let her loose on the world. He’d opened the impossible locks and allowed her freedom. She had no idea what to do with freedom. She had knowledge of the world, but no experience.