by Lori Foster
Clint lifted his head to see her. “For being a repo agent?”
“It’s an honorable job requiring a lot of skill.”
“How do you know?”
“Logic tells me that you couldn’t hire just anyone to retrieve equipment of that value. You’d need someone qualified and very capable. But actually, I meant saving people. I’m here now, so you must still do rescues sometimes, too?”
He didn’t want to share his entire life, so he settled on saying, “When the pay is good enough.”
That was a partial lie; he’d never turned down a job, because the minute he knew someone needed his help, he felt driven to try to give it. Dumb as it was, he always got too involved. Even the episode two years past hadn’t taught him his lesson.
“You’ve rescued women before?”
Memories intruded, ugly and hurtful. He pushed them aside. “Yeah. A few. Mostly it’s men, though. And a kid or two.”
Several heartbeats passed, then, “Have you ever slept with any other women?”
The workings of the female mind were a thing of wonder. Clint reached up and pinched her chin. “Like I’m sleeping with you? Or do you mean have I had sex with them?”
Not the least intimidated, she half turned toward him. “Have you?” Her gaze searched his in the darkness. “Had sex with them?”
That wasn’t what she’d been asking. He’d put the idea in her head and he cursed himself. “No.”
“Oh.” She turned back around. “Have you slept with them like this?”
“Once before.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
Why not? Maybe the story would put her to sleep. “She was a television personality, taken by some rabid fan. By the time we found her, she was injured and too weak to be moved, so I stayed with her, and Red went for help. It was during a damn vicious snowstorm, and it took till the next day for him to get back with doctors. She damn near died on me. I was afraid to be more than an inch away from her.”
“She’s okay now?”
“Last I heard, yeah. She’s since left showbiz, married, and has a baby, too.”
Julie rolled to her back to see him better. Clint was so aware of her, her scent, the soft feel of her skin, her feminine curiosity. It shouldn’t have, but it felt right to be with her like this, in the darkness, sharing intimate talk.
Damn. “Go to sleep.”
“Where’d you learn to fight?”
“Julie Rose…”
She ducked her face into his chest. “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet now so you can sleep.”
Meaning she wouldn’t sleep. He came up on one elbow over her. “I’ll answer this question, but that’s all, okay? Then you’ll close your eyes and think nice thoughts and go to sleep. Agreed?”
Her small hand flattened on his chest, inciting his lust, pushing his control. “Agreed.”
He held her hand to keep her from stroking him. “I learned to fight in a lot of places. The army first, when I was still mostly a kid. I got out and needed more money, so I entered some fighting competitions.”
“Boxing?”
“Less structured than that.” Less legal than that.
“You just fight, any way you can, no holds barred. I won a few, lost a few, got a few broken bones, and I learned as I went along. But because it was profitable and I enjoyed it, I eventually paid more attention to techniques. I got better.”
“You got good.”
“Very good.” No bragging, just truth. He was incredibly good and when necessary, lethal.
“So how’d you end up rescuing people?”
“That’s a whole new question, but I’ll give you the short end of it. Someone who’d watched me fight had need of my help. His daughter was in a cult, and he couldn’t get to her. Being a public figure and all, he wanted to avoid scandal, so he couldn’t go to the police.”
“You saved her?”
“I got her out. Emotionally, it was an ugly place. Her parents had reason to intervene. It took about four weeks before she got back to her old self, and then she contacted me to thank me. She moved back in with her folks and finished up college.”
“A job well done.”
Julie Rose had a killer smile. The urge to kiss her mouth, to taste that smile and share in her simple happiness, churned inside him. “It happens occasionally.”
“More often than not?”
“Thankfully.” He touched her cheek and, unable to stop himself, bent to kiss her forehead. Damn it, he had to quit doing that. “Now sleep, woman. That’s an order.”
“All right.” This time he went to his back, and Julie cuddled into his side as if she’d been doing so forever. She pillowed her head on his chest and put her arm around him. “Clint?”
He gave an aggrieved groan only partly feigned. She was so soft and warm, so female, that if she didn’t go to sleep soon he’d start howling in sexual frustration.
“I’m thinking very nice thoughts. I just wanted you to know.” Her serenity seemed to waft around him, and she whispered, “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
A few minutes later, her breathing evened into sleep. Clint smiled into the darkness. God, what had he gotten himself into?
And would he ever be able to get out?
Chapter Five
Clint woke slowly, aware that something wasn’t quite right. He felt strangely at peace, but then, he’d just had a very restful sleep for the first time in ages. Usually, personal demons plagued him the moment he closed his eyes. But last night, his dreams had been darkly erotic rather than full of menace.
Predictably enough, he had morning wood. He also had his arms full of woman—a slight, pain-in-the-ass woman who had factored into those sexy dreams in a big way.
Against his closed eyelids, Clint detected sunlight coming through the curtains.
Almost at the same time, he felt Julie Rose’s body shift against his. Her scent, spicier after the warmth of being cuddled all night, filled his head. Cautiously, he opened one eye.
She wasn’t asleep now.
No, Julie Rose was half propped up over him, and she had the top of the covers in her fingertips, lifting, so she could look beneath. At him.
She stared at his lap.
Well. Considering his state, the little darling got an eyeful. Clint didn’t know if he should laugh, groan, or take her to her back and kiss her silly.
In a voice still rough and froggy, he whispered, “Hey.”
After a small startled yelp, Julie dropped the covers and twisted to face him. “You’re awake.”
“Guilty.” He didn’t move. He had one arm behind his head, the other under Julie’s waist, and his legs were slightly parted. Her hair was a mess, going every which way, more out of her braids than in, and her cheeks were rosy, her eyes still heavy from sleep.
She looked good. Damn good. Like a woman who’d just been fucked hard—and enjoyed it.
Though his heart pounded in heavy beats, Clint merely watched her, waiting to see if she’d make excuses for what she’d been doing.
She cleared her throat. “I guess you caught me.”
“Is that right?”
Mouth going a little crooked in chagrin, she admitted, “I was sneaking a peek.”
That threw him for only a moment; she was too damn honest for her own good. “No kidding?” He half smiled. “I never would have guessed.”
She watched him so intently, Clint felt naked. She cleared her throat again. “I should apologize, I suppose.”
Clint shrugged.
For a few seconds, she worried her bottom lip, then huffed out a breath. “I’ve never seen anyone as impressive as you, so I was curious. I woke up, but you were still asleep, and the covers were sort of tented…”
“I do understand.” He cleared his throat. “No big deal.”
“Is that a sexual pun?” Then, before he could reply to that, though God knew he had no idea what to say, she added, “You have some scars.”
She said it as if
confiding a secret. “I know.”
Her cool fingertips touched the side of his nose, moved to his eyebrow, his chin.
Uncomfortable with her tender touch, Clint felt compelled to explain. “I broke my nose twice fighting. The second time I didn’t bother going to the doc. I just put it back in place myself. It shows.”
Julie touched his nose again. Her eyes were big and dark and velvety. “It looks fine. You have a strong, handsome nose.”
It was crooked as hell, and they both knew it.
“How’d you get this scar on your eyebrow?”
“A kick. It split the skin.”
“Ouch.” She trailed her fingers over his upper lip, making him a little nuts. “And this one?”
Her voice went husky and deep, and Clint wanted to take her fingers in his mouth, suck on them a little, tease her a lot…but he didn’t want her keeling over on him again.
“Why do you ask?” His voice was rougher now, too, and it had nothing to do with sleep because, thanks to Julie Rose, he was wide awake.
“Aren’t most women curious?”
Clint shook his head. “No. Fact is, no other woman’s come right out and asked me about my scars.”
“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised by that. “Why not?”
She stared at his armpit while asking that question, confounding Clint. “I suppose they wanted to get laid and didn’t want to offend me.”
Her gaze softened. She reached out, trailed her fingertips over the exposed underside of his arm, along his biceps down, then dropped her hand. “Am I offending you?”
“Look at me when you talk to me, Julie Rose.”
She took her time obeying that order, allowing her gaze to linger on his upper arm, his chest, his throat, and finally his face.
Clint sank deeper by the second. Convictions, even honor, faded beneath a fusion of lust and caring. He shouldn’t touch her. But God how he wanted to. “Just what the hell’s going on here, Julie Rose?”
Her expression turned prim. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yeah, you do. Last night you were shaken, so I stayed with you. But I was careful not to get too familiar. I was careful not to offend you. After everything you’ve been through, I know the last thing you want is my attention.”
Her brows drew down. “I like your attention.”
The woman could learn a little discretion. Her upfront honesty wasn’t making this any easier for him. “I mean my sexual attention, Julie Rose.” She continued to watch him, so Clint made it real plain. “You don’t want me coming on to you, grabbing at you, or trying to get in your pants—”
“I’m not wearing pants.”
“You think I haven’t noticed that?” Christ, she was going to make one comment too many, and he’d lose it. He couldn’t be more aware of her slim bare legs, or the fact that no more than a nightshirt and panties shielded her.
“I don’t want to be grabbed.”
Of course she didn’t. Clint tried to hide his frustration because grabbing her right now seemed like one hell of an idea. At least it did to his less-logical body parts; his brain knew she wasn’t ready for that yet. Hell, he wasn’t ready for it, either. He never, ever, got physically involved with the women he rescued.
Up till now, that resolution hadn’t been a big deal because truthfully, up till now, until Julie Rose, he hadn’t even wanted to.
Now he did. In a big way.
He was trying to convince himself to let it go when she said, “I like when you touch me, though.” Her hand opened on his chest. “And I like touching you, too. You’re solid and safe and very warm.”
A man could only take so much, Clint told himself, and she more than begged for it.
She pulled the covers down, farther and farther until the top of his boxers showed, leaving his abdomen—rigid with restraint—on display. “What about this scar?” Her small, soft hand, cool against his fevered skin, traced the scar that ran from his ribs to his hipbone.
Strangling on his own lust, Clint growled, “A knife wound.”
“I’m sorry. It looks so painful.”
Pain was lying in bed with Julie Rose while she innocently checked him out. But at least her comment gave him a different path for his thoughts. “Might’ve hurt at the time, I don’t remember.” All he really remembered was pure, red-hot rage that the weasel he’d confronted had dared to pull a blade on him. Clint had lost his temper, and his control. He’d beat the man so badly that he’d spent well over a week in the hospital before he could be questioned by the cops for domestic violence.
It was the case that had nearly ruined Clint, and not just professionally.
His morbid thoughts got shattered when Julie lowered her head and lightly brushed her lips over the old wound. She’d put herself into a damned suggestive position, with her head over his lap, her lips way too damn close to where he’d really like them to be.
His imagination had no problem picturing the covers and his boxers long gone.
Her silky, lopsided braid trailed over his skin, and her breath was about the most erotic thing he’d felt in too many months.
Fighting the urge to take her, right here, right now, he stiffened.
Julie lifted her head. Her cheeks were flushed and she skimmed her tongue over her lips, as if tasting him. “Did I hurt you?”
God, she looked as turned on as he felt. “No.” Her hair was more out of the braid than in, and Clint tucked a long hank of brown silk behind her ear. “You didn’t hurt me.”
“Then do you mind if I kiss you?”
Ah, hell. That did it. Forget his self-made rules. Forget caution. One little kiss couldn’t hurt, right? It wasn’t like he’d let things get out of hand.
It wasn’t like he’d strip her naked and crawl between her slim thighs and sink into her…No. He wouldn’t do that.
His mind made up, Clint leisurely brought his arms down so that he could clasp her waist. “Come here, Julie Rose.”
She stilled, but when Clint eased her over his chest, she didn’t fight him. Her legs tangled with his. Her soft belly flattened against his boner.
All breathy and excited and maybe even hopeful, she whispered, “What are you going to do?”
Slowly shaking his head, Clint said, “Not a thing. But you’re going to kiss me.” When he had her settled atop him, he released her and stacked both his hands behind his head so she wouldn’t feel threatened or overwhelmed, and so he wouldn’t get carried away.
No matter how badly he needed her, he wouldn’t allow himself to forget what she’d been through. He wouldn’t let himself forget that he’d been hired to rescue her, or that he’d only known her a few hours.
Julie breathed hard. “I was already kissing you.”
“Try kissing me on the mouth.”
Her chest rose and fell with her uneven breaths.
“Come on,” Clint taunted. “You know you want to.”
Julie licked her lips. “I do, but…This isn’t very proper.”
And sneaking a peek at his boner while he slept was? He didn’t voice that thought because he didn’t want to embarrass her. Instead he said, “So? I heard you weren’t all that proper anyway.”
Her face paled at what she saw as an insult, even as her eyes darkened with anger. She was such an intriguing contradiction.
“Who told you that?” Julie demanded, stiffening her arms so that she loomed above him.
“Robert?”
“Yeah.” Julie Rose might be a spinsterish schoolteacher, but when she got riled, she bloomed with passion.
“And you believed him?”
“No.” Clint wanted to kiss the sour expression off her face. “Your friend Bobby is a liar and a cheat, and you’re better off without him. But you, Julie Rose, have this mischievous twinkle in your eyes that tells me you enjoy being a rebel every now and then.”
“Oh.” Her expression softened, and a nervous smile appeared. She leaned down and kissed him very gently. “That’s true.”
>
“I know.”
She stared at his mouth. “I was thinking…”
“About?”
“About the plans I’d made.”
So now she wanted to talk instead of kiss? Fickle woman. “What plans might those be?”
Her gaze lifted to his. “I wanted to start living, to make up for lost time and have fun and just be me.”
Lord help him. “Is that right?”
“Yes. I recently resigned from my job at a stuffy private school and signed on at a public school in Visitation, North Carolina. It’s much more…stimulating.”
He had a feeling the last thing Julie Rose needed was more stimulation.
“I was in the process of looking for a place to live there, away from relatives and people who knew me in only one way.”
“As a prim and proper schoolteacher?”
“Exactly. I was going to really cut loose and do all the things I’d never had a chance to do.”
“Then you got kidnapped?” Clint wondered if the two were related, if her plans for a new lifestyle had left someone—maybe good old Robert—feeling threatened.
“Yes.” She looked at his mouth again and leaned a little closer.
Clint didn’t know if she planned to give him another chaste kiss or the killer kind he craved.
“Jamie warned me that things would happen, that I should be careful. But I didn’t believe him.”
That bald statement had Clint scowling. He turned his head before her mouth could meet his. “Jamie? Who the hell is Jamie? Another man in your life?”
“Jamie Creed.” She caught his face and held him still, then kissed him, a little longer this time but still with closed lips, a nice, tidy, dry kiss when what he wanted was the wet, deep kind, with a lot of tongue play and some moaning thrown in.
But this was her show, and he’d go at her pace if it killed him.
She lifted her head and sighed. “Jamie isn’t really in anyone’s life. He’s something of a hermit, very withdrawn and mysterious. He lives up on this tall mountain in Visitation.”
Disgusted, both with his escalating need and the admiration in her tone, Clint said, “You sound smitten.”
“Most of the women who meet Jamie are. But truthfully, he scares me a little. Jamie often knows things before they happen. He definitely knew about my kidnapping.”