by Mallory Rush
A slight smile tugged at his lips. Quite an amusing concept, really. That hair of hers had nothing on the internal fire that composed her as a woman. One that had challenged him to throw down the gauntlet before he'd had the good sense to leave. What he took was a minor victory, the memory of her whimper, the sweet grip of her riding his leg.
He knew exactly where she'd been, could still feel the pulsing warmth radiating beneath his pants. He'd wear them tomorrow and remember.
And remember was all he'd do. No more dress rehearsals. Zebedique would give them plenty of opportunity to walk the tightrope in a high-stakes game.
Rand came to a decision and shut off the music. Passing the lovebirds on the way to his room, he smiled. Funny thing about life, he thought. Just when a man believed he'd be happy if he could find his sister and make everything up to her, he discovered someone else that he'd nearly forgotten.
Joshua. Just as deserving as Sarah. Joshua, a poor kid who'd had his heart stripped out by his own childish misjudgment. He hoped Rachel wouldn't regret what she'd unwittingly done, peeling away at his layers to expose some kernel of tenderness and need that belonged to a long lost boy.
Rand or Joshua or whoever the hell he was, had to discover the truth: Was Rachel the key to give Joshua a fair shot at the life he might have had if he hadn't run? And could Rand Slick stop running after a lifetime of dodging the odds?
He made love to her in his sleep. When he awoke, Rand knew for once the sweat drenching his sheets was owed to a kinder source than that of old demons who liked to pay their visits in a dream. One he jeeringly called, "See Rand Run."
Chapter 7
Shave and a haircut, two bits. Rachel glanced at her watch. Eight o'clock on the nose. Not only had Rand proved to be a man of his word, he was so punctual she could set her clock by him.
She couldn't get to the door fast enough at the same time she dreaded the inevitable war of want versus will. Though she could look all she liked, Rachel didn't trust herself to touch him. The problem was, the more she looked, the more desperate she was to touch, to give up this farce of friendly allies who pretended that night a month ago didn't exist.
But it did. It was there, always there. Between them and escalating, like the building tension felt by two estranged lovers riding in an elevator. Together but alone, separated by pride and more as they slowly inched up to the same floor while they stared anywhere but at each other.
Yet it didn't stop her furtive glances of longing. Or prevent her heart from deeply caring for him—at least as deeply as their slipping guards and uneasy hands-off truce allowed. He was still a mystery to her. The better she got to know him the more it seemed she didn't know.
Rachel took a deep breath and mentally snapped out an order to her nervous system to stop this crazy nonsense. An exercise in futility at first lock of their gazes.
Rand let go a low, admiring whistle. "You could stop traffic in that getup."
"Let's hope it stops some trafficking. By the way, thanks for the lift. As soon as this job is over, I'm shopping for some new wheels."
"You could have caught a ride with Jack." He raised a brow in silent challenge. When she refused to rise to the bait, he smiled warmly. "I'm glad you called me instead."
"Let me get my purse so we can get out of here," she said hastily, before he could press her for reasons she couldn't accept herself. "Jack's probably already at the casino. I hate to keep him waiting."
"Do you? You certainly haven't had any qualms about keeping me waiting. Do you realize this is the first time we've had a minute together since that night—"
"Don't be ridiculous, Rand." She cut him off before he spoke aloud her own thoughts. Why had she set them up like this? As if she didn't know. "Except for your quick trips to New York, we're constantly together. Planning, trial runs at the other casinos. And don't forget the two weeks running that we've laid the bait."
"Without a nibble. So what do we do? The three of us drink coffee till we're floating and swap jokes at a damn greasy spoon. I suppose you think that qualifies for time together too."
"Of course it does."
"The hell it does. We're never alone. Jack's a great guy but—"
"No buts about it, he's the best back-up your money can buy."
"Money." Rand snorted. "That again. Is it possible, for once, just this once, that we could forget money and Jack and have an honest conversation about something that's been on my mind since before the first stake-out? We need to discuss it, and I want to do it now."
She wavered on the cusp of giving in to the never-ending temptation of turning her back on her profession to confront full in the face what always went unsaid.
"Later, Rand. Jack's waiting."
"Let him wait. This can't."
"Too bad, because it'll have to," she said sharply. Rachel was angry at herself for the weakness of needing some last, stolen bit of him to take with her as a talisman against the whims of fate. She turned, intent on a quick exit.
He caught her arm. She stared at the connection of olive skin against her own pale flesh. Where his fingertips touched she felt a glow. It spread until the room seemed to shrink in size and fill up with charged emotions and an energy that hummed of intimate whispers and hot sex.
"It's not too late, angel," Rand said quietly. "You can still back out. Do it."
Knowing how much his sister meant to him, she could only meet his probing stare with her own of wonder and confusion. His brutally handsome face was softened by the same edge of concern relayed in the current of his voice.
"Do you actually think, even for a minute, that I would?"
"No. But I had to offer. I've got a gut feeling that tonight we'll hit pay dirt."
"I know. I feel it too."
"Do you? Is that why I can feel you shivering like it's ten below zero instead of eighty degrees in here?" When she averted her gaze, he caught her chin and searched her face. "Is it?" he demanded.
"Of course," she said firmly while she prayed her eyes didn't give her away. "It's only natural to be nervous with stakes this high. But if anyone can pull some sleight of hand in the drink switching department, it's Jack. And you'll be there too—"
"But not when you need me the most. Then you'll be on your own. Without even a gun or a tracing device on you. I don't like it. Not one damn bit."
"We knew from the start that it's the only way, Rand. A hundred bucks and a false I.D. is my best insurance. They'll go through my things. They'll search me."
"I know." His grip tightened until she nearly winced. "When I think of what those bastards might—"
"Don't think about it. This is my job. It's what you hired me to do. I'm prepared."
"Yeah, right. The truth is, no matter how prepared you believe you are it's going to be a nightmare, being helpless in the hands of strangers. A nightmare for you. A nightmare for me. When I first came into your office you were a means to an end. Things have changed."
"This isn't a good time to talk about—"
"There's never a good time for us to talk, is there? You've seen to that. What are you afraid of? Me? When I haven't so much as tried to kiss you again? You're my friend, or at least the closest thing to a friend I've let myself have for more years than I can count, and you won't even look at me. Look at me." He gave her small shake. "That's better. Okay, friend, I'm giving you one final chance to back out. My instincts are almost always right and they're telling me after tonight there won't be any turning back."
Rachel knew as surely as she stood here and filled herself up with his forbidden touch, that there had been no turning back from the moment they met. Even if she could lie to Rand, she couldn't lie to herself.
She'd never been in love before, so she wasn't yet sure, but... she was terribly afraid she was falling in love. In love with a man she knew and knew not at all. She'd dated her share, had her share and more of kisses and heavy petting. But never had she met anyone like Rand Slick. And never had another man made her want, desperately
want, what she couldn't have at this moment with a look, a palm that swept to the small of her back, or a soft kiss pressed to her temple.
"Tell me you're off the case," he whispered. His embrace was urgent as he kissed her again, only not so soft because it was fierce and had trailed to her neck where his teeth lightly scraped. "I don't want you to go through with this. I'll find someone else and—"
"Stop it, Rand. Stop it!" Summoning the core that was strength, the belief in the rightness of what she was compelled to do, Rachel thrust him away. They stared at each other, both breathing in syncopated harsh rasps. "I told you we couldn't get emotionally involved. If this doesn't prove my point, nothing does. You have a sister who needs you, who needs me because I can get to her where you can't. And not only her, what about the other women who are at risk while you shop for someone to take my place?"
"I don't know those other women. I don't care about them. You, I care about."
"Don't," she snapped, flinching at her own sharp warning.
"Too late, Rachel. I do. Not that you seem to care that I... care."
Steeling herself against the flow of something that felt like liquid nirvana coursing her veins and making her head spin like a top, Rachel glared at him.
"Care later, Rand. Care when you can afford to."
"When I can afford to?" His harsh bark of laughter was derisive. "Here's another little tidbit to slide into the cube. Caring's the one thing I can't afford. Not yesterday, not today, or tomorrow. Sister or no sister. I won't be forgetting you threw back in my face what I'll never be able to afford. Just remember I don't offer anything without the intent to reap my benefits ten-fold. And I will, Rachel. I will."
His gaze burned so hot it was freezing, rooting her to the floor and making her chafe at the imprint of his hold on her arms. But her heart he held it so tight she could feel it squeeze out each erratic pump.
"If you're trying to scare me into backing off from this case, it's not working. I'm in, Rand. I'm in and I'm not bowing out until Sarah's safe and you're a file I've filed away. As, I suspect, you'll do with me once this is over. Case closed."
Hardly, was his silent response. Rand studied the stubborn tilt of her chin that quivered ever so slightly, underscoring her hard-line as nothing but a sham from a woman of substance who didn't believe it herself. Who did Rachel think she'd taken on? Some horny kid who didn't know the difference between lust and whatever it was that she'd done to his insides?
They balled into a hard knot, deflecting the blow of her rejection. One he couldn't accept, would not accept, and all but chortled at because it was so obvious she felt, she cared just as much as he did. It made her rejection a helluva lot easier to handle than the fear for her safety that overshadowed his reason.
"Know what? I can almost pity that slaver once he gets his hands on you. Your tongue is sharper than any knife he might be tempted to cut it out with." His short laugh was closer to a sneer. It was directed at himself, fool that he was for feeling too much. Not love, surely not, but something she called up inside him that kept growing and growing until he thought it might eat him alive. "Forget I ever said that I cared, okay? Like everything else between us, we'll pretend it doesn't exist and maybe it'll go away. God, I hope so."
She hesitated, then touched his hand. Softly, a soothing brush of ruby painted nails to clenched fist.
"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Rand. This isn't how—"
He knocked her hand away and she covered her throat as if he'd jammed a finger into her windpipe. Rand smiled coldly. Rachel was going to learn he didn't go down easy, and when he did he latched on to whoever dared tried to top him.
"Get your purse. And please, not the ugly one. The one with black sequins should match that dress it's a wonder you can even breathe in. Maybe you'd like to change into something closer to decent? You do seem to be having trouble sucking in air and—why Rachel, your cheeks are turning such a lovely shade. They even match your lipstick and nails."
"What's the big idea, slamming the way I'm dressed?" she retorted hotly. Rand was perversely pleased, quite certain that it was his refusal of her touch, not his editorial on her taste in purses or choice of dress that had her steaming. "You picked this out! Or don't you remember?"
He remembered and only too well. He remembered his command: "Turn around. Slow." His finger circling the air while her feet pivoted on a platform at an appointment only designer boutique. His gaze roving hungrily over her person, touching her with an intimacy that his hands didn't share.
True to his promise, he'd kept them to himself. All that day she'd modeled and he'd sipped champagne while drinking her up from his slouch in a Queen Anne chair. He'd bought ten knock 'em dead outfits though she'd insisted two should do.
What a joke. Imelda Marcos didn't own half as many shoes compared to the wardrobe he'd wanted to buy this woman that was under his skin and driving him crazy. Everything she'd put on was transformed from cloth to class. The only greater urge than to buy out the store was to strip her down to nothing and drive into her so long and deep there'd be no stopping him until her heart spilled from her mouth.
"I remember, angel," he said smoothly. "But that was for my eyes only. I might be a lot of things, but I stop short of scum. That's who you're peddling your wares for tonight. He'll bite. Sink his teeth right into that sweet, delectable, top dollar flesh of yours. I can't help but wonder how much he'll sample before I buy up the leftovers in Zebedique."
"They're not in the business to deliver damaged goods. Not if they want top dollar. And yours, no matter how ill gotten, is just as good as the next bidder's, Mr. Slick."
He had to admire her grit. It caused him to quirk a brow and acknowledge a painful, inner smile of defeat. A smile that didn't reach his mouth that was impatient to crush hers with a lip-eating, tongue-thrusting, can't-get-my-fill hunger.
"But of course it is, Rachel. Money is the universal language and it's the one I speak most fluently. Far better than English, so perhaps you can understand my lack of eloquence when I say..." His gaze feasted on the swell of her breasts as he barked, "Pull up that damn bodice before you fall out. Your job is to lay the bait, not to feed the shark."
She gave him her back and marched into her bedroom. But not before he saw the fleeting expression of hurt. Sequined bag in hand and bodice a good two inches higher, she brushed past him with a haughty disdain he didn't buy for a minute.
With a brisk twist of the wrist, she locked up and stalked to his car. Rand beat her to the passenger door.
Instead of thanking him, she sliced him cleanly with a stony, madder-than-hell squint.
Rand guided the mean machine with a sweating palm over the leather-bound steering wheel. His guts were water just thinking about what might lay ahead for her once she was stripped of his protection.
The problem was, protecting her—and thus, Sarah—from himself once foreign law gave him owner's rights and Rachel was handed into his own greedy keeping.
* * *
Rand scanned the crowd in the casino until his gaze connected with Jack's, who gave a small nod before moving to a gaming table a discreet distance from where Rachel stood.
It was tremendously difficult for him not to stare. In profile, she appeared to be enmeshed in a game of roulette. The black cocktail dress did indeed hug her too well in all the right places. It set off her red hair and green eyes so vividly that he was reminded of Christmas at night. Holidays were something he detested since he had no family to share them with, but Rachel sparked images of youthful hope and a stunning feminine fire that crackled in a hearth called home.
She bent closer to the wheel and his attention narrowed on her too generous show of cleavage. Rand took a bracing swig from his glass while he commanded himself not to go jerk the bodice higher even as his fingers itched to plunge it down until her breasts tumbled free.
Rachel slid him a sidelong glance and smiled sweetly before turning the smile that was his on a man who sidled up beside her. The guy was
wearing enough gold chains to put Fort Knox out of business and had a motor mouth that wouldn't quit. No way was this bozo their target.
The bozo rested a palm on a smooth ivory shoulder. Rand's grip tightened on the glass and he felt a distinct urge to hack the SOB's hand off at the wrist.
To his relief, Rachel cut the touchy-feely short and headed for a Black Jack table. Jack cut his losses and moved in closer. Rand cut through the crowd, tailing her at a judicious distance.
His attention eventually focused on an elegant man in evening attire who approached her with a questioning smile and appeared to be confused as he asked her something. Then he shrugged expressively and shook his head, his smile so charming and sincere it made Rand immediately suspicious.
As the man continued to engage Rachel in what seemed an entertaining conversation, Rand bent down and pretended to tie his shoe, never releasing them from his peripheral vision.
Was it the too smooth moves from the too oily operator that caused his skin to crawl? Was it Jack's seasoned eye for a con and a curt nod to Rand that made him shudder? Or was it Rachel, playing her role with a flawless finesse as she appeared friendly and interested but not over-eager, that had him swallowing against a dust dry throat?
And then the man was gesturing toward the bar and Rachel was just-right hesitant before slowly smiling in agreement.
She dropped her sequined purse, the sign they'd hit the jackpot. The guy was good, so good Rand would've staked the cool ten mil he'd made on yesterday's coup that this was it.
The respect he didn't give easy but that Rachel had won, climbed several notches as he slyly observed from his post. She was reeling their mark in like a pro. If she was scared she wasn't showing it while his own heart banged against his ribs and adrenaline rushed through his system.
But as he followed them into the bar, an image of plump pillows, a feather down bed and Rachel his, all his, muted the apprehension clawing at his gut. Dear God, how he wanted to protect her, even knowing if any woman could protect herself it was Rachel.