Winning Moves

by Lisa Renee Jones

  She turned away from him, lost in her own thoughts. Choose my own battles. She figured she’d done that by joining the U.S. Attorney’s office. Now, she wasn’t so sure. The battles sure seemed to be picking her these days. The internal emotional battle to find her place—the reason she’d made a career change—still existed, never letting her find peace.

  Nicole had opened this conversation with Constantine looking to blame him for how out of control she felt. But the truth was, he not only wasn’t to blame, his words, his actions, made sense to her. He made sense to her. He’d saved lives today, acted bravely. He was a hero. A hero who didn’t always play by the rules, but he always had good intentions.

  She admired him. She desired him. She felt safer with him near. And she feared him. Or maybe she feared herself and simply hated him for making her look deep enough to know it.

  Once again, she came to the conclusion he always led her to—Constantine was dangerous. And that danger, she feared, was becoming an addiction she wondered if she would ever recover from.

  17

  CONSTANTINE HAD BARELY spoken to Nicole during the grueling hours in traffic, making the short trip to Houston progress far too slowly. But then, that was the idea. He wanted to get lost in the midst of the evacuation chaos. But along the way, he got lost in his own internal struggles. Now, walking down the hall of the high-end, high-security, downtown hotel toward their room, Nicole by his side, Constantine warned himself to dump the emotional garbage. It was dangerous, deadly, distracting.

  The truth was, being betrayed by Flores had bitten him pretty hard, but it was nothing in comparison to when he’d climbed up to the deck of that boat and discovered Nicole was missing. That moment had pierced him with sheer terror. A feeling he’d had only once before—when he got the call about his brother.

  Nicole had gotten under his skin, and apparently past an emotional barrier that he didn’t know could be penetrated. He was pissed at her for running off, at himself for becoming susceptible to Nicole. People around him had short life spans. It was the curse of his world.

  For the second time in an hour, Constantine shoved open the door to their room. “You’re sure you have everything?” he asked, dropping a handful of bags on the floor and then locking up. They’d checked in under an alias, surveyed the room and then left to stock up heavily on items they might need for their extended stay. “We can’t leave for anything. And I can’t stress that enough. It’s dangerous. We slid in here as part of the background to the craziness of the storm. Once that calms, we’ll get more attention. We’re here to stay.”

  Nicole sat down on the bed, settling several large Macy’s bags on the mattress beside her. She’d been tentative with him the entire shopping spree, no doubt because of his foul mood, or perhaps she was still angry over how he’d treated that patrolman back in Padre.

  “I have everything I need,” she confirmed. “And thank you.” She hesitated and repeated a question she’d asked several times before. “You’re sure the department will reimburse you, right?”

  If he answered truthfully, no. The department only covered basics, but he’d be damned if he’d admit that. Convincing her to shop from his wallet had taken heavy prodding. He expected the claustrophobia would kick in after two days of staying in the room, so having some of her personal comforts would help. Even people without a phobia got restless fast.

  “I’m sure,” he said, walking to the midsize fridge in the corner to unload a few items. He could feel her watching him, feel the heaviness of her stare.

  They might be tense, but they were alone in a hotel room, two people who had more than their share of desire for one another. A sizzle of sexual energy crackled in the air. But then, their chemistry was a given at that point.

  Nicole’s soft laugh laced the air, a hint of nervousness in the sound, as if she were responding to the mixed array of emotional baggage between them and was as confused by it as he was.

  “Thanks to the storm,” she commented, toeing off her stained tennis shoes, “today was probably the only time in my life I could get away with walking into Macy’s looking like a female mud wrestler.”

  Constantine deposited several cans of Diet Sprite in the fridge—Nicole’s favorite drink. “For all the trouble that storm caused us, it certainly helped us in other ways.”

  He looked up to find Nicole unpacking their purchases, his gaze lingering on her graceful movements, her delicate hands reminding him of how amazing her touch felt. He didn’t understand—when had looking at a woman’s hands turned him on?

  Inwardly, he shook himself, and went back to packing the fridge, but his mind played with the experience of watching her shop, which had been rather enlightening. All her products, her choices, had told a lot about Nicole. She had a thing for a perfume called “Passion” and apparently anything else sold at the Estée Lauder cosmetic counter. She liked red and pink silk pajamas, which he looked forward to seeing her in…and out of. At his prodding, she’d picked out a couple of work suits for the first few days of the trial; they were preparing to stay in hiding as long as possible. Her contrasting choices of sexy sleepwear and conservative work attire had intrigued him. She was the perfect woman. He paused in the act of putting orange juice away, wondering where that thought had come from.

  Before he could venture further, Nicole drew him into conversation. “I really don’t know how you stand always being undercover. I need my safe haven, my space that I escape to.”

  Which was why he’d made sure she’d purchased items she would use at home, hoping to give her a sense of control. “When you’re deep undercover, you take on a persona that feels like it’s you. If you don’t, you won’t survive.”

  She stopped what she was doing and stared at him. “Sounds like a hard way to live.”

  “After a while, the act becomes second nature. We can train ourselves to step out of our comfort zones.” Just as she had. The writing was on the wall. She wanted to be the staunch federal prosecutor, but there were parts of that role she struggled to embrace. “But I suspect you know that.” He didn’t give her time to respond, not wanting to make her defensive, regretting he’d even spoken the words. They’d had enough tension during the long ride. He pushed to his feet. “You can have the shower first.”

  “That sounds good.” She glanced at the clock. “I am supposed to call Dean in an hour regarding that motion to suppress your testimony by the defense.”

  “Which you’re sure they won’t get.”

  She scoffed, pushing off the bed with a bag in hand. “About as good a chance as snow in mid-July.”

  Her words held spunk; her mood seemed to lift as her zeal for victory appeared to take hold. Clearly, she enjoyed the battle, and enjoyed winning her cases. But then, it was clear that the lines they had drawn in order to reach success were the same lines that were creating all her conflict. They both lived the conflicting messages their legal system elicited, both struggled with them. But each of them had taken a different path to deal with the obstacles they faced from that system. She’d gone to one side of the line, he to the other. Ironically, neither of them liked the result.

  Could there be two people so similar and so different in this world?

  He watched her sashay past him, heading to the bathroom. His gaze dropped, lingered, riveted on her perfect ass, his groin tightening as he thought of all the things he was going to do to her there, in that room. They’d better enjoy what time they had.

  Because when they left that room, there would be a tough trial and tough decisions. Like twenty-four-hour security for Nicole. Not something he planned to bring up until he had to.

  Meanwhile, he’d protect her and then get the hell out of her life, so she could avoid the danger that always affected those around him. Which meant they should now burn out the chemistry they shared. And something told him that was going to require a lot of time in bed.

  * * *

  HEAVEN. HER BATH had been heaven.

  Nicole slipped into t
he pink velour sweatpants and matching T-shirt she’d bought, and inhaled the scent of her favorite bubble bath still floating in the air. She’d bought a few bras, but she didn’t bother putting one on, nor did she bother with panties—panty lines were something she could do without.

  Spraying on some perfume, Nicole felt nearly herself again. She didn’t consider herself spoiled, by any means, but her little habits gave her a sense of pleasure she now realized should never be taken for granted. Next up, drying her hair, applying a little makeup. The idea of Constantine seeing her as a woman, not a mess, appealed far more than she cared to admit. Especially since they’d been anything but friendly the past few hours. Still, the attraction between them lingered, waiting for exploration as readily as a new day. No one resisted such an attraction in close quarters. Sex was a basic need, a need she’d long denied herself. Of all the things Constantine had awakened in her, her sexual appetite was top of the list.

  She sighed and leaned on the sink, staring at her image. More than her sexuality had been reinvented since meeting Constantine. But then, she’d sensed he would do this to her. Sensed he was the catalyst that would create inevitable change in her life. Remembering the night she’d met him, she recalled the air of dangerous excitement he’d sparked in her. The way she’d known he would somehow make her look inside herself, force her to examine realities she wasn’t sure she was willing to face. Deep down, she had known she’d been hiding from herself. Constantine had led her to a crossroads. When this experience ended, she would have to choose a direction for her life.

  Would she fight to walk that narrow, perfect line or would she detour? More and more that line felt constraining, and hearing Constantine’s opinions on things made her realize how not black-and-white life could be. But if she detoured from this path, where did that leave her? So what was she? Who was she? Unhappy, she thought. Miserable. Tired of being something she wasn’t. That left her where? She had no idea. She wanted Alvarez behind bars and so did Constantine. That mutual desire and their shared attraction had melted away their black-and-white viewpoints. But had she lost herself to him? Lost everything she’d fought to achieve? Lost the moral fiber on which she’d based her past few years of living?

  Her mind went back to seeing Carlos, to running for her life. Yes, she had hoped for Carlos’s demise, for Constantine to kill him. Oh, God. She knew why she was drawn to Constantine. He was so like her that it was scary.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Her problem these past few years had been with the system. She’d changed sides but the battlefield was the same. Grabbing the hairbrush, she roughly pulled it through her hair. She couldn’t do this now, couldn’t think about this now. She had to be at her best during this trial, to put Alvarez away for life.

  But later, she had to face some life-changing decisions, and she had Constantine to thank for that. Part of her hated him for it, while the other part felt grateful.

  She’d funnel those emotions into the only outlet she had…sex.

  * * *

  NICOLE ENTERED THE bedroom to find Constantine lying on the bed watching the news, his head propped up against the headboard, long legs stretched out in front of him, shirt off. Her mouth went dry. She didn’t hide her inspection.

  He looked every bit the sexy stranger she had seen in that bar that first night and then some. Knowing he was a dangerous temptation had only served to enhance her desire for him, to solidify the dark danger of his allure. She stood, unmoving, staring at him, him staring at her. Awareness built like warmth turning to heat…ready to burst into flames.

  “Feel better?” he asked, his dark eyes mesmerizing in their directness. His voice had that lusty, provocative tone he used when they were intimate.

  “Oh, yes. I feel much better,” she said, walking toward the bed and sitting down on the end of the mattress. “I need to call Dean.”

  He grabbed the phone off the nightstand and handed it to her. “I like the outfit.”

  She took the phone, realizing his gaze had settled below her chin. Her nipples tightened and peaked, the heaviness of his attention creating equal heaviness in her breasts. The effect was a rush of sensation in her core, between her thighs.

  She put a finger under his chin and lifted his gaze to her eyes. “Go take a shower. I have to call Dean, and I can’t do it with you looking at me like that.”

  A slow, mischievous smile slid onto his lips, lighting those dark eyes. Damn, he was hot when he smiled. He didn’t do it enough. “You can join me when you finish.”

  “I already took a bath and you didn’t join me,” she reminded him.

  “You didn’t invite me.”

  “We were barely speaking. I didn’t think you wanted to be invited.”

  “You thought wrong and the last time I checked, bathing doesn’t require speaking.”

  She laughed. He kissed her, his tongue swooping past her lips with a soft caress she felt in every inch of her body. Too soon, his mouth was gone, his thumb lingering, sliding over her bottom lip. “It’s an open invitation, talking optional.” He left her wanting and wet, and headed to the bathroom. She wanted to follow, but she really had to call Dean.

  The bathroom door shut and she climbed across the bed to lean against the headboard, dialing Dean’s number. He picked up in one ring, obviously waiting for her call, and offered her good news—Constantine’s testimony was a go.

  “Excellent. He’s a strong witness. His brother and father were both in law enforcement.”

  “I know,” Dean said. “I had him investigated.”

  “That was fast,” she said, pleased to hear there were no skeletons in Constantine’s closet, but not surprised. He was pretty straightforward about who he was, the good and the bad.

  “The FBI expected we’d want the information,” Dean commented. “They handed his file over on a silver platter. He not only looks good on paper, he has the defense shaking in their shoes.”

  She frowned. “Exactly why Alvarez wants him dead.”

  “And you, too,” he grimly added, his voice muffled by static on the line, probably from the storm. “Anything to delay the trial and come up with a loophole. Which brings me to some not-so-good news.”

  “Which would be?”

  “I talked to your—” More static.

  “What? Talked to who?”

  “I talked to your sister today. Your father wants her home and at work. She wanted to know how sure I was she should stay gone.”

  Nicole sat up, her heart pounding like a drum against her chest. “You told her to stay away, right?”

  “I did, but she is feeling pressured. Your father wants her at work. He assured her he has private security and that those security people have seen absolutely no signs of a threat. He says—”

  “He has money to make. I know. Believe me, I know my father. Damn it!” She ran a hand through her hair. “Why is she so manipulated by him? Why does she want to be like him so badly? And why doesn’t he see how dangerous this is?” She had practically forgotten Dean. “Is she still in Hawaii?”

  The phone cut in and out. “Did you hear me?” Dean asked. “She’s taking a flight home first thing in the morning.”

  “I have to go.” She’d call him back later, to check on his wife. She dialed her sister’s cell. The call dropped, no signal.

  Pushing to her feet, Nicole moved to the window and dialed again. Still no signal. Why did her father do these things? Did he love and care about anyone? Sometimes his wallet seemed his only love. Truthfully, he wasn’t a nice person. He was about control. About career. There was a reason she didn’t include him in her life. But she knew her sister wanted him there. Just as she once had. He had a way of manipulating you and stealing your self-worth—making it exist based on his approval.

  Giving up on getting a signal for the cell phone, she headed to the door. Maybe near the elevator she could get a signal. She hesitated and rushed into the bathroom, calling to Constantine through the shower curtain. “I’ll be right back. The
re’s an emergency at home and I can’t get cell reception.”

  He yanked the shower curtain back. “No. Wait on me.”

  “I can’t. I’ll be right back.”

  She heard him curse, but she didn’t care. Her sister was all that mattered right then. She’d deal with his anger, if and when—she didn’t care. It wasn’t as if she were leaving the floor, or leaving without communicating. He’d understand when he heard it was about her sister. He had to understand.

  * * *

  THE HOTEL-ROOM DOOR closed about the time Constantine wrapped the tiny towel around his waist. Was she begging to get killed or what? It took him all of twenty seconds to find his gun and head for the door, having no qualms about leaving in a towel. The one second he hesitated could be the difference between life or death. But this was a hell of a way to stay under the radar.

  After confirming the hall to be vacant, a small miracle considering how busy the hotel was, he flipped the lock around to keep the door from closing all the way. With long strides, he headed for the elevator, heart thundering in his chest, fear for her safety far more controlling than his professional standards should allow.

  Rounding the corner, he found relief. Nicole was pacing, talking on the phone, a deep frown on her face. The minute she saw him, her eyes went wide, her gaze sweeping his half-naked body, spotting the gun in his hand. Her face went pale.

  Her expression said she knew she’d pushed him too far, given him one too many scares that day. She knew she’d done this to him, pushed him over the edge. His patience officially snapped; his emotions were unrecognizable. He didn’t like what he was feeling—hated it, in fact.

  He charged at her and grabbed her hand. “Come with me now or I swear to God I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you.”

  A stunned look filled her face and she mumbled into the phone, “I’ll call you back, but don’t get on that plane until I talk to you again.” Constantine gave her a warning look and she quickly said, “I’ll call back,” and hit End. “Constantine—” The elevator dinged, and panic registered on her face.