Ouch. She winced.
She didn’t understand when or why this stilted awkwardness had crept between them. Maybe she should’ve taken Thando up on his suggestion of a hotel. Maybe being in Bronnik’s space was too much for him, too quickly.
Not that he’d minded invading hers.
He was frowning. “Is that all right? I know it’s not a massive house, but you’ll have plenty of privacy up here.”
“It’s not that,” she began, then stopped. What she really wanted was to ask why he’d suggested she stay in his house at all if he wasn’t planning on continuing whatever it was they’d started back in Topeka. There had been no ambiguity that night in her bed, and she was sure that this was a case of his signals making an about-face, not that she had misinterpreted them.
Emboldened, she arched a challenging brow. “I guess I assumed we’d be sharing a room.”
Bronnik sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Her heart stilled—it wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for, and momentarily she worried that she’d misplayed her hand.
His tone was weary when he spoke. “I can’t stress enough how dangerous the situation has become. Hardy’s on the loose, and he’s not happy. He’s already made an attempt on your life, and I have no doubt he’ll make another and another until we catch him or he kills you. This isn’t a vacation, do you understand that? You’re in South Africa because it’s the best way for me to keep you safe, not because—”
“Not because you want to be with me,” she supplied in a voice barely above a whisper. Her throat constricted painfully. She’d been wrong all along, then—she was chasing a one-sided fantasy built on a few moments of lust. All of a sudden her knees felt weak, and she put a hand on the dresser to steady herself.
“Dammit, Lacey, don’t put words in my mouth.” His voice held such sudden harshness and volume, she took an involuntary step back. He closed his eyes for a minute, taking a steadying breath, and then he moved toward her and put his hands on her upper arms. When he spoke again his tone was low and uncompromising.
“I do want to be with you,” he told her flatly. “I want to be with you so badly I can barely think about anything else, including my job. And if I can’t focus, I can’t be sure I can protect you.”
She stepped into his embrace and flattened her palms against his chest. “Then don’t fight it. The more we deny what’s going on between us, the more we’ll both be thinking about it, and then neither of us will be fully on guard.” She brought her hand up to his cheek, and ran her fingertips over the wheat-colored stubble that gave evidence of the long journey they’d just endured. “You told me instinct was essential in your job. So follow your own.”
His hands tightened on her arms, and then his mouth was on hers with a strangled, primal moan.
The next hour passed for Lacey in a bleary, jet-lagged fog of sensation. There was the press of Bronnik’s tongue against hers, the sweep of his thumb over her nipple, the clunk of his belt buckle as it hit the floor. They were in his bed, and as his hands kneaded down her bare back she pressed her face in the pillow and drew a lungful of the cool, ginger-sharp, deeply male scent she found there. He was inside her, filling her, inflaming her, first from behind as she propped herself up on the wicker bedstead, then on her side as he drew her ankle up over his shoulder, and when she thought she couldn’t possibly find release again, thought the muscles in her inner thighs would never stop trembling, he hoisted her on top of him. She straddled his hips and drove herself farther and farther down onto his hot, penetrating arousal. Sunshine poured over her bare breasts, and beyond the window the mountains stood their ground, ancient and powerful and unrelenting.
Bronnik reached up to brush his fingers across the underside of her breast. His face was full of tenderness and wonder, and the surge of emotion that flowed through her was so intense that suddenly she was on the brink of tears.
She felt him throb within her, and as his eyes squeezed shut she thrust herself farther down, pushing him deeper into her center. His grip tightened on her waist, and in the split second before her pleasure reached its apex hand in hand with his, Lacey knew she would never be the same again. She knew this man had changed her, at a fundamental level, irrevocably.
Chapter Thirteen
Bronnik pulled the Land Rover into the parking lot behind the high-rise concrete tower that housed the Special Task Force headquarters, and shut off the engine. He’d left Lacey sleeping as he showered and slipped out the door, and the memory of her gently slumbering form draped over his chest threatened to undo all of the mental clarity the drive over had provided.
The familiarity of the building’s cool interior was like a soothing balm on his frazzled, disoriented mind. With what felt like endless hours spent on a series of flights, the worrying ambiguity around Hardy’s movements, and of course the transcendent sex he’d just had with the woman secured in his house, he felt like he was losing track of all the main markers in his life that dictated who he was. A week earlier he would’ve confidently said he was a happily single elite operator who loved his job and was damn good at it. Today that was all in question, and the knot between his personal affections and his professional obligations was snarled and confusing.
He trudged up the stairs to the third floor, his feet slow and heavy. Lacey was right—he needed to face up to the attraction between them, be open to it and accept it as a fact to guide the rest of his thinking rather than to keep fighting it, trying to convince himself it wasn’t so.
But that was much easier said than done.
Part of the problem, he acknowledged to himself, was simply coming to grips with the seriousness of his feelings for this woman. He would’ve struggled with that anyway, even if she had no relevance to his job. Sex, for him, had always been peripheral. It was something he indulged in occasionally, for fun, and the partners he chose had the same approach. He thought he was reasonably good at it—he’d certainly never had any complaints—and his encounters always ended amiably, with no expectation of anything further.
The situation with Lacey couldn’t be more different. He’d never experienced such hunger, such need, that at times he thought he could never get enough of her. When they were together he was overcome with desire, blinded by it, and he felt equally compelled to ensure her fulfillment, to see the same pleasure reflected in her eyes.
He recalled the way she’d thrown her head back in ecstasy that morning, her body rearing above his, and he had to pause in his progress up the stairs as he gripped the railing.
“Enough,” he told himself harshly, shaking his head to clear it. His mood was grim as he pulled open the door to the briefing room. He had absolutely no chance against Hardy if he kept giving in to distraction.
Thando was already seated at the oval wooden table, and Bronnik was heartened to see two of his best friends on the force in attendance as well. He’d met the solidly built, dark-haired Warren Copley and slim, green-eyed Dalton “Dassie” Jones during the entrance process for the Special Task Force, and somewhere between the three days of sleep deprivation, open-water swimming challenges, and multi-day hikes through the savanna they’d become a tight-knit trio.
“Mason!” The characteristically exuberant Dassie leapt up and grabbed his hand for a vigorous shake. “Welcome home, bro.”
Warren rose as well and, true to form, was intense and sincere in his greeting. “Good to have you back.”
“I wish I could say I was excited to see you two,” Bronnik joked, pulling up a chair. “But I was hoping they’d give me some decent police for this case.”
“Looks like you need it,” Warren said, shuffling through photocopied documents from the case file. “I can’t believe this snake managed to give the FBI the slip.”
“Don’t remind me.” Bronnik shook his head. “So much for a secure hospital unit. Let’s not even talk about the moment they cut in on my otherwise promising negotiation.”
“We haven’t heard anything from the airport teams here or in Europ
e,” Thando reported. “But we can be pretty sure he’s heading this way.”
“He left a note,” Bronnik added grimly.
Dassie pulled a piece of paper from his copy of the file. “That would be this one?” Bronnik nodded, and Dassie looked thoughtful.
“How do we know he isn’t lying?” he asked. “Maybe he’s trying to get you two out of the way by directing you to Cape Town while he heads somewhere like Switzerland or Australia.”
“That wouldn’t fit with the attention-seeking part of his modus operandi,” Bronnik replied. “He likes to string us along. Plus he’s not so much on the run as engaging in a diversionary tactic. The working theory is he’s trying to get me back in Cape Town, out of his way, then doubles back to the States to pick off his victim and maintain his record.”
“Except you brought the victim here,” Dassie supplied. Bronnik nodded.
“Interesting,” Warren murmured, flipping through the pages.
“So what now?” Dassie asked, tipping his chair back from the table.
“We sit on the airports,” Thando said. “And we circulate Hardy’s photo around the police service. It’s possible that his next killing will be random, but to be frank, I think we already know the identity of his current target. It’s more a question of how long it takes for him to realize we’ve still got her.”
Bronnik studied the grain of the wood table, feeling his colleagues’ eyes upon him.
“That would be”—Warren rustled through the file—“Lacey Cross.”
“And where is she now?” Dassie asked.
“At my house,” Bronnik muttered. The silence that fell over the table was thick with things left unsaid. He could almost hear Dassie and Warren biting their tongues.
“Right, let’s get this out in the open.” Bronnik put his hands flat on the table. “The situation between Miss Cross and myself has taken an unexpectedly personal turn. I appreciate that it may not seem like the most professional conduct, but it’s happened, and I don’t think attempting to deny it or change it is a constructive way forward. All that matters now is that Hardy is caught, and his intended victim is kept safe. If my relationship to that victim is perhaps more complicated than usual, well, that’s my problem to worry about and shouldn’t otherwise affect the police operation.”
He felt surprisingly empowered—and suddenly relieved—as he took in each of his three colleagues’ stunned expressions in turn.
“Okay?” he asked finally.
Warren was the first to nod. “Fair enough.”
Dassie shrugged. “Like you say, it’s your problem.”
Bronnik looked at Thando, expecting the worst after their tense exchange in the airport. But the older man just shook his head. “Once this case is over I’m asking for a new partner. An old, unattractive, happily married one that I don’t have to keep an eye on.”
Bronnik cracked a smile. “Are you saying I’m young and attractive? Thando, I had no idea you felt this way.”
Warren stifled a chuckle while Dassie snorted with laughter. His partner simply rolled his eyes.
“That’s enough about Mason’s love life,” he said. “Let’s focus on bringing Hardy in. Jones, you liaise with the airport teams.” Dassie nodded. “Mason’s on the target. Copley, you’re his backup. I’ll start making the rounds internally, briefing the different service departments on what to watch out for.”
The men nodded and gathered their papers to leave. Thando motioned Dassie over for further briefing, and Warren trailed Bronnik into the corridor.
Warren was a couple of inches shorter than Bronnik, but he was powerfully built and had gray eyes that always seemed to hint at yet never quite reveal complex, unseen depths.
“Everything all right with you?” he asked quietly.
Bronnik exhaled heavily, grateful for the opportunity to finally discuss the tumultuous swirl of thoughts he’d been dealing with on his own for the last week. “Yes and no.”
Warren leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, indicating Bronnik had his full attention.
“On one hand, I’ve met an amazing woman, and the more time I spend with her, the more I like her. Unfortunately she happens to be the target of a deranged serial killer, and I happen to be the person charged with keeping her alive.”
Warren shook his head sympathetically. “It’s not the kind of situation they cover in Task Force training.”
“Maybe they should add it to the curriculum, somewhere between unarmed combat and night parachuting. They could call it, Securing a Sexy Target.”
“Handling the Most Dangerous Weapon of All: A Woman.”
“Advanced Strategies for Keeping It in Your Pants.” Bronnik grinned.
“Yeah, you would’ve failed that, no question.” Warren gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Try to keep your head in the game. Focus on getting Hardy into custody. Once that’s done, you can fill your days with romantic dinners and walks on the beach and whatever sickening romance-novel fodder your heart desires.”
Bronnik nodded. “So what’s our plan?”
“You head back to your house. I’m going to swing by my house, pick up some gear and then I’ll be over. We can work out the specifics from there.”
They exchanged farewells and started down opposite ends of the hall. Just before Bronnik reached the door to the stairwell, Warren’s voice echoed down the corridor.
“Mason,” he called. “One more thing, just out of interest. This girl—are you in love with her?”
Bronnik hesitated, considering his answer. Maybe? Almost? God help me, I think so?
Before he could reply, Warren shook his head knowingly. He turned his back and walked away.
Lacey yawned and stretched as she woke, luxuriating in the sunlight spilling across the sheets and relishing the slight soreness that was testament to passionate lovemaking.
Her extended hand brushed the edge of a piece of paper, and she propped herself up on one elbow to find a note and a cordless phone handset on the other pillow. Bronnik’s unexpectedly even, tidy handwriting let her know he’d gone into work and gave his cell phone number if she needed to reach him.
She heard the distinct slam of a kitchen cabinet downstairs, and fear leaped into her throat for a split second before she reasoned that Hardy probably wouldn’t waste time rummaging through the house. A glance at the clock told her she’d been asleep for hours, and it was now late afternoon. Bronnik must have come home.
She slipped out of bed and shimmied into her underwear. The yellow-and-green rugby shirt Bronnik had been wearing earlier was crumpled on the floor and she pulled it over her head. It was oversized and comfortable, the hem hitting her mid-thigh, and she drank in the scent of him that clung to the cloth.
She swung open the bedroom door and skipped down the spiral staircase, already imagining the smile on his face and the pressure of his arms as he pulled her into an embrace. When she got to the bottom of the stairs and instead found a decidedly female backside protruding from the refrigerator, she froze, paralyzed by pure confusion.
She should’ve run straight back upstairs to put on some clothes, but instead she stood there dumbly, mentally running through a series of scenarios. Did Bronnik have a housekeeper? That seemed unlikely. An ex-girlfriend still had a key? Why would an ex-girlfriend be rooting through his fridge? Was it a current girlfriend? Her temper sparked and rose. What kind of man drags a woman halfway around the world knowing he’s got another one waiting for him when he gets there?
At that moment the rear end in question backed out from behind the open door of the refrigerator and Lacey locked eyes with a curvaceous blond woman in her late thirties. As the woman straightened to a fairly diminutive height, Lacey thought there was something awfully familiar about her blue eyes, and the shape of her chin—
“Sorry, I must’ve given you a fright, banging around in here,” she said brightly, although her gaze was taking in Lacey’s minimal attire with a quirked eyebrow. “I’m Heloise, Bronnik’s sister
.” She extended her hand.
Of course it was. Lacey’s heart slowed to a normal pace. “Lacey Cross,” she introduced herself with a handshake.
“My brother told me you were here; I was hoping to get in and out without disturbing you. I brought over some groceries.” She indicated a pile of empty shopping bags on the kitchen table and cracked a smile. “For someone who eats as much as my brother, he has an annoying tendency never to have any food in the house.”
She smiled weakly, suddenly overwhelmed with self-consciousness. It was late afternoon, her hair was a mess, and she was wearing Bronnik’s clothes. She might as well have a sign around her neck that announced, I Slept with Your Brother.
“I’ll just run back upstairs and get dressed,” she muttered, racing back to the staircase.
“I’ll make tea,” Heloise called cheerily behind her.
Twenty minutes later Lacey was fully clothed and ensconced at the snug table opposite Heloise, who had poured what she described as a traditional South African tea called rooibos. She was finding the older woman to be an easy companion, who was curious and interested without being invasively nosy.
“And that’s when Bronnik threw him on the ground.” Lacey finished up the tale of their encounter with Hardy a few days earlier and took a sip from her mug.
Heloise tilted her head thoughtfully—it was a motion she had seen Bronnik do several times. “My brother has his protective streak, but it’s unusual for him to act that extremely, that quickly.”
She shrugged. “He was on the clock, I guess. Maybe he was just in police mode.”
Heloise looked unconvinced. “Or maybe he thinks you’re someone special.”
Lacey studied the ceramic cup in her hands, flushing with equal parts hope and embarrassment. “I don’t know about that.”
“You mustn’t underestimate my brother,” Heloise said pointedly, and Lacey’s attention snapped up. “I know he must seem like a loose cannon, running all over the world, strapped up with weapons, jumping out of planes. But at heart he’s a careful, ethical man. He doesn’t take decisions lightly, whether they’re professional or personal.”
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