To Win Her Trust

by Mackenzie Crowne

  A low rumble sounded in the dog’s throat, and Ronald puckered up like a teenage boy facing an angry father on prom night.

  Tuck fought back a smile and tightened his hold. “Makes sense, since they live here.”

  “Is CC home?”

  He pointed a finger at the ceiling. “She’s upstairs.”

  “I’m Ronald Bartolini, her agent.”

  He shook the offered hand. “Kevin Tucker.”

  “I know.” The slick car salesman smile didn’t come close to reaching the man’s eyes. “Congratulations on your Super Bowl win. That was one hell of a game.”

  “Thanks. Was CC expecting you?”

  “No. I needed to talk to her about something and hoped to catch her working.”

  Tuck grunted, and instead of slamming the door in the asshole’s face the way he wanted, he opened it wider. He didn’t do relationships and wasn’t in this for the long term. Jealousy was a foreign emotion. Nonetheless, he recognized the slow burn in his gut for what it was. CC saw the stiff as a friend, but he was still a man. A man she’d thought of first as a candidate to test a theory she never would have considered but for his kiss. That made Ronald Bartolini an adversary. One he’d need to eliminate. Starting now.

  He shut the door and curled his lips in a sensual smile. “She’s in the shower at the moment. Shall I tell her you’re here?”

  Ronald’s eyes bugged out. “Oh. Oh, no, that’s not necessary. I can wait.” A phone jangled on a nearby desk and drew his gaze momentarily. He turned back and cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize you and CC were…friends.”

  The comment came out more like a question, as if he were on a fishing expedition. Tuck was more than happy to chum the waters. “I’m not sure friends is the right term.”

  The phone rang a second time, and her answering machine clicked on.

  “You’re dating her?” Skepticism sharpened Ronald’s tone.

  Beep.

  “Yeah. Why? Is there something between the two of you besides business?”

  “CC, it’s your father. I was hoping you’d be free to meet me for dinner.”

  Ronald shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other. “Not in the way you’re suggesting, but I consider her a friend, as well as a client.”

  Tuck crossed his arms. “Is that so?”

  “As a matter of fact…”

  “Are you there, CC? Bobby Oakley and I are in town, working out some tour details. He’d like to see you, too. You know you always were his favorite.”

  Whatever Ronald had been about to say trailed away as his stunned gaze whipped to the phone. Tuck’s brows shot to his hairline. He was as surprised as the agent at the mention of the rock ’n’ roll legend.

  A sigh floated through the machine. “I guess you’re not home. I left a message last week, but I guess you didn’t get it. The band and I will be back in town at the end of the month for the kickoff concert for my new tour. I’d love for you to be there.”

  Tuck’s gaze crawled to the ceiling, above which CC was showering in preparation for their lunch date. Holy fuck. He’d sensed from the beginning there was more to her panic attacks than she was saying but…Ho-ly fuck! His new tour? If Bobby Oakley was part of the band, her father was Curt Jensen, lead singer of one of the biggest rock bands of all time.

  Unease slithered down Tuck’s spine as vague memories of old headlines flashed in his head. He’d been just a teen at the time but remembered how the kidnapping had captured the nation’s attention. He recalled his mother’s horror as she followed the story on the evening news. Three long summer nights while the famous singer pleaded for his daughter’s life. The blond head of a little girl hiding her face and clinging to her father’s arm at the press conference once she’d been recovered.

  Jesus.

  Ronald jerked out his arm and checked his watch. “I’ll have to speak to CC later. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for an appointment. Let her know I stopped by, will you?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left.

  Tuck paid him no mind. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. Shit. The panic attacks suddenly made sickening sense. She’d spent three days with strange, criminally-minded men, intent on getting rich off the terror of a nine-year-old girl and her family.

  Walter rubbed against his leg, and Tuck bent to scratch his neck. “Christ. That explains a lot.”

  “A lot of what?”

  He turned his head. Fresh from her shower, CC crossed the floor to pick up the purse she’d left on the long work table in the center of the room. Despite the freshly applied makeup and slim woman’s body beneath tight jeans and a T-shirt, she appeared younger somehow, as if his mind superimposed the image of the frightened child she’d been in the old photos onto the woman before him.

  He straightened. She’d refused to explain the source of the attacks or speak of her past. Mention of her father could put him on shaky ground, but he’d never believed in keeping secrets from a woman he was seeing. He wouldn’t start now.

  “You had a phone call while you were in the shower.”

  “And?”

  “I believe the caller was Curt Jensen.”

  If he’d had any doubt she was the little girl whose terror was splashed across the airways and publications two decades earlier, it was put to rest. She blanched. Her gaze flew to the phone. A red light flashed on the small, black console beside it. Her eyes slid shut.

  “CC?”

  She held up a hand, palm out, and opened her eyes. Twin flags of color rode her cheekbones. “My family is none of your business.”

  The blatant evidence that she continued to hold him at arm’s length stung even as the remoteness in her eyes tore at his heart.

  “You’re right. Nothing beyond what happens on our dates is my business. Unless you decide to share it with me.”

  Suspicion deepened the emerald of her eyes. Stubbornness flattened her lips.

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I simply overheard the message.” He sighed when she remained silent. “You’re the little girl who was kidnapped. That’s what I meant by it explains a lot.”

  Her chin notched up a full inch. “I don’t talk about that.”

  He nodded. “Understandable.”

  Like adversaries on a dusty western street, they faced each other as the silence stretched. They’d crossed a line he hadn’t known was there, and although he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and ease the shadows from her eyes, he remained where he was. He hoped like hell she wouldn’t decide to call a halt to their arrangement, but the next move was hers.

  Finally, she dipped her head to stare at the floor. “It happened a long time ago.”

  Relief weekend his knees. She hadn’t told him to go. “Some things are difficult to forget.”

  When she looked up, the ghosts in her eyes shredded his heart like clawing fingers.

  “Others are impossible.” Her chest heaved on a deep breath, and the strength that had carried her beyond her own personal hell was evident in her conscious effort to banish the memories.

  He sighed. “If you’d rather a rain check on lunch, I understand.”

  Her body went stiff and hurt replaced the shadows. She turned and picked up a small pair of pliers from her workbench. “If that’s what you want.”

  He crossed the room in a flash. Cupping her cheek in his palm, he turned her until she was forced to meet his gaze. “Don’t do that.”

  She blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t shut me out. I don’t deserve it.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  When she twisted her head, he let her go and dropped his hand.

  “Weren’t you?”

  “No.”

  The sharp arch of his brow indicated his doubt.

  Her sigh was a ragged expulsion of breath. “Okay, maybe I was, but I’m a mess, Tuck. No one could blame you for wanting to back out of our bargain.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and she held up a hand.


  “I’m not belittling myself. Really, I’m not. I’ve worked hard, damn hard, to overcome the events of that summer, but I know my limitations. I see shadows in every corner. I can’t go out in public without fearing some poor innocent person will speak to me and I’ll freak out.”

  She laughed, harsh and derisive, and swept her hand in an arching swath to indicate his body. “Look at you. You’re perfect. Nothing scares you. Nothing even shakes you. I have no idea why you’d want to spend time with me.”

  He leaned close. She backed away.

  He followed until her ass bumped up against the workbench. “Then let me refresh your memory.”

  * * * *

  CC expected him to take her mouth in the rough claiming his burning eyes proclaimed he desired. Instead, his lips brushed hers with a gentleness that spoke to her soul. Soft and sweet, his mouth caressed hers. Her eyes slid shut, and she savored his heated breath on her lips. The oddly pleasant combination of cinnamon and sawdust bathed her senses as he nibbled and licked and led her on a sensual journey of pure, simple pleasure.

  Time stood still, free of the past and its evils. She reveled in his taste until urgency claimed them both. A muscled arm drew her body flush with his. Devouring, joyous, hot, his tongue dove deep. A violent shiver ripped through her at the brand of his hands roaming her back to cup her bottom, at the absolute rightness of his chiseled body pressed to hers.

  She hadn’t known. How could she understand the crazy compulsion to reach and grab for more when, before him, she’d never experienced what is was to be held in a man’s solid embrace? His erection strained against the juncture of her thighs and birthed a need in the depths of her soul.

  When he broke the kiss, she mourned the loss. Her head, heavy with lethargy, dropped to his chest. Subtle vibrations caressed her forehead when he spoke.

  “I don’t know what it is about you, but from the moment I turned around in that coffee shop, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. You haunt me, CC.”

  Oh, God.

  She pulled back to look at his face. No sign of his usual humor showed in his eyes. Intense and watchful, they burned.

  “You feel it, too. Don’t deny it.”

  She couldn’t, not with her legs quivering and her heart thundering.

  He dipped his chin in a brief nod as if she’d spoken. “I meant what I said that day I agreed to help you. I’m not the man for you. You’re right. I don’t do permanent, but until I put a name to this maddening hold you have on me, you’re stuck with me.”

  She swallowed and nodded.

  The intensity in his eyes softened, and his chest heaved on a cleansing breath. “Your past is your own, CC, to share or not, but I’m a good listener.”

  God, the man melts my circuits. Does he have to be a nice guy, too?

  A slow smile curved his lips, and for a moment, she was afraid she’d spoken aloud.

  “You think I’m perfect, huh?”

  * * * *

  CC tightened her grip on the bat, her lips flat with determination. “Like this?”

  Tuck grinned and stepped around her to ease his body against her back. Pleased when she didn’t object, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Come on, relax. This is supposed to be fun.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’ve done this before, and that ball comes out fast.” She craned her neck to eye the colorful machines at the far end of the two-story gallery.

  After lunch, he’d suggested they visit the arcade on the next block. She’d cheered him on as he took his turn in the single batting cage and connected with every ball except two, but when he invited her inside so she could hit a few, she suggested the pinball machines might be more her style.

  He wrapped his hands around hers and adjusted her grip. “I reset the speed. You’ll do fine. Widen your stance.” With an anticipatory smile, he dropped one hand to her lower thigh and pressed gently. As expected, she jolted slightly but then shifted her leg and foot. The move brought her ass into closer contact with his crotch. He stifled an appreciative groan.

  Fringe benefits were a beautiful thing.

  Although he regretted her discomfort over his learning her true identity, he couldn’t fault the results. She hadn’t exactly opened up about her family or the kidnapping, but since their conversation in her studio, something had changed. As if the prickly cloak of privacy she kept wrapped around her had slipped, she was more visibly relaxed than he’d ever seen her. His ego, along with his libido, strutted at the possibility the mind-blowing kiss they’d shared was the cause, but in truth, her new easiness most likely had to do with the fact she no longer had a secret to guard. Regardless, something fundamental had shifted between them, and he meant to make the most of it.

  He curled his fingers around hers. “That’s it. Relax your knees. You don’t want to crouch, but a little bend will give you balance.”

  Beneath the fingers he slid down her arms, her skin was warm silk. Momentarily distracted, his mind conjured up erotic images of several other patches of skin in even softer locations, which sent blood surging to his cock. The low grade hard-on he’d been sporting since the day they’d met swelled and jammed up against the curves of her fine ass, displayed to perfection in another pair of softly faded jeans.

  She straightened with a jerk. “Is that necessary?”

  “That’s unavoidable.”

  A blush stained her cheeks, completely at odds with her pointed stare when she glanced over her shoulder. He flashed an innocent smile and kept his arms around her. Right where he wanted them.

  “My old man always said if you’re going to take the time to do something, do it right.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered above lips twisted in a smirk. “A philosopher, huh? Is he a gigolo, too?”

  He coughed out a laugh. For a woman who’d suffered such darkness in her childhood, she had plenty of spunk. With a grin, he swatted her ass and stepped back. She jumped at the unexpected tap, shot him a warning glare, and turned away. The bat wobbled next to her ear as she shifted her shoulders and wiggled into place.

  He sucked air through his teeth and enjoyed the impromptu shimmy show. “Dad is a one-woman man. He claims that’s a natural state of affairs for a man who’s found the love of his life.” Staring at her slim back, he rolled his shoulders against an odd tingle of disquiet and shoved aside the dangerous train of thought. He cleared his throat. “Mom says it’s because no other woman would have him.” He cocked his head when she said nothing. “I guess your father never took you to the cages or taught you to hit a ball.”

  There it was again, a tightening of her back.

  She shrugged and spoke without turning around. “Curt isn’t exactly the sports type.” She waggled the bat, but tension pulled her shoulders taught. “I thought we were here to hit baseballs. Are we going to do this or what?”

  “Loosen up, sunshine. You’re going to strangle that bat. Here, like this.” He covered her hands with his once more and massaged her fingers until they relaxed. “Okay. Now, keep your eye on the ball arm. You’ll hear a small click as the ball settles into the cup before it’s released. Ready?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He stepped back and his gaze dropped to her ass as she settled into position like a triple-A wannabe. A groan rumbled low in his throat. The woman had the sexiest batter’s stance he’d ever seen.

  Grinning, he fed coins into the machine beside the door, then exited the cage. “Okay, here it comes. Keep your elbows up. Don’t lean too far forward. You’ll get hit.”

  She yelped and stumbled backward. The ball whizzed by, thudded against the leather backdrop, and dropped to the ground.

  She lowered the bat to look his way. “Are you sure this is safe? I could be killed if one of these balls hits me.”

  “Not if you stay clear of the batter’s box.”

  The white box painted on the cement floor received a distrustful glare before she hopped back another step.

  “Here comes another! You’re too far ba
ck.”

  Another ball whipped by. She screamed and dropped the bat.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to laugh. “You’ve got to watch the ball, CC.”

  “Watch it?” She swept up the bat. “I can’t even see it. Can’t you turn it down or something?”

  “I set it to slow pitch. Here comes another. Concentrate!”

  Thud.

  The business end of the wooden bat clanked to the ground. She spun on him, and that adorable wrinkle bisected her brow. Hip cocked, she held his gaze. “How can I concentrate when you keep tossing out instructions?”

  He held out his hands. “I’m trying to help.”

  “Well, you’re not. Be quiet and let me do this myself.”

  She spun away and hefted the bat into position.

  “Spread your feet a little more. You need to balance—”

  She stepped back and let another ball pass. Thud. “Are you finished, Mr. Bossy? I can do this, you know. I’ve watched the Sports Network.”

  He grinned and crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? Then show me what you’ve got, Ace.”

  A delicate huff flared her nostrils, and she shuffled her feet until they were spread properly. Wiggling into position, she lifted the bat to hover near one ear. On a click from the machine, the arm snapped up. The ball flew forward, and his brows rose in amazement as she stepped into the pitch like a pro. The crack of the bat echoed her solid connection, and the ball rocketed toward the netting at the far top corner of the cage.

  She tossed a smirk over her shoulder, then ruined the effect by squealing and dancing from foot to foot. “I hit it! Did you see?”

  Hands propped on his hips, he grinned. “You didn’t just hit it, you crushed it.”

  “I did, didn’t I? How many more balls do I get?”

  She caught a piece of the next one, sending it foul to the right. The next three were clean strikes, and he had to laugh at the grim determination of her compressed lips. Six fouls followed, but she finally found her rhythm and connected for two singles and a double. Her bright smile, as the last ball sailed to the far net, was worthy of a home run.

  He shook his head as she exited the cage. “I think I’ve been had. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”