Up In Flames (Ranger Security Book 3)

by Rhonda Russell

  And typically, if he exerted this much energy with a woman it was for distinctly more pleasurable reasons.

  But there was something quite thrilling about this, as well. He liked that she didn’t give up, that she wasn’t frightened or intimidated by him. He admired her skill, her courage, her sheer damned nerve.

  Ballsy, Payne had said.

  The thought had no more flitted through his head when she wrestled her small hand free and grabbed hold of his. He grunted with surprise and went utterly still, then looked down into her wide eyes.

  He’d expected triumph—instead he saw shock.

  That must have been when she realized he was naked.

  He grinned.

  She let go and shoved him away, then made for the door. Oh, no. I don’t think so. Jay darted in front of her, blocking her path, and leaned casually against the door.

  “What are you doing in my room?”

  Color flying high on her cheeks, she looked at everything around her but him. “Put your towel back on,” she said.

  “You put it on me. You’re the one who tore it off,” he shot back, enjoying her discomfort much more than he would ever have believed. It was almost enough to make up for the fact that she’d Houdinied her way into his room. He spied his phone, noticed it was at a different angle from the way he’d left it. Irritation twisted through him, forcing him to pull a calming breath through his nose.

  She was truly a piece of work.

  “I didn’t tear it off you,” she said, shooting him an exasperated huff. “You snuck up on me,” she accused. “What did you expect me to do?”

  Seriously? That was her argument? His eyes widened significantly. “It’s my room. One might argue that you snuck up on me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes tightly. Another deep sigh, then, “Could you please put your towel back on. That’s. .distracting.”

  “My room, my rules. I’ll put the towel on when you tell me what you were doing...and what you found.”

  She emitted a low growl. “I was searching your things, obviously,” she said, practically chewing the words between clenched teeth.

  Her gaze darted to him once more, lingered over his shoulders and chest, then she quickly looked away again. Impossibly, she blushed a deeper shade of red.

  He grinned. “Yes, I’d rather worked that out for myself. What did you find?”

  “Nothing of significance.”

  “You’re lying,” he said flatly. He was irrationally disappointed. Reason told him if she was unscrupulous enough to break into his room—hell, to hack into a prospective employer’s system and then tell them about it—he shouldn’t expect her to be honest, and yet... He hadn’t pegged her for a liar.

  Her gaze swung to his and he wondered what she’d heard in his voice because she swallowed hard and confessed. “Fine,” she said. “I looked at your call log and checked your email.”

  He glanced at his computer. “Did you—”

  “No,” she said—then a droll smile rolled over her ripe lips. “I didn’t have time.”

  He felt his own lips twitch at her candor. Maybe he hadn’t pegged her too terribly wrong after all. Jay bent forward and grabbed the towel, then slowly—because she deserved it—anchored it once more around his hips.

  He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, woman, is there anything you won’t do? Any line you aren’t willing to cross?”

  She blinked innocently. “I didn’t download the attachment.”

  He snorted. “Because you already knew what was in it.”

  She jerked her chin toward his forgotten pants. “What’s in the pocket?”

  “If you were me, would you tell?”

  “I told you about the peanut butter, didn’t I?”

  He leaned against the door once more and propped a foot against it “That was an accident.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The ‘oh shit’ expression immediately following the confession was a bit of a giveaway,” he drawled. His gaze skimmed over her face, tracing the intriguing lines and angles, the plump mouth and wide eyes. “You have a very expressive face.”

  She blinked, seemingly startled.

  He laughed softly and quirked a knowing brow. She scowled and he laughed harder.

  “Oh, to hell with it,” she said, striding forward to leave. He’d rattled her enough to spark a retreat? Interesting.

  “It was a bobber,” he said.

  She stopped short and looked up at him, her hand on the doorknob. “A bobber?”

  “Yes. You know, to fish with.”

  Another line emerged between her finely arched brows and she bit into her bottom lip, evidently trying to make sense of what he’d just told her. “Is there a pond nearby? A lake? A creek?”

  He shook his head. “Not on any map that I’ve looked at.”

  He was keenly aware of her—the slope of her cheek, the angle of her jaw, the smooth creaminess of her throat. The sweep of her lashes, the absolute carnality of her mouth. His groin tightened and need shot through him, stark and fierce, with more intensity than he had ever experienced before. Her gaze tangled with his, then dropped to his mouth, lingered. Found his once more, and her pink tongue slid unconsciously along her full bottom lip.

  He went hard.

  Her breathing shallowed out and he watched her pulse flutter wildly at the base of her throat. Desire darkened her gaze, turned the green to emerald, the gold to bronze. He was hit with the almost overwhelming urge to slide his fingers along her cheek, to see if the skin was as soft and silky as it looked. To feel her sleek hair across the back of his hand, her ripe mouth beneath his. He didn’t want just to taste her—he wanted to eat her up.

  She drew a quick breath and dragged her gaze away from his. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “You can ask. I reserve the right not to answer.”

  Something shifted in her expression. Hope, maybe? He frowned, trying to decipher what he saw.

  “Why did you refuse the background check?”

  Ah. He should have known that would pique her curiosity. “Because it doesn’t have anything to do with what I came here for,” he said.

  “I would have deserved it,” she told him, shooting him a chagrined look. “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

  He smiled down at her. “Yeah, but isn’t it better that you don’t have to?”

  For once, her expression was completely unreadable. She returned his grin and nodded. Though he didn’t really want her to leave—madness, with a bed that damned close—he pushed away from the door so that she could exit.

  “Good night, Charlie,” he murmured.

  She darted another glance at him. Paused, seemingly uncertain, perplexed even. “Good night, Jay.”

  Chapter 8

  A soft, muffled thump at his door awakened Jay from a halfhearted sleep. He quietly heaved himself up from the bed, grabbed a small flashlight and shrugged into his robe, then thrust his feet into his shoes.

  Honestly, she was so damned predictable.

  Jay had strung a thread of dental floss from the bottom of her door and attached it to a counterweight tube of toothpaste on the inside of his room, a few inches from his own door. When she opened her door, it pulled the floss tight enough on his end to slide the toothpaste forward, thus providing a thump loud enough to wake him but hopefully not her.

  Sure enough, when he opened his door, hers had been left a fraction of an inch ajar, and a quick peek with his light confirmed an empty bed. She couldn’t claim she needed to go to the bathroom because there was one in her room. It would be interesting to see what sort of story she’d provide when he found her.

  Jay turned the flashlight off and, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark, carefully made his way downstairs. He’d made his way through all of the lower rooms when he heard the telltale sound of a lock being thrown. And not just any lock. A deadbolt.
He felt his eyebrows wing up his forehead and swore hotly as his gaze shifted to the window. What the fu—

  She was going outside?

  It was bitter cold. If memory served—and it typically did—the low for tonight was five degrees. Jay headed to the front hall, where he found the alarm system had been disarmed and the door left partially open. He considered shutting it and waiting for her until she returned, letting her do a Little Match Girl impression before allowing her back into the welcoming warmth of the house.

  Because he had to know what she was doing, he rejected that plan and made his way outside. He scanned the yard, looking for any sign of movement, and finally hit pay dirt when he glimpsed a flash of white near the gatehouse. Jay frowned, more intrigued than he’d like to admit. He’d talked to Burt, but other than the older man confirming the “probing” comment he’d made to Charlie and providing Jay with a pamphlet, as well, he hadn’t pulled any sort of a vibe from him.

  Evidently, Charlie had noticed something. Otherwise she wouldn’t have braved this bone-chilling cold to search the little office unobserved.

  Or so she thought.

  Hiding behind the shrubbery, Jay covertly made his way toward the gatehouse. She’d already gotten inside—evidently her lock-picking skills were first- class, he thought drolly—and was bent over a drawer, aiming her own small flashlight into its depths. She read various bits of paper, occasionally frowned, swore and discarded them, then moved to the bottom cabinet of the built-in desk. Though he couldn’t see what she’d found, if anything, it wasn’t long until she straightened once more and turned to the fridge.

  Nothing of note in the cabinet then, he concluded.

  She pulled a soda from the fridge, selected a packet of cheese and crackers from Burt’s stash, then sat down and fired up his computer. It was password protected, but she cracked it in a very admirable amount of time. He smiled despite himself.

  Watching her work was genuinely fascinating. Her keen eyes scanned the contents of Burt’s computer while her fingers flew across the keyboard. She paused occasionally to eat a cracker and sip her drink, frowning then smiling, and finally copied a few things to a little flash drive she’d produced from the pocket of her robe. She wore flannel sock-monkey pajamas, a fluffy white robe and sock-monkey slippers on her especially small feet. She looked completely in her element, confident and certain of her own abilities.

  Her face was scrubbed bare, her button nose so clean it was shiny, and she’d pulled her hair up into a messy wad on top of her head. Frankly, there was nothing about her appearance that should elicit any sort of carnal response, and yet he found himself growing increasingly aroused.

  He liked the way her mouth moved when she ate, the way her delicate throat muscles contracted when she swallowed. Her intriguing kittenish face held so much character it was hard to give it any of the traditional labels. Pretty simply didn’t cut it, beautiful was too vague and gorgeous gave the wrong impression.

  Her lips were definitely the most sensual thing he’d ever laid eyes on, but even that didn’t explain what it was about her that just did it for him. There was something about the way she cocked her head when she was thinking, the unmistakable intelligence in her large hazel eyes, the capable confidence with which she carried herself.

  In a blinding moment of insight, he realized that’s what made her different, that’s what set her apart and tripped his trigger.

  She was frighteningly smart, intimidatingly clever and more capable of taking care of herself than any woman he’d ever known. It was that utter assurance of her own ability that made her so singularly attractive.

  He’d never met another woman like her. And he doubted he ever would.

  She tilted her neck one way and then the other, then put her hands on the small of her back and gave a languorous stretch. Her unbound breasts pressed against her robe, making it gape open and he could see her pebbled nipples—for the first time in his life he was thankful for the cold—behind the soft fabric. She rolled her shoulders and yawned, then gave her head a little shake to jolt herself awake and set to work once more.

  He watched her hack into Burt’s email account, then his bank account, and finally check his browsing history. She played a word for him on his open Scrabble game—observant, for a double-word score—then updated his virus protection. Evidently confident that she’d found everything of note, she stuffed the cracker wrapper and empty drink bottle into her robe pocket and powered his computer down.

  Observant, eh? He snorted. He’d see about that

  Jay waited for the light on the laptop to go off before scratching at the window. He watched her head jerk in his direction, her gaze narrow as she tried to see without any background illumination. After remaining motionless for a moment while she listened for further noise, she ultimately discounted the sound and continued tidying up.

  He scratched again.

  And this time when she looked in his direction, he put the flashlight under his chin and hit the light.

  Predictably, she screamed.

  * * *

  Laughing so hard he could barely breathe, Jay bent double in the little gatehouse and continued to mock her mercilessly.

  “If you...could have...seen your face,” he wheezed, his blue eyes streaming with tears of mirth. “Priceless,” he chortled. “Classic,” he wheezed. “Oh, God,” he repeated hoarsely, over and over again. “That was— You wailed— And I—” Another exasperating fit of hilarity. “I don’t know when I’ve ever heard that sort of noise out of a woman before in my life.”

  “It’s all right,” she said, waiting for her flaming face to cool. “Lots of men have trouble getting a woman to scream. There’s probably a support group for that. You should ask Burt. I suspect he’s a member.”

  He merely smiled wider, his blue eyes crinkling at the comers, an unexpected dimple in his right cheek. He ducked his head as though sharing a confidence. “Sweetheart, if the day ever comes that I can’t make a woman scream, that’s the day I’ll eat my own hat.”

  Mercy. That smoldering look should have scorched all the hair off her face. She swallowed, suddenly unaccountably nervous. “You don’t wear a hat”

  He cocked his head and chuckled softly. “How do you know?”

  She didn’t, but... “You don’t look like the hat type.”

  “There’s a hat type?”

  Feeling ridiculous and off-kilter, Charlie gave herself a shake. “Asinine prank aside, what the hell are you doing out here?”

  “I followed you, obviously. The asinine prank was a belated stroke of genius.” His shoulders shook with silent laughter again. They were broad, his shoulders, she noticed now. Well-muscled and mouthwateringly wide.

  She imagined licking one while she writhed naked beneath him, and a rush of warmth puddled in her core, making her squirm with want. Her traitorous nipples budded behind her pajama top, rasping against the soft fabric. She couldn’t have been more shocked with herself than if she’d disrobed and pole- danced for him.

  Of course, considering she’d grabbed him by the balls earlier this evening—felt his dick jerk against her hand and begin to swell—she should be past the point of shocking herself.

  She also should have expected him to be watching her. Nevertheless, she’d thought she’d waited long enough for him to fall asleep. Her own eyes were drooping with fatigue now and she could feel the day’s events catching up with her. She wasn’t at her sharpest when she was tired and didn’t have the mental ability to keep up with him right now, much less stay a step ahead.

  He searched her face and he sobered a bit, his expression becoming one of affectionate concern. “Tired, Kitty-Cat?”

  She didn’t know what was more disturbing—the expression or the nickname. “Kitty-Cat? Oh, right,” she said. “I clawed you. Earlier,” she qualified at his bemused expression.

  “What?”

  “In your room,” she told him. “When you startled me, remember?”

  He continued to s
tare blankly at her.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, reaching forward to open his robe. Her finger lightly traced an angry line on his chest and they winced simultaneously— her in regret, him in pain.

  He looked down, as though just seeing the reddened skin for the first time and blinked. “Damn. So you did.”

  “You hadn’t noticed?”

  He continued to look at her finger against his chest and the air between them suddenly shifted, grew heavier and warm. Golden curly hair clung to his impressive pecs and bisected his abdomen in a darker line that disappeared beneath the elastic band of his boxers. His abs were rock hard and well formed, the traditional coveted six-pack. His nipples were dusky dark and slightly puckered. She noticed a halfmoon-shaped scar beneath one and had to forcibly keep herself from touching it as well, as though his body were hers to explore, his various scars, freckles and moles a treasure map of masculine sexuality.

  He released a shuddering breath and she felt his hand tentatively cup her cheek, his thumb lightly trace the curve of her jaw. His fingers were gratifyingly unsteady—hesitant even—and that single hint of uncertainty, the idea that she might not welcome his touch, was what ultimately made her look up.

  He was staring at her cheek, where his hand met it, specifically, and the look on his face made her heart squeeze with some new emotion she didn’t recognize because she’d never felt it before. It was bittersweet and triumphant and wonderful.

  His gaze met hers then, desire a blue flame lighting them from within, and, though only a second ago he might have been cautious, the kiss he suddenly pressed against her lips was not. It was thrillingly sure, bone-meltingly competent and had the magical ability to bum through her body like wildfire, singeing nerve endings, charring any good sense and reservations and leaving her all but utterly liquefied.

  She sighed against his talented lips, leaned into him and slid her hands up and over his chest, along his shoulder and neck, then into his hair. He groaned against her mouth and deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue around hers. Heat swept her up in a tornado of sensation and she leaned farther into him. He settled against the edge of the desk, widened his legs into a deeper V so that she could fit between them and drew her closer. His warm fingers explored her jaw and slid into the hair at the nape of her neck, making gooseflesh race across her scalp, while his other hand molded around her waist. She felt strangely safe and protected beneath his touch, feminine but not fragile.