For Her Eyes Only (McCormack Security Agency)

by Curtis, Shannon

  “Uh, yes,” she said, then cleared her throat. She felt just a little self-conscious, just a little...naked. Would he regret what they’d done? She shuddered. She didn’t regret it. Not at all, but still...memories of the Christmas party, of his retreat, of the depths of her humiliation, tickled her mind, and she tried to shove the retrospection away.

  He walked over to her, and she rose. He held the gown out to her, watching her silently, a small smile teasing his lips. She went to grab it, but he held it, and used it to pull her in closer.

  “Do you know what I like about this?” he asked her, his voice deep and rough.

  She shook her head. This? Was he going to try to define this? She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that, she turned slightly, facing the bed. He came up close behind her and pulled her back against him. His hands rose to clasp her breasts, and she shuddered.

  “What about this?” she asked, her voice low as he brushed her nipples with his thumbs. Heat bloomed in her chest, and desire dampened her thighs. That quickly, he had her panting and wanting more.

  “Maybe this time we’ll make it to the bed,” he rumbled against her neck, chuckling and her breath escaped in a feathery laugh that quickly turned into a breathless moan as he trailed one hand down her body to the secret place between her thighs that was weeping for his touch.

  “Beds are overrated,” she gasped, and surrendered to his touch.

  * * *

  Drew woke instantly at the light knock at his door. He looked bleary-eyed at his watch as he rose and hurriedly pulled some pants on in the dark room. Five o’clock. He still had at least another hour before he needed to rise for his shift.

  He eyed the gap in his curtains. All he could see outside was white. No trees, no rooflines of the other buildings, just white. Wind buffeted the main building, sounding like a living monster as it thrashed against the walls and windows. The storm had finally hit. He ran his fingers through his tousled hair as he walked barefoot to the door and cracked it open.

  Meagan James was standing in the hallway, wearing a bulky Ultima Resort jacket. She turned at the sound of the opening door. She halted, eyeing his bare torso and feet before blinking. “Oh, hi.” She glanced up the hallway, and he did so as well. Staff were already moving around. Drew frowned. It was way too early for most of them to rise, and they were wearing casual clothes, not the Ultima Resort uniforms.

  “What’s up?” he asked, feigning a yawn to give him time to study the woman in front of him. She was calm and composed, as usual, but the lines bracketing her lips were a little deeper, and she had shadows under her eyes. Must not be a morning person.

  She smiled briefly. “I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to pack your things. We’ve had a plumbing problem in the basement, and the staff are going to have to evacuate.”

  Drew leaned against the door. “Plumbing problem, huh?”

  Meagan grimaced. “Yes, like we need anything else to go wrong for this program. We’ve organized a shuttle bus to take all the staff down to one of the inns in town.”

  “What about the guests?”

  She shook her head. “They’re not affected. The plumbing issue only affects the staff quarters and the kitchens. For health reasons we have to shut down the building until we can get a repair crew in.”

  Drew’s brow knitted. “Our maintenance staff can’t handle it?”

  “No, we’re going to need specially licensed contractors to manage it.” She sighed. “It’s terribly inconvenient, being the last day and all, but chef has managed to do a continental breakfast set up for the guests, as well as packed lunches for them. Neil and Gavin will have to modify today’s program, and we’ll probably finish early, but hopefully it won’t be too disruptive for the guests.” She shrugged. “But what can you do, huh? Hurry up and pack an overnight bag, the staff is already assembling in the lower parking lot.”

  “Uh, I can’t afford to stay at an inn,” he began, trying to find some excuse to stay behind.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. This is an Ultima problem. We’ll absorb those costs, but our main focus is the safety of our staff. Bus leaves in fifteen minutes.” She smiled brightly before moving on to the next door.

  Drew shut the door and leaned on it for a moment. A plumbing issue? And the staff were being evacuated? It was unusual, but not unheard of, he supposed. Maybe a pipe had frozen over somewhere. Still, something didn’t feel right. The guests would be up here all by themselves. He wondered if this was a complicated strategy on the part of the Maxwells—but to what end?

  Footsteps scurrying along in the hall outside spurred him into action, and he hurried to get dressed.

  * * *

  Ryan woke and for a moment, he was at peace. Happy. Which was enough to raise the red mental flag. A feminine body, all soft curves and toasty warm, nestled next to him, and he snuggled against it. He opened his eyes.

  Vicky.

  She lay with her back to him, her butt scooted right up to his hips. Her golden red hair fell in waves across the pillow and his chest, tickling his nipples. He felt himself stir. Even in her sleep, she turned him on with no effort. After the night they’d shared, he was surprised he had the energy. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. The wind roared outside, and the French doors rattled behind the drawn curtains. He smiled. Snuggle Factor. He loved it.

  For the first time, she’d slept through the night without the running commentary. No humphing or talking in her sleep. No kicking, no crying out—well, there had been a little of that, but she hadn’t been asleep at the time. No, for once, they’d both slept rather peacefully, what little shut-eye they’d managed to catch. Either that, or they’d tired each other out with their nocturnal activities.

  He pulled Vicky closer and took a deep breath. She smelled of roses and vanilla, of warmth and sunshine, goodness and light. She cuddled into him, and her hand pulled the blankets higher, tighter. A bruise on her wrist caught his eye, one she’d received yesterday when she’d jumped from the bridge. He reached around to gently touch it, careful not to wake her. He traced the harsh and angry red mark around the delicate bone area of her wrist.

  His regret at causing her pain took him by surprise. He’d saved her life. He’d done what he’d had to do, to get the job done, and she’d gotten hurt in the process. A protective instinct rose from a dark, hidden place where he’d buried it so many years ago. A protective instinct coated in anger at those responsible for her pain, both physical and mental. The depth of the emotion scratched at a vulnerability he didn’t like to feel and tried to ignore. They’d hurt his Vicky. She was the closest thing he had to family, and when someone hurt his family, they paid dearly—and he was damn sure going to collect.

  Seeing the mark on her white skin brought forth a toxic fountain of images. His mother’s skin had been delicate and white, and her arms, legs and face always seemed to sport some discoloration—at least, until they’d managed to escape his father’s abuse.

  He shouldn’t compare his mother and Vicky, but damn, they’d both faced danger, and he didn’t like the feeling of helplessness, of panic, that curled within. What if Vicky was hurt badly, or worse, killed? What if he wasn’t there to save her, next time? That brought forth a whole host of demons he just didn’t want to face.

  His hand clenched, and he rested his fist on his thigh, away from Vicky’s injured wrist. He shouldn’t have done this. She was going to get hurt. That’s how it worked. You felt deeply for someone, she got hurt, and then you were left alone in a wasteland of despair.

  She didn’t know about the darkness inside of him. The rage, the violence. He was his father’s son, after all. That was why he didn’t have long-term relationships. His father had seen something in him, something wrong, something black. Oh, rationally, he knew his father was responsible for his own actions, but Aaron Gallagher had tried to beat something
out of him, something that he’d feared, hated.

  He couldn’t trust himself. He knew, first hand, that once the beast inside was woken, he had no control. He’d lost it once, and he’d relished the lack of control, the viciousness. The hate. That knowledge clawed at his gut. He spent his life trying not to be anything like the man who had spawned him, but he feared the similarities were inherent. Passed down through blood.

  He couldn’t do that to Vicky. God, no, not Vicky. She was his friend. His special, special friend. Damn, what was he thinking? He should have said no. He should have walked away. He sighed, a rough gusty breath heavy with his self-frustration. She’d looked as sexy as hell in that little silky number, all curvy legs and smoky eyes and pouty lips, a siren he couldn’t resist anymore. He couldn’t have walked away.

  Vicky stirred and rolled over until she faced him. She sighed as her eyelids fluttered open. He watched her as she woke, her green eyes blinking, her nose screwing up in a cute little yawn, and then the moment when she realized he was there, with her, her sexy little mouth curved into a welcoming smile as she stretched languorously up against him. His heart quickened as her body brushed his.

  Damn, how was he supposed to regret this? She was beautiful.

  “Morning,” she said, her voice husky with sleep, her cheeks flushed.

  “Morning,” he replied, his lips curving in soft smile.

  The French doors rattled in the wind, and her gaze flicked over her shoulder briefly before coming back to rest on him. On his chest, to be precise. The look in her eyes warmed, and an answering heat started to build inside him. He should get up. Go have a shower. Salvage their friendship.

  “Sounds like the storm has hit,” she observed, trailing her hand down his chest, pausing to flick his dusky nipple. His breath sucked in at the contact.

  “Yeah, it has.” His hand stroked her shoulder and down her arm, and she stretched under his touch.

  “So what happens now?” she said, and he leaned forward to nuzzle the space between her head and shoulders. She tipped her head back, and her hair fell in red waves down her naked back.

  “Good question. We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said as his hand cupped her breast, and he felt her tremble. “This...complicates things.” He flicked his thumb over her nipple.

  “I meant about the Ma—” she gasped, then cupped a hand over her mouth and glanced up at the painting above the bed. The bugs. She was worried about the bugs.

  He moved his lips to her ear. “I removed the bugs and destroyed them while you were in the shower last night. I figure after yesterday’s incident on the mountain, they’ve lost their listening privileges.” He nibbled at her earlobe, and her hand braced against his chest, pushing him back.

  “You think I’m a complication?” She blinked, the sensual haze clearing from her eyes.

  He frowned. “I didn’t say that. I said this,” he gestured between them, “this complicates things.”

  She pulled back, dragging the sheet to her chest, and he gazed wistfully at her now-covered breasts.

  “I thought it improved things,” she muttered, and he couldn’t miss the hurt behind her anger. He moved his hand to her shoulder in an effort to comfort her.

  “It does, but sex always complicates matters. You’re my friend, Vic. I respect you.” He felt her stiffen under his touch. What? He was being sincere. Open and honest. Was she regretting it already?

  “I’m a friend to you?”

  Something about the tone of her voice, the tightening of her lips, the distance she was putting between them, tickled a warning for him, but he wasn’t sure why. “A dear, dear friend,” he told her, nodding. Special.

  She nodded, her jaw clenching. “Right. A dear friend. Who you respect.”

  The tickle turned into a persistent itch. “Ye-es.”

  “This has to be a record for me. I haven’t even left the bed,” she said under her breath, but he managed to catch it. She lifted her chin, staring across the room. “Let me guess. It’s you, it’s not me, right?”

  He thought of his mother, of that last time he saw her, of what he’d done next. Vicky—Vicky was wonderful. He, on the other hand, constantly battled a rising darkness. Did she sense that? Had she finally seen the mess inside his soul? How did she know? “Yeah, actually.”

  “You have issues.”

  He frowned. He’d been just about to say that, but apparently she was well aware of it. Was she criticizing him, or making an observation? Either way, it hurt. His friend was drifting away from him, and he didn’t know how to stop the chasm yawning between them.

  “And you care too much for me, you don’t want to see me get hurt, right? So it’s better if we end this now.”

  His frown deepened. Okay, this was getting weird. “You sound like you’re in my head.” Each remark hit its target, drawing emotional blood. It was almost like she was mocking him.

  Vicky vaulted out of the bed, dragging the sheet with her and winding it around her body. “It’s no surprise, that’s why. Well, I don’t want to ‘complicate’ things for you.” She stormed toward the bathroom, but pivoted on her foot and stomped back.

  “Issues? Everyone has issues. I don’t know what yours are, because you’ve never talked them over with me, so I can’t help. But if you ever want to stop hiding behind them, come and find me.”

  She turned again and stumbled over the sheet that now twisted around her legs like a constricting shroud. She struggled for a moment, before finally dropping the sheet with an unintelligible mutter and tramped across the room in all her piqued glory and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

  Ryan lay nude and exposed on the bed, gaping. What the hell?

  She’d been kind of magnificent, in a naked, sexy, feisty way, and he still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. She’d been so angry, when he was trying to tell her that he thought she was special. Then she’d ended it. Yet she hadn’t...What the hell?

  He was never going to understand her. He rolled from the bed, confused, ignoring the voice that told him her complexity was one of the things that drew him to her.

  * * *

  Drew climbed out of the oversnow vehicle and eyed the bus waiting to take the Ultima Resort staff into town. They were in the lower parking lot, the conditions too bad for the bus to get up to the main buildings. He pulled the hood of his jacket closer around his face. It was freezing. Wind roared around them, making a high-pitched sound as it threw shards of ice into his face. Meagan James had counted them onto the oversnow vehicle, crossing off their names as they went.

  He looked at the man standing beside him, and recognized him as one of the maintenance staff. “You guys couldn’t fix the problem, huh?” he yelled, trying to keep his tone conversational yet audible above the storm.

  The guy shrugged. “Nah, it’s one of those things that no matter how well you’re prepared, you can’t be prepared for everything. A damn friggin’ fluke.”

  Drew nodded. Right. A fluke that evacuated all staff. It sounded just a little too convenient for his liking. He shifted, slowly edging away from the group as they made their way across the lot to the bus. As they rounded the rear of the vehicle he strolled nonchalantly to the trees edging the parking area, and hunkered down out of sight until the bus left, trundling down the mountain with the rest of the Ultima Resort staff. Once it was out of sight he started to jog back up the mountain.

  Ryan and Vicky were stuck up on the mountain with two killers who had just managed to clear the resort without suspicion. This didn’t feel good, not good at all.

  Chapter Thirty

  Vicky surveyed the lounge. They’d all had a cold breakfast, and Meagan James had apologized profusely about it, citing some sort of plumbing problem. Apparently though, not even a toxic health problem would stop the life coaches from espousing their own wonderfulness.

&
nbsp; She chewed the inside of her cheek. She had to sit and talk and lie again. She crossed her legs at the ankles, trying to look relaxed only the gun in the boot made it uncomfortable, so she uncrossed them again.

  She could feel her stomach knotting. She had to try and keep all the lies straight, and it was getting harder and harder to do it. This was their last day, their last chance to find the killers, and the pressure was intense. Especially when she just wanted to sit and dwell on what was happening between her and Ryan. Or rather, what was not happening.

  Neil stood in middle of the room, arms folded. He glanced briefly at his watch, then smiled at the assembled group. “Well, it appears Gavin is running a little late. Why don’t we start without him?”

  Everyone took their seats, and she felt Ryan’s warmth along her side. She tried to shift away, but he snugged her close. Damn him. He’d called her the F word. She blinked. She wouldn’t cry. Friend. How she hated that word. She only had herself to blame, though, really. He’d given no real indication that he wanted to be more than friends.

  Sure, they’d kissed, but they were playing a married couple. She’d read too much into his actions. Her cheeks warmed. It was...humiliating. Embarrassing. Mortifying.

  The story of her life.

  But last night had been so...explosive. It certainly hadn’t been boring, not on her part. Or chummy. It had been hot. Sexy. Erotic. Just thinking of the things he’d done to her body, and what she’d done to his...warmth bloomed deep inside her core. No. Not chummy.

  Yet he’d started the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech. She pursed her lips. She’d heard it so many times, she’d known exactly what he was going to say.

  Okay, so yes, sex complicated things, but she’d hoped he’d finally see her as more than a friend, damn it. She’d hoped they could have a more meaningful relationship, but it didn’t seem like he was of the same mind. She kept her gaze locked on Neil as he prattled on about something that she simply couldn’t care less about. Ryan shifted in the sofa next to her, and his hand brushed her arm as he leaned back. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t talk to him. Where did you go after making hot, sweaty, eye-crossing love with your best friend who only wanted to remain friends? She folded her arms, trying to dig her elbow into his side, maneuver a little space between them, but he didn’t let go. She didn’t know if their friendship could withstand the shock of this rejection.