by Cherry Adair
Kait felt her brows lift. “There must be a hundred hotels in Reno. They can’t watch them all.”
“Yes, they can.”
That took her aback for a moment. “So where do we go?”
He put his hands on his hips, the look in his eyes changing for a second to something that made her want to gulp.
“My place,” he said.
“Your place?”
“It’s only an hour away. It’s remote. Security system. My place.”
“But, um, don’t you think it’d be easier if we hung out here?”
“Negative,” he said, and she could tell the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. “They won’t let us. In fact, I’m surprised those SPs haven’t come by to boot us out. My place.”
His place. Oh, dear.
Stop it, Kait. It’s not like the man’s going to jump you.
You wish he’d jump you.
She was a vet. The most excitement she’d had in recent months was a Pomeranian mistaking her leg for its mate. Sad. Really, really sad. Obviously, she was desperate for some action.
But he was right. She wanted to go someplace safe. She was tired of the back of her neck continually tingling. She felt as if she had a big red target painted on her shoulders.
“Let’s go,” she said.
He looked relieved, and then . . . perturbed? No. that wasn’t it. He looked concerned. For her safety, obviously. Well, that made two of them. And that nervousness only increased when she climbed aboard his bike a moment later. Every time a loud noise rang out, she jumped, clutching at Chance Owens’s sides as if he could spin around on his bike and protect her. She hated it.
The feeling lessened a bit when they left the city. The freeway climbed through low-rolling hills, the bright hues of civilization fading like an old photograph until all that was left were sepia browns and grays. They climbed to a higher elevation. Desert scrub faded to oak trees and then pines. They drove through small towns, former boomtowns in gold rush days, but now nothing more than a few crumbling storefronts with poverty-stricken residential areas around the perimeter. The pine trees grew taller—older—the smell of them something an air freshener company would likely give a mint to capture. She began to relax after about an hour.
“Not much farther,” he called back.
Kait wished they could go on riding. With no one following, it was easy to forget that someone had tried to abduct her yesterday.
He turned off the main road. Sunlight flickered through the trees, strobe-lighting the road in front of them. Less than a mile later the trees began to thin a bit, opening into a grass-covered field, the blades so many shades of green that Kait thought it the prettiest meadow she’d ever seen.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, the sound of the Harley echoing through the countryside.
“It’s secluded,” he said, as if that was all that mattered. And maybe it was. He struck her as the type who valued his privacy, who didn’t want people knowing where he went and when he left. But he hadn’t struck her as an animal lover, and so when she spotted the horses grazing alongside a white fence that backed right up to his house, she straightened in surprise. Draft horses, Kait realized.
“They’re huge,” she said as he slowed down.
“They’re Friesians,” he said, coming to a slow stop. One of the horses was curious enough to stick his nose toward them, the roman-shaped nostrils flaring.
“I know,” she said.
He leaned sideways, cocking his head. “You know?”
“Well, I am a vet. And I love horses,” she said. “When I opened up my own practice, I promised I’d get one. Hasn’t happened.”
“Too bad,” he said. “There’s nothing like riding to calm your mind.”
And he would need a horse that size, she realized, because even when sitting on the bike the top of her head barely cleared his shoulders. And then she caught sight of his house. She didn’t know what she expected. Okay, maybe she did: a log cabin in the woods. Maybe a one-story ranch house, not a gorgeous multistory contemporary home with angled glass, redwood siding, and green trim. Everything, from the landscape to the angle of the roof, made it look as if it were part of the pine tree–studded scenery.
He roared to a stop in front of a three-car garage, while Kait thought that his house was nicer than anything she’d ever hoped to own. Granted, now that she could stop investing her own private funds into her research project she could likely afford something a little better than her modest two-bedroom home, but this . . . this was in a different league altogether.
Just how well did rescuing damsels in distress pay, anyway?
It was a question that repeated itself as he opened an ornate double door, lead glass distorting her image as she walked by. Inside, a vaulted ceiling swept upward, and dark-oak beams formed upside-down Vs over her head. To her left, just beyond the front door, stood a suit of armor.
“You know,” she found herself saying, “if you’d worn this when we’d first met, it might have saved a lot of confusion.”
She smiled. Their gazes met, and for a second, just a moment, really, she thought he stilled, though he might have drawn back a bit. But she chalked it up to imagination because what came to his face was a smirk.
“If I’d worn that when we’d first met, I’d have been a tin can for target practice.”
She smiled again.
He looked away, a big hand sweeping through his tousled black hair. “Look,” he said. “I’m going to go in and make a few calls. Make yourself at home. There’s a shower upstairs and a bedroom right next door if you want to take a nap. This might take a while.”
Kait nodded, watching him walk to the end of the short hall, turn left, and disappear around the corner. But while a shower sounded great, she didn’t feel comfortable stripping.
Not after her dream last night.
Humiliation painted her cheeks red. Thank God he didn’t see her blush. Shaking her head at herself, she followed him, until she turned right instead of left, stepping into a sunken living room about the size of her backyard. Okay, maybe not that big, but it was so spacious she felt like a ladybug trapped inside a glass jar. A set of bay windows—two stories high—overlooked the meadow, the white fence with the horses on the other side rolling away from the home.
Beautiful.
And for the first time in twenty-four hours, Kait took a deep breath. How could anything bad happen out here? They hadn’t been followed. No one had spotted them leaving Reno—she was certain of it, having kept watch along the way. No strange men pointed tasers in their direction. No nothing but peace and quiet. She walked toward the window, stopping before the glass, turning to look around the room. Warm sun poured over her back. She sat down in a comfy armchair, the beige fabric forming to her body. Heaven. How long she sat there, eyes closed, the quiet of the house settling over her, she had no idea. When at last she opened her eyes a giant fireplace with large, flat stones surrounding it caught her attention. It looked like the perfect place to spend a winter night, maybe on a fur rug, with a few candles—
Kait!
But that was part of the reason why she couldn’t drift off to sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. She’d spent more than an hour clasping his big body and it had done things to her insides. He smelled good, too. That might seem like a strange thing to notice, but he really did. Like the outdoors, she realized. Sweet, with a hint of pine and earth.
She got up and walked to the fireplace. There were pictures on the mantel, four or five of them. Two were of a family, a boy and girl of about six and seven trying to squirm out of their smiling parents’ grasp, the father in uniform. Was that the sister who’d died? There was another picture, this one when the kids were older. In it they were all posed, the girl standing next to her obviously proud papa, his military uniform spotless, as spotless as the young man’s who stood next to him.
Chance.
She could tell immediately. He might have been younger, but he
was still just as tall and just as honed as he was now, and he was obviously very proud of his sister. He had his arm around her. The whole family was standing in front of a mosque, the four towers with their balloon-shaped tops glinting in the afternoon sunshine.
“We were in Turkey.”
She jumped but didn’t turn because the girl was so full of life, so darn pretty, it seemed somehow wrong that she was dead.
“She was twenty-one,” he said, coming up behind her. “We’d just had a birthday party for her the night before.”
“How . . . ?” But she couldn’t finish the question. She didn’t have the right to know. When she glanced up at him, she was glad she hadn’t asked. The look in his eyes. Oh, Lord, it just about broke her heart.
“How did it happen?” he finished for her.
“No, I . . . really. I don’t need to know.”
He shrugged. “I don’t mind telling you. My dad was head of security for the embassy. One day terrorists attacked.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to be.”
“Chance—”
“Actually, I should thank the marine commander who fucked up and got them killed. Because of him I started to help people like you.”
No. It wasn’t okay. It would never be okay. She could see that. “What—what do you mean?” she asked.
“They discharged me after I beat him to a pulp.”
“Oh, Chance.”
“Because of him people died. I vowed then and there that I’d never let what happened to my sister Samantha happen to someone else.”
She went to him, picking up his hand, noting the scars again, round areas of discoloration. He didn’t seem to realize she was touching him.
“What are these?” she asked.
“What are what?”
“These.”
Chance followed her gaze and his teeth ground together. “Nothing,” he said quickly, trying to pull his hand away.
“They’re burn marks, aren’t they?”
He told himself not to react. Told himself not to give anything away. “They’re nothing,” he said again.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said, forcing himself to look down at her.
And that was when it happened. That was when he saw her mouth drop open. “My God,” she said. “When you went after them, they captured you and tortured you, didn’t they?”
He didn’t answer.
“Oh, Chance.”
She stepped up to him, placing her arms around him. Hugging him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly.
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”
Her hands captured his own, thumbing one of the scars. “But it’s still here,” she said, “right here with you.”
It always would be.
“Is that why you do it?” she asked, her fingers lightly stroking him. “Is that why you ride off rescuing damsels in distress?”
“In part, but also because of my sister.”
She smiled, her look one of admiration. “You’re a good man, Chance Owens.”
“That’s not what that commander said after I beat his ass.”
“You had a right to be angry.”
He was still angry. He’d closed himself off to feeling for anything and anyone. And then he’d been sent to watch over her and he’d felt a stirring of . . . something.
She kissed his hand, and suddenly Chance wanted more. He wanted a hell of a lot more.
He pulled her into his arms, kissing the mouth he’d been fantasizing about for days.
The reality was far better than the fantasy.
She was every bit as warm and wonderful to kiss as he’d thought she would be. And then she opened her mouth. He took a chance and slipped his tongue inside, thinking she might withdraw, surprised and yet not surprised when she didn’t. She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down, pulling him nearer.
She tasted good. So good. And so sweet.
His hand found the underside of her breast, her bra the type that didn’t have any of that padding. Oh no. He could feel her in all her glory, her size substantial enough that he couldn’t cup all of her.
“Wait,” she said, trying to pull her lips away. But he followed her mouth with his own. “Just wait,” she said after turning her head. But that was okay, because he found her ear, wondered for a second how it would taste, then probed the inside with his tongue.
“Oh, man,” she moaned. “Oh man oh man. I wish you wouldn’t do that.” And her words were nearly a whisper.
He swirled his tongue around the inside, then drew back so he could nibble her lobe.
“And I really, really wish you would do that,” she said, melting into him. She was so damn tiny. So damn petite. It made him want to pick her up. Made him want to carry her away. To take her to safety.
She was safe. As long as she was with him.
“Touch me,” he whispered in her ear. “Touch me, Kait.”
“Chance. I don’t think—” She gasped as he slid his hand down from her breast and to the mound of flesh perfectly cupped by her jeans. “Oh, man.”
He slid his fingers between her legs.
“I don’t— Oh.”
“I think I could kiss you for hours,” he said just before he wrapped his arms around her tighter, kissing her deeply. Some women might shy away from such a bold assault, but not Kait. Not his Kait. She seemed to want it as much as he did.
“To hell with it,” he heard her murmur.
And then she kissed him back. She shifted a little so her legs could slide open, encouraging him to touch her there. And he did. Her woman’s mound radiated heat, so hot. He could feel dewy moisture seep from her jeans. But he didn’t want to feel fabric, he suddenly realized. He wanted to feel flesh. That soft flesh.
His hand shifted. She knew what he was about to do because he dragged his fingers up her fly. But she didn’t stop him when he undid the first button. Didn’t say no when he worked the pants open, then slipped his hand—
Ahh.
She moaned. He could feel the sound vibrate from inside of her mouth. She moaned and he probed deeper, both with his hand and his tongue, sliding his fingers over her silky mound, fiddling with the slit between her lips, gently inserting a finger . . .
“Chance,” she hissed.
He drew back. He watched her. Watched as this beautiful woman, a woman he’d been fascinated with since the moment he’d seen her rush to aid an injured dog that first day he’d been doing surveillance, watched as her mouth dropped open, her lips beestung swollen from his kiss. Her head lolled back, her legs sliding farther apart so he could explore deeper, and then deeper still.
“Oh, Chance.”
He rubbed her faster, playing with her, watching the play of emotions on her face as he brought her closer to an orgasm. Watched as her eyes closed, her hips starting to follow the motion of his hand. He wanted to bring her pleasure. For some reason, he needed to please her, wanted to make her happy.
Her eyes opened.
“Stop,” she ordered.
He instantly removed his hand.
“I want you to make love to me.”
They weren’t the words he’d been expecting, and the delight he felt upon hearing them made him think there was more to his feelings for her than seemed logical.
“I do,” she said, her blue eyes wide and utterly trusting.
“Good,” he said, a part of him thinking, Bad idea. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. . . .
He carried her upstairs. She clung to his neck the whole time, her head resting in the crook of his neck.
She felt good there.
She felt right.
He didn’t have time to analyze his thoughts because the minute they were in his room, he laid her on the black bedspread and pulled his shirt off his body in one quick motion, his jeans coming off next. His erection fought against his briefs. He set it free, meeting Kait’s gaze as he did so. She didn’t loo
k surprised or uncomfortable. Her eyes went soft, the look in them one of such sexual intensity that his whole body tingled in anticipation. She made him feel just like he had the first time he’d had sex. Aroused. Excited. Nervous.
Yes, he admitted. Nervous.
She sat up and pulled her shirt over her head.
Nervous.
Her bra came off next, her hair sliding through the neck hole so that it fell to her shoulder in static disarray. Her hands moved to the waistband of her jeans, pushing them down at the same time she flicked her tennis shoes off, the things landing on the carpet with a muffled thud-thud.
And then she lay back, naked, waiting, her body sprouting goose pimples from the cold—or arousal.
She had a hell of a body.
Her full breasts spilled over the sides of her rib cage, light brown nipples puckered with desire. Her body was tan, her abdomen flat, her long legs cocked to one side as she waited for him to join her on the bed.
He wanted to cover her right then, like one of his stallions. But something held him back. Something caused him to simply stare. She was beautiful. Not just because she had the perfect mixture of curves and valleys. No, she was beautiful because when she looked up at him there was no fear, no anxiety, just trust. She wanted him and she wasn’t afraid to let him know it.
“Kait,” he said softly.
“Make love to me, Chance,” she said, holding out her hand.
He sank down on the mattress, the brush of her skin like the sting of hot water. His erection nudged her thigh as he lay on his side, facing her. His hands shook as he supported his weight on one elbow, his free hand lifting to stroke the line of her jaw. Such a feminine jaw for such a strong woman.
She clasped his hand, drawing it to her, kissing the burn marks that spotted the top of his hands. She hadn’t seen the rest. He didn’t want her to see the rest, and so he kissed her.
She helped him forget. As their tongues touched he realized he’d found something special, something unique. It made him draw back.
“Chance?” she said to him, seeming to ask the same question that was on his mind.
How could this be?
How could he be in bed with a woman he just met, whom he was pledged to protect, and yet feel so connected to her?