Easing down the street cautiously, he watched, studied. The young couple pushing the baby carriage gave him pause until he saw an infant truly rested in the rickety pram.
Now or never.
He approached the car, tucking Jolynn beside him. “Hold on, babe,” he said in his Jersey accent, “I’ve just gotta find de spare key.”
He knelt beside the car, running his hand in the wheel well while checking the undercarriage for bombs. A quick search in the trunk and under the hood was all the time he could waste and as sure as he could be.
And to buy them more time to think, he rewired the GPS to send faulty coordinates.
As a last precaution, he said, “Stand over there while I back this baby out.”
If the car blew when he started it, at least she would be alive. She could call Rex Scanlon.
He slid the key in the ignition… The Fiat’s engine purred to life like a happy kitten. He threw open the passenger door and started down the road before Jolynn could finish buckling.
Jolynn panted, clasping her side. “Should we call your friend Rex?”
“Soon.”
“Why not now?”
“Calling him from here is a last resort. How do I know which line is secure, who’s listening? Someone sold us out back there, and until I know who, we’re laying low.”
He slammed the car in gear, flooring it out of the neighborhood and mapping out in his mind the best route to the nearest ferry to the mainland.
* * *
Alone on the Fortuna’s upper deck’s jogging track, Rex Scanlon pounded out his seventh mile while staring over at the watery abyss. A handful of late-nighters milled about below, but he was alone up here with his rage. Waves slapped the side of the cruise ship, leaving Sicily behind for their next port of call, Olympia, Greece.
Departing without Chuck went against everything he believed in as a serviceman. As a commander.
He leaned into the hard night wind tearing across the Med, hammering his feet into the ground, punishing his body. He’d made Chuck take on this mission and now things had gone to hell. Chuck had already been through too much, had insisted his edge was gone. Why hadn’t they— hadn’t he— listened rather than being so damn sure this wounded captain just needed to get back in the game?
His breathing grew ragged and he knew his running form was falling apart. His concentration was screwed. But he couldn’t make himself stop running, biting back the urge to growl out his frustration. After hours at the computers with Berg, contacting every intelligence ally agency, they still had nothing.
There were too many brick walls. He’d finally decided to come up here and air out his brain in hopes that he could make some sense out of who’d shot at Chuck by the water. And most puzzling, how he’d just fallen off the face of the earth after leaving the safe house.
A fluttery cloud of white snagged his attention and he almost stumbled. Slowing, he narrowed his focus… and found Livia leaning against the railing wearing a whispery white dress. Hell. How long had she been there? If she’d been an assassin, he would already be dead. And he wasn’t any good to Chuck if he stopped breathing.
He leaned over to grab his knees, gasping. “What are you doing out here so late?”
“I just finished my last set.” Her husky voice carried on the breeze.
“You shouldn’t be walking around alone.”
“I am not alone. You are here,” she pointed out. “Where is our mutual friend? Because I’m not buying the story that he got fired.”
And wasn’t that the million-dollar question? He sank to the deck, sitting, tugging her to sit beside him. “I don’t have any idea where he is.” He forced his breathing to steady. “He and Jolynn Taylor got off the ship in Sicily and didn’t get back on.”
Livia’s coal dark eyes went wide, a rail light glinting off her sleek black hair. “Then why hasn’t there been an alert issued?”
Last scan of the ship showed there weren’t any bugs up here, part of why he gravitated to the track. “We tapped into their computers. Messed with the manifests so it appears they decided not to come back on board. They’re officially signed off rather than missing. We need the right people looking for them and not the wrong people finding them.”
“I am so sorry.” Her soft hand slid over his. “I know you must be frantic.”
“He’s your friend, too.” He squeezed her fingers lightly, only just realizing he hadn’t let go and no one was watching. They had no need to perform. Still, he didn’t pull away.
“That he is.” Her voice quivered.
She’d spent a lot of days visiting Chuck during his recovery. There had been a time when Rex wondered if a relationship was growing between the two. But he knew now, they were genuinely just good friends. His arm slid around her shoulders, and he pulled her to his side. Her soft curves fit too perfectly against him, kicking his heart rate back up as if he were tackling the eighth mile.
Her head fell to rest on his shoulder, the scent of Mediterranean herbs and flowers drifting upward. “How do you live this way? Always having to worry so intensely for the people you care about?”
“It comes with the territory,” he answered without hesitation. “Am I supposed to say the job’s too hard? Let somebody else make the sacrifice?”
Livia looked up at him, smiling, her lips full and tempting. “You are quite a man, Rex Scanlon. Your wife was a very lucky woman.”
He thumbed her jaw. “That’s up for debate but thanks.”
She frowned suddenly.
His thumb slowed at her chin. “What’s wrong?”
“That is the first time I mentioned your Heather and you didn’t wince.”
The creamy softness of her skin, the sincere desire in Livia’s eyes, was all he could see at the moment.
“Honest to God, I’m not thinking about her right now. I’m just thinking about how glad I am to have you here even though you should really be anywhere else. Somewhere safer.”
“Ah, Rex, I think we’ve been here before.”
He knew she didn’t mean the boat, but rather a return to their old attraction. It hadn’t ended well for them last time, but for the life of him, right now he couldn’t remember why. Cradling the back of her head in his palm, he kissed her. Or she kissed him. Either way, her lips were moving under his, her breasts pressing against his chest, so perfect and soft he’d been certain his memory of touching her must have been faulty.
He was the forty-four-year-old father of two college-aged sons who would be horrified to hear their old man was making out with a twenty-nine-year-old pop star. And somehow none of that felt wrong or strange, because it was Livia in his arms. Livia’s hands skimming up and down his back, plunging into his hair.
His mouth trailed over the perfect shell of her ear, down her neck, and as much as he wanted to take this further, he knew he couldn’t afford to stay up here any longer. Work waited below. A missing brother-in-arms. And a mission going nowhere fast to figure out how the hell this ship was being used in a terrorist plot to set off a dirty nuke in the United States. He’d been so intent on studying those boarding the ship, he hadn’t for a moment considered one of his own wouldn’t get back on.
With more than a little regret, he eased away from her. “You have to know how much I want to finish this…”
She gripped his shoulders, fingernails digging half moons into his flesh through his shirt. “Find Chuck. We can deal with these… feelings… between us once you have done that.”
Livia’s eyes were filled with complete confidence. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe in his gut instinct to trust Chuck could kick the crap out of anything that came his way. That somewhere out there on that island of Sicily, Chuck was holed up keeping Jolynn Taylor safe.
* * *
Safely aboard the ferry from Palermo, Sicily, to Salerno on Italy’s mainland, Jolynn tried to ignore how their microscopic cabin put them in such close confines.
Chuck hadn’t wanted to be out in the ope
n in the mass seating for the ten-hour crossing. He’d paid cash for the closet-sized space with only bunk beds with mud brown coverlets and a tiny private bath. A small fan attached high in a corner blew halfhearted gusts into the stuffy space.
Just outside the cabin, a handful of men spoke in rapid-fire Italian as they walked past on their way to the snack bar or observation deck. But from their raised voices and laughter, they seemed everyday passengers— not killers searching for Americans on the lam.
For the most part, she tried not to move, staying curled up in the corner of the tiny bunk beside the brass portal. But the choppy sea splashed against the glass. Every roll of the boat jostled her closer to him on the other end of the bottom bunk. Tantalizing swipes of his leg brushing hers sent her overrevved nerves tingling again.
She tugged her sarong over her knees and searched Chuck’s tense face in the dim light of the single bulb overhead. A string hanging from that fixture swayed like a pendulum. “Does anyone know where we are? Some of your people, I mean? I didn’t miss how you threw that coin out.”
“Listening device.” He shrugged unapologetically. “I would prefer no one knows where we are. Not yet, and not until I can assess our situation.”
The drive across Sicily had been tense but blessedly uneventful. Still she couldn’t miss the tension in Chuck’s muscled shoulders as he kept his ear toward the door, his gun in his hand resting on his knee.
“What’s the next plan? Another safe house once we reach Salerno?”
She needed details, some sense of ownership in their plans. Had she forsaken all control by running off with him? By placing herself completely in his hands? But then again, she’d never seen a man with such supremely capable hands, whether he was dealing blackjack, aiming a weapon, or stroking a touch along her skin. Her gaze landed back on his broad palms now, remembering them sliding over her skin the night before.
Chuck scrubbed his thumb back and forth along the grip of his 9 mm. “I’m looking outside the agency for somewhere to regroup.” The ferry’s motor whined almost as loudly as the sound of gurgling water as they chugged through the night. “For now, if there’s a missing persons’ report out, I want the local authorities to assume the goons at the safe house took us. The goons who tried to kill us will think we’re back with my people or in another secured location. Hopefully, they’ll run circles around each other. Meanwhile, that should buy us some time to slip away until I figure out who the good guys are.”
The quiet serenity of the cabin echoed with adrenaline letdown after chaos. It appeared they were safe, for a moment at least.
Chuck had saved her life, twice, fighting odds that no gambler in Taylor’s casino would have taken.
“Jolynn, I…” He studied his hand resting on his knee, weapon held and ready.
She clasped his free hand resting on the thin mattress, twining her fingers through his, owing him so much more than that simple touch, but not sure what else to offer.
She waited, afraid if she started talking, he would shut down, become the man back at the bed-and-breakfast who grunted answers. There wasn’t a notepad in sight to carry him through.
“I’m well trained and I have technical skills that most can’t even dream of.”
No great revelation there. Still, she waited. There had to be a point, if she just listened closely enough. She needed to make some sense of what had happened today with the attack on them. And while he was at it, maybe he could explain why he’d felt the need to get so close to her when she didn’t know a damn thing about her father’s operation. In fact, she’d made it a point to know as little as possible about his life.
“If I’m good, it’s because I don’t think like other people anymore. I don’t… feel things the way other people do.” Setting his gun aside carefully on top of her purse on the floor, he shifted to face her fully. He seemed so intense, so focused, as if the words required more concentration than when he’d saved them by the catacombs. “That’s also what makes me rotten at relationships.”
She bristled, all the tension of the day firing to life and igniting the fuel of her fear. “Is this a brush-off? One of those ‘I’m not ready to commit’ discussions? If so, you can save it. Just because I’m ready to trust you with my safety and maybe even my body doesn’t mean I’m at all interested in risking my heart.”
He cocked an eyebrow, before rolling a kink out of his shoulder. “What I’m trying to say is I owe you an apology. Not a couple of words on paper, but the real thing.” He picked up a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m sorry you’re in danger because I couldn’t keep my head on straight around you. I’m truly sorry.”
He blamed himself for this? Because he was genuinely attracted to her? He’d apologized before, but this was something different, intense, personal. He was acknowledging they had something between them, something unique. Something powerful.
Something she craved every bit as much as he did.
“I appreciate that you’re being honest with me. God, I really do. And we both know I all but made a fool out of myself over how much I wanted”—still want, crave, burn to have—“you. But things have gotten extremely complicated. What the hell do we do now?”
“This.” Leaning forward, he cupped her face in his hands and slanted his mouth across hers. He kissed her, deep and hard with all the unrestrained intensity she’d glimpsed in him on those rare occasions when he’d let her look.
Initially, she stiffened, all her reservations regarding his assumed identity flickering through her brain. Yet her reasons for turning away from him seemed unimportant in light of their brushes with death. She knew all about “Protector Syndrome,” the rescued falling for the rescuer, and she simply didn’t care.
His words at the bed-and-breakfast echoed through her head. He worked for the military, not the mob. While dangerous and apparently in some kind of dark ops capacity, his world had purpose. Honor.
She’d felt the razor edge of that dangerous world today, and their near brush with death made her all the more aware of the rasp of his beard against her cheek, the gentle caress of his calloused hands along the small of her back bared by her sarong. His musky scent mingled with hers in a primal perfume that made her ache for a deeper connection.
Rather than questioning the “whys” and “wherefores,” she should lose herself in this moment as she’d planned. A very real danger lurked outside that door. She might never have this chance again.
Wrapping her arms around his waist, she slipped her hands inside his shirt. She kneaded the muscles bulging under her touch, a testimony to the strength that had saved them both. His skin felt heated, vibrant, and alive. He pulled her closer, his tongue plundering, caressing, affirming life— his, hers, theirs entwined.
His fingers tangled in her hair, loosening the braid. He grabbed a fistful of curls unraveling from her braid. He pulled his mouth from hers and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. She reveled in his groan.
Greedily, his lips moved to her neck, and she threw back her head, offering him freer access. A moan traveled up the length of her arched throat, begging for release just as her body begged for relief.
Chuck’s hands slid lower, curving around her hips, his fingers sinking in with sensual surety and want as he reclined her back on the narrow bunk. Hungry and needy, she wriggled closer, couldn’t get close enough until he blanketed her with his body. Jolynn looped her arms around his waist. His thigh nestled between her legs, against the apex of her thighs, searing her with his heat.
His hand tucked under her bandeau and loosened the knot. Anticipation burned over skin already eager for his touch. Air whispered over her nipples, her breasts tightening in response just as his mouth closed over a peak.
The moist, tugging sensation jolted through her in waves of warm, liquid fire. The intensity rippled on top of taut emotions, almost more than she could bear.
He transferred his attention to her other breast. She brushe
d her fingers over his bristly shorn hair, urging his head closer. She inched forward and rocked her hips against his, desperate for relief and wanting, needing, this man to be the one to initiate her.
Other men had tried. Once she’d left her wild teen years behind, she’d indulged in more mature affairs, brief and unsatisfying encounters that made her wonder if she just didn’t have a passionate nature. She was quickly changing her mind on that.
While assuredly this was just a physical reaction, she didn’t care. Hadn’t she told him the body didn’t matter, only her soul? Well, he couldn’t have her soul, but she wanted him to have her body, wanted to take his in return.
A moan slipped past his lips. “Jolynn… Lynnie…” He traced the shell of her ear. “I want you so damn bad, but this isn’t the place or the time.”
“What’s wrong with here and now? No one can see, and God, I need you to take the edge off.” She cupped his face, pulling it to hers.
He returned her kiss, then drew back, skimming his lips over hers. “As incredible as this feels, I need to be sure you’re not going to be sorry later. The adrenaline is kicking in overtime, and we’re both reacting to the afternoon’s events.”
“Last time I checked, I’m an adult. So unless you think you’re only reacting to the adrenaline…”
Groaning, he scooped her bandeau from the floor. “I would laugh if I weren’t hurting so bad. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you. I’ll probably have to apologize again afterward. But I’m not strong enough to turn you away anymore.”
Relief tumbled through her. She couldn’t stand another rejection. Couldn’t stifle another moment of her need for him.
She pressed a lingering kiss to the patch of skin exposed by the vee of his shirt. “Good. Then there’s nothing holding us back.”
TWELVE
Jolynn’s lips on his chest sent a bolt of longing straight through to his groin. Reservations and worries scattered. They had a window of time here on this ferry to explore whatever insanity had taken hold of them both from the first second they’d laid eyes on each other back in the Fortuna’s casino.
Protector Page 14