Allison laughed. She could love Sloan if for nothing more than the camaraderie he’d shown her nephew. She could love Sloan for a lot of reasons, none of which justified putting her heart on the line, yet there it was. Unless Sloan was blind, he had to see it, too.
He helped Mitchell pack up the game and clear the kitchen table.
“I’m tired.” Mitchell stretched and gave a yawn.
“You’ve had a busy day.” She indulged her nephew with a grin. “Get ready for bed. We’ll turn in early tonight.”
“Where does this go?” Sloan held up the game.
“Upstairs. In my bedroom.” Allison held out her hand. “Here, I can take—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I’ll put it away.”
“Thanks.” Allison gave him a smile. “In the closet. Top shelf.”
****
Sloan couldn’t remember a more enjoyable day. In fact, it was one of the most perfect days he’d ever spent. If only O’Neal’s allegations and that cloud of doubt weren’t hanging over his head.
The contradictions between what he saw with his own eyes, and what he’d been told about Allison, ate at him. He wanted to force the issue. He wanted Allison to explain how Tom and O’Neal could possibly believe she was the hacker. Yet, he couldn’t break his promise to O’Neal.
The director never made accusations without hard facts. If Byron said he had proof of her guilt, then he must have it. Until Sloan saw it for himself, he had no choice but to keep his promise and let this charade play out on Allison’s timetable and terms.
Mitch had given Sloan a tour of the house earlier in the day, showing off all the upstairs rooms. Now, he followed the flashlight’s beam to the first bedroom on the right. Allison’s room.
He felt as though he was invading her privacy when he opened the door, but she had given permission for him to enter. And she hadn’t slept in this room since he’d been here. Her bedroom was just another room, not a place where she spent time.
He opened the closet and put the game on the top shelf, sliding it back from the edge. The flashlight’s beam caught a splash of gold. He angled the light higher and found a picture frame. Curious, and a bit nosy, he reached for it.
The double frame held a picture of Allison on one side. Her arm tightly bound in a sling, receiving a certificate from a uniformed police officer. On the other side was a ribbon. The police department’s version of the Purple Heart for being wounded in the line of duty.
The look on her face was haunted as she accepted the recognition award. Her eyes weren’t focused on the officer, but somewhere beyond the photographer. Her expression reflected the pain she must have felt after losing a partner and facing her own mortality. As Sloan studied the picture, he wondered if she had truly let go of the past.
He put the picture back, shifting a stack of papers as he did. The top paper with a Northstar Security Firm logo on the upper left corner caught his attention.
Thinking it was Allison’s acceptance to the firm, he picked up the letter. The date at the top of the page was nearly a year before she started working for Northstar. Probably her first communication from the firm after she’d left the department. He was about to put it back when he noticed the letter wasn’t addressed to Allison.
Disregarding the fact that he was looking at private correspondence, he continued to read. It was addressed to Ed Tallon, Allison’s brother-in-law. The first paragraph stated in clear terms a refusal of Ed’s request for Northstar to investigate Allison’s shooting. Politely, apologetically, the letter declared the shooting and investigation were governed by the jurisdiction of the Idaho State Police department. Without their authorization, Northstar couldn’t intervene.
It was signed personally by Byron O’Neal.
Sloan stared at the letter, feeling blood pound at his temples. Regardless of this morning’s conversation with O’Neal, Sloan doubted Allison was the hacker. Everything about her screamed innocence. However, this letter revealed a past association with Northstar she’d kept secret.
She’d been extremely candid about O’Neal’s initial offer, her refusal and about the shooting that ended her police career. Why hadn’t she said anything about asking for Northstar’s help when they talked last night? Could this letter prove motive to harm Northstar’s reputation? Did she feel vindictive? Was she so angry over the loss of her partner? Angry enough to ruin O’Neal’s reputation because he refused to investigate the shooting?
It didn’t make sense. Northstar’s policy to stay away from her case was clear-cut. The Allison he had come to know was a brave and determined woman who overcame tremendous odds. She appeared to have moved on with her life. Was it possible she had fooled him? Fooled O’Neal?
Sloan replaced the letter and straightened the items on the shelf. He headed downstairs with questions burning in his brain. How could he approach Allison to learn more? How could he find the truth without breaking his word to O’Neal?
When Sloan entered the kitchen, she was elbow deep in suds, washing the dishes. A floorboard creaked under the weight of his feet.
She heard him and turned slightly without looking up from her chore. “Mitchell was completely worn out from his fun today. He’s already asleep. I’m just about done here. If you want to get ready for bed, I’ll stay out of the room for a moment.”
He was glad Mitch was in the other room and out of earshot. He wanted this conversation in privacy. “Allison.”
She glanced over at him, a question in her eyes.
“Did they ever catch the shooters?” She’d left out that detail last night. He watched her reaction closely. Over the years, he’d learned a great deal about body language—how to tell a person’s state of mind by watching subtle movements. In the glow of the candlelight, he saw her back stiffen.
“No.” She stared down at the water in the sink and quietly continued washing.
“Both of the suspects are still at large?”
She nodded. “Funny,” she said after a moment. “You’d think with all the forensic evidence gathered at the scene, the authorities could piece together a case that would lead to an arrest.” She shook her head, causing her braid to sway against her back. “Those two shooters just disappeared.”
Sloan hoped she’d say something about the letter and the request for Northstar’s help with the investigation. When she didn’t say more, he leaned against the kitchen wall, watching her put the last dish in the drain board.
“That’s it.” She wiped her hands with a towel and then turned to look at him. “Everything’s cleaned up.”
Her voice sounded a little too bright. Her smile was too forced. In the last twenty-four hours, he’d learned to expect a sparkle in her eyes when she smiled. It wasn’t there. He thought he knew how to read people, but tonight, reading Allison proved troublesome and frustrating.
“Are you ready to go to bed?” She cocked an eyebrow.
The change of subject sounded too much like an invitation—completely out of character.
He shook his head. He wasn’t sure what was happening and that made him more suspicious. Why suddenly change the subject? Was she that ready to jump into his arms? Just yesterday, she was doing everything to keep him away. She’d been approachable—friendlier—this afternoon, but people didn’t change who they were that quickly.
How could he be attracted to her and not see her duplicity? Was he so bewitched by her charms, he was willing to be fooled? Or was he overanalyzing everything she did and said?
“Aren’t you tired?” She sounded both concerned and amused.
“No, I guess not.” He moved from the wall and took a step toward her.
“Sloan—” Her voice faltered. “I…I’ve been wrong about you.”
He stopped. What was she talking about?
“You don’t have to say anything.” She rushed on. “I just wanted you to know.”
“What are you saying?”
“You. Or rather, us. Last night, you said I was different here tha
n at work. Well, you’re different, too. At work you’re…” She paused.
“Bossy? Arrogant?” he offered.
“Maybe. A little.” She gave an awkward gesture with her hands. “Since you’ve been here, you’ve been… Well, I can admit when I’m wrong.”
After a statement like that from any other woman, he might have pressed for an advantage. Now, he wasn’t sure if Allison was being honest or playing some other game to keep him from guessing her agenda. She’d diverted the conversation too quickly. Had he given away his suspicions with his questions?
She closed the distance between them, rested her hands on his chest, and leaned toward him. The fresh scent of lavender wafted toward him just before soft lips brushed his.
His body responded instantly. Warmth spread through him like sunshine on a clear day. His gut tightened and thighs clenched. He’d never reacted to a kiss, a peck really, so spontaneously.
She drew back—would have stepped away, but he captured her arms and drew her to him. What was wrong with him? This woman could be plotting his downfall and all he could think about was savoring the sweet taste of her mouth.
Unconcealed desire glowed on her face. “Sloan?”
He cupped the back of her neck. The tentative brush of his mouth was a whisper. Like a gentle snow, melting as the earth absorbs the first delicate flakes.
She whimpered in surrender and parted her lips.
That was all he needed. He didn’t hold back. He gathered her to him, crushing her against his chest.
She responded with her whole body, wrapped her arms around his neck, and wove long, slender fingers into his hair.
She tasted clean and pure, like the snowcapped mountains outside. Sensations churned with greater intensity than the snowstorm that had brought him to her doorstep. To his dying day, Sloan knew he would never experience anything, or anyone, as intoxicating as Allison.
Chapter Eleven
If death took Allison in its clutches at this very moment, she would die having known pure paradise.
No. That was wrong.
Death would have to wait.
If Sloan’s kisses felt this right, this perfect, what would his lovemaking feel like?
Definitely worth living for.
A fire raged from the intensity of his kiss. The blaze spread across her limbs until she thought her legs would buckle. Overwhelming desire washed over her, pushing her to the brink of rational thought and beyond. Instinct guided her through unfamiliar territory. With each passing breath, her confidence grew.
She couldn’t let him know how inexperienced she was. If he thought her unsophisticated, he’d stop the amazing things he was doing.
Her tongue dodged his as it invaded her mouth. She nipped at his bottom lip and pressed her cheek against a two-day growth of beard, reveling in the raw, masculine sensation. When her searching fingers found the edges of his shirt and crept underneath, she felt, rather than heard, a low growl of approval.
At her feather-touch, his abdomen tightened. Her own need emboldened her, pushed her onward. She wanted him closer. Her palms smoothed his warm flesh, and she pressed into his hard body as their kiss deepened.
His touch seared through the material of her shirt, leaving a molten trail of dominion as his hands traveled down her back, inching lower and lower. She strained closer until his obvious arousal crushed against her hips.
She succumbed to the temptation that had taunted her the previous night and finally roamed his corded muscles, stroking silken hair on his chest. Through it all, she drank from his lips.
He coaxed the most primal of responses from her, encouraging her to take all he offered and demanding she give back in return. And give back she did.
She offered Sloan her most prized possession.
She surrendered her heart. And as his hand slipped to her throat and unbuttoned her shirt, she gave him her trust.
He pushed open the shirt and brushed the swell of her breast. Had that feral moan come from her? Light burst behind her closed eyes.
His mouth traversed the column of her neck. She arched into him, granting access for him to trail fiery kisses along the base of her throat. The floor trembled beneath her feet and she swayed, feeling her balance abandon her.
Take me. Now!
“Aunt Allison. The power’s back on.” From somewhere in the distance, Mitchell’s voice penetrated the roar in her ears.
Sloan broke off the kiss. He gripped her by the arms and set her away from him.
She teetered on her feet, eyes closed. A rush of frigid air cooled her burning flesh. She leaned toward him, reaching with all her senses to return to his warmth.
“Allison.” Sloan’s voice was thick and dark. “Allison, look at me.” He shook her slightly.
She opened her eyes.
Unfulfilled passion smoldered in his gaze. “The electricity is back on. You need to go to Mitch.”
The scent of burnt dust reached her nose. The furnace was running once again. “I’m coming,” she called to Mitchell. To Sloan she whispered, “I’ll only be a moment. Don’t go anywhere.” She smiled expectantly at him.
“No.”
Startled from her haze, she stared at the man who’d held her—kissed her until she was delirious with want. His hair was in disarray from being raked by her fingers. His shirt hung open, revealing his rippling torso.
Had she unbuttoned it without even knowing? The nerve endings on her fingertips recalled the feel of his chest. The temptation to brush her hand across taut muscles remained.
“But…”
“Go to Mitch.” Passion receded from his eyes and his clever lips thinned to a determined line.
Her mind cleared. The superheated sensations subsided. What had she done? How could she have given herself away like that? She lowered her gaze in embarrassment, wishing the floor would swallow her.
“Did you hear what I said?” He dropped his hands, adding more distance between them. “Mitch is calling for you.”
She nodded. Mitchell needed her.
Sloan didn’t.
She buttoned her shirt with automatic movements as she numbly walked into the great room. Every light was ablaze. Last night, when the power had gone out, she hadn’t thought to turn off the switches. The fire didn’t beckon as warmly as it had the night before. It certainly wasn’t needed now that the rumbling furnace blew warm air into the chilly corners of the old house.
Mitchell was sitting up in his sleeping bag, looking bleary-eyed. “The power is on, but do I have to go to my room? Can I sleep out here?”
She thought about what had happened between her and Sloan with her nephew in the next room. What had her wanton abandon cost her? Her self-control was in shreds, littered at Sloan’s feet. She knew from the way he’d pushed her away, he didn’t want any part of her.
For her peace of mind, and to save her further embarrassment, it might be best if Mitchell slept downstairs. His presence would act as a sentinel against her lack of discipline.
“Sure.” She gave him a wan smile. “You can stay here. As long as you get up in time for school.”
“I promise.” Mitchell tilted his head and stared at her. “Are you okay?”
She tried for a better smile, hoping to hide her tattered emotions. Her nephew was a bit too perceptive for his age. “I’m just a little tired.”
“You and Sloan could sleep out here with me, like last night. It’ll be fun.”
She shook her head. “Now that the power is on, I need to get back to work on the program.” She would finish the script and get it to Tom. With her obligation fulfilled, Sloan would leave for L.A. Then she could mend her broken armor.
Mitchell yawned. “Okay.” He lay down his head.
“Sleep tight.” Allison zipped up the sleeping bag a couple of inches as Mitchell snuggled inside.
She turned out the lights and walked back into the kitchen, frustrated and disappointed at the turn of events. But more than that, she was humiliated. She wondered what Sloa
n thought when she threw herself at him. She couldn’t even explain her actions to herself. Maybe some stray carbon monoxide poisoned her brain.
Sloan sat at the table, staring at the blackness beyond the kitchen window.
“I’ll make some coffee.” She crossed to the cupboard and pulled out two cups. “Then I’ll get to work on the trace program.” She tried not to look at him while she prepared the strong brew. She wanted to know what he was thinking, but in the stark light of reality, she was afraid the answer would be too painful to bear.
Regardless, now was the time for clarity. No more fantasies.
****
Sloan studied Allison’s stiff back as she stood at the kitchen counter. The cyborg had returned. He was exhausted trying to keep up with her changing moods. Tension built at the base of his neck while a dull throb pulsed near his temple. He knew tonight’s change in her was his fault and he accepted the headache as punishment, but he wasn’t about to concede the battle and give in to her charms. It had taken all his willpower to push her away when Mitch called out.
His usual command of the situation had vanished the moment Allison’s lips touched his. He was still struggling for equilibrium after the whirlwind ride she’d taken him on.
There were no rules that said seducing the enemy was forbidden. But on a gut level, he knew what he’d done was wrong. He lost all objectivity when it came to Allison. He’d be better off getting in his car and finding a hotel; but his duty to O’Neal dictated that he stay close enough to watch her every move, no matter what it did to his sanity. The assignment came first. “Why don’t you get started?” he said quietly. “I’ll bring the coffee in when it’s ready.”
Allison stabbed the button on the coffee maker. She didn’t look at him or speak as she left the kitchen. That stung, but it was better for both of them if she stayed angry. Yeah, how many times would he have to repeat that to himself before he believed it?
When he carried two steaming mugs of coffee into the office, Allison was wearing those damn glasses again. He knew she needed them, but after watching those incredible blue eyes, he hated to see them covered.
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