Two on the Run (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Watson, Margaret

  She had no business thinking of Michael Reilly as anything more than her kidnapper. She certainly shouldn’t be reliving those moments in bed with him this morning.

  But she couldn’t get the images out of her head. She’d never felt so sensual or so desirable. She shivered at the memory of Michael’s hand on her body, the slow sweep of his fingers down her side and back. And her skin tingled with the memory of his mouth, trailing sparks wherever he tasted her.

  Clearly, she was out of her mind. The experience of being kidnapped must have made something come unhinged in her head. It was the only explanation for these aching, yearning sensations that churned inside her.

  “We’re almost at Pinckney,” Michael said, interrupting the steady droning of the car. “Pull over here and change places with me.”

  “Are you sure you can drive?” She studied him briefly. His eyes weren’t as feverish as they’d been that morning, and his color wasn’t as gray. But lines of pain and exhaustion still bracketed his eyes.

  “I’m sure,” he said. “It’s about time I pulled my own weight.”

  It didn’t take a genius to read his determination. So instead of arguing, she steered the car onto the shoulder of the road, next to a field of corn that was at least six feet tall, and slid out of the driver’s seat.

  Hot, humid air slapped her in the face as she headed around the passenger side of the car. While they’d been driving there was at least a breeze from the window. Now the air was still and heavy, pressing down on her like a wet wool blanket.

  Michael struggled to pull himself out of the car, and she offered him her hand. He scowled at her, but finally reached out and grasped it.

  He eased himself out slowly and stiffly until he stood next to her. “Thanks,” he muttered, dropping her hand as if it were on fire.

  As he started to move toward the driver’s side, he stumbled on the uneven ground. She leaped forward and caught him before he could fall.

  For a moment they stood pressed together, touching from chest to thigh. The muscles and planes of his body burned into her, causing a hot flush of awareness to sweep through her. When his arms tightened and pulled her closer, her heart leaped in her chest and began thumping erratically.

  “Michael,” a voice whispered, pleading. It was her own, she realized with astonishment. And from the heat that flashed in Michael’s eyes, he had no trouble figuring out what she wanted.

  He brought one hand up to her face and brushed away the hair that had fallen into her eyes. “Ellie,” he murmured, his voice thick and heavy with need.

  “Just one kiss. That’s all I want.”

  He slid his fingers through her hair and muttered her name again as he pressed closer to her. The hard length of his erection burned into her through all their layers of clothes. He closed his eyes and groaned, taking her mouth with his.

  It wasn’t the kind of kiss she was used to, polite and well-mannered and restrained. It was hot and hard and desperate, as if he were a man dying of thirst and she was his only source of water.

  Heat and fire and throbbing need swept through her, obliterating any memories of other men and other kisses. Her knees weakened and she would have fallen if he hadn’t tightened his arms around her. When he backed her up against the car, she moaned into his mouth, and he pressed even more intimately against her.

  His tongue caressed hers, tasting and teasing, his slow, sensuous movements matching the thrust of his hips. A heavy ache centered low in her abdomen and she moved restlessly against him.

  “Ellie,” he muttered, sweeping his hand down her back, urging her hips closer to him. “My God, Ellie. Touch me.”

  She’d clasped her hands around his neck, but as his breath whispered against her neck she realized she hungered to explore him. She tested the muscles of his upper back, finding them hard and tense as bands of iron. Slowly she slid her hands around to his chest, where she found the tiny nubs of his male nipples poking against the thin fabric of his shirt.

  He sucked in his breath as she explored, testing the tiny peaks with her fingertips. When she squeezed once, he thrust his hips against her in a jerky movement.

  “My God. Stop,” he whispered as she brushed her fingertips over him again, enthralled by his response.

  He grabbed her hands and pulled them back around his neck. “I’m going to embarrass myself if you do that again.” He nuzzled her neck, then tugged lightly at her earlobe with his teeth. “It’s my turn now.”

  His mouth trailed down her neck, leaving hot flames of need in its wake. When he reached the V of her blouse he paused, and she squirmed against him with frustration. Her breasts throbbed and tingled, swelling with need. She held her breath, silently pleading with him to move lower.

  But he moved back to her mouth instead, taking it in a storm of desire. She could only hold on, swept away by her longing for him, shattered by her body’s response. She was completely and utterly in his power, and she gloried in the surrender.

  When he yanked her blouse out of the waistband of her slacks she felt his hand trembling. Her heart caught in her throat as he slid his palm over her abdomen.

  “You’re so smooth,” he whispered into her mouth. “So soft. Are you this soft everywhere?” He nuzzled her neck. “Can I touch you and find out?”

  His fingers danced along her skin and his words sounded velvety and rich. His hand crept toward her breast but he moved much too slowly. She moaned, pressing herself into his fingers, and felt him smile against her flesh.

  “I take it that’s a yes?”

  She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. All she could do was hold her breath, waiting, waiting for him to move closer. Heat and wetness throbbed between her thighs, and she shifted so his leg slipped between hers.

  When he finally touched her breast, she felt his hand through the filmy fabric of her bra. “This has to go,” he whispered, reaching for the clasp. And suddenly her breasts were free. He sucked in his breath as he cupped one in his hand.

  His finger circled her, coming closer and closer to her nipple but moving infinitely slowly, as if he could learn everything there was to know about her from the tips of his fingers. “You’re even softer than I imagined,” he whispered, licking at the corner of her mouth. “But our survey still has a long way to go. Are you ready for the next step?”

  She whimpered deep in her throat; speaking was impossible. Slowly, as if he was holding his breath, he rubbed one finger lightly across her nipple. She gave a little cry and shuddered against him.

  He groaned her name and shoved her blouse up to her shoulders. When he fastened his mouth to her nipple, pleasure so intense it verged on pain rocketed through her. She arched back with a shocked cry and wrapped her arms and legs around him, conscious of nothing but her need for him.

  His sharp intake of breath and involuntary flinch were like a splash of cold water on her overheated skin. Her eyes flew open and she saw the pain from his wound reflected in his eyes.

  “Your back,” she whispered, shocked and horrified. “Michael, I’m so sorry.” She dropped her arms and legs and tried to scoot backward, only to find the car blocking her way.

  “Shh,” he said, trailing one finger down her throat and pulling her toward him again. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  She stared at him, appalled. “Yes there is! I just jumped on you like…like a cat in heat. I forgot all about your back.”

  Laughter lit his eyes. “And you think that’s something to apologize for?”

  “I hurt you!”

  “Oh, yeah. You did. But it’s not my back that hurts. It’s another part of my anatomy altogether.” He pressed his hips against her suggestively. “Want to kiss it and make it better?”

  A laughing devil danced in his eyes. When she simply stared at him, dismayed at what she’d done, he pulled her hands to his mouth and pressed his lips against first one palm, then the other.

  “I guess that’s a no,” he sighed, rolling his hips against her aga
in and stealing her breath. “At least for now. I suppose this isn’t the time or the place. But I reserve the right to ask for a rain check.”

  Her head spun and she watched him, speechless. How could he joke about what had just happened? She was shaken and disoriented. The foundations of her world had been shifted and realigned, and nothing would ever be the same again. In a few short minutes, Michael had shown her a universe of sensation and feelings she’d never even imagined.

  And now he stood in front of her, his chest brushing against her oversensitive breasts, his erection gliding against her in a way designed to drive her out of her mind, and he had the nerve to smile at her as if what had happened between them was as ordinary as a hot day in July.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” she muttered, and he laughed out loud.

  “I’d love to explain it to you, but it’s not the kind of thing I like to do in public.” He bent over and brushed his mouth lightly over hers. “I’ll take a rain check on that, too.”

  He stood much too close for another moment, pressing her against the hot metal of the car, then closed his eyes and backed away. Giving her just enough room to slide around him, he waited until she got into the passenger side, then walked around and slid into the driver’s seat.

  Eleanor watched as he steered the car down the still-deserted road, his jaw set and his eyes once again focused on his mission. She was in trouble. Big trouble.

  In less than twenty-four hours, she had let Michael Reilly become far too important to her.

  It was a lesson she apparently needed to learn: be careful what you wish for. She had wished for excitement and adventure in her life, and now she had it. But the excitement came with a price. And that price might very well include her heart.

  Pressing her lips together, she stared out the window at the endless rows of corn. At least she’d discovered one thing, she told herself. She wasn’t undersexed, or cold, or too stiff. She still throbbed with heat and need. It had merely taken the right man to show her what passion and desire meant.

  The problem was, this was exactly the wrong time. And Michael was exactly the wrong man.

  MICHAEL KEPT THE CAR between the white lines on the road and tried to steal glances at Ellie. But she kept her face turned away, staring out the window at the endless cornfields. He’d had no idea that vegetables could be so fascinating.

  Then a horrible thought struck him. What if she was crying?

  My God! She wouldn’t do that to him, would she? He glanced at her again and noticed her stiff, straight back and clenched fists.

  No, Ellie wouldn’t be sitting there crying. She’d more likely be fuming and sparking with anger.

  But he’d made a terrible mistake. He’d let her know he wanted her. And he’d tasted her response, felt it to the bottom of his soul. She wanted him, too.

  Could there be a more frightening discovery? They were on the run, with both his life and hers in danger. And all he could think about was making love. To a woman he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anyone in his life.

  He swore steadily under his breath, calling himself every name he could think of. It didn’t help. He still ached for her. And it still terrified him.

  They were almost at Pinckney, he saw with relief. A few more miles and he could leave her with Charles. Then he could try to forget about her.

  They were all wrong for each other. Hell, they’d probably kill each other within days if they actually tried to get together. Her planning, analytic, careful ways would play havoc with his intuitive, free-for-all style. And settling down was the last thing on his mind.

  The houses on the edge of Pinckney came into view and he almost sighed with relief. Only a few more minutes and he could begin to forget about her.

  She turned to him with that polite look on her face and said, “Has your friend always lived here?”

  It was cocktail-party talk again, and Michael wanted to shake her. They’d gone way beyond polite. But maybe it was a good thing. It would make driving away a lot easier.

  “No,” he said, his tone short. “He’s from Midland originally. He and his wife moved out here so Betty could have a garden.”

  “Did you meet him while you were a cop?”

  “No.” He didn’t want to tell her anything more about Charles, but he owed her at least a fragment of the truth. It was the least he could do before leaving her with a stranger.

  “I knew him when I was growing up. He was the police chief.”

  She frowned. “I thought you didn’t trust anyone on the Midland police force.”

  “Charles is retired. Has been for several years.” Michael risked a glance over at her. “I trust him completely. He’ll keep you safe.”

  “You already told me that, and I already told you I believed you.”

  Her voice was cool, and he wanted to smash through the ice, to find the heat that had swamped him just minutes ago. But he didn’t dare. In a few minutes he had to say goodbye and not look back. So he merely nodded. “I just wanted to reassure you.”

  “Thank you.”

  She looked away again and his jaw tightened. It shouldn’t be this way between him and Ellie. He wanted the banter. He wanted the triumphant look in her eyes when she thought she’d gotten the better of him. Hell, he wanted the heat and the fire that raged through him whenever he touched her.

  It was a good thing he couldn’t have it, he told himself savagely. Because if he could, he might make the biggest mistake of his life.

  “Charles is on the other side of town. He lives on a lake and spends his time fishing.” Michael risked another glance at her. “If you spend any time with him at all, he’ll have you out in his boat, putting worms on a hook.”

  “Really?” She turned toward him, anticipation lighting her face. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to fish.”

  Damn it, she was one surprise after another. Instead of the wrinkled nose and distasteful expression he’d expected, she actually looked interested. Would Ellie ever stop surprising him?

  Not in a hundred years, a small voice answered.

  And that scared him more than anything else.

  “Charles will adore you if you want to learn how to fish. He’ll be able to relive—”

  Michael stopped abruptly. He had no intention of sharing pieces of his childhood with Ellie. He wasn’t about to tell her how Charles had taught him to fish. Every tiny piece of himself that he gave to her was one more he’d have to reclaim when he drove away. And he was afraid she already held far too much of him.

  “What will he be able to relive?” she asked, her voice once again that of a polite stranger.

  “Nothing.” Michael scowled. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

  “Don’t bother for my sake.” Her voice went from polite to frigid. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “That’s sure as hell the truth,” he muttered.

  “What did you say?”

  “Never mind. It wasn’t important.”

  “Fine.”

  “We’re almost there,” he said after a few more strained minutes of silence. “Their house is just around the next curve.”

  “Did you call ahead so they’re expecting us?” She spoke while staring out the window, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him.

  “Yeah. I called this morning, while you were out getting the shirt. But I told him we’d be here closer to the evening. I wasn’t sure how long it would take.”

  “Good,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t want to surprise them.”

  He could have told her that Charles wouldn’t be surprised by anything Michael did, but he kept his mouth shut. There was no point. He was going to be saying goodbye to her in a few minutes.

  He was already putting mental distance between them, and he felt a sharp pang of regret. But it couldn’t be any other way.

  “There’s the driveway to the house.”

  Charles’s home was set back from the road, shaded by a handful of toweri
ng oak trees. Lilac bushes lined the road, revealing only glimpses of the white-painted house. Michael slowed down, then turned into the driveway. But as he rounded the last curve in the drive and the house came into view, a flash of light from his right side caught his eye.

  Easing to a crawl, he peered into the bushes, and what he saw made his stomach roll and his heart protest. He slammed on the brakes.

  Ellie was jerked against her seat belt. She turned to look at him and he knew he’d see a question in her eyes. But he couldn’t move his head to meet her gaze, couldn’t respond to her question. He’d turned to stone, and any small movement would make him crumble into dust.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He couldn’t answer. All he could do was stare at the car half-concealed in the bushes in front of Charles’s house, and feel his heart shrivel in his chest.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “WHAT IS IT, Michael?” He heard the thread of fear in her voice, felt her touch his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  Instead of answering he jammed the car into Reverse and shot out of the driveway. They skidded and swerved as he shifted into Drive and pressed the accelerator. The flimsy foreign car shuddered as the engine sputtered and coughed, then took off with a lurch.

  He didn’t speak to Ellie as they sped through Pinckney. With anger and despair churning through him, he swore in a steady monotone, the harsh words filling the car as he furiously blinked his eyes. He refused to cry. He clenched the steering wheel more tightly and pressed harder on the accelerator.

  “Why don’t you stop and let me drive?”

  Ellie’s voice was gentle, inviting him to confide in her. But he ignored her and stared out the windshield as the last house in Pinckney flashed past.

  “I’m fine.”

  “All right.” She settled back in the seat, not looking at him, not speaking. But she rested one hand lightly on his arm.

  The small weight of her hand burned into him. He felt the imprint of every finger, the warmth of her palm. And he was shocked to realize it comforted him.