Take It Down

by Kira Sinclair

  Jerking her arm out of his grasp, she said, “I’m fine.”

  So the—one, two, four, five? Dang, she’d had more than she’d realized—fluffy drinks that had seemed rather harmless while sitting down had gone to her head. She had only a short walk to the main building and a ride in the elevator before she could crash in her own room and sleep off the alcohol haze. Maybe when she woke up, she’d have a brilliant solution to her problem.

  “At least let me walk you to your room.”

  “I don’t think so.” Giving him her back, she strode away.

  Outside the bar, the salt-tinged air began to clear her head. It was a beautiful night, the slivered moon just barely gilding the silky sand and the crystal-clear water.

  What she wouldn’t give to have a paintbrush in her hand right now. To capture the beauty of this place forever.

  The loud music and bright lights of the bar faded, leaving her feeling alone in the tropical paradise. If she’d been here for any other reason, she might have enjoyed the sense of peace that stole over her. It was an unexpected gift at the end of a rather trying day.

  Stopping in the middle of the deserted path, she closed her eyes and breathed in the perfectly warm air.

  A burst of laughter from behind galvanized her into motion again.

  The sandals she’d thrown on only because they matched her sundress clicked loudly against the concrete path. So loudly that it took her a minute to pick up the sound of the second pair of footsteps following behind her. They were quiet and, if her own overprotective father hadn’t trained her, she probably never would have picked up on them. But, living in Atlanta, her daddy had made sure she was always aware of her surroundings and could defend herself.

  Her sluggish brain reacted a little slower than she would have liked, but it took her only a few moments to assess the situation. She was alone on a dark path, surrounded by thick landscaping and plenty of nooks and crannies that could be used to pull her into the shadows.

  The parade of men she’d grown increasingly harsher with as the night had gone on marched through her brain. Crap, she should have been nicer.

  3

  ZANE TAILED ELLE. FOLLOWING her had nothing to do with suspicions and everything to do with the fact that she’d looked less than steady on her feet back at the bar. She might have regained her balance fairly quickly, but he wasn’t in the habit of letting drunk women walk home alone.

  That was just asking for trouble. He’d worked enough cases with female victims who had been in the wrong place at the right time and ended up dead. And while the likelihood of that happening in this tropical paradise was fairly low—thanks to the security measures he’d implemented—he still wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if he’d let her walk out of that bar on her own.

  The path back to the main building was long, and he suddenly felt responsible for Elle. God only knew why.

  He rounded a corner on the path, realizing too late that the click of her footsteps ahead of him had gone silent.

  The attack came out of nowhere. If he hadn’t been preoccupied with worrying about Elle, it never would have happened. Two years ago, his brain would have noticed the lack of sound, calculated the most-likely position where she’d gone off the path and prepared for any number of things—including the possibility that she might attack him.

  Tonight, he was caught off guard as she came hurdling toward him out of the bushes. Her lithe body became a projectile headed straight for his chest. He had no desire to fall over backward from the force of her attack.

  Defensive moves that had long ago become instinctive kicked in. He sidestepped the motion of her body, reaching out to try to stop her forward momentum. He might have no desire to hit concrete, but then he really didn’t want her to, either. Too much paperwork involved.

  His fingers slid across her dress, fighting for purchase. He could feel the angle of her body shift beneath the slippery fabric as she countered his attempt to save her. The sound of cotton rending ripped through the air, mixing with the loud expulsion of her breath close to his ear. Her shoulder glanced off of his arm, the strength of her tiny body surprising him.

  Elle went off balance. He knew the second that her center of gravity overcorrected itself and couldn’t recover. He knew because he watched as her eyes, more cognizant than he’d expected, widened in panic.

  He lunged for her, but it was too late. If she’d still been standing on the path, he might have been able to grasp her and roll them both so she landed on top of him, shielding her from most of the impact. But the little minx had laid her trap right next to the pool.

  “Elle!” He cried out a warning she obviously didn’t need.

  He probably could have saved himself the dunking if he’d pushed against her momentum, but he didn’t. Instead, he tried to pull her in close to his body so that he could find her once they disappeared beneath the surface.

  Neither of them was in danger of drowning. They might have landed in the deep end of the pool, but it was only six feet. Elle was tiny, but surely she could find her way to the surface with little effort, even if she had been drunk and disoriented. And considering the dexterity she’d needed for her botched attack, he was seriously reconsidering his assessment of her ability to hold liquor.

  Warm water closed over his head. Chlorine stung his eyes as he kept them open, not willing to take his gaze off of Elle until he knew she was okay.

  Her feet touched down against the tiled bottom of the pool, pushing off in a way that had her dress floating precariously high up the smooth expanse of her thighs. Another reason to keep his eyes open. She shot past him like a seal.

  He broke the surface in time to hear the gasp of her breath as her head cleared the waterline. She sputtered, her arms churning to keep from sinking again.

  “What the hell!”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  Elle spun around in the water to face him, the yellow material of her dress pooling around her body like a puddle of sunshine. Zane fought the urge to dunk his head back under.

  “What did you think you were doing?” Zane demanded.

  Anger began to mingle with the adrenaline in his blood. What had she been thinking? Had she known it was him on the path and intended to make him pay for locking her up earlier today? Or had she thought he was someone else, some other guy who was following her back to her room?

  Either way, he was going to shake some sense into her.

  “Defending myself,” Elle said.

  Zane reached for her, but before he could touch her, she kicked out with her legs and swam away.

  She might be fast, but he was faster. Halfway across the pool, he caught her. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he yanked her to a halt. His feet found the bottom, standing them both up in waist-high water, although he didn’t let her go.

  “Defending yourself? Are you insane? You’re, what, a hundred pounds soaking wet? You couldn’t defend yourself against a fly, let alone a man who’s probably close to double your weight.”

  Her eyes narrowed. The gray irises glittered in the darkness. They reminded him of the moon above their head, not as it was now, a sliver, but when it was full and bright.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you size doesn’t matter?”

  She wanted to squirm in his grasp. He could see the desire to fight for freedom lurking in her eyes. The fact that she fought against it, knowing it wouldn’t do her any good, impressed him. Most people would have let instinct overrule intelligence and struggle anyway.

  He pulled her closer, both because the need to feel her body against his was overwhelming and because he wanted to see her reaction.

  “Honey, size always matters. We both know I could hold you under this water, drown you, with little effort.” He let his words sink in. Hoped they would sink in, before adding, “If I wanted to.”

  The smirk that touched her lips for a brief second told him his threat hadn’t done a damn bit of good. Not only was she a firecracker, she was hardhead
ed, as well. He was about to give her a physical demonstration—nothing dangerous, just a quick dunking to prove he was right, but something else happened instead. She wasn’t the one with her head dipping beneath the water.

  In one quick burst of movement, she had his feet knocked out from under him and her hands covering the crown of his skull under the surface.

  He didn’t stay down long. She might have surprised him, but she couldn’t keep him there—not that she’d tried. Instead, she stood her ground, her face bland and expectant as he bobbed back up.

  “You were saying.”

  Okay, so maybe he’d underestimated her. The breaking and entering should have been his first clue, but skill with a lock didn’t necessarily parlay into the ability to defend herself.

  “Where’d you learn that?”

  “I grew up the only female in a household of three cops—two brothers and a father. Would you let your little girl out in Atlanta without some basic training?”

  A shiver raced down Zane’s spine. He wasn’t sure if it was the thought of her alone on the streets of Atlanta late at night, or in secret solidarity with anyone who’d risk threatening this little ball of energy under the misguided notion that she’d be an easy target.

  “Point taken.”

  She smiled. This time, it wasn’t a taunting gesture but one of understanding. Without another word, she turned and crossed the rest of the pool. Climbing up the tiled steps at the shallow end, she stood at the edge.

  For the first time since she’d left the bar, he really looked at her. She was beautiful. And bedraggled. Her hair, normally bright was now dark with water. It dripped from the ends, making a gentle plopping sound as each drop hit the concrete deck.

  Turning to face him, she tipped her head sideways and began to wring water from her hair. A puddle spread at her feet, turning the sun-baked concrete dark.

  He’d half expected her to have mascara and other makeup streaking her face, but she didn’t. Her dark lashes were absolutely natural.

  Straightening up, she looked down at herself, lifting her hands and shaking them. A spray of water followed the gesture.

  “I hope you’re happy. I liked this dress. And these shoes will never be the same.”

  She looked back down at him as he stood mute in the center of the pool. His brain and his gaze were lost somewhere between the wet material that clung to her breasts and the shadowy triangle at the juncture of her thighs made by the skin-hugging fabric.

  Her nipples puckered in the cool night air. He could see the way they peaked against the wet fabric. His mouth went bone-dry and his cock hardened to half attention. Shaking his head, he tried to ignore the normal physical response—hers and his. It didn’t matter that his brain told his anatomy she was responding to the temperature, not him. He hadn’t taken a lover in almost two years…since Felicity died.

  Until tonight, he hadn’t realized it had been that long. He definitely needed to get laid.

  “Why were you following me?”

  “I told you I’d be watching.”

  “Yes, but I thought you meant with those high-tech cameras mounted all over this place. I didn’t think you were actually going to stalk me.”

  “Not stalk, follow. There’s a difference.”

  “Tell that to my shoes.”

  Turning on her heel, Elle let out a resigned sigh. A shower of droplets arched behind her. Zane figured she’d probably have appreciated the effect if she could have seen it.

  Her feet squelched in her shoes. The sound and the sight of her made his lips twitch against the urge to bust out laughing. Something told him she wouldn’t appreciate that right now.

  A trail of water was left in her wake, like the line a snail left behind when it moved. Trudging his way across the pool, he followed her, happy that the almost laughter seemed to have relieved the pressure of an erection he had no desire she become aware of.

  “At least your shoes are open toed. I have on socks. Do you know how uncomfortable they are once they’ve soaked up half the pool?” he called out to her.

  She threw a glare over her shoulder. “Nope, and I really don’t care.”

  His lips twitched again.

  She was five feet away from the path that lead toward the plantation house when she stopped suddenly in her tracks. Without turning around, she asked, “Well, are you coming? If you’re going to follow me, I’d rather you do it in the open so I can avoid another unexpected swim.”

  She waited patiently for him to join her. As he walked up beside her, he couldn’t help but notice the way her back straightened. Or the soggy dress as it clung to the curves of her ass.

  A maze of unexpected reactions and contradictions burst through his body. He was attracted to her. Considering he hadn’t found anyone attractive—including the half-naked women who paraded around this place all the time—since Felicity, he wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge.

  No, he did. Nothing. It was chemical. Or biological. Or some other-ical that he’d never understood in college.

  He found himself unnervingly intrigued by Elle Monroe. And considering he knew she was up to no good, that probably wasn’t an intelligent reaction.

  ELLE HATED THAT SHE WAS dripping all over the lobby floor. While the place was clearly a hotel, it also retained the air of someone’s home, which came from its previous life as a working cocoa plantation.

  It just went against the manners Nana had drilled into her brain. But the woman behind the desk smiled as she walked past, not even flinching at her bedraggled state. She supposed the front-desk clerk had seen plenty of shocking things at Escape…especially if she usually worked the night shift.

  Elle watched as the woman’s expression changed the minute Zane walked in behind her. Purely from objective observation, Elle recognized the feminine interest in the woman’s eyes. How her dark brown irises sharpened.

  “Zane. You’re out and about late tonight.” His shoes squeaked loudly against the highly polished wood floor. “Wet.”

  Elle heard the barely suppressed giggle in the woman’s voice and fought the urge to snarl.

  “We had a small mishap at the pool.”

  “Should I call Marcy?”

  “No!” The word burst from both of them at the exact same time. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain how both she and the head of security had ended up wet. Together.

  Without another word, they continued past the reception desk and into the hallway. Elle reached for the up button by the single elevator, but before she could punch it, Zane’s hand was wrapped around her elbow again.

  It was a nasty habit she was definitely going to have to break him of.

  Zane steered her down the quiet hallway, toward a door marked Staff Only. Pulling a key card from his pocket, he unlocked the door, saying, “Faster.”

  The elevator he unceremoniously pushed her into spit them both out directly across from the door to her room. She’d looked at the door they walked out of several times and could have sworn it housed another suite…definitely not a freight elevator.

  The building did have a few mysteries.

  This time, it was her turn to yank out her key. Once the lock disengaged, Elle maneuvered herself so that her body stood between Zane and her open doorway.

  That didn’t stop him from peering in. And then pushing inside. “Jesus. Someone’s ransacked your room. What did they take?”

  Zane shoved her behind the towering wall of his body. His palm stayed wrapped around the jutting bone of her hip. The heat of his hand soaked through the suddenly cold material suctioned to her skin. A wave of awareness rolled through her.

  It took her several seconds to register his words and see the room through his eyes.

  “Nothing.” Elle batted his hand away, both for the liberation and as a reminder that she really didn’t want his hands on her. She didn’t.

  “I was…looking for something before I went down to the bar.”

  Zane turned to stare at her, gen
uine bafflement written all over his face. “What? The Hope Diamond? This place is a mess.”

  Elle spun around slowly, taking in her toiletries spread out across the top of the antique dresser. The way her jewelry spilled out of the little pouch she kept it in, one of her favorite necklaces hanging half in and half out. Reaching over, she pushed it back inside. One of her shirts hung over the arm of a chair. Another rested in a heap on the floor beside it. Her silky half-length robe fluttered against the porcelain washbasin that stood in the corner.

  She shrugged. She was used to living inside chaos. It came with the territory. When inspiration struck, she dropped everything to paint or sculpt or draw or whatever.

  She had to admit that the room looked a little worse than normal, thanks to her earlier scavenger hunt. But she was always one to acknowledge her faults and being scattered was definitely among them.

  “Let me guess, your room is spotless. I bet there isn’t even a speck of lint on the floor.” Regimented. That was definitely a word she’d use to describe Agent Zane whatever. She had no idea what he’d done with the CIA, but all law-enforcement officers were pretty much the same.

  And she admitted that part of her refusal to make the bed every morning stemmed from being forced to do it every day of her childhood. Rebelling was healthy…sometimes.

  “Maybe.”

  However, in the face of his scrutiny, Elle found herself walking through the room, gathering her things so that she could dump them into the waiting suitcase. She did the same thing before her father visited. They now had an agreement. He called at least thirty minutes before he showed up at her door, and they both lived happily inside the illusion.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d expected anyone to see her room this way. If she’d known a man was coming up… Oh, who was she kidding?

  Zane stood in the center of the room and watched, his damp feet leaving a spot on the floor. Her hand touched the thin shell of her robe, reminding her that she was still wet and cold.

  Spinning on her heel, she headed to the en suite, but realized that between the heavy antique furniture, her strewn luggage and the man standing in the center of her suite, she didn’t have space to pass. Not without touching him.