Fearless Pursuit (Off The Grid: FBI Series Book 8)

by Barbara Freethy

  As he turned off the engine, he said, "Are you okay? Are you sure this is where you want to be? If you're having second thoughts—"

  "I'm not. I don't know where else I would go." She frowned. "Although, I'm probably putting you in danger again."

  "I'm not worried about that."

  "You should be."

  "Let's go inside and get you something to drink."

  "Don't offer me tea again," she warned.

  "I've got a full bar." He'd actually updated his bar while practicing for his cover, so he could get her anything she wanted.

  They got out of the car, and she followed him through the garage door that led into the kitchen. The two-bedroom, two-bath townhouse had only been built a year ago, so everything was new and clean. He headed into the living room where the wet bar was located. Maya followed, her gaze becoming sharper as she took in her surroundings.

  "This is…nice," she said.

  "You sound surprised."

  "I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a luxury townhouse."

  "It's not mine. The owner is the aunt of one of my friends. She was supposed to move in but had a family emergency and needed to rent this out for a year. Luckily, I was in the right place at the right time. She gave me a great deal for a year. After that, I'll be back to apartments that are not this nice."

  "Well, you can enjoy it now. Is this your furniture?"

  "Nope. She rented it to me furnished." He'd actually bought the place furnished, so that wasn't a lie. "What can I get you to drink?"

  She looked at the array of liquor bottles on the bar. "This looks like a smaller version of the bar at the Firebird Club."

  He shrugged. "What's your pleasure?"

  "Something with some heat to it, but not vodka. Nothing Russian."

  He smiled as he poured them each a shot of whiskey. They clicked their glasses together. "To survival," he said.

  "I'll drink to that."

  They both tossed back the whiskey in one swallow. "Another?" he asked.

  She nodded. He refilled her glass and his, and after downing their second shots, they walked over to the couch. She flopped down on the oversized gray sofa and let out a sigh. "My clothes smell like smoke. I just realized I have nothing to wear."

  "There are a couple of clothing boutiques about two blocks away. We can get you something in the morning. Tonight, I can lend you a T-shirt."

  "That would be good. I do feel warmer now."

  He took the chair across from her, thinking that they'd gone through a lot of levels of heat in the past few hours. It was almost difficult to believe they'd been about to have sex when the firebomb had come into the house. That felt like a lifetime ago.

  "What are you thinking?" she asked curiously, tucking her legs up under her as she got more comfortable.

  "It's been a long night."

  "Is that really what you were thinking?"

  He stared back at her. "I was thinking that I'm sorry we got interrupted earlier."

  "Me, too. But—"

  He held up his hand. "Don't finish that sentence. I have two bedrooms. You're going to take one, and I'll take the other."

  "What if I'm still cold?"

  "I'll get you a blanket."

  "You're really turning me down?" she questioned, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

  "Yes, because I don't want to take advantage of you. You're scared and vulnerable. You're not thinking straight, Maya. And when we get together, it's not going to be like this."

  Her green eyes darkened. "You said when, not if."

  "Well, it seems fairly inevitable."

  "Then why waste tonight?"

  "Because it's not the right time."

  "I am scared," she admitted. "The Molotov cocktails could have killed me. They knew I was inside. My car was in the driveway. They probably knew you were there, too."

  Which disturbed him, because it could mean his cover was blown. Or maybe not. They might think he was spying for Maya, but they probably wouldn't connect him to Bozic or the cars.

  "I can't believe they took it this far," she continued. "Although, why am I surprised? They killed Julia after trying to set her up as a murderer. I am in so far over my head, I have no idea what to do next."

  "You don't have to decide now."

  "I'm really glad that my parents went to Darcy's for the night. I hope their house doesn't come under attack, but at least they won't be there."

  "That was a good suggestion you made earlier. What about your grandfather? Where does he live?"

  She frowned. "He's at the Carmichael Center. It's an assisted living facility in West Hollywood. They do have security. Do you think it's good enough?"

  "I don't believe anyone will go after your grandfather. It's the journals they want. We need to get them tomorrow."

  She nodded. "I'll do that first thing. I just don't think I can stay at work. I feel too stressed out to spend the day trying to do my job."

  "Maybe you'll have to take a sick day. I don't have to work tomorrow, so I can come with you, if you want."

  "I would like that. Even though I know it's not really fair to keep involving you, Jax. I should walk away. You should walk away." She paused, tilting her head to the right as she gazed at him. "Why haven't you?"

  He smiled. "Because I don't want to."

  And suddenly the air between them filled with another kind of tension.

  She got to her feet, and he got to his. He tried to remember the promise he'd made only moments earlier. He was going to sleep in his guest room. He was not going to take advantage of her. But she was moving forward, and so was he.

  "I don't want to sleep in the other room," she said. "I want to be with you, Jax."

  "You're a little crazed right now."

  "That might be true. I could have died tonight. And tomorrow, who knows? But right now, I want you. And I think you want me—"

  He covered her mouth with his, because he didn't just want her—he needed her. To hell with right and wrong. To hell with good intentions. She was right. The only thing certain was this moment. And tasting her, touching her, was everything. His brain was done. He just wanted to feel. He wanted to connect. He wanted to make her happy. He wanted to make her feel something other than fear.

  Kissing her now felt different than it had at her house. There was more emotion and an even greater urgency to get rid of the barriers between them.

  He lifted his head and turned her around, reaching for the zip on the back of her dress. He slid it down, revealing a lavender bra and dark-purple panties. He smiled to himself as her dress fell to the floor. He loved that there was always something unexpected about Maya.

  She turned to face him, her hands moving to his shirt. He tugged it off and tossed it on the ground, then stripped off his pants and briefs while she unfastened her bra and slipped out of her panties. And when he gazed at her bare, beautiful form, he thought she was absolutely perfect, the prettiest woman he'd ever seen.

  She licked her lips. "You're staring."

  "So are you," he said, very aware of her gaze raking his body.

  "Are we going to do more than look?"

  "So much more," he promised. He took her hand once more and this time he didn't lead her through fire; he took her into his bedroom.

  As she moved onto the bed, he opened his bedside table drawer and pulled out a couple of condoms. And then he stretched out next to her, pulling her into his arms, kissing her hot mouth, running his hands up and down her back and around her sweet ass, as she did her own exploring.

  The heat between them was as hot as the fire they'd just escaped, and as he ran his mouth down her neck and cupped her breasts and slid his leg between hers, he stopped thinking altogether. He just wanted to taste and touch and drive her crazy. Every gasp of her pleasure became his pleasure. He took them as high as they could go, and then they caught each other on the way down.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Maya turned to Jax more than once in the night. Makin
g love with him was the most unbelievable experience, and she kept wanting more. In between the erotic highs, they would talk and laugh. She'd never felt so much like herself with a man. And wrapped in his arms, the earlier fears of the night seemed very far away.

  Sometime in the night she drifted to sleep, finally awakening to the sun streaming through a skylight over the bed. Jax apparently didn't have a problem with the light waking him up. He had to be a morning person. In fact, he was already out of bed.

  She felt a little disappointed that he was gone. She'd had a few really good ideas about how to wake him up. But the scent of coffee brewing was a big consolation. And was that bacon?

  Her stomach rumbled. She'd definitely worked up an appetite. In fact, she couldn't remember when she'd last eaten. It was at Belle's when they'd had brunch. Dinner had never occurred to her. There had simply been too much going on, but now she was starving.

  She slid out of bed and moved into the bathroom. It was warm and steamy, telling her Jax had been in there recently. And once again she was hit by a wave of longing for the shower they could have taken together. As she stepped under the hot spray, she closed her eyes and let herself savor the moments they had shared, the various ways he'd touched her, his hands rough and urgent, and then slow and tender, reflecting the way his mouth had moved on her as well. The man had a lot of layers. He was certainly not one note. Sometimes, she thought she knew him well. And other times, she didn't think she knew him at all.

  But every time she learned something about him, she liked him more. She liked the way he laughed, the fact that he found her amusing. She liked the way he didn’t take himself too seriously. He didn't seem to be someone who cared that much about what anyone thought of him and that was refreshing, having grown up in a place where looks and image were often valued more than anything else. Most of all, she appreciated his willingness to let her lead, whether it was in their detective work or in bed. He respected her. And that felt really good.

  She was still smiling when she got out of the shower. She knew she shouldn't be feeling so giddy in light of everything that had happened, but she was going to enjoy it for a few more minutes. Once she left the room, she'd have to get back to reality, so she took her time drying herself and her hair. She then realized that her clothes were in the living room. She grabbed a robe off the hook on the back of the door and then left the bathroom.

  When she entered the kitchen, Jax was at the stove, scrambling eggs, and damn if he didn't look incredibly hot in dark jeans and a pullover navy-blue shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes. His blond hair was curling around his neck, and she immediately wanted to run her hands through it.

  His gaze darkened as he saw her standing in the doorway. Then he very deliberately turned off the heat, set the pan on another burner and walked over to her. His arms came around her waist, and she found herself once more against his solid chest. It was exactly where she wanted to be. She met his kiss with an eagerness that seemed ridiculous considering how many times they'd made love, but she still wanted him, still ached for him.

  "Good morning," he said, a husky note in his voice.

  She smiled at him. "It is a good morning."

  "It's going to get better. I made breakfast. It's not as fancy as yours, but I've managed to pull together some eggs, bacon and toast."

  "Perfect."

  He kissed her once more then drew in a breath, as he gave her a look of desire that made her toes curl.

  "It's hard to let you go," he said.

  "I know the feeling."

  But, somehow, they did let go. As Jax went back to the stove, she sat down at the kitchen island. A moment later, he put a mug of coffee in front of her.

  She took a sip. "Delicious. What kind of coffee is this?"

  "Blue Mountain Coffee from Jamaica. I took a trip there a few years ago, and it blew me away."

  "It's really good. Are you a coffee nut?"

  He grinned. "I don't know if I'm a nut, but I do like a jolt of caffeine in the morning. I'm fairly worthless without it."

  "Me, too, but I'm not a connoisseur, and I now feel bad that I served you coffee from my local supermarket the other day."

  "I'm not that picky." He scooped eggs onto a plate and set it in front of her, along with toast and bacon. "Dig in."

  "You don't have to say that twice."

  As she ate, he sat down adjacent to her, making quick work of his own breakfast.

  "What time do you go to work?" he asked a few moments later.

  "Eight thirty." She looked at the clock. It was already eight. "I'm going to be late. And I need to find something to wear."

  "You do. I threw your clothes in the wash and I just took them out of the dryer. The underwear will work, but the dress is pretty scorched. I think it will get you to the nearest store, but you'll definitely need some new clothes."

  "You washed my underwear?" she asked in surprise. "I don't think a man has ever done that for me."

  He grinned. "It was a first for me, too."

  She laughed. "I'll bet. Thank you. I'll text my boss and tell her I'm going to be late, that I'm feeling a little sick. And after I get the journals, I'll just say I need to go home. She won't like it. She hates when I take any time off, but we're not in the middle of a production right now, so it won't be as bad as it could be." She paused. "I'm going to have to tell my family about the fire. I'm not looking forward to hearing them tell me how many times they tried to warn me to drop this idea."

  "They'll just be happy you're all right."

  She let out a sigh. "We have spent an inordinate amount of time discussing my family. Let's talk about yours."

  Jax seemed to stiffen at her words, which seemed odd. They'd gotten so close last night. They'd talked about a lot of things, but she realized now they hadn't spoken about his family. "Tell me about the people who raised you after your parents died. What are they like? What do they do?"

  "They're good people. How could they not be? They took in a kid who wasn't their blood and made him feel a part of their family."

  "That is generous. What are their personalities?"

  "Carol, my adoptive mom, is very nurturing. She works at an animal shelter. I think, in some ways, I was just another stray to her. She took in a lot of dogs and cats during my childhood. Her husband, Rick, is an easygoing guy. He doesn't want a lot, doesn't need a lot. He's one of those rare people who is content to go to work at the hardware store, come home to his family and relax in his recliner while he watches whatever sports event is on."

  "They sound great. Where do they live?"

  "They live in Pasadena now. But they raised me first in Boston, then in Portland, and later in San Francisco. They moved here a few years ago, and so did I."

  "Do you see them a lot?"

  "Not that often, but every couple of months."

  "Do they have other children?"

  "Two girls. The oldest was born four years after I moved in with them, when I was eleven, the other one a couple years later. They're sweet. They were a lot younger than me, so I wouldn't say I'm close to them, whereas they are very tight with each other."

  "Who do you have more in common with, your mom or your dad?"

  "You're very curious about them."

  "I am. So, what's the answer?"

  "To be honest, I'm not like either one of them. Animals are okay, but I don't need to have a pack of dogs sleeping on my bed, or a cat waking me up with the loudest meow you've ever heard. And while I can hang a picture, I'm not really into construction or plumbing or industrial supplies the way Rick is."

  "Did they support you wanting to be an actor?"

  He hesitated. "Yes. I think because I wasn't their biological kid, their expectations for me were different than for their two daughters. They just wanted me to be happy, and if I was, then they were okay. They'd done their best by me. I was lucky that my parents left me with them and that they were willing to adopt me. Otherwise, I could have bounced around the foster system for y
ears."

  "I'm glad that didn't happen to you. I know what it's like not to fit into a family, and I was born into mine, which makes it even worse." She paused. "What about your grandparents?"

  "I had one on each side when my parents died. My father's mother was in Russia. I'd never met her. My mother's father was too ill to take on a kid."

  "That's too bad."

  He shrugged. "Can we change the subject? I don't like talking about my past."

  "Because it's too painful?"

  "Parts of it are."

  "What are the good things you remember about your biological parents?" she asked, ignoring his request to change the subject. She wanted to know more about him.

  "My mom loved to cook. The house always smelled good. I'd wake up in the morning to her cooking oladyi, Russian pancakes. She'd serve them with honey and chocolate. At lunch, there would be warm pirozhki, and for dinner beef stroganoff. She was a wizard in the kitchen. At one time she wanted to be a chef, but once she got married and had me, she was happy to be a homemaker. I should say I think she was happy, but I don't really know. I was seven when they died. I barely remember who they were."

  "What about your dad?" she asked, happy to be getting longer answers now.

  "He was a chess master. He taught me to play before I went to kindergarten. He loved the game. And he always beat me. He told me I'd learn more from the games I lost. He was right. Every time I lost a game, I'd try to figure out another way to win. He taught me a lot of life lessons through chess. He was always full of quotes about the game. I don't know who said them, but he'd repeat them to me every chance he got."

  "Like what?"

  "When you see a good move, look for a better one."