Standing in the Shadows m&f-2

by Shannon McKenna

  Oh, Christ, enough already. This wasn't a goddamn beauty contest. If he'd come here sporting his usual Clan of the Cave Bear hairdo, the airport National Guardsmen would've hauled him away before he even got in the door. Even decently groomed, dragging a beautiful, protesting young woman through an international airport was a delicate undertaking. The trick would be in that fateful split second that Erin caught sight of him.

  He'd be lucky if she didn't scream.

  He let his breath out slowly. He felt so damn nervous. He'd looked death in the face plenty of times and kept his cool, but one quiet, self-possessed girl scared him to death. Maybe he really was losing it. Interpol was dead sure that Novak was in Europe. Nick was convinced that Novak was no threat to Erin. Her mystery client checked out. There was no reason he could put his finger on to follow her around and hassle her. So why?

  Fuck it. He just had to. It was one of those bone-deep feelings that could not be reasoned with. He shoved the Mueller papers into the glove compartment and got out of the car.

  He could torture himself all day, and he would just keep limping along, following marching orders from an authority deep inside himself. His conscience, maybe. Davy and Sean called it his hero complex. He himself sometimes referred to it as dumber than shit, particularly when it almost got him killed.

  It didn't really matter what it was called. Fact #1, he was doing a stupid, self-destructive thing that could prove to be dangerous, not to mention embarrassing. Fact #2, there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop himself. Conclusion?

  Go for it.

  First he checked out the shuttle carousel in the luggage claim, to see who was waiting for Erin. Sure enough, a big, dark-haired, Spanish-looking guy in a uniform was holding a sign that read "Erin Riggs." Connor scanned the rest of the crowd. His plan would only work if Erin hadn't checked her luggage. Chances were good she just had a carry-on, but with women, you never knew.

  And she wouldn't take kindly to being separated from her bag. Hell hath no fury like a woman deprived of her toiletries.

  He took the escalator back up. There was a quivery feeling in his belly. He glanced at his watch. Eight minutes. He sauntered over to the Coffee People booth in the mall, bought a cup, drank it down faster than he should. He fingered the bag of tobacco in his pocket. He should have had the presence of mind to have a quick smoke outside. Damn smoke-free environments.

  Three more minutes to wait. Coffee had been a big mistake. He studied the people around him. A woman with a baby and a four-year-old boy jumping up and down, waiting for his dad to come home. An elderly couple, their faces creased with smiles as they waited for their grandkids. Finally, the shuttle passengers started trickling out. One minute… two… and there she was, dressed in a deep green suit. Hair swept up, gleaming. Gold earrings dangled beneath her ears. She looked so gorgeous, he wanted to kick himself for not at least attempting to iron the shirt. It wouldn't have killed him to try.

  Too late for regrets. She was wheeling a carry-on suitcase behind her, thank God. Time to put his half-assed plan into action.

  His heart slammed against his ribs like a jackhammer as she came through the gate. She still hadn't caught sight of him. He chose a diagonal collision course that brought him right up behind her, and grabbed her arm. "Hey, sweetheart."

  She spun around. He took full advantage of her shocked confusion and yanked her closer, staring down into wide, startled gold-brown eyes. Her mouth was moist with tinted lip gloss, hanging open in adorable confusion.

  "Good to see you again, babe." He scooped her close and tight against his body, and kissed her.

  She stiffened, latching onto his upper arms for balance. She made a soft, frightened sound against his mouth.

  He deepened the kiss, sliding his arm to the deep flare of her hip, splaying his hand over her beautiful ass. He hadn't planned on kissing her. The impulse had sneaked up on him, but it was perfect. Inspired. It all looked like lovers' play, and that soft, luscious mouth of hers was too busy to complain.

  Then her scent rose up around him, like a hot pink cloud, and his mind went blank. It was spring-like and tangy and sweet. Intensely female. A secret weapon that he was unprepared for. He wanted to gasp in huge, gulping lungfuls of it, like a man who'd been trapped underwater and had finally reached air.

  Her scent blended with her taste, just as silky sweet, and a confusion of soft, unbelievable textures, the yielding tenderness of her lips, the satiny wisps of hair at the nape of her neck, her baby-smooth skin. His senses were overwhelmed.

  She vibrated in his arms, a delicate tremor like a trapped bird. He forgot about Novak, about the airport, about the National Guardsmen. He forgot everything but his own desperate, clawing need to coax her mouth to open, to taste more of her.

  She flung her head back, gasping for air. A stain of wild-rose pink was burned into her cheeks, startling against the delicate gold tone of her skin. Her pupils were black wells ringed with jewel-toned agate brown. Sunset, honey, and chocolate. Her dark, curling lashes fluttered with dazed confusion.

  She licked her lips. "Connor? What… what are you—"

  He shifted to keep her off balance and slanted his mouth across her lips again. He slid his hand down her graceful spine and pressed her against his lower body as he cupped the nape of her neck. He dove deep into one of those waves-crashing-on-the-beach kisses, sweet and devouring and desperate. When he finally released her, he was trembling harder than she was.

  She dragged in a deep, hitching breath. He leaned his hot forehead against hers, making a cage of privacy with his cupped hands around their faces. "Shhh," he murmured. He grabbed the suitcase out of her hand. "Let's go."

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her along with him. She had to scurry to keep up. "Go where?" Her voice was still soft and uncertain. Not yet an attention-getting bellow of outrage. "Connor, please. I—"

  This time he bent her over backwards so that she had to cling to his neck to stay on her feet. He moved his mouth across her lips, muffling her protests until finally she was just holding on, swaying. He pressed soft kisses over her face, her throat, and nuzzled the perfumed, tickling wisps at her neck.

  "Shhh," he urged. "Trust me."

  Into those big revolving doors, and he'd be home free.

  "Trust you?" Her voice shook as he swept her into movement once again. "About what? Connor, I'm supposed to meet someone at baggage claim! Slow down!"

  She was starting to splutter and struggle in his grasp, but they were out the revolving door, and he was hustling her across the skyway. No airport security. Just travelers going about their business, shooting them the occasional curious glance.

  Erin dug in her heels and dragged him to a halt. "Wait a goddamn minute, Connor McCloud, and—no! Don't you dare kiss me again!" She shrank away. "That's a dirty trick! That's not fair!"

  "I never claimed to be fair." He stared at her tender, reddened lips and realized that he was panting. Openmouthed, like an animal. He grabbed her hand and yanked her along. "Hurry."

  "To what? For what? What the hell are you doing here?"

  They were in the parking garage elevator well, bells were pinging, doors were about to open, and she was gathering her breath to yell at him again. He wrapped his arms around her and slid his tongue into her mouth.

  A tiny squeak, and a speechless gasp, and she went limp.

  So far this had gone more smoothly than his wildest hopes. The only trick would be getting himself to stop kissing her. She was so sweet. He could get lost in the sensual world of her moist, yielding mouth. He could get sucked in. Forget his own name.

  He waited until the elevators emptied and the people had cleared out before he dared to release her. He cupped her face in his hands, stared into her eyes. Trying to communicate his urgency with all the force of his will. It actually seemed to work. He took her by the arm. She stumbled after him, unresisting.

  He popped open his trunk, flung in her stone-heavy suitcase, and slammed it shut.
"Let's go."

  She wrenched herself out of his grasp. "Wait I'm not going anywhere with you, Connor. Explain yourself to me. Right now."

  Whatever spell the kiss had cast was short-lived. He backed her up against the Cadillac and boxed her in with his arms.

  "I'm driving you to the coast," he said. "I'm booking us a room in a different hotel. Tomorrow I'll accompany you to that meeting. Afterwards, I'll drive you home. Any questions?"

  "Connor, I told you last night I didn't want a bodyguard—"

  "Too bad."

  She shoved against his chest "I refuse to be pushed around. You have no right. You can't—oh!"

  "Watch me." He shoved her back against the car, bending her over backwards. She blinked up at him, her chest heaving.

  He knew it wasn't fair to intimidate her with his size and his strength. It didn't work in the long term anyway; it was just a quick and dirty temporary solution, but she was so warm, her tits straining against her blouse. He felt every tremor that rippled through her soft, pliant body. And her scent was a low-down, nasty trick. A drug that went straight to his head and made him stupid.

  Her thick eyelashes swept down, veiling her eyes. She wiggled against him, unintentionally sensual. "Connor," she whispered. "Please. This isn't right."

  "I'm holding your suitcase hostage, Erin. I mean business."

  "I am not your responsibility, Connor." Her voice had a stern, lecturing tone that was strangely at odds with the vulnerable pose of her body. "You have no right. I can decide for myself—"

  "I have to do this," he broke in. "You know why?"

  He waited to answer his own question until her eyes flicked up to his. "Because this is what your dad would've done," he said flatly. "He had the right to shove you around, but he's not here."

  Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. He seized her chin and forced her to meet his eyes again. "You've got no clue, Erin. No clue what Novak is capable of. Do we understand each other?"

  She licked her lips, her throat bobbing. "But it's so rude!"

  He was totally lost. "Rude? Who? Me?"

  Her mouth tightened. "Yes, you, now that you mention it, but I wasn't referring to you. There's a driver waiting for me. It's rude to just not show up without even calling them!"

  He was so startled, he laughed out loud. "Is that all? Who cares if Mueller's flunky waits at the airport? He won't get his feelings hurt."

  She frowned. "If I had wanted to change the travel arrangements, I should've notified them in advance! I can't just—"

  "So call them when we get to the coast. Tell them you had a change of plans. You met someone, you brought someone. Tell them your boyfriend decided to come along at the last minute."

  "Boyfriend?" She shrank back.

  "Why not?" He couldn't keep his eyes from her breasts, which were straining the buttons of her blouse to their utmost. "Don't you think they'd buy it? A woman like you, and a lowlife like me?"

  She shoved him away, clearing just enough space for her to stand up. "Stop acting like a lowlife, Connor McCloud, if you don't want to be taken for one!"

  "You're pissed at me because I kissed you?" His voice was dangerously unsteady. "I dared to touch the princess with my rude hands. Is that what's bothering you?"

  She made a break for it, trying to duck out from under his arm. He blocked her. She straightened up, adjusted her jacket, tugged her skirt into place. She wasn't up to a physical tussle with him. She couldn't win it, and dignity was more important to her.

  "To be perfectly truthful, no," she said stiffly. "That's not what's bothering me at all. It's just not very flattering to have a man kiss you only because he wants to shut you up."

  He pulled that statement to pieces in an instant, looking at it from every side. Then he waited until curiosity compelled her eyes to flick up again. He stroked her exquisitely soft cheek with his thumb until the pink stain deepened to wild rose. He looked around. No one to see or hear. No reason at all to shut her up.

  He kissed her again.

  He wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe for her to stiffen up, shove him away. Anything but the roar of heat swelling inside him, the dazzling explosion of sparks. She clutched his upper arms; for balance, to pull him closer, he couldn't tell, he didn't care. He coaxed her mouth open. He wanted to touch that succulent pink tongue, to dance with it. He didn't mean to stick his hand inside her jacket, he just found his calluses snagging her blouse as he explored the exquisite heft of her tits, the small nipples, tightening under his palm. He had no deliberate intention of pressing the aching bulge of his crotch against her.

  Jesus. What was he thinking? They were in an airport parking garage. He'd come down here to protect her.

  Fucking her was not part of the plan.

  He pulled away, with enormous effort. "I wasn't trying to shut you up that time," he said raggedly. "You feel flattered now?"

  Chapter Six

  She lifted her hand, touched her swollen mouth. She was lost in Connor's eyes. The pupils were dilated wells of deep, infinite black, bordered with pure mountain water green. She was speechless.

  He wrenched the passenger side of the Cadillac open. "Get in."

  Her legs weren't holding her up anyhow. She slid into the seat, boneless. The door swung shut with sharp finality. Connor got into the driver's side. He looked at her, looked away, rubbed his face. She panted, short, sharp gasps that were terribly audible in the quiet car.

  "Aw, fuck it," he muttered. He slid toward her. She grabbed him and wrapped her arms around his neck so he couldn't change his mind.

  They slid down the slippery leather seat, clenched together. Her fantasies didn't even come near to the raw reality of him. He was so strong and hard and solid. His mouth coaxed, then demanded. She opened to him, tasted coffee and smoke and heat. Salty and male. His tongue flicked against hers. Probed. Then thrust.

  He hauled her up onto his lap so that she straddled him, and his hands slid up her thighs, shoving her skirt up around her hips. He gripped her waist and pulled her down, so that the hot, soft glow in her crotch was pressed hard against the bulge in his pants. She whimpered with excitement before she could stop herself. She'd never felt anything like this. She was melting between her legs, becoming a pool of hot syrup. A quivering glow that ached and wept for deeper contact.

  And he would give it to her, here and now. She read the silent question in his eyes. If she didn't hurry up and answer it, her body would answer for her, and she would find herself having wild, public sex in the middle of a busy airport parking garage.

  And maybe even liking it. Dear God.

  She pushed at his chest until she was upright, but that was a mistake, because now they could both see her splayed hips, her sensible white panties pressed against his erection. He circled the tip of his finger against her mound, staring into her eyes. "Erin?"

  She slid off of him and clambered to the other side of the car. Tugging her skirt down with trembling fingers, straightening her hair.

  He flung his head back against the seat, clenched his fists. "I'm sorry," he said. "I swear, I didn't mean to do that."

  "It's OK," she whispered. "It's not your fault."

  He shot her a puzzled, ironic glance. "Whose fault is it, men?"

  She shook her head and stared down at her lap.

  He started up the car. "I didn't come down here to take advantage of you," he said roughly. "You need protection, Erin. I don't have any choice, and neither do you. But I promise I won't touch you again."

  "There are always choices," Erin said.

  "Not this time. Put on your seat belt."

  The sharp authority in his voice reminded her of her father. The tone that signaled that there would be no bargaining, no back talk.

  It was a mistake to think of her father. She strapped herself in, making herself small on the seat. Her mouth felt puffy. She peeked in the mirror and gasped in dismay. Her hair was falling down, her face was rosy red, and her mouth… it didn't even look like her mouth.
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  Connor flipped on the radio, turned the dial until he found some classic blues. "Change it if you want."

  "This is fine." That was all she managed to say to him.

  She just sat there, squeezing her quivering thighs tightly around the hot ache. Her panties were wet. She wanted to stop at the first hotel, drag him into it, and make him finish what he'd started. She wanted to jump out of the car and run screaming. She'd been split into pieces, and each piece wanted something different.

  She peeked at his grim profile, and the images that rose up in her mind made her blush again. Herself naked against his long, hard body, limbs entwined. She thought of the unyielding bulk of his erection pressing against her panties. Imagined him penetrating her. Her breath hitched in her chest. She felt almost faint, her heart raced so hard.

  She was so sick of celibacy. She was almost twenty-seven, away from home, and climbing the walls. No one would ever know if she did something so crazy as to have sex with Connor McCloud.

  At least she wasn't a virgin, although Bradley hardly counted. Ironically enough, the main reason she'd been attracted to Bradley in the first place was because he bore a superficial resemblance to Connor. He was tall, lean, blond. Just graduated from Princeton, already accepted at Harvard Law. He'd been sharp and witty, had made her laugh. And he had persuaded her that he was the perfect stud to relieve her of the crushing burden of her virginity.

  The memory unrolled in her mind no matter how she pushed it away. She had felt absolutely nothing when they finally did the deed. Just embarrassment, at the appraising comments he had made about her body, and in bed, an uncomfortable sense of being invaded. A powerful urge to shove him off, which she had controlled. After all, she had agreed to all that intimacy. Bradley didn't deserve to be shoved.

  But she had felt so bleak and alone staring up at his face. His eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched in a grimace, lost in his own world as his hips pumped into her more or less numb body.