In the Still of the Night

by Samantha Lucas

  "You'll look sexy as hell as a redhead."

  His suggestive growl made her grow wet again and made her lungs short out. She swallowed and headed for the bathroom before they both got in trouble again. Turning to ask him a question, she found him three steps behind her, predatory gleam in his eye. She fended him off with both hands placed against his chest.

  Big mistake.

  The heat from his skin even traveled through the box she had in one hand. She audibly gulped.

  "I'm not going to attack you. I just want to watch.” His grin hitched up one side of his face. “Unless you want me to attack you."

  Jayden sighed, frustrated—both in a sexual sense and otherwise.

  Go figure.

  How a person who'd had more sex in the past twelve hours than she'd had in the past three years could be sexually frustrated was a mystery beyond her cognitive functions, but there you had it. Dropping her head back had been a tactical error, since Mica took it as an invitation to suckle at her neck.

  "I won't seduce you.” He pulled her close, pressing kisses along her neck until he reached her ear. “I understand the danger, love. I prefer not to dwell on it every second, but you are definitely right, the sex is getting out of hand and we need to buckle down.” His eyes gleamed. “And when this is over ... I intend to buckle you down to something good. Then kiss you from your pretty pink toenails to your pretty soon-to-be-red head, taking long and leisurely side trips to some special attractions I find particularly irresistible along the way."

  She moaned, felt herself getting wet again—she still wasn't wearing underwear—and her knees threatened to buckle.

  The man has a way with words.

  He kissed her until her whimper turned into a moan, then pushed her body from his and at arms’ length, pushed her into the bathroom.

  "Honestly woman, we have very serious business. Quit trying to dally with me."

  She needed that—levity and a light heart. Mica was good for her, and Jayden appreciated whatever deity had been watching out for her and delivered her to Mica's doorstep.

  She laid out the ingredients from the little cardboard box and spread the instructions in front of her. By the sounds of it, she'd need two—possibly three—bottles to cover all her hair, and she didn't have the time for it. Looking to Mica, she made a cutting motion with her fingers, in the hope that he'd understand. The terror which flashed in his eyes made her think he hadn't.

  "You can't cut it."

  Hands on hips she gave him her best ‘Men’ look. Releasing him from her visual hold, she turned and began to rifle through drawers.

  "Jayden, you can't be serious."

  But even as he said it, Mica knew she was right; it was just hair and it would grow again. But in his mind all he could see was her incredible naked body, covered only in a light sheen of sweat and that hair. From half-hard to granite in three point two seconds.

  Mica groaned, running his hands through his thick hair. He'd become a sex-crazed psycho since this woman came into his life. He'd hoped if he could get her a little out of his system, he could focus on the very serious task at hand. After all, a man could only be counted on to be so efficient with a constant hard-on. But no matter how many times he took her, in no matter how many positions, how long, how fast, he still wanted more. She was like grade-A heroin straight into his bloodstream, addicting him from the first hit and refusing to leave him alone. But fuck! How in God's name am I supposed to ignore her in that skirt? Especially since he knew she was bare under it?

  He pulled a rolled velvet bag from one of the drawers, tugged the satin ribbon, and splayed the contents on the bathroom counter. “Another gift from Mom.” He shrugged. She kissed his cheek then backed away as if she knew she was playing with gasoline and a blowtorch.

  Picking up the largest pair of scissors, she held out a large chunk of hair and much to Mica's horror, closed her eyes.

  "Wait!"

  He grabbed the scissors from her hand.

  "Cutting it is one thing, hacking at it with your eyes closed is another.” He pulled a brush from the little kit and started dragging the bristles through her hair. “Let me."

  Maybe it was the rhythm, or maybe just the intimacy of pulling the brush through Jayden's long hair, but something sparked in Mica's heart. It was a warmth he'd never felt the likes of before. A lump grew to enormous proportion in his throat, and his eyes misted over. He pulled the brush through another couple of strokes then reached for the band to restrict her hair at her shoulders. He caught her gaze in the mirror at the last moment and asked, “You're sure?"

  She shrugged, but the look in her eyes made Mica think that maybe she'd felt whatever he had. A second later Mica held about twelve inches of beautiful silky hair apart from Jayden's head. To her credit, she only cringed slightly.

  "We'll just put this in the drawer for now.” He tucked the long ponytail inside one of the vanity drawers. “Marissa, one of my night managers, just had ten inches cut off and donated it to a place called Locks of Love. Ever hear of it?"

  Jayden shook her head with a befuddled look.

  "I hadn't either. Apparently they use people's donated hair and make wigs for cancer kids."

  He watched her swallow hard then kiss his cheek. He nearly heard the Thank you.

  "Well, I guess that's it."

  She shook out her shoulder-length hair. It wasn't great, but it was straight. Mica watched as she mixed chemicals like a mad scientist and applied them to her hair. A scent right at the border of noxious filled the air, and he found himself wondering about all the crap women put themselves through in the name of beauty.

  As he watched, a part of him fumed deep inside. As silly as it seemed on one level, Mica's hatred for Lorenzo Lloyd grew even more profound as he watched the man destroy what had been so much a part of the woman he'd been coming to know.

  It made him think of all the other things he must have taken from her; Mica once again pictured her in his mind the night he found her bleeding and terrified in his back alley. Emotion overwhelmed him and he reached for her, tugging her close despite her protests. He couldn't care less about his clothes, or the bathroom carpet, or anything else that could possibly be ruined from a little hair dye, he just really, really needed to hold her for a minute.

  Jayden relaxed in his arms, not certain why it was so important all of a sudden for him to hold her, but recognized that it was. Moments later he let her go and she finished the dye job but something—she wasn't sure exactly what—had shifted and was forever changed between them.

  While they watched the timer, Mica read to her. From Mark Twain, of all people. She laughed at Tom Sawyer's antics. She remembered seeing a movie about him when she was a kid, but Mica made him seem so real, and she was completely immersed when the timer went off.

  Disgruntled, she stepped into the shower, only to find Mica right behind her. It was he that rinsed and conditioned her hair. Jayden wasn't sure she'd ever experienced anything as intimate or erotic. Considering all the different times and ways she'd fucked him since they met, that was really saying something.

  The intimacy between them somehow seemed to slip deeper as they stood naked, holding one another under the fall of cool water.

  Bliss. Pure and simple.

  * * * *

  Mica hadn't felt nervous in his life that he could remember, but he also couldn't remember a time when he had this much to lose. Jayden was behind him, short red hair and a yellow sundress that hit just above her ankles—Lord, the woman had sexy ankles—and the temperament of a mama grizzly.

  How could he protect her if she argued with him and wouldn't listen to reason? And how a woman who couldn't speak had persuaded him they should leave the safety of his penthouse, to go out onto the streets where anybody might recognize and report her, he wasn't sure. Despite their best efforts to disguise her, Mica couldn't convince her to stay in. Altogether, his future didn't look too bright, and not just in terms of life-threatening danger, but on the debat
e front, as well.

  Gripping the front door knob after disarming a series of security devices, Mica felt like his stomach had more knots in it than a Boy Scout jamboree. The dark figure lurking on the other side of his door did nothing to lessen those knots. In fact, Mica sorely wished he'd checked the fucking peephole before he opened the damn door.

  The figure, clad in a black leather trench coat and gloves, piercings in his lip and both ears and from what Mica could see, the tattoo of a dragon that appeared to slither down his neck, didn't seem menacing as much as ... worried? Long black hair was held in a clasp at the base of his neck and Mica had to admit, he would have denied this guy entry to most of his clubs. This was trouble, and he'd just opened the door, baring Jayden for this man's view.

  Shit!

  "Jayden?” The man had turned at the sound of the door, and Mica was so stunned he'd been able to push past before Mica even realize the guy meant to do so, and now ... and now.... he had his fucking arms wrapped around Jayden. Worse, Jayden had her arms wrapped just as tightly around him. Eyes closed, she looked like she was greeting the return of Jesus Christ.

  Mica did the only thing he could think of, he closed and re-bolted the door.

  "Somebody want to tell me what the fuck this is about?"

  Mica hated that he sounded jealous but worse, he hated that he felt like a fool. He wanted to protect Jayden. Hell, he was willing to give up his life for her, and it looked like he damn well might because apparently he sucked at this cloak and dagger stuff. First attempt out of the apartment together and his woman was in the arms of Adrian Paul from the old Highlander series. How was a guy supposed to compete with that?

  "God, Jayden, I've been scared to death."

  An English accent? Un-fucking believable.

  Mica tried again to impress himself into the conversation, especially when the Highlander started to pat Jayden down, looking for God knew what. Mica did not like t the sight of another man's hands on his woman, for any reason. If there was any patting down to be done, he'd damn well do it.

  "Your hair.” Highlander boy held out a strand of what was left to examine it. Mica closed his hands into tight fists, but stayed quiet.

  "You're not hurt?"

  Jayden shook her head. Mica's heart dropped when she pressed her palms against the man's cheeks and great tenderness welled in her eyes.

  "I got here as fast as I could. I was in Brussels when I got your message."

  Mica closed his eyes hard when Jayden once again leapt into his arms.

  "Maybe I should leave the two of you alone."

  Petty, yes, but come on. He was the fucking Highlander!

  It was in that moment that Jayden seemed to remember his presence.

  Nice. He smiled saccharinely. That's right, sweetheart, its me. The man you've been fucking like a bloody rabbit for two days.

  She tugged on his hand and brought him closer. Mica tried hard to remember the manners his mother had drilled into him, but to say it was difficult, well ... He shook the offered hand, if not enthusiastically, at least he made an effort.

  "Zane Rayburn. And you are?"

  "An American citizen.” He retorted.

  "You Americans.” The man's eyes rolled so far back in his head Mica had hopes the man might be having a seizure. “What the hell is wrong with you? It's as if America is the only bloody sentient land on the planet."

  "Well, you Brits are all so damn arrogant with your Lords and Queens and what not."

  "You insulting my queen?"

  "Well..."

  Jayden jumped between the two of them, eyes horrified as she looked from one to the other. Of course, no word of reprimand left her beautiful lips, but Mica heard them all the same. He mentally pulled it down a notch.

  "Sorry, mate.” He offered his hand again.

  "Mate's Australian, you bloody barbarian.” But Zane took the offered hand with about the same amount of enthusiasm as Mica had displayed earlier. There seemed to be some sort of truce in effect. Zane, for his part, turned his attention back to Jayden, taking her hand. Mica bristled but said nothing. Zane then bent at the knees until he was eye level with her. When he brushed back Jayden's short locks, Mica felt an aneurism about to hit him.

  "You haven't said a word. The stories are true, then?"

  Jayden nodded, and Mica saw the tears well in her eyes. He wanted to kill the bastard for making her cry, but if that were the criteria for death then sadly, he'd have to get in line with the Brit, and the mafia husband, and who knew how many others. Instead he—very smoothly, if he did say so himself—maneuvered to Jayden's side and placed an arm around her protectively, and yes, a bit proprietarily.

  "We communicate just fine. Perhaps you should state your business through me."

  Zane looked at Mica as if he were a bug who'd just crawled into his tea, or maybe over his crumpets.

  "Is she deaf then, as well, that I can't speak directly to her? Because forgive me, it seemed we communicated fine before you butted in."

  Jayden pressed a palm into Mica's chest, a clear ‘back off’ signal. Zane had seen it and Mica realized if he ignored it, he'd blow his whole “we communicate just fine” speech of a moment before. Rapidly coming to the ends of his patience, he ran a hand through his hair and turned to Jayden. In his opinion, the quicker he got the British arse out of his penthouse the happier he'd be.

  "Jayden, who is this?"

  Zane folded his arms over his very wide chest and smirked, as if waiting to see an example of this great communication at work. Thank God for Jayden, she whipped out the tiny handheld he'd bought her and started to type. When she finished, she handed it to Mica, lower lip sucked between teeth.

  Mica looked over the words she'd typed, his shocked glare moving from Jayden to Zane then back again.

  He's a liaison agent between our government and England. There's a task force in place because some of Lorenzo's business reaches into London. Plus Zane has a personal reason, but it's not mine to tell. He's been trying to put away Lorenzo for twelve years and hates him almost as much as I do. He came real close three years ago. That's when we met. He was good to me and I trust him. I e-mailed him to tell him I'd gotten out. I want Lorenzo taken down and I don't care if it costs me my life to do it. Zane understands that.

  "Un-fucking believable.” He shoved the handheld back at Jayden and went to the small bar tucked around the corner. “Anyone else want a drink?"

  "Hospitable of you."

  "Oh, yeah.” He dropped ice into a tumbler. “I'm fucking Martha Stewart.” Hearing his words back, he closed his eyes. “Not literally, of course.” ‘Not literally, of course'? You horse's ass.

  "Well then, Martha, Don't suppose you've got any good whiskey?"

  "Glendronach do?"

  Zane looked suitably impressed, but it didn't make Mica feel any better. At this point, he thought the only thing that might, would be spontaneous combustion. Either his or the Brit's, he wasn't particularly picky. He shoved the glass into Zane's hand. “So why exactly are you here, 007?"

  Like you don't already know. Jayden trusts him. He felt his stomach turn.

  "I came to rescue Jayden, of course."

  He swirled the contents of the glass, then swallowed it, an arrogant expression on his face. Mica wanted ten seconds to wipe that look off his face, but he held back.

  "Oh, well, if that's all, then just hop on your royal plane and head right on back across the pond, because I'm in charge of damsel rescue today, Brit."

  He ignored Jayden's frustrated growl, although guilt did put a bit of a stranglehold on his heart, but what was done was done. Right?

  Zane laughed hard. For a second Mica feared he'd choke on his whiskey, and that was damn fine whiskey, then he moved purposefully into Mica's space, all but poking him in the chest with one of his gloved fingers.

  "Listen, Yank. I've known Jayden longer. I know her history, I know her asshole of a husband, and I have experience with this situation."

  "Oh? Wha
t's next? You have a license to kill?"

  "Well, if you must know..."

  "Stop!"

  Mica felt the small fists ram into his spine, but they barely registered. Not that the girl didn't have a fine punch, but the physical blow was nothing compared to the blow his heart took at hearing the voice of his woman for the first time.

  When he turned, Jayden looked as stunned as he felt.

  "Jayden.” Mica's voice, thick with emotion and wonder, cracked mid word, but when she put up a hand to stop his approach and tears welling up in her eyes, it hit him what an ass he'd been. In the next second, she ran up the stairs.

  Mica wished she'd run into his arms instead. The truth that she hadn't, made him feel like shit, but the most important thing right now was the fact that she'd spoken. So many questions swamped his brain it threatened to shut down.

  Zane stepped beside him, scratching his chin with the back of the hand that held his tumbler. “Good job, Yank. Fine example of that communication you were talking about earlier. Impressive."

  Mica wanted to ram the glass down his throat, but right now all he really cared about was Jayden. He set his own tumbler down then went for the stairs. He wondered what hell a man faced when he'd let down the most important woman in his life through pettiness and self-absorption, while her world was falling apart.

  Shit. He was really in for it.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nine

  Mica knew he hadn't been much more than five minutes behind her—after all, a man needs a little liquid courage before he faces his guilt and an angry female head-on. However, he was unprepared for the destruction that met him as he stepped off the landing to his usually pristine living space.

  How could one small woman wreak such damage in five minutes?

  Every item in his room that wasn't either nailed down or bigger than her, was destroyed. He cringed as he eyed his plants, soil oozing from their pots like head wounds on little warriors. The four-thousand-dollar mirror he'd bought at a recent auction was smashed, books were strewn. Even the linens had been ripped from the bed. And in the midst of all the destruction was Jayden, staring out at the New York skyline. Despite the pain he could feel rolling off her hitting him like a blast from a jet engine, hot and very, very powerful, she stood perfectly still as if nothing was wrong. She almost seemed at peace, but he knew better.