by Paula Graves
They made a dash for the door. She rammed the key into the lock, cursing violently when the deadbolt wouldn't give.
"Go, go, go!" Remy rasped, jittering from foot to foot.
The other headlights reached the edge of the yard. Her heart kicked into a frantic rat-a-tat rhythm as she tried to turn the key again. The deadbolt gave a rusty moan and turned.
The car at the edge of the yard cut its engine and the headlights blinked out, plunging them into darkness alleviated only by the weak blue light of the waxing moon.
Maggie pushed the door open and ran inside, not bothering to turn on any lights.
She and Remy had the advantage in the darkness, knowing the lay of the house pretty well by now. She grabbed the boy's hand and raced for the trap door. They descended the hidden staircase into a void as black as pitch. Remy stumbled into her at the bottom of the stairs.
Where was the switch for the tunnel lights? Jack had merely touched the wall and the lights had come on. Damn it, she should have paid attention instead of sulking like a brat.
She felt along the cool brick walls of the tiny anteroom, feeling for something—a loose stone, a raised spot, anything that might be the switch that would save her from the smothering darkness wrapping around them like a shroud.
Then she heard it. The click of a door unlatching behind them. Footsteps moving quickly down the hidden staircase.
Maggie grabbed Remy's arm and darted into the tunnel entrance, which was visible only as the blackest part of the blackness surrounding them. They staggered and stumbled for several yards, feeling their way in the utter darkness.
The tunnel lights came on, blinding her. She skidded to a stop, her heart a quivering block of ice in her chest.
"Maggie!" Jack's voice washed over her, deep, authoritative and the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard.
Remy made a beeline for the tunnel entrance, calling Jack's name. But Maggie froze where she stood, afraid if she moved, she'd discover she'd imagined Jack's voice calling her name.
Then he was there. Walking toward her, his blue-eyed gaze pinning her in place with its intensity. Remy followed at his heels, looking like a wriggly, grinning puppy.
Fat tears slid down Maggie's cheeks as Jack closed the distance between them in long, purposeful strides. He lifted one hand to stroke her cheek. "Sorry I'm late."
The strange paralysis lifted, and she threw her arms around his waist, pressing her damp face to his throat.
"Where we gonna go next?" Remy set down his bag of clothes on one of the bunkhouse beds and turned to look at Jack. With his blond buzz cut, hungry dark eyes and tough-guy posture, he should have looked like a street punk, but all Jack saw was a scared little boy trying hard not to cry.
His heart gave a little squeeze. "I think we need to get a little closer to New Orleans."
"No way. We got five grand now. We can go places."
"It's not enough money to run forever."
"It's enough to get to Mexico."
"Mexico has extradition laws, you know. The cops won't stop looking for Maggie. Her father was the president."
Remy sank to the bunk opposite Jack. "We're so screwed."
"We can figure out a way to prove what you saw, but we have to be close to where it happened." Jack sat on the opposite bunk. He owed Remy the truth about what would happen next. "We know there's a body now, so we're ahead of where we were a few days ago. Maybe by the time we settle in the next place, we'll have an I.D. on the body and we'll have a name to work with."
Remy dropped his chin to his chest. "You really do believe me? It's not just 'cause you want to suck up to Maggie?"
"If I didn't believe you, you'd already be in jail. I'm not in this for brownie points. We're all in danger now. I'm here to get us all home safe and sound."
As soon as he heard the snuffling sound escape Remy's throat, he realized what he'd said. Home. Remy didn't have a home anymore, thanks to Blevins and his bunch of thugs in blue.
Rage surged through him, the old fire in the belly he used to get when he was put on a dangerous protective detail. Every sense heightened, on guard for whatever danger might approach.
Only this feeling was stronger than he'd ever known. Fierce, blazing hot, infusing every fiber of his body with deadly purpose. Because this wasn't just a dignitary or a government official. This was Maggie. And Remy.
His family.
Jack clenched his fists at his side, struggling to control his fury as he watched Remy fighting not to cry. Blevins would pay. The son of a bitch was going to get what was coming to him when this was all over. Targeting a scared kid for telling the truth when cops were supposed to reward people for putting their necks on the line for the truth.
Targeting Maggie.
The need to be with her, right now, swamped him, nearly forcing him to his feet. Only the sight of Remy's tear-bright eyes kept him seated. "I can stay awhile if you want."
Remy waggled his brows. "You don't gotta to baby-sit."
"I know. I just thought—"
"You shoulda seen Doc while you were gone. Complete whack job. You might oughta check on her." Jack grinned. "Complete whack job, huh?" Remy nodded his head toward the door. "Go on." Jack stood there a moment, filled with fierce affection. Mark Blevins would pay for trying to hurt this boy. For trying to hurt Maggie. No matter what it took.
Candles cast a warm glow across the fresh bed sheets and sent shadows undulating across the walls. Maggie snuffed the match and surveyed her handiwork with a pounding heart.
Jack had risked staying in Mobile to get the money. Of all the things he had told them about his day, that point had stuck in her mind, refusing to let go. He'd put himself in danger to get the money to keep them going. His sacrifice made her own trip to the pawn shop look small and dirty in comparison.
Jack had promised she could trust him, but she had waited less than an hour to show how little trust she had.
A bitter place inside her opened, rife with pain. That wasn't fair. Everybody looked out for themselves, even Jack. The money would keep him out of jail until he got out of the mess she'd gotten him into. Nothing noble about it.
It all came down to self-interest. As long as she remembered that, she could walk away from him.
Once she got what she needed.
The great room of the lodge was mostly dark when Jack entered, only a lamp by the door still burning. Was she asleep? He quelled his disappointment, reminding himself that they'd all had a long, stressful day.
He paused at the closed door of her bedroom, pressing his ear to the wood to see if she was still moving around inside. Though he heard nothing, he was tempted to knock. But she needed her sleep. She'd had a hard day, and tomorrow was going to be another long one. Reluctantly, he pushed away from her door and went into his own bedroom.
A dozen flickering candles cast bands of light and dark across the bedroom walls.
Maggie sat on the end of his bed, wearing only panties and scrap of a camisole that did nothing to hide the ripe curves beneath. She rose and walked toward him, bathed in golden candlelight. "I thought you'd never get here."
His heart rate doubled by the time she reached him. "You're the one who sent me to tuck Remy in."
She flashed a sexy grin. "Shut up and kiss me, Jack."
Heat poured through him as she unzipped his fly and slipped her hand inside, stroking him through his boxers.
Naughty Marguerite was back.
Jack wrapped one hand around the back of Maggie's neck and held her slightly away from him. "Maggie—"
She touched his lips. "Shh. Let's not talk." She ran her fingers up and down the length of him, watching with satisfaction as his eyes darkened and his neck flushed.
He hesitated a moment, his gaze locked with hers as if trying to read something hidden deep within her. She could almost feel him inside, searching the dark pockets of her soul.
Looking for what?
He pulled her against him suddenly, trapping her hand betwee
n their bodies. His low growl, thick with desire, rumbled through her body. "You're a very wicked girl."
"You like that about me." She kissed his throat.
"I do."
Under her fingers, he was coming to life, fast and hard, filling her with a heady rush of power.
Yes, she thought. This is what I want.
To be in control.
She curled her fingers in the silk boxers, felt him through the soft, fiery-hot fabric. She traced the length and the breadth of him, watching his response. His eyes were chips of onyx rimmed with blue. She closed her hand and squeezed, smiling at the pleasure-pain that flickered across his face.
His breathing harsh, he pulled her hand from his jeans, bending to cover her mouth in a deep, demanding kiss. She melted against him, opening her mouth to feast on his passion.
A low thrumming vibration built in her belly. Sparks shot through her from the juncture of her thighs to her fingertips as Jack explored her body slowly, thoroughly, finding sensitive spots she had forgotten she possessed. He moved his hands beneath her shirt, fingertips gliding over her ribs and up to the swell of her breasts. His thumbs circled her nipples once, twice, then swept away, finding a spot on the underside of her breasts that sent pure pleasure sparking down her nerve endings.
She focused on the physical sensations, trying to ignore the flood of emotions pouring through her. If she let the emotions take over, she'd lose control.
"You like that?" he murmured against her throat.
"Yes," she gasped as he stroked her again. More than she expected. More than ever before.
He slid his hands lower, hooking the narrow waistband of her panties and sliding them down her legs. He followed the fabric down, pressing hot kisses against her belly, her hipbones, the sensitive flesh of her thigh.
"How about this?" His breath warmed her core.
Her legs began to wobble, but he caught her, his hands splayed across her hips, holding her steady. He lifted his face and pinned her with his searing gaze.
She trembled, barely able to catch her breath.
Then he covered her with his mouth.
Heat flooded her entire body. Her legs turned to jelly, and she fell back against the mattress. Jack moved with her, continuing his maddening assault on her senses. A low groan rumbled from her throat as tingles spread through her body.
Control fled, leaving her adrift on a raging sea of sensations. Madness crept up on her in dark, crashing waves as Jack's mouth and fingers played over her, sure and skillful, drawing out each tremor, each swell, until she found herself cresting, hurtling toward the unseen shore.
Her muscles tightened, strained for release as an explosion built inside her, slow and rumbling, gathering force as it rippled from the center of her being and slammed her into a wall of pure, shimmering sensation.
She came back to herself slowly, her body rippling with pleasure. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she forced them open.
Jack gazed down at her, his expression tender. He stroked her hair, pushing it back from her face. "You okay?"
The tender concern in his voice was her undoing. Fat tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She laughed self-consciously, brushing away the tears as if they meant nothing.
But she knew better. They meant everything.
He meant everything.
Though her heart felt like lead, she kept her voice deliberately light, so he wouldn't guess. "I'm great. No—you're great. Incredible, really." She plucked at one of the buttons of his shirt. "Incredibly overdressed, too."
He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, while she clutched a handful of denim and silk and pushed them both down over his hips, fighting the tears that flooded up from some untapped well of emotion deep in her soul.
She felt as if she were plunging off a high cliff into darkness, afraid she was about to hit the bottom—and even more afraid that she'd never land at all, just keep falling into the darkness until she unraveled and was swallowed by black.
She clung to him, to the solid feel of his flesh beneath her hands, the sound of his breathing against her ear as she drew him down to her.
He pulled away from her a moment, reaching into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a square foil packet. Jack, the protector, she thought, nearly losing what little control over her emotions she had left. She grasped desperately at the one tool that had always kept her on top before—sex. She was good at making sex work for her. Giving it. Withholding it. Rationing it.
She could make it through this night if she just remembered who she was. She could reach the bottom of the abyss and walk away. She was sure of it.
She forced a smile as he put on the condom and covered her body with his. "Always suspected you were a Boy Scout."
"If you're good, I'll let you see my badges."
Curling her fingers in his hair, she pulled him to her, trying to pretend he was just another man she'd chosen to satisfy her occasional need for physical release. His mouth wasn't really softer. His touch didn't mete out more exquisite torture than the others. The smell of him didn't fill her mind with fierce desires and old, sweet memories.
But the effort was futile. He wasn't just another man. He was Jack Bennett, the only man she'd never been able to forget. The voice that murmured words of endearment against her throat was the same voice she'd heard that first day outside her father's office—warm, gravelly, with undertones of quiet understanding that had chipped away at the ice around her heart. The scent that surrounded her, fired by the heat of his passion, was the same spicy elixir that had greeted her each time he entered her apartment in Tribeca—intense, powerful and male.
Her composure drowned in a flood of whispered endearments and feather light kisses, talented fingers and relentless lips. When he moved between her thighs, she arched her back and sheathed him in her heat, gasping as he filled her again and again, his name branded on her soul, undeniable. Inescapable.
He slanted his mouth over hers, drawing her lower lip into his mouth and sucking lightly. She clutched his shoulders and rocked her hips in counterpoint, feeling him beginning to unravel in her arms. He was close. So close.
And she could bring him to completion, she realized with wonder, a different sense of control pouring through her. This she could do. She knew how to draw it out, make it last, make him beg for mercy—and beg for more.
She focused her entire being on his body, the tell-tale signs that he was nearing his climax, the way his respiration quickened and roughened until he was breathing in soft, keening gasps. The tightening of his shoulder muscles beneath her fingers. It was familiar and alien at the same time.
Because it was Jack.
A twisting sensation snaked through her, unfamiliar and devastating. More than pleasure, more than satiation, thrilled and terrified her at the same time. She was coming apart, molecule by molecule, consumed by the heat of their passion.
Jack's hands cupped her buttocks and held her tight as he let go, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as his body shuddered with release. She wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him inside her as his shudders began to subside.
He kissed her shoulder where he'd nipped her, laving the flesh with his tongue, then kissed a trail across her collarbone and up her throat. "Still okay?" he murmured against her neck.
She couldn't find her voice, so she answered by stroking his hair. She clung to him, skin to skin with him, her fingers tangled in his hair, his body still joined with hers.
Bit her heart was a fist in her chest, clenched tight and aching with dread.
When Jack woke a few hours later, he was alone in the bed, surrounded by flickering candles bathing the bedroom walls with a kaleidoscope of light and shadow. He scanned the room and acquired his target: Maggie, standing at the window, a blanket wrapped around her as she peered into the inky night.
"Marguerite?"
She looked at him, her expression shuttered. "It's raining again," she murmured, turning back to the window. The low, cool
tone of her voice did nothing to relieve his sudden anxiety.
He pushed off the bed sheets and crossed to her side, smoothing his hands over her shoulders. The flesh beneath his fingers quivered, but after a long moment, she leaned back against him and caught his hand, drawing his arm around her.
"I love to watch it rain." She brushed her temple against his jaw. "It's reassuring-the world grows dry and the heavens take pity. Like something's out there watching over us."
"That's what people say."
"I don't know if I believe it. I wish I did."
"I believe it." He kissed her temple. "We're here. Alive and together. That's got to mean something, right?"
She turned in his arms to look up at him, her eyes dark and pensive. "How did things end with you and Laura?"
A sliver of old pain nicked his heart. "With her lies."
"Why did you let her treat you the way she did?"
"I fix things. You know that. I spent a year trying to fix all your problems. You weren't exactly grateful."
"I misunderstood your efforts."
"Probably not as much as you think."
She slanted a look at him.
"I wasn't immune to your charms, Willow. I just had a lot of good reasons for resisting them."
"Like Laura."
He nodded. "And my job. But yeah, mostly Laura."
"You loved her."
"I know you can't understand why, because you saw only one side of her. I saw another side, sweet and smart and vulnerable. I wanted to protect her." He sighed. "Imagine, a Secret Service agent wanting to protect someone. But I couldn't protect her from herself."
"What did she do to make you give up?"
"I was up for a new assignment. More pay but a lot more travel. Laura wanted me to turn it down. When I refused, she cheated on me." Five years later, he could still feel humiliation prickling up his neck. "She thought it would make me jealous. It just made me sick."
"I imagine so."
"I decided then I wouldn't be anybody's hero anymore."
And yet, here he was. Playing hero to Willow.