by Incy Black
“Of the case, maybe, Nick, but not of me. Try it, and I’ll fight you every inch of the way.”
“That’ll make a nice change.”
Her mouth tightened, her eyes spat lethal splinters. Oh, shit. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t provoke her—massive fail.
She edged in close enough for him to smell the waning trace of the perfume she favored—Jean Patou’s 1000, heavy with dark, rich notes that tempted him to grab her, throw her down on the table, and love her into submission. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.
“Huge mistake, Nick. Huge.” She’d thrust from her seat and was halfway across the dance floor before he caught up with her, his own anger simmering.
“What the hell do you think you are doing now?”
She scowled, then one hand to a cocked hip, she had the nerve to smile. “It’s early yet. A new band’s up in a moment. I thought I’d stay and enjoy myself.”
Jesus, trying to keep up with her mercurial mood swings was going to kill him. “You’re pregnant,” his reminded her disapprovingly.
“Guess what? I know. And dancing is supposed to be an excellent relaxant. Want to join me?”
He caught the wicked laughter—more a mocking taunt—in her eyes and swallowed the reflexive “hell no.” Two could play at this game.
He moved in close, close enough for the cotton stretched across his chest to kiss the silk skimming her breasts, and tasted victory when she gasped and retreated a step. He followed, closing the gap. Then, with his mouth real close to her ear, he whispered, “Tell you what. Sooner or later there will be a slow number. I’ll join you then.”
Her hand shot out to grasp his arm as he turned away. “Wait up. You hate dancing. You’re supposed to leave.”
“Can’t. I stood your security detail down, remember? And besides, I never could resist a slow dance with the slightly dangerous Anna Key Marshall.”
“No way,” she objected furiously. “I didn’t say anything about a slow dance.”
“You called shotgun on the venue and the activity, Anna. It’s only fair that I get to set the terms. See you as soon as the tempo changes. I’ll be over by the bar.”
Thanks to Anna, he had to rapid-order two iced beers, back-to-back. Watching her move without inhibition and a surfeit of exuberance to the banging sound of the Purple Hearts drew more than a few admiring glances, his own included. He should have added “seriously sexy” when he described her as slightly dangerous. But she would have cut him off at the knees, attack always her preferred strategy in the face of a compliment. Especially from him.
The happy rock beat faded to a sad, lilting ballad way too soon for Nick’s liking. He’d already passed the point where he could stand straight given the hard-on pressing at his zipper, and he wasn’t sure walking was an option. He might have conveniently forgotten his threat to dance with Anna and ordered another beer, had she not tried to outstare him.
Well, if she thought he was about to run scared, she was wrong. Truth was he was terrified of being that close to her again, but she didn’t have to know that.
Pushing slowly to his feet, he tasted not a little satisfaction when Anna’s eyes widened, her arms stilled at her sides, and she nipped at her bottom lip as if suddenly uncertain about the wisdom of taunting him.
Hell, but part of him was going to enjoy this.
Crossing to where she stood poised to run, her head ducking lower with each step he took, he pulled up close enough for their bodies to brush but didn’t reach for her. The next move had to be all hers.
And damn, if she didn’t make him wait.
His skin itched with heat. His stomach muscles flexed and tightened in a workout of their own. Time stood still. Staring down at her crown, he’d practically memorized the lie of every black strand of her tangled hair before she deigned to lift her head and make eye contact. And what he saw ripped his chest open.
Surrender. Anna, utterly defeated.
“I can’t do this, Nick.”
He reached for her then, cursing himself for what that plaintive little confession must have cost her. “Sure you can, babe,” he encouraged softly, tugging her close and fitting his body to hers. “It’s easy. Won’t even hurt.” He wrapped his arms across her lower back and began to sway.
He was wrong about the hurt though. The agony of having her curves flush up against him, tempting him to all hell, while she held herself all stiff and distant, stung like a bitch.
Ignoring the mournful notes filling the club, he dipped her backward in an extravagant move, making sure that that when he pulled her upright, his thigh was hard and tight between hers. Yeah, so she’d screwed her gorgeous eyes shut, but he could feel her heart begin to race, hear the little gasps that escaped as she tried to breathe.
He slid his fingertips beneath the hem of her silk T-shirt in search of the sweet spot right at the base of her spine. So soft, so smooth. He caressed little circles with his thumb. And she melted.
When the track finally drew to a painful close, he eased back, his hands rising to her upper arms. “Okay?”
Her pupils had widened to the point they drowned the blue of her eyes, and he smiled when she nodded emphatically. “I dare you to risk another dance.” The teasing words slipped out before he could clamp his teeth against them.
This time she shook her head wildly, and palms flat to his chest, pushed him away. She made a bolt for the exit before he could stop her.
“Coward,” he baited, as he used his shoulders to help push against the throng trying to enter the club at the same time as they were trying to leave.
He grinned and put a hand on her lower spine to keep her moving forward despite his invitation. He already had a hard-on from hell. Holding her close, having her body brush and sway intimately against his again wasn’t an option he should have been prepared to consider anyway. Not if his sanity was to remain intact.
It must have rained while they were in the club, and the night air hung thick with the scent of damp leaves and scorched blacktop. “Cab or walk, your call.”
She was like a cat on a hot tin roof. Edgy, shifting her weight from one high-heeled foot to the other, her fingers in constant motion in front of her as if she were practicing piano scales—badly. “You don’t have to see me home, Nick, I’m a big girl now.”
“Just because I didn’t have a mother to teach me right and those staff in the foster homes had the finesse of rocks doesn’t mean I don’t have a few manners. Of course I’m seeing you home. With your luck, the cab driver could turn out to be a psychotic killer.”
“You deliberately said that to scare me.”
“I don’t usually have to scare a woman into allowing me to escort her home, Anna. If you’re that easily frightened, it means you’ve got a bigger problem on your mind than you’re prepared to admit.”
She quickened her step, creating distance between them and then pulled to a halt beneath the arcing light of a streetlamp, the pale glow against the dark of her hair giving her a halo. Which was just plain wrong, because she looked far from angelic.
He closed the gap between them. “Life’s a dirty, no-holds-barred cage fight, Anna; wearing blinders can get you killed,” he said with all the chill he could muster. She needed a reality check.
For a moment, she looked utterly desolate, and then she started walking again, her heels click-clacking against the darkening sidewalk as she headed into the shadows. “I know, and I’m doing my best. But I’m not convinced that’s going to be good enough. Frankly, I can’t see us surviving the week.”
He was close enough at her side to hear her draw in a deep breath before continuing. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry, Nick. For everything,” she said quietly.
His shock at her apology was such that he didn’t immediately register the sharp sting grazing the base of his lower rib cage.
A follow-up retort chewed into the thick bark of the lime tree at his shoulder, sending a spray of splinters onto the paving stones at h
is toes.
“Anna, down!” He barreled into her, the weight of his body carrying her up and over a low wall fronting a riverside development of high-rise apartments. He kept his arms tightly banded around her to lessen the impact of the fall and protect the baby, but there was little he could do to stop his body slamming down on her as they landed.
“Dear God,” she whispered hoarsely. “And you had the nerve to call me dangerous.”
“Not now, Anna, and stay down,” he warned savagely, shifting to ease his weight from her. He poked his head above the wall, rapidly withdrawing it and throwing himself back across her as brick shattered around him.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in a number. “Will,” he barked. “We’re pinned down outside a residential block, Riverview Park, just along from Cheyne Walk. Someone’s taking pot shots at us, and he’s using a silencer. Get back-up here fast. I’m unarmed, and this bastard is frighteningly good.”
Chapter Six
More violent spits splintered the top edge of the wall. Nick swore virulently and hugged Anna tighter beneath him. He ignored her squeak of protest. His weight wouldn’t kill her, but a stray bullet might. What the hell was going on?
She had been on his exposed side when the shooting started. She had a thing about only walking on the roadside edge of the pavement. Ironically, it had always been her little way of taunting the Fates into taking their best shot.
She’d been an easy target, and yet he was the one who had been hit. Nothing major, a fleeting kiss across his lower ribs, as far as he could tell. Which meant the shooter was either the worst marksman in history, which was doubtful given the way he had them pinned down, or he was the target. Shit. He was supposed to be protecting her; instead he’d endangered her.
With his heart threatening to rip free from his chest, he untangled his legs from hers, shifted onto his side, and tucked her close to the foot of the wall. “I need to draw the fire away from you, which means I’m going to have to leave for a short while. When I vault this wall and start running, I want you to crawl through those bushes until you reach the mouth of that underground parking area. Once inside, find the lift, hit the button to any floor, and start banging on doors until someone lets you in. Help is on its way.”
“Oh, no, you don’t, Nick Marshall,” she insisted, fisting his shirt to anchor him in place. Then, as if not trusting the cotton, she looped her thigh across his hip and snaked an arm tight around the back of his neck. “You’re not dying on my account. You can stay here where it’s safe.”
“Anna—” He reached up to loosen her grip. She countered his move by clenching her thigh and curling her leg tighter round his ass. Christ, a barnacle could have taken lessons from her. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn’t have been able to resist the sudden and inappropriate blood rush. “I’ve got to create a distraction—”
Stubborn as all hell, she shifted her unique form of judo hold to damn near full-on strangulation. Using brute strength to unglue her wasn’t an option. The resulting bruises would confirm the nightmare of his bloodline—that he was his father’s son—and he didn’t need the reminder. But he was a master when it came to causing invisible pain that was easy to ignore—words his weapon of choice.
“Try showing the instincts of a real mother, Anna. Think of the baby.”
Still she held fast, but he could have sworn the beat of her heart stilled for a moment as his criticism cut deep.
“No, Nick, just stay down.” Her voice no longer held a note of fierce urgency. Instead it sounded numb. Emphatic, but soulless.
He couldn’t afford to care. “For God’s sake—”
“I mean it, Nick, listen. Those are sirens, and they’re getting closer. Playing hero will just get you shot.”
He clenched his jaw with enough pressure to offset the fierce sting frying his ribs.
The squeal of rubber against asphalt, slamming car doors, and shouts of fast-fired orders broke the night. Backup—and about time, too. “Bit late for that,” he muttered, stretching his neck so he could see over the lip of the wall.
He felt her body go rigid beneath his. “You’re hit? Oh, God, how bad? How bad?”
The urgency in her voice cut him to the quick. “Shush, a scratch that’s all. Keep still will you? It hurts.”
“Wuss.”
The sound of footsteps drawing close froze the indignant protest on his lips. He quickly covered her mouth with his palm. The gunfire had ceased, and the cavalry were in control, but still…
“Marshall?”
“Over here, Will.” Releasing Anna, Nick rolled free, eased to his feet, and tugged his jacket closed. No point alerting everyone to the fact he’d been hit. He’d be forced to take compulsory sick leave, mandatory for any officer no matter how fleeting the bullet-kiss.
“Well, don’t you look like hell.”
With a grunt, he stepped over the low wall. Fuck, but the shit was going to hit the fan when the Commander found out Will had mobilized one of the Service’s elite SWAT teams, who had special jurisdiction abroad when rallied but never on the streets of London. “Keep it up, Will, and I swear to God, I’ll deck you.” He heard a rustling behind him, turned, and pointed at Anna who crouched on her hands and knees. “I thought I told you to stay down, until I gave the all clear,” he snarled, before stalking off to get a report from the task force leader.
…
“What the hell’s got into him?” asked Will, slipping his arm around Anna as Nick disappeared into the dark.
She shrugged, too caught up in a tsunami of private fury to pay too much attention. “He’s hurting, and I called him a wuss when I should have called him something far worse.”
Antila had to have been behind this latest incident. She’d been an open target, yet Nick was the one who had been hit. Not badly, but enough to make sure she got the message—get rid of Nick Marshall, or he’d do it for her.
She shivered despite the sultry night air lying thick against her skin.
“Well, no one can say you don’t like to live dangerously. What, was being shot at not enough for you?”
Will’s tone was surprisingly gentle despite the tease. She glanced up. He was scanning the darkness for his friend, his concern marked.
“He expects it of me, Will, and I hate to disappoint him,” she mumbled quietly, squeezing her eyelids tight against the sudden and inexplicable need to drop to the paving stones, curl up, and cry the truth of that awful statement from her soul.
“He’ll be feeling a heck of a lot more than just disappointment if you give in to those tears and I’m forced to put my other arm round you,” he warned, nudging her with his shoulder.
She forced a laugh, more a strangled gulp. “He always was a jealous bastard. It’s what killed our marriage.” She swallowed and confronted the past completely for the first time since Nick had reentered her life. “He accused me of having an affair. I didn’t deny it.”
“I know, sweetheart, and you were both in the wrong. You were hurting. He didn’t know why, and it scared him. And you were both too bloody stubborn to admit it. I never asked you before, but was your pride worth it? Losing him I mean. Because I know losing you damn near killed him.”
“Look, just go after him, will you? He’s been hit. I’m going to perch on this wall a minute while my heart calms and I get my equilibrium back.” She couldn’t deal with Will’s revelation right now. Her sole focus had to be on keeping Nick alive. God, she hoped his injury was worse than he claimed. They’d have to hospitalize him, and Antila would know that Nick had been neutralized. With Nick out of the equation, hurting but safe, she could concentrate on keeping herself and the baby alive without the added distraction of having to somehow keep him safe, too.
She heard Will swallow a curse.
Dread closed her throat. She turned her head to follow his line of sight. Nick was heading their way, a lethal scowl on his face.
“Nick-alert at nine o’clock, and shit, but he looks pissed of
f as all hell. He can’t be that badly hurt, not the speed he’s moving,” Will said out of the side of his mouth.
She stiffened. Damn it, why couldn’t Nick be flat on his back and immobilized?
Will, obviously misunderstanding why her body should suddenly lock rigid, tightened his grip on her. “Hey, come on, he might look fit to kill, but he’s mad at himself, not you. He knows he screwed up. He shouldn’t have stood the Fortress men down. He didn’t want the Service involved in his private business; now he hasn’t got a choice. If he’s hurting, Anna, it’s because his pride has taken a kicking, but he’ll get over it.”
Will’s words brought her little comfort. Nick looked fit to explode. He pulled up close and towered over her. Rather than meet his eye, she stared at his chest, then surreptitiously lowered her eyes to scan his side. The fact that he wasn’t lying flat on his back was inconvenient, but she still needed to know he was okay.
“Your friend, Adam Western? What the hell did he ever do to you?”
Anna stepped back, not to escape blistering under Nick’s anger but because a horrific foreboding compressed her chest. Sure, Nick had a temper, but only twice had he directed its full lethal force at her. Once, when he’d found out she’d illegally BASE-jumped from the London Eye, and the second time when he’d decided—mistakenly, though she’d been too shocked to correct him—she’d been having an affair and kicked her out.
“I don’t have any friends called Adam, so—wait. Do you mean Dr. Western, the medical consultant who helped me get pregnant?
“That would be him. And right now, he’s lying in the morgue, minus his tongue, with his lips hemmed together with red silk thread. A classic punishment for someone who couldn’t keep their mouth shut. And, I’m pretty damned sure his death is connected to that thing you’ve got growing in your belly.”
At the word “thing,” she staggered back. One hand pressed tight to her mouth, the other, taking up a protective position across her stomach.