by Karen Kelley
“No, nothing.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. The thought of food sent an uncomfortable rumbling in her stomach. Or maybe Conor made her stomach turn inside out.
“Okay. But you haven’t lived until you’ve eaten the fa mous Conor Richmond breakfast.”
She had to admit the man was irresistible when he grinned. A smile tugged at her lips as she took a sip.
“Ugh. This is awful.” She grimaced as the dark liquid hit her taste buds. “It’s always better if you add water.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Too strong?”
“That’s an understatement.” She poured half down the drain and added hot water to her cup. “Maybe we should invest in another pot. Then we can each make our own.”
“That reminds me, we should know a little about the other’s likes and dislikes. Just in case we need the information.”
He made sense. Of course they should know more about each other. After all, they were supposed to be married.
“You’re right. It’d be a shame to ruin your cover just because you don’t know which side of the bed I prefer.” She froze. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to call them back, but it was too late. Why the hell had she brought up sleeping? He was probably remembering she’d seen him naked—at least, his backside.
She cleared her throat. “That is… I mean…”
“Absolutely. The little details can blow a cover quicker than the big stuff.”
She breathed a sigh of relief that he’d let her blunder slide by without commenting and embarrassing her further. It made her reassess her opinion of him. Maybe she’d misjudged.
Taking her watered-down coffee with her, she sat at the table. Conor added the eggs to his plate and joined her, grabbing the catsup bottle as he straddled a chair, then pounded out a good portion on top of his eggs.
His breakfast looked like a bloody massacre.
Surely he didn’t plan to eat that mess. It made her sick just looking at it.
“By the way, which side of the bed do you prefer?” he asked.
“Both.” She smiled sweetly.
He cleared his throat and concentrated on stirring the conglomeration on his plate. “Yes, well, uh, if we think about it”—he met her gaze across the table—”there’s already a lot we know about each other.”
Was he referring to last night? She’d certainly seen more than she’d anticipated. Would he be that blunt? “What do you mean?”
He bit into a slice of bacon and chewed. “Well, like when you get nervous, you fiddle with your buttons.”
“I don’t…”
With half a slice of bacon, he pointed toward her shirt. Glancing down, she saw that she was indeed twisting the button. With a snort of disgust, she straightened the wrin kled material.
“Okay, so maybe I do have a couple of bad habits.”
“I’m not faulting you for it. And by the way, you snore.”
“I do not!” She sat straight up in her chair, chin jutting out.
“Don’t worry. The sound didn’t vibrate off the walls or anything.”
Conor Richmond was definitely no gentleman. Especially after he’d dropped his towel to the floor last night with little concern that she was just across the hall and would see so much delicious, sexy, irresistible, and very naked skin.
Oh lord, was she drooling? She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.
He placed a hand over hers, his expression turning serious. “That’s what I mean, though. The little stuff is what we need to learn. I know you don’t eat breakfast, but what sort of food do you enjoy?”
So, he wanted to get down to business. That was fine, but his hand on hers was a little too warm. Too pleasant. If she didn’t keep her distance, she’d have to turn the thermostat down again. She pulled her hand away and stood.
Suddenly the lukewarm coffee had as much taste as a can of drain cleaner. She needed to concentrate on something besides how he made her body tingle. She went to the sink and poured her coffee out.
“Mexican and Chinese.” She glanced over her shoulder.
Conor looked confused. “What?”
“You wanted to know more about me,” she reminded him. “I love Mexican food and hate Chinese.”
“How can anyone hate Chinese food?”
She curled her lower lip. “Ugh. No, thanks. Even as a kid, I hated it. I rate it on the same scale as liver. So what about you? Is there something I should know?”
She rinsed her cup and placed it in the drainer, then looked around for a towel to dry her hands.
“What do you like? Sports? Football? My father and brother always hogged the remote if there was a game on. I finally began to like it through osmosis.” She knew her words were coming out faster than she intended, but the man made her crazy.
He grinned, and her heart did somersaults. The room got smaller and smaller as his presence filled every tiny space.
A towel. She needed something to dry her hands on. Anything to concentrate on besides Conor. She scanned the cabinet. Where were the blasted paper towels?
“I like sports,” he told her. “But I like other things as well. I’d rather participate than watch it on TV. You know… touch football.” He stood and ambled over to the sink, tossing her his towel.
While she dried her hands, he turned the water on and squirted soap on his dishes before rinsing them and placing them in the drainer alongside her cup.
“I also like picnics on a warm spring day.” He tugged the towel out of her hands and began drying his. “A blanket on the ground, a beautiful woman, a bottle of wine, and some cheese. And maybe later, making love beneath the trees. You like picnics, Jessica?” His gaze held hers as he pitched the towel on the counter.
The birds outside the kitchen window grew silent. Even the everyday sounds, like the refrigerator running, all quieted to a mere murmur as his presence enveloped her in a cocoon. “I love fried chicken,” she whispered.
She needed space. The man had cast a spell over her. What was he, a magician or something?
“I’m… um… I’m going out. I mean, jogging. My morning run.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
Did he want her to stay with him? What did he have in mind? An image formed of naked limbs twined together. Sweating bodies straining. His hands caressing. Lips joining.
Maybe she could skip her run this once.
“Was there… something… uh… you had in mind?” She tried to make her words sound casual, but to her ears they sounded anything but normal.
“Well, I can’t very well protect you if you’re off some where else. What will you do if one of the suspects approaches you?”
Boy, had she misjudged him this time. Always the cop. That was Conor. “I know you mean well, Officer Rich mond.” Her lips thinned. “But I don’t need you to run my obstacle course. You were right earlier. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. You just assume I’m a sitting duck for every burglar, bank robber, and jaywalker because I’m not as experienced as you. In fact, I happen to know more—”
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “I know you’ve been through the academy, and even worked the streets for a while, but be careful. Run in the opposite direction from their house or something.”
Jessica opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. Ex plaining anything to him was like talking to a brick wall.Impossible . She whirled around and stomped from the room, unbuttoning her shirt as she went through the house, then tossing it on the sofa before she went out the front door.
Once outside, she took a deep, cleansing breath to clear her head. Running would do her good. She needed to work off some energy. Anything to get her mind off Conor and how he affected her senses. He could make her angrier quicker than anyone she knew, then, in the next breath, turn around and have her wanting to have sex with him.
Good grief, she hadn’t thought so much about sleeping with anyone before she’d met him. Must be all that testosterone that oozed from his pores. A
t least six feet four inches of living, breathing, raw maleness constantly invading her space.
She turned her attention to the peaceful street. It seemed quiet and lazy as she stood on the front porch and glanced up and down the sidewalk. Too quiet. One wouldn’t know a gang of burglars had set up shop in the neighborhood.
Raising her hands above her head, she stretched upward as far as she could, then leaned to the left, then over to the right. A few leg stretches, and she started off down the street at a slow jog. The air on her face was invigorating. Soon she’d blocked out all thoughts of the stakeout and Conor.
She set her pace for the small park about half a mile away. As she went around the corner, she picked up speed, but it wasn’t until she reached the tree-lined running trail that she lengthened her stride and a rush of adrenaline flowed through her veins.
The world ceased to exist. She could feel the beat of her heart. Trees blurred. She ran faster and faster, escaping her treacherous thoughts. But Jessica knew she couldn’t run forever. Sooner or later she’d have to face Conor again, and the feelings he stirred deep inside her.
No, she didn’t want to think about him. Free her mind, that’s what she needed to do.
A man stepped from the trees in front of her. She skid ded to a halt, bouncing on the balls of her feet so she wouldn’t lose her momentum. He didn’t look like someone who was out for a brisk walk in the early morning air. More like a transient. Scraggly hair, dirty, ripped clothes, and as he ambled closer, she realized she was downwind and the man had a really bad body odor. He smiled, showing yellowed teeth.
She moved to the right, so did he. This didn’t bode well. Damn it, all she’d wanted was a nice run to blow off a little steam. Deep breath. She’d try to reason with him.
“I happen to be running. I’d appreciate it if you would move out of my way.” She’d give him the benefit of the doubt.
“No,” he growled. “I know you joggers carry a little money on ya. I want it.”
His gaze slid over her, making her want to run back to the house and take a bath.
“And maybe I want more from ya than your money. You’re a pretty little thing.” He rubbed his crotch.
Gross. “You stink, you’re ugly, and I work for my money. Why in the hell would I give it to you or let you put your hands on me?”
He glowered at her. “ ‘Cause I’m bigger. I take what I want and no one tells me any different. They call me Mack—as in truck. Ain’t nothin’ can stop a big rig.”
You have got to be kidding.
“Like I said. Just step aside and let me go by.”
He grabbed her arm instead.
His first mistake. She was ready to kick ass and get rid of some of the tension building inside her.
She twisted around, grabbed his arm, bent over for leverage, and tossed him over her shoulder like he was nothing more than a bag of trash. He landed with a loud grunt, but for a big man, he came back up pretty fast.
And he was past the point of anger, but then so was she. Come on you sleazeball!
Shaking his head, he barreled toward her like an enraged bull. She bounced on the balls of her feet, sidestepped at the last second, and stuck her foot out. He hit the ground with a hard thud.
“Gawd-damned bitch. When I get through with you, you’re not going to look so pretty. Right after I fuck your brains out.”
He lurched to his feet, but before he could make a move toward her, she twisted her body and swung her leg up and out, connecting with his face. He staggered into the tree behind him, wiping blood from his mouth.
She was tired of giving him the chance to back off. When he lumbered toward her, she gave one swift punch to his nose, he doubled over, and she landed a perfectly executed karate chop to the back of his neck. Like felling a big oak, he crashed to the ground. She didn’t think he’d be getting up any time soon.
“Wow! Too cool!” A voice spoke behind her.
She whirled around, arms up, ready to fight this new intruder.
The young man stumbled backwards. “Whoa, lady. I was hurrying over to help, but before I could, you kicked his butt.” He looked at her with awe. “Good job, too.”
She relaxed. “Thanks.” The kid couldn’t be more than sixteen. Cute, with a very disarming grin. She bet the girls drooled over this one.
“I called 9-1-1 a couple of seconds ago.” He held up a cell phone. “What was that you did, anyway? Karate? What belt?”
She laughed at his exuberance. “I’m a black belt.” What he’d said flowed past the adrenaline still rushing through her. He’d called 9-1-1. The cops would be here any minute. The newspaper, radio, and TV stations would hear it over their scanners and probably show up, too. She didn’t need any publicity.
“Hey, I’m in kind of a hurry, and I really don’t want my picture taken. Do me a favor and tell them I took off before you got a good look at me.”
His eyes widened. “You’re not like superwoman or anything, are you? I mean, I’ve been reading a lot about people with superhuman powers and stuff.” He must have realized how he sounded, because he blushed and lowered his head.
“Nope, I’m just an average woman whose father made her take self-defense classes right along with her brother.”
Sirens sounded in the background.
“And one who’d better take off. Thanks for calling the cops, kid. The world could use a few more Good Samari tans.”
She turned and left in the opposite direction of the sirens. Damn, she felt good… she felt pumped.
Okay, so maybe she did miss being a cop sometimes. But it still didn’t change the fact that she desperately needed to feel like a lady, and didn’t.
Drat! She wanted to feel feminine. All soft and pretty and whatever the fuck a lady was supposed to feel like. How the hell could she be feminine when bad guys were practically falling out of the trees? Especially when she had to kick their asses. Life was really complicated sometimes.
Conor paused in the bedroom when he heard the front door open and close. Jessica must be back. He smoothed the bedspread and straightened his pillow. She couldn’t accuse him of not picking up after himself.
He surveyed the nice, orderly room. He’d even straightened the bathroom, hanging Jessica’s damp towel over the shower rod so it could dry. Thinking about the terry cloth rubbing over her glistening skin had given him a damn hard-on. What the hell was his life coming to?
And what the hell had he been trying to do this morning? Talking about picnics and touch football and making love under the trees. He hadn’t been trying to run her off. Hell, he wanted to have sex with the woman.
He planted his palms on the bathroom counter and stared at his reflection. “You’re going to blow the whole operation if you don’t quit thinking about having sex with Jessica.”
Voices drifted up the stairs. Frowning, he went to the door and opened it a crack.
Jessica?
What the hell was she wearing? When she’d walked out of the kitchen, she’d had on a white shirt. Now she was wearing some kind of stretchy… thing. He frowned, forcing his gaze away from the amount of skin she was displaying, and turned his attention to the woman who’d come inside with her. He’d known Jessica would get into trouble going off by herself.
“Oh, I couldn’t show you the upstairs, Trudy. I haven’t cleaned it yet.”
The flaxen-haired woman waved away Jessica’s protests. “Oh, honey, don’t worry about that. George and me are still newly weds ourselves. Hell, we practically live in the bedroom.” She slapped Jessica hard on the back, nearly sending her to the floor.
So this was the bride. Conor let his gaze roam over her. Buxom was a mild word. Her shirt fit like a glove, the horizontal stripes emphasizing the girth of her chest. And he’d heard of short shorts before, but never thought they could be that short without being illegal.
The woman looked about as fake as her husband’s Ital ian accent. They were obviously made for each other.
George with his gold ch
ains and patent-leather shoes, and her with her bleached-blond bouffant hairdo and high heels. They made the perfect couple. He stifled a laugh, jerking back when George’s bride glanced up the stairs.
Irritation quickly replaced his humor. How in the hell had Jessica gotten herself into this fix? He shouldn’t have let her go running. Instead of the woman it could easily have been the old man or George’s brother, Barry.
Jessica was a sexy, vibrant young woman. They were sleazeballs, and with their background, anything could’ve happened if she’d met up with one of them. How would she defend herself against someone four times her size? He’d talk to her first chance he got.
“I just love that little balcony upstairs,” Trudy drawled. “And I’ve always wanted to see it up close.”
Jessica grabbed the other woman’s arm. “Let me show you the downstairs first.”
Conor quietly closed the door. His gaze darted around the room as he surveyed the tidy bed—damn, the air mattress across the hall! He couldn’t let her see the extra bed or she’d know something was up.
He slipped into the hall and hurried across to where Jessica had slept. He pulled the plug. Nothing. Damn, a safety valve. It would be nightfall before the mattress deflated.
Now what?
The closet.
He shoved, but it wouldn’t fit. No choice. He’d hide it in his room.
After opening the door and checking to make sure the coast was clear, he scrambled across the hall to his room. He dragged the mattress inside and squished it under the bed—at least one corner. That was all that would fit.
Their voices were getting louder. He shoved again. Nothing. If George’s wife saw the air mattress, she’d immediately know something was wrong. What if she told.
George and the rest of the clan? They’d be suspicious. Probably drop out of sight. Jessica’s father would lose his job. There was only one thing to do. He slipped his knife from his pocket.
Chapter 10
Firrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrttttt!
“What was that noise?” Trudy barged up the stairs.
Before she had climbed more than two steps, Jessica grabbed her arm. “Noise? What noise?” She didn’t even want to imagine what Conor could possibly be doing.