by Silver James
He drove in silence, his big hand loosely gripping the steering wheel, the other braced on the shifter. Lauren tried to watch the scenery, but the roadside was a dark blur. Shooter had done something to lower the lights on the dashboard so his face was swathed in shadow. She resorted to studying him again. She pegged his age somewhere around forty, give or take a few years. Short hair, a dark brown but with a bit of highlight from the sun. Stubbly beard lining his jaw and chin. Would the scruff be soft or bristly?
The man’s biceps bulged beneath the long sleeves of the T-shirt he wore, which was only fitting considering the width of his shoulders. Not that she was shallow or anything. Of course, most of the men who’d asked her out had been of the nerdy persuasion and Shooter was anything but that. He was male squared. Men like him didn’t make passes at girls who wore glasses, she reminded herself as she pushed her pair up higher on her nose.
“May I ask you a question?”
She caught a gleam of light flashing in his eyes, almost like a dog’s eyes at night. No, not a dog. Something wilder, more feral.
“S’long as you remember what they say about curiosity.”
“I am not a cat,” she huffed.
He laughed. No, his little mouse was not a cat. “What do you want to know?”
“Where are you taking me?”
“To my place.”
She breathed around the sudden panic blossoming in her chest. “Your place?”
Her voice squeaked again. Tait should find it irritating instead of cute. “Yeah. You’ll stay there until Hannah and Mac can make arrangements.”
“So…where exactly is your place?”
Tait almost didn’t tell her. He’d been tracking her crazy movements for almost a week before he caught up to her in Nowhere, Iowa. All things considered, he was amazed she’d managed to stay out of Black Roots’ hands. From his research, she’d probably been trying for Chicago, thinking to get lost in the big city. Except that wasn’t as easy as most people thought. Still, he should give her some idea because they had a long trip ahead of them—over twenty hours if they didn’t stop for anything but gas and drove straight there following an interstate. “Montana.”
“Montana?” she screeched.
Chapter 4
Tait winced and wondered if his ears were bleeding.
“Montana?” she asked again, more squeak and less screech this time. “I can’t go to Montana!”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” Her hands flailed between them, her voice still in the upper ranges of painful.
“I asked you first.”
“Montana is…it’s…I mean…” She inhaled. Several times. “There’s nothing in Montana. I mean besides cows and empty land and mountains. There are mountains in Montana, right? Oh, and there’s an air force base. I knew that. I received some archives from them once and I had to digitize them at the Pentagon and…” She clapped her mouth shut. “I didn’t say that. It’s classified.”
He curled his lips between his teeth to keep from laughing. “I have a top security clearance that’s never been revoked. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Why are we going to Montana?”
“Because that’s where I live. Plus, I doubt the Black Root operatives on your trail will look for you there. You’re a city mouse.”
“Am not,” she huffed.
“Yeah, ya are, darlin’.”
“I am not a mouse.”
He hid his smile. She so was and cute to boot. He jerked his thoughts away from the path they were following. His wolf growled. The wolf liked their mouse. A lot. The man refused to consider the implications. Lauren Reilly was a job. A favor to a friend. Period. He didn’t have the time or inclination for a mate and the idea of being moonstruck? Oh, to the hell no. Lone wolf, he reminded his other half. The damn thing sneezed at him.
“I have a ranch in Montana. No one will be able to get to you there. People are working to make long-term arrangements for your safety. Until then, you’re my guest.”
She folded her arms across her chest—a chest he’d studiously avoided noticing until her actions plumped up breasts so enticing he wanted to bury his face between them. Yeah, if he mentioned her tits, she’s be pissed. With that thought in mind, he opened his mouth.
Lauren beat him to it by dropping her arms and ordering, “Eyes up, buster!” He obliged, returning his gaze to the road. She wasn’t done. “I want a definition of guest. And…” She squirmed in her seat. “When are we stopping for gas?”
Gas? The truck’s tank was almost full. He could drive over 400 miles before needing gas, so several hours. Then he figured out the squirming. “You need to pee.” It wasn’t a question and the pink blossoming on her cheeks was visible in the dark. “Next truck stop we come to. You can take care of business, I’ll top off the tank, and we’ll grab some food.”
“Are you always so blunt?” she groused.
“Yup.”
“Fine. Just…fine.” She rolled her shoulder and shifted so her back was partially to him and she was staring out the passenger side window.
Thirty minutes later, his mouse had her pit stop, a giant frozen drink—which would necessitate another stop in an hour or so, a bag full of snacks, and a neck pillow Tait purchased for her. It was pink. With little mice wearing pajamas splattered across it. He’d laughed when he found it. She’d scowled. He bought it anyway and tucked it into the back seat. She’d need it eventually.
They hit the road again. Lauren was asleep before she finished the bag of chips in her lap or the drink in the cup holder. Easing to the shoulder, Tait moved the chips and dumped the drink, lowered her seat, stuffed the pillow around her neck, then pulled the fleece blanket over her. She’d need the warmth because he was about to crank the air conditioning. He’d been running on hot from the moment he first caught her scent in the roadhouse.
****
Lauren kept her eyes closed, wondering how long she’d been asleep. Sunlight glowed on the other side of her eyelids so it was morning. Someone—okay, Shooter—had thrown the blanket over her. In her sleep, she’d pulled it up to her face, and even now, she wanted to bury her nose to keep inhaling the scent clinging to the fleece. Shooter’s scent. It was deadly to the female libido. She should be stiff but the stupid mouse pillow had worked. Her stomach grumbled and she needed to… She almost sighed but caught herself since she was pretending to be asleep. She’d never say it aloud but yes, she needed to pee. And she was thirsty. Hungry.
“I know you’re awake.”
His low voice rumbled in the cocooned silence of the truck, and it was so rich she could almost imagine the sound caressing her skin. “No, I’m not,” she replied, dead pan. “I’m dreaming that I’m talking.” Well, not exactly. She was dreaming of the sexy man sitting less than two feet away from her.
He chuckled. “I’m hungry too. We’ll stop soon. Can you wait?”
Appreciating his reticence, she nodded and fumbled for the seat controls so she could sit up. “Do we have time for real food? Like a sit-down breakfast?”
Tait wanted to push through. For the past two hours, the hair on the back of his neck had prickled. Like Lauren, he was tired of the truck and wanted real food as well. Still uneasy, he agreed. “Yeah, we can sit down and have real food.”
The feeling of being hunted hadn’t lessened by the time they were back on the road. He’d been careful to keep Lauren’s face off the security cameras. Anyone with good hacking skills could run a broad spectrum facial recognition program. Time to hit the byways instead of the highways. He’d get them to Rapid City then backtrack, and they’d go to ground for some sleep and he could run traps of his own.
The sun was sinking behind the mountains when they pulled into Laflin, South Dakota. Sturgis was a quick run to the north, Deadwood to the northwest. He had contacts both places. Laflin was one of those towns that had boomed once but was now on the tattered side of Population 300. There was an old motel with a gas station attached. Good enough. H
e topped off the gas tank and discovered he had to go inside to pay. Cash. No fancy credit card machines here. Not that Tait was using cards this trip. No security cameras either. The holstered .44 Colt on the clerk’s hip negated the need. Anyone stupid enough to attempt a hold-up wouldn’t survive.
“Motel room?”
“Fifty a night, cash. In advance.” The clerk spat tobacco juice into a Styrofoam cup.
Tait pulled a fifty off the roll in his pocket. “Check out time?”
“Just bring the key here when you go. You leave before we open in the mornin’, shove it through the mail slot. You need ice or anything, gotta buy a bag from the machine outside. Two bucks. Vending machine over there don’t work. Ain’t no coffee maker in the room. You want anything, walk your ass over here an’ buy it.”
“Any place to eat in town?”
“Diner few blocks down. They close at sundown.” The old man squinted out the window. “You hurry, you might get an order in.” He handed the key over but didn’t turn loose as Tait took hold. “We don’t like trouble ’round here.”
“Not too fond of it myself.” The man’s grip loosened and Tait nodded, accepting both the key and the unwritten warning. He didn’t like trouble, but if it came calling, he’d deal with it.
When he climbed into the cab of the truck, Lauren was eyeing the gas station, her expression dubious. He also noticed that her knees were clenched together. She really needed to regulate her intake of coffee. “I got us a room. It should be nominally cleaner than the station.”
She cut her eyes his direction. “Well, how hard could that be?”
She inserted enough sarcasm into her voice to get a quick grin from him, though he shifted in his seat, drawing her eyes. Her cheeks heated, and she swore never to use the word “hard” within hearing distance of him ever again. Lauren really wished he wouldn’t look at her the way he was. His grin sent up red flags her libido immediately ignored. Heck, even his scowl caused fireworks to go off inside her fantasies. She pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, hand freezing in mid-motion as the import of his statement hit her.
“A room? As in one room? For both of us?” Darn it, why did her voice have to go all wobbly like that whenever she thought about being close to him. It wasn’t like they hadn’t shared close quarters for the past however many hours since he’d rescued her from the roadhouse. Except she hadn’t noticed his very physical reaction to her before now and she hadn’t used that word she now swore not to say—or even think.
“Yeah, one room. That way I can keep an eye on you.”
He parked in front of one of the cabins, backing in so the truck faced out toward the road. Puzzled, Lauren peeked at him, hoping for an explanation. He must have read her expression because he added, “You didn’t like the last J-turn I did, plus there’s not much room in this lot for evasive maneuvers.”
She blinked a few times, translating his action hero speak. “Oh. You’re parking like this in case we need a quick getaway.” Satisfied, she twisted to reach behind the seat and clonked her head on Shooter’s elbow. “Oww!” She rubbed at the sting, glaring.
“Sorry.”
No, he wasn’t. He looked like he was swallowing laughter. Jerk. “I can get my own backpack.”
He held up both hands, palms out and leaned away. “Suit yourself. Just being a gentleman.”
“Ha!” The derisive snort burst from her louder than she’d anticipated. His chuckle, on the other hand, was the precise tone and sound level to caress her insides and put her in mind of sexy things. Dirty things that she would never in her life do for real. Except maybe with— She shuddered as Shooter leaned over her back, breathing hard, his nose buried in the hair at the nape of her neck. He inhaled and the feminine places on her body clenched. Her libido and her ego had squared off like Old West gunslingers. She could even hear the theme from “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” in her head.
Just as quickly as he’d leaned over her, the heat and weight of him was gone. Lauren reminded her lungs to fill with air. Then she focused on her hand, closed her fingers over the straps of her backpack, and with utmost care, she settled back into her seat. She so needed to get away from this guy before she did something so far beyond the pale that she’d never return. Giving in to her libido was a journey fraught with danger.
“Let’s go, mouse.” He swung out of the truck, then opened the back door to grab his own duffel.
“I’m not a mouse,” she huffed. “Or a cat.”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
Tait got the door open, stepped inside for a security sweep, then motioned for Lauren to enter. She brushed past and her scent washed over him. He’d never be able to eat a blueberry muffin ever again. Not unless he claimed her. He dropped his duffel. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Yeah, just as soon as he walked off the raging erection making his dick rub against the buttons on his fly. He’d take a walk, scout the terrain. Because that’s what bodyguards did. He wasn’t running away from her. Not at all. He backed out the door and closed it, leaning against it to order, “Lock the door and don’t open it for anyone but me.”
Then he ran.
****
Tait, bent over at the waist, one hand braced on the door as he studied the lock. He could jimmy it, or he could just kick in the door. He’d been in such a rush to get away from the temptation the damn woman represented that he’d forgotten to grab the key. Before he could straighten, the door was jerked open. Off balance, he sprawled at Lauren’s feet. She held an ice bucket, her face registering shock.
“You should come with a warning sound. You know, that beep, beep, beep trucks and stuff make when backing up?” And he should. The man was far too sneaky for her peace of mind. And probably her virtue if she wanted to go there. Not that she did. Nope. Not. At. All.
“I knocked.”
“I didn’t hear you.”
He stood and made a show of looking around the tiny motel room. Two double beds, a fiberboard dresser, with a matching night stand between the beds. He stared down at her, not believing her for a minute. His little mouse looked ready to scurry through a crack and disappear.
She lifted her chin. “I was in the shower.”
“Uh huh.”
“I was,” she insisted as he made a show of leaning down to sniff her.
“Dry hair. No scent of soap. Still wearing the same clothes. And I should believe you why?”
What was up with his always sniffing her? Lauren fought the urge to lift her elbow and sniff her armpits. She fidgeted with the ice bucket instead. If he’d come back in time to catch her, she planned to use going for ice as an excuse. It wasn’t like he’d ordered her stay in the room. He’d told her to stay put. And to lock the door behind him. “Stay put” could be open to interpretation. Right?
After he left, she found the key on the dresser. Had it been some sort of test? Probably. But a test of what? Her brain spun like a whirligig in a gale. Trust. The word swirled around and around in her thoughts. Well, fine. But trust went both ways, right? Still, she wanted out. She wanted to call Treece to see if this man was on the right side, on her side. There had to be a pay phone somewhere. And she was hungry. She’d just gotten up her nerve, opened the door, and the darn man fell at her feet.
Tait rolled to his feet, shut and locked the door, using the safety chain. He cocked his head to study her, noted the ice bucket with a dip of his chin. “Going somewhere?”
She managed a decent imitation of a bobble-head doll, head shaking side-to-side in the negative. She was lying. The putrid scents of rotten eggs and rotten apples formed a cloud of guilt and lies around her. He didn’t need this shit—and he’d told Mac McIntire just that once he’d set up the new burner phone he bought in Rapid City. Too bad the SOB was still laughing when Tait hung up on him.
The forty-watt bulb in the table lamp didn’t cast much light but he could see the things he’d missed before. Lauren Reilly was a little thing—compared to him.
Wearing heels, the top of her head might reach his shoulder. As it was, she stood maybe 5’3” in her bare feet. Dripping wet, she’d be a handful of curves and smooth skin and once he got that stupid bun out of her hair, curtains of silky, blonde hair. She stared at him through the large lenses of her black-framed glasses and blinked.
Lauren’s mouth went dry as he hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, drawing her gaze down his body. She swallowed hard. This wasn’t fair. She was a red-blooded female. Okay, she hadn’t dated much—and never anyone as hunky as this man, but still. She choked down the whimper building in her throat.
Inhaling deeply, Tait scented blueberries and cinnamon—Lauren and desire. His wolf paced just beneath his skin. Ours, insisted his animal half. No. The human was adamant. This was a job, not a seduction.
Then something short-circuited in his brain. She was close enough to touch, so he did. And then he kissed her. He was so screwed.
Chapter 5
Lauren froze as muscular arms slid around her. Something flashed deep in Shooter’s eyes as he bent his head and captured her mouth. Breathing became optional as he attacked, a brazen assault like Marines taking a beachhead, or Vikings invading England. He was taking no prisoners as he rampaged through her countryside. Any woman should be forgiven for surrendering to a conqueror as sexy as this one.
Her hands fisted in his T-shirt and one knee rubbed up his thigh. It would be so easy to cup her sexy little ass in his hands, lift her and get her pussy centered over his dick. So much for the boner he’d just spent the last half-hour walking off. Control. He needed to find some. She was just a job. And she wasn’t his type. She was smart. A real brainiac. And cute. And curvy. And sexy. And ours, his damn wolf insisted.
Just when Lauren feared the worst—whether that was ever drawing a real breath again or if they’d finally tumble onto the bed so Shooter could ravage her, he broke the kiss. He lifted his head. She followed, blindly trying to recapture his mouth. She wasn’t done yet. She felt reckless and alive and…horny. The thought sent blood flooding into her cheeks and her skin heated with the blush. It took the sound of his low growl for Lauren to open her eyes. She froze. His green eyes flashed gold as light reflected in them. He looked untamed, primal, and she could find very little humanity in his gaze.