“Good muscle definition,” he said as she strode to the treadmill. His voice held a sexy, smoldering quality.
“Thanks.” Heat flushed her face, then rushed downward to bead her nipples. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I know I have a long way to get in shape.”
He snorted. “Yeah? What I see right now looks damned right perfect.”
More heat flooded her body, shooting pinwheels of unrepentant arousal dancing through her breasts, then lingering between her legs. The man could turn her on faster than anyone ever had. Alec included. Desire resurrected so fast she reeled from chaotic emotion.
Damn. She took a deep breath and didn’t look at him. After all, that’s part of the reason she found herself in this sexually frustrating pickle in the first place.
As she paced slowly on the treadmill, he stood and walked toward her. Oh, please. Don’t come any closer. I might implode right here.
He hooked the towel around his neck and held on to both ends. “We need to talk about a few things.”
Marisa almost tripped. “What?”
“You should be more careful.”
With double meaning, she grinned sardonically and said, “Oh believe me, I’m careful.”
“That’s not what it looked like last night while you were walking in the parking lot that late.”
She grabbed her water bottle from the slot on the machine and took a long swallow. After she’d gulped the cold water, she found her voice. “What are you talking about, Jake?”
“I saw you walking in the parking lot alone last night. Hell, even if you weren’t getting those calls, it isn’t that safe for a woman to walk through a dark parking lot by herself.”
“It’s not dark. There’s a light back there. And Freddie was with me.” She glared at him. “Were you spying on me?”
“I happened to look out the kitchen window. I saw you walking by. I didn’t see Freddie.”
Resentment rose up. She clicked off the treadmill, mad that he’d interrupted her enjoyment of torturous exercise. She stepped off the exercise equipment and found herself planted right next to him. “Honestly, Jake, I don’t understand this. Why the concern?”
His expression didn’t soften, his eyes dark with intent, driven to make a point. “Like I said, it’s dangerous.”
“Give me a break. Are you kidding me? Excuse me, Chief Sullivan, but since when are you my daddy? As little kids like to say, you aren’t the boss of me.”
He cupped her face for a second, his thumb brushing over her cheek in a warm caress filled with gentleness. “Look, I’m not trying to boss you around. With the calls…hell, it just scared me when I thought you were in the parking lot by yourself. I was worried about you. I’m sorry I came on strong.”
Her ire throttled back. She drew in a deep breath and enjoyed his touch. Her skin tingled when his warm, slightly callused skin brushed over her cheek again. Then he released her.
She reached for the squeeze bottle of water and sucked down a good-sized gulp to avoid saying anything. As if she could think of anything coherent to say.
One corner of his mouth turned up in a rueful attempt at a grin. “Forgive me?”
“I don’t know if I should.”
She planted the water bottle back in the cup holder on the treadmill. She was aware of her breasts heaving up and down with each breath, her bare midriff touched by cool air.
He nodded, his eyes narrowed in speculation. “Okay. Don’t forgive me. But tell me one thing.”
“What?”
“Why are you nervous around me? What have I done?”
Alarm streaked through her. She hadn’t expected this question. Jake was far too good at ferreting out the truth. “I’m not nervous. It’s your imagination.”
He shook his head and gripped the ends of the towel hanging around his neck. “You’ve already said you’re not afraid of me, but then it has to be something else.”
“Nope.”
Her clipped answer didn’t stop him. He edged closer. “Prove it, then.”
“What?” She made a scoffing sound. “I don’t have to prove anything. You’re nuts, Chief.”
“This isn’t my imagination, Marisa. You’re as jumpy as a cat on speed.”
She snorted softly. “Now that’s an image. Thanks a lot. I realize my hair has a tendency to look like I’ve stuck my finger in a light socket sometimes but—”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“All right, I guess I am a bit jumpy. I think it’s because of Ramon.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“The head creep who robbed our bus in Mexico.”
“Damn,” he said softly. “You said someone threw you into a seat. That’s the asshole you’re talking about?”
“Yeah. He…he was verbally abusive. He called me a whore and a…cunt, and a few other choice words. That’s when he threw me into the seat. He pawed my breasts.”
“Oh, shit.” Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck.”
She shivered. “Exactly. I thought he was going to do something else…something worse. At one point he took me off the bus, stuck a knife under my chin and said he was going to slit my throat.”
Jake scrubbed his hand over his chin. “Ah, Jesus.”
She swallowed hard. “When I said I’d cooperate…when I said I wouldn’t cause any trouble he backed off some.”
“Do you know why he singled you out to threaten your life?”
She tossed him a small grin. “Probably because when he pawed my breast, I kneed him in the nuts.”
Jake smiled widely. “Good for you.” He stepped closer, one hand coming up to press her shoulder. As if he realized his intensity might frighten her, his eyes softened. “If I could have gotten a hold of that bastard, I would have…” He smiled grimly. “You don’t want to know what I would have done. I’m sorry you had to go through that. But you know I’d never hurt you, right? I’d never touch you in any way you didn’t want.”
She nodded, knowing full well he’d guard her with his life. It was a surreal, gratifying sensation knowing a man would put himself on the line for her like that.
His head lowered, coming closer to her, and she sucked in a breath. His scent, despite the exercise, was still man fresh. Fresh and masculine enough to send a pulsating awareness into her belly.
“There it is,” he said.
“What?” Marisa asked, daring him as her eyes locked with his.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back up to look deeply into hers. “That little hitch of breath. As if being this close to me does something to you. As long as it’s not fear. God, please don’t let it be fear.”
Her lips parted, and although she considered moving away, she didn’t. “You don’t do anything to me, Jake.” A wild idea came to mind. “I can kiss you and move away without anything happening. I’ll prove it.”
She slipped her hand behind his neck and brought him down to her.
His mouth covered hers, settling with gentle, probing attention. Warm, soft, exploratory, his kiss tasted without venturing too deep and shattering her sense of control. A muffled moan left her throat, and she steeled against his delicious, clean taste and all the nerve endings tingling in response. Before she knew it, his kiss grew deeper, but not too intimate. Her hands landed on his chest. His bare muscles moved under her touch, the crisp feeling of the hair over his chest adding erotic sensation. Before she could battle back the desire, her lips responded and Marisa kissed him back. Her lips parted, and with one delicious thrust, his tongue plunged inside. He retreated almost at once, and the teasing sent pinwheels of excitement dancing through her stomach, hardening her nipples into tight peaks that wanted his touch. She wanted his tongue in her mouth again. His tongue on her nipples. Between her legs.
With a gasp, she pulled back and took a step away. Her breath came hard and so did his, but she never expected to see the surprised, startled expression lighting his eyes. His fists balled at his side.
“Is that
why you’re nervous? Because of what happened to you on the bus?” he asked. “Or because you’re attracted to me?”
“Jake Sullivan, you could learn a little subtlety.”
“I thought I was being subtle.”
She sniffed. “I’m not nervous and I’m not…” Attracted. Oh, she was way beyond attracted. But she’d be damned if she’d let him know that. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do. Don’t presume anything.”
Her composure rattled, she took her water bottle, snatched her T-shirt and left. When she closed the basement door, she made certain she stomped up the stairs.
***
The steady hum of voices rose from the bar below Marisa’s apartment, and she rolled over onto her right side. She’d fallen into bed at nine o’clock, exhausted. It didn’t make sense that she’d awakened now. Though she’d slept for an hour, the drone of voices now kept her awake, where before it acted as soothing white noise.
She rolled over onto her back and stared at her surroundings, visible under the silver light of the full moon. Air conditioning hummed on, and she decided it had become too cool in the bedroom. She left the bed and trailed across the hardwood floor to reach the thermostat. She’d just turned it down when her phone rang. She almost jumped completely out of her skin. Fear froze her solid for a few seconds. Only her parents and a couple of friends had the number. The clock read eleven o’clock. She dashed to the bedside table and grabbed the phone. She flipped on the small stained-glass lamp.
“Hello?” When no one answered, she inquired louder. “Hello?”
“You’re not safe. I know where you are,” the low, husky voice said. It sounded muffled and hoarse, as if trying to disguise its real sound.
The connection went dead. She held the phone to her ear longer than necessary. A solid shiver wracked her body as apprehension made her look around the semi-dark room.
She put down the phone and stared at the receiver. Weird. Feeling out of sorts and jumpy, sleep entirely banished, she slipped into jeans and a T-shirt that advertised a resort she’d been to once in Colorado. After putting on her athletic shoes and brushing her hair, she left her apartment. As she traversed the semi-dark hallway, she passed by Jake’s apartment. Of course, he’d be downstairs in the tavern. She didn’t relish the idea of seeing him, really, but at the same time, she wanted his presence as a comfort. She wanted the noise, the sound of people surrounding her. She didn’t want to be alone with that hoarse, dangerous voice.
“Damn it,” she said.
Once she stepped through the entranceway downstairs, the noise increased ten-fold. Even at eleven o’clock on a weeknight, her uncle’s pub managed a brisk business. Round tables scattered here and there seated groups of six to eight, while others seated far less. Liquor was flowing and would be until midnight. Dexter didn’t close the bar until one o’clock, per city ordinance, but he liked to wean people off the booze earlier in the evening. A jukebox played an old REO Speedwagon tune, and a burst of hearty laughter echoed across the room. She entered the bar without many people noticing her, thank goodness. She hadn’t come here to socialize so much as feel the comfort of safety in numbers.
How stupid. I was safe upstairs. Whoever is making prank calls just wants to scare me.
Fuck it. It had worked.
Still, she enjoyed the illusion of safety with the murmur of steady conversation lulling her into a sense of security. She perused the interior, loving the way her uncle had transformed the old building in the last few years. He’d taken it from a chrome and glass monstrosity to a rebirth of Victorian ambiance. With lovely touches of Tiffany here and there, portraits of Victorian men, women and children, and cozy dark booths, Dexter’s now had a calmness to it that lasted through loud conversations and the normal clink and clank of human activity. Until she’d returned last week, she’d forgot how much she’d missed it.
She spied Jake leaning back against one wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looked relaxed yet she knew he could spring into action on a moment’s notice. Every line of his body spelled coiled snake, ready to strike when the time came. And it would.
She sidled up to the bar where a few stools stayed unoccupied. “Rudy.”
“Hey, peaches,” the bartender said, his grin so wide and happy-go-lucky it acted as a pick me up. “What’s shakin’?”
Rudy Donatella, a ruddy-faced Italian with a huge nose and big ears, had worked this bar since her uncle opened it. She counted him as an uncle too.
She sighed. “Hit me with glass of whiskey, will you? I need a sedative.”
“Can’t sleep?”
“Some jerk called and woke me up.”
He leaned on the bar. “Who?”
“Don’t know. Probably a teenage prank.”
“Probably.”
He went off to get her whiskey and take care of other orders. Two cocktail waitresses, Margaret and Em, did a steady business serving customers snacks and drinks. The pub didn’t serve complicated food. Agnes in the kitchen whipped up sandwiches and salads with ease. Minutes slid by as Marisa sipped her drink and observed the hustle and bustle. Either the whiskey or the company settled her rattled nerves. Once she caught Jake’s eye. He smiled and nodded, and she summoned a returning grin and gestured at him with her glass. Finally the midnight hour came, and she polished off the small trickle in her glass. It normally took her hours to polish off a whiskey. Despite the late hour and knowing she’d have to retreat to her apartment, she absorbed the sights and sounds.
The crowd had thinned considerably when Mike Dumas stepped up and flopped onto the stool beside her. Oh, great. Just what she needed. He carried his plastic GQ looks to the extreme, his attitude that every woman should find his shoulder length wheat blond hair and classic features appealing. Somehow, she didn’t.
“Hi there. Long time no see, Marisa. How are ya?” Though he had a deep voice, it didn’t carry a candle to the velvet huskiness in Jake’s tone.
“I’m fine. And you?”
“I saw you and couldn’t give up the chance to say welcome home.” His thigh bumped hers, and she flinched.
“Thanks. It’s temporary.” She didn’t want him getting any ideas.
“Too bad.” His bottle green eyes gleamed in the subdued lighting. Physically he was undeniably attractive, but his personality left her heart cold. “Every time I think we could get to know each other, you run out on me.”
She sighed and stared into the bottom of her empty glass. “I’m not your type, Mike, and you know it.”
He slipped his arm around her and squeezed. “How do you know unless you try me on for size?”
Try him on for size. Not give him a chance. She winced. Yuck.
“I don’t think so, Mike.”
“I might be a perfect fit for you.” He winked, and she felt sticky, touched by something nasty. His arm tightened, and she’d had enough.
She looked him straight in the eye and kept her face deadpan. “See, here’s the thing, Mike. I didn’t think you’d be big enough.”
Instantly his cheeks went red, and his mouth curled into the ugly derision she expected. His arm slipped away from her back. “Why you—”
“Problem here?” a deep, concerned voice said behind them.
Mike glanced around, a sneer on his lips. “Beat it, cowboy. I’m talking to the lady.”
“I don’t think so. Everything all right, Marisa?”
She turned her attention toward Jake, who stood stalwart behind them. “I’m fine, Jake. Thanks. I think Mr. Dumas was just leaving.”
Mike slugged back the remainder of his beer, plunked it on the counter in front of him, and left the stool. He glared at her as he turned away. He looked like he wanted to say something scathing but didn’t. Marisa guessed if Jake’s presence hadn’t curtailed him, he would have spewed his usual venom.
“Who is that asshole?” Jake asked his gaze hard and watchful as the man left.
“Mike Dumas. A sometimes regular customer. Depends on if his
girlfriend is happy with him. If she is, he stays away. If not…” She shrugged.
“I get the picture.”
“By the way, I didn’t need your help. I was handling him perfectly fine.”
Jake’s grin was wide and attractive. “Yeah, I got that. I heard what you said. Way to insult a man’s masculinity.”
Before she could stop, her gaze flicked down to the front of Jake’s jeans and landed on his cock. Her face flamed.
When her gaze flicked back to Jake, a knowing grin spread over his lips. Oh, shit. How could she have done that? Now he knew she wondered about his package. Without another word, he turned and left. Watching Jake in action intrigued her far more than it should, but Marisa couldn’t stop herself.
Chapter Four
Marisa kept her place at the bar, drinking water. Several people she hadn’t seen in years strolled by, and her conversations with them dug into old times. She saw Eve Carmichael and her husband Sean O’Callahan. Her uncle had introduced her to Eve one evening in the tavern. She quickly learned that Sean was being sent back to Iraq soon. As a reservist, he wasn’t necessarily immune from multiple deployments to the hot zone. In fact, Eve and Sean had tied the knot quickly in a civil ceremony not long ago before he could be sent to Iraq again.
Marisa didn’t talk to them too long. After all, she didn’t need more reminders of her own past, of what she’d experienced with Alec.
Or that Jake could be sent to Iraq, and she could face a brand new heartache.
Wait. She didn’t need to worry. Sure, she liked Jake. But she didn’t have a connection with him anything like what she’d experienced with Alec. End of story.
Soon her uncle closed up shop with Jake’s help and hers. Uncle Dexter left it to them to extinguish the lights downstairs and was soon off to his own house.
“I’ll turn off the lights,” she said to Jake as she sipped a glass of water and sat in a booth. “I’m staying down here for a bit. I need to wind down.”
He didn’t ask if she’d mind his company—he simply slid into the booth next to her. Not across from her. Right next to her. Great.
Private Maneuvers: Hot Zone Book 3 Page 4