Playing Love's Odds (A Classic Sexy Romantic Suspense)

by Alison Kent

  Everything hinged on how much fuel remained in the trucks as opposed to how much had been pumped into the plane. And whether or not the plane slowed enough to stop when its nose hit the first truck, or if it would push it to the side allowing the whirring props to come in contact with the metal tanks.

  The logistics involved were more than his battered mind could deal with right now. Standing upright was more than his body was up to. Feeling Hannah so close, catching a whiff of coconut and cream from beneath the heavier odors of harsh soap and diesel fumes put him close to total collapse. He'd come so close to losing it all. And still it wasn't over.

  Almost like she sensed his silent sigh Hannah turned in his arms. Catching her sob, he hugged her with the desperation of a man on the verge of a breakdown.

  She looked up, her eyes bright with unshed tears, took his hand and led him to the relic of a sofa propped with a stack of two-by-fours against one wall. She cleared a place to sit, moving aside assorted tools and small engine parts, a half empty bag of moldy Cheetos, a stack of girlie magazines, and gently shoved him down.

  He didn't resist. He didn't even mind, especially when she curled up like a kitten at his side, her hair tumbling over his chest, her right arm behind him, her left across his lap in a strategic place that put a jolt of life back in his bones. Together they waited in the stifling interior, no phone, no electricity.

  The end to the waiting started slowly, an indiscernible shift in tensions both inside the room and out. The first sound was a thud of impact which Logan barely heard over his own pounding heart. Then came the rending split of metal against metal, an echo screeching through the air, a scream too familiar to the one in his dreams.

  Hannah tensed against him. He responded in kind, stiffening beneath her, partly because of the waiting but mostly because of her proximity. He couldn't explain the inappropriate reaction. He could only acknowledge the life-affirming response.

  The scraping shriek rose in intensity, like fingernails down a chalkboard, making his teeth grind together, his skin crawl. Hannah shivered, clamping one hand over her ear even as she huddled closer to him. Then, as quickly as it began it stopped, only the sound of the turbine engines breaking the silence.

  For several seconds longer they sat nestled together until finally Hannah raised her head. "Is that it?" she whispered, a frown creasing her grease-streaked forehead, her scar, a reminder of all that had gone before, bright red against her pale skin.

  Logan swallowed hard and cupped her face in his palm, rubbing his fingertips below the ragged line. His smile was as gentle as he was suddenly feeling, yet more than a bit ironic. "A bit anti-climactic wouldn't you say?"

  "Are you going to look?" she asked, leaning into his caress, her eyelids drooping.

  He shook his head, sliding his thumb over her lower lip. "Not right away."

  "Do you want me to?"

  "No," he shouted, then repeatedly more gently, "No. I want you right here." He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. He needed her warmth. Even in the stuffy shack he felt chilled to the core of whoever he was. The bone-deep cold of terror. The crippling iciness of near loss. She'd touched him so briefly, so fully. And he didn't want to live without her.

  The aftershock hit him like nothing he'd ever felt, a solid blow to the heart. Here they were, two separate identities, each trusting the other because of all they'd been through, each needing the other in the most elemental of ways. As a friend, he could want no one better. As a soul mate, he'd find no one else. And he couldn't live without her.

  He brushed his lips through her hair, across her forehead, sprinkling kisses down her nose to her mouth. Then he pulled away to look into her eyes. It was over. The charades were at an end. She'd seen past the pretense to his soul, and found Logan Burke deep inside. And he refused to live without her.

  As if she sensed the turmoil churning through him, she asked, "What is it?"

  "Nothing. Everything." He closed his eyes, steeling himself to take this final step. "On the road, I thought a lot about this case. I knew I had to finish it up. Like closing a final chapter before I could get on with the rest of my life."

  Her confusion was evident in both her expression and her voice and he thought he detected the tiniest bit of panic. "So now that it's over you'll be leaving again?"

  His laugh was tinged with sarcasm. "It's far from over. The authorities will handle it like they should have from day one." He stared into her eyes, seeing a reflection of a changed man. It gave him hope. "I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened to you."

  She stroked her hand lovingly down his face. "Shh. Nothing happened."

  "Yeah, right," he said, punctuating his statement with a snort. "Nothing like blowing one case after another."

  "And that's why you came back."

  She still didn't know. How could she when he'd yet to tell her, to put into words what he was feeling? Or even better, to put it into action.

  "No. This is why I came back," he answered, then covered her mouth with his, needing her like he needed air.

  This kiss was the first they'd shared since the realization of how much he loved her had charged through and knocked him for a loop. It left him vulnerable, just a bit shaky, and turned him on like a blowtorch. That response didn't surprise him. The way it overwhelmed him did.

  Her mouth tasted sweet, like heaven, like it belonged to him. Her tongue slid against his in silken invitation, making his resolve disappear along with his reason. Almost. He wanted to take her in the most profound affirmation of life and love, in a raw, earthy, elemental, animal mating, in a flesh against flesh consummation.

  He caught himself just in time and pulled back, his gaze roaming her face. Her eyes drooped with a sleepy sexiness, her nose all the cuter for the smudge of grease across the flushed tip. She held her mouth open, her lips swollen and slick, her tongue a slash of seductive pink against her teeth.

  He wanted to close his eyes and will away the temptation, but kept them open so she would know he was serious as a heart attack.

  "I love you, Hannah Evans. I'll love you forever. I want to come home from a case and find you there. I want to wake up to you every morning. Go to bed with you every night. And possibly," he added, unable to stop the devilish urge, "every afternoon, too."

  She looked surprised for only half a second. Then she looked ecstatic. "It's a deal, but only if you marry me first."

  His heart bounced off his lungs and he laughed from the bottom of his belly. It felt so good. She felt so good. He pulled her against him, tight and forever. Permanently his.

  She tensed and sat up. "Do you smell smoke?"

  "Not only do I smell it, I see it," he answered, glancing out the grungy window at the oily black cloud rising in a thick column. Before he could move from the couch, tires crunched on the gravel outside, doors slammed, one, two, and in the distance, a fire engine whined. Relief swept through him.

  For the next few minutes, Logan held Hannah close while chaos reigned outside. His mind insisted he get off his butt and find out what was going on. His battered butt argued—and won. More sirens blared. Voices shouted orders. Police radios crackled, a sign the good guys had arrived in force. It made the wait easier on his conscience. And as he'd figured it would be, the wait was short.

  The door burst open. Logan couldn't stop the silly grin from taking over his whole face. "What took you so long, McCandliss?"

  Jess McCandliss stood framed in the doorway, the cavalry dressed in black, his chest heaving with each breath he sucked in. His imposing figure filled the rectangle of dusty light, one hand on the knob, one on the jamb.

  "You didn't leave much of a trail, Burke," he drawled, cocking one black eyebrow in an exaggerated what-did-you-expect. "Not much of a trail a-tall. You're one lucky son we saw that smoke when we did."

  Logan glanced to the window and back to Jess. "What's burning?"

  "One of the trucks." McCandliss tossed him an accusing look. "Though I'm a mig
ht surprised to hear of your interest. You seem a bit preoccupied."

  "I'm interested," Logan threw back. "But only because of the two bodies in the plane."

  "Dead bodies?" McCandliss asked, the serious cop replacing the sarcastic man.

  "That or unconscious," Logan answered.

  McCandliss stepped a few feet out the door and shouted more directives. By the time he returned, Logan had managed to struggle to his feet. Unsteady, he propped one arm over Hannah's shoulder and leaned against her.

  She looked up and smiled, the curve of her lips weak and tired, but so damn beautiful. Logan's body tightened. He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers.

  Clearing his throat, McCandliss gave them a once-over, shaking his head, a grin of the cockiest proportions slashed across his face. "I must say you two are a couple of sorry lookin' dogs."

  Too tired to do anything but attempt a glare that failed, Logan sighed instead. "Are you gonna stand there all day or move so we can get outta here?"

  "Considerin' we've got a vol-a-tile situation developin' down the road, gettin' outta here sounds like a hell of an idea," McCandliss replied, drawing out every syllable of every word until they stretched the width of Texas.

  "You know, McCandliss," Logan began, limping toward the door. "That phony twang of yours is getting on my nerves."

  "The hell you say, Burke," McCandliss replied with another son-of-Texas grin, holding the door open wider. "After you ma'am," he said to Hannah.

  Logan rolled his eyes. Taking on Jess McCandliss had always been his favorite part of a case. The fact that he was too tired to think of anything but the lamest comeback, proved how beat he was. "How about a lift, Jess?"

  "Be more than happy to oblige, Burke, considering you don't have much choice in the matter. I gotta take you two back to headquarters to answer some questions."

  "Right now?" Hannah asked, sagging against Logan's side.

  He took in her dirty face, pale beneath the smudges of grease and dust, and looked back at McCandliss. "C'mon, Jess. We can answer questions anywhere."

  "You got some place specific in mind?"

  "My place," Hannah butted in. "I want a hamburger, a hairbrush, a bath, and a bed. And I don't care in what order."

  McCandliss looked from one to the other, clearly having already made his decision and just as clearly enjoying putting Logan on the spot. Finally, he heaved a theatrical sigh. "All right. We'll pick up the burgers on the way. You're on your own with the brush, the bed, and the bath."

  "Thanks, Jess," Logan said and when McCandliss made no move to move added, "Do you mind giving us a minute?"

  "Sure thing," he said with another grin. "I'll just wait for y'all down at the car."

  Once McCandliss made it out of earshot, Logan pushed Hannah inside the shack. He closed the door and backed her against it. For one long minute, until he couldn't stand it any longer, until he felt the first stirring of mad longing turn him thick and hard, he stared into her eyes, his palms cupping her face. Then his mouth descended, claiming what was his.

  He ground his lips over hers, teeth clicking against teeth, whiskered skin rasping over soft, and pressed his body against her fully, boldly, because that's how heavy his need for her was. And how it would always be. He needed her to know that truth as much as he needed to know the answer to what he was about to ask.

  Lifting his head only far enough for his lips to form the words, he asked, "Did you mean it?"

  "What?" Her whisper was breathless, damp, hungry. He swallowed it all, suddenly desperate, suddenly scared beyond belief.

  "You want to marry me?" he asked, his voice gruff, uncertain, shaky with the panic rattling through him. He worried a strand of her hair between his forefinger and thumb. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, forcing blood into the throbbing parts of his body at an alarming rate.

  Her hands flat on his chest, she pushed him back. As painful as the separation was he allowed it. He wanted to hear what she had to say.

  "I don't know where you came from, Logan Burke," she began, her eyes a misty green. "If I have a guardian angel or just incredible karma. What I do know is that I don't want to exist on the fringes of life alone anymore. I want to jump in the middle and live it with you." She laid one palm against his cheek. "But I am a bit nervous."

  "Why?" he asked, exchanging one type of anxious stomach for another.

  "I want you to be sure," she whispered.

  "About you?"

  She shook her head, her eyes bright, her smile brighter. "No. About yourself. You've come a long way in the last couple of weeks. I want you to tell me it's for good."

  "Not only is it for good, it's for always," he said, his relief topped only by his very certain love. "What I feel for you will never go away." He closed the distance between their mouths, breathing his words against her lips, tasting this woman who was his forever. "Because, not only are you the rest of me, you're the best part of me. And I plan on being around a long time."

  "Then let's go home," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  Epilogue

  "I love the car, Logan," Hannah whispered, her lips nuzzling his neck, her tongue darting out to catch a taste of her husband.

  He groaned. She purred, tasting him again. He moaned louder. "But since I have you in the ... uh ... hot seat, do you mind if I ask a wifely kind of question?"

  He wiggled beneath her, shifting his hips lower in the seat, the leather squeaking beneath his bare behind. "I'm not in much of a position—" he stopped to grunt and transfer his weight to his left hip "—to deny you anything right now."

  "I didn't think so." She lifted up and settled more fully on his lap, burying his body more deeply inside of hers. It was where she'd always known he belonged, where she needed him right now like she'd need him forever. "Wait. My knee's stuck ... the gear shift."

  Prying her knee loose was a gratifying experience, especially when Logan hit a spot he'd somehow missed before.

  "You know, Hannah," he growled, making a couple of quick thrusts deep inside her. "When you said you wanted to honeymoon in the car, I didn't think this was what you had in mind."

  She pressed her right knee into his ribs, her left foot dangling out the open car door, her toes curling in the damp sand. The moon spilled over them, it's ethereal light blessing their union. Like a blanket on a wedding bed, the white muslin skirt of her wedding dress covered them while they loved.

  With a sigh of contentment that belied her racing pulse, Hannah nestled her cheek against Logan's chest, pushing aside his starched white tuxedo shirt to get to bare skin. "Be honest, Logan. You wouldn't have it any other way."

  "Having it in a bed would be nice," he complained, turning to putty as her lips found and closed around his nipple.

  "You've had it there and we'll make it back eventually," she murmured against his damp skin. "This is the only honeymoon I plan to have. Indulge me."

  "I think I am."

  "That's because I have you wrapped around my little finger."

  "Let's talk about what you are wrapped around and what you're gonna do about it."

  "I'm doing."

  "Not fast enough to suit me," he griped, grabbing her hips, pulling her against him, pushing her back, reaching under her skirt, between their bodies, stroking his thumb over her sensitive skin, pressing hard against the center of her pleasure.

  Panting, a shudder rippling through her, one interminable wave after another, Hannah managed to ask, "Are you trying to distract me?"

  "I'm doing my damnedest."

  "Well, stop a minute." She socked his shoulder playfully, drawing her thighs together and squeezing him in retribution for the sweet havoc he was unleashing in her body. "I want to know where you got the money for the car."

  "Gid made me a deal," he said, his voice tobacco rough, strangely hoarse for a man who didn't smoke.

  "I can buy that. But still, a '67 Corvette does not come cheap. Deal or no deal. And especially painted yellow."
/>   "Hey," he began, loosening the ties down the front of her lacy peasant blouse. He freed one breast and took it in his mouth, his tongue a wicked, wet brush over the palette of her skin. "No wife of mine is gonna be caught dead in anything less," he finished, his words blowing hot air over her damp skin.

  Her nipple drew taut. Her fingers clenched around his neck. She arched her neck back in wanton invitation. "You're gonna be caught dead if you don't answer me."

  "I forgot the question." His fingers dug into her hips, lifting and separating her bottom, sliding further into the dampest, welcoming part of her body. "I'm a bit preoccupied in case you haven't noticed."

  She framed his face with her hands, wondering if her eyes were as glazed as his. Or if he was as close to exploding. "You didn't do something stupid like sell one of your cars, did you?"

  He copied the gesture, his palms warm on her face. "You always were too nosy for your own good."

  "And look where it got me," she replied, squeezing his hardness that filled her to bursting.

  "I can feel where it got you."

  "Logan," she glared at him nose to nose. "I'm going to get up and walk home."

  He caught her lip between his teeth and bit gently. "No. Don't move. I'll tell you. Just let me catch my breath."

  She sat as still as she could, feeling his throbbing lessen by degrees. Finally, she asked, "Better?"

  "Worse. But I think I can talk." He sucked in a shaky breath. "I got a check. From Vandale and the other chemical companies. A thank-you. Spent it on a wedding present for my wife."

  "That must've been some kind of check."

  "There's some left. Enough to get you off to a good start in med school."

  She pulled back to look at him. She didn't want to be an obligation. "Why?"

  The glassy look in his eyes softened to a glowing warmth, rich and fiery like the smoothest of bourbons. "Because I love you, Hannah."

  "Oh, Logan," she began, then stopped. No words could convey the love she felt, the contentment, the out-and-out desire that went way beyond the physical.

  Right now, however, the physical was what she wanted. As ready as she was, she knew he was primed for explosion, his body quivering with restraint.