IN BED WITH BOONE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Boone grinned. "Hell no, I don't work for the senator. Do you need proof before I can follow my woman to bed? You want some kind of concrete evidence that we're really involved? Fine. She has a birthmark on her ass. It's shaped like the state of Florida, but only if you look at it upside down." He made a square using both hands and tilted it sharply. "Like that."

  Marsh's smile faded quickly. "Crude and interesting, but difficult to verify."

  "Ask her if she has a birthmark," Boone said nonchalantly. "She won't answer, but she will most definitely blush."

  Marsh settled back in his chair and studied Boone like a bug under a microscope. Apparently he was still not convinced. "What do you see in her? A man like you, I'd think you'd go for a more … earthy type."

  Boone's smile faded. "Don't you have eyes? What's not to like? Jayne's beautiful, she's warm, she's … good." The truth. No lies to be dissected by this man or Gurza. "Do you know how few really good people there are in the world? I'm talking about deep-down honest and fair. Jayne doesn't do what's right because it's expected of her, she does it because it's who she is. I don't know a lot of really good people." His jaw tightened. So far he hadn't said a word that wasn't true. "Beyond that, what I see in her is—once again—none of your business." His eyes went hard. "Are you asking all these questions because you have plans for Jayne yourself?"

  "Of course not," Marsh answered indignantly.

  "You'd better not," Boone said. "She's mine. You so much as look at her in a way I don't like, and I will kick your ass right before I haul her out of here."

  Marsh relaxed visibly. He'd bought it, for now, Boone thought. "Well, they do say opposites attract. Perhaps you two are living proof of it."

  Boone unfolded his body from the couch and stood, hoping that if he showed any eagerness to follow Jayne, Marsh would think it was for more earthy reasons than the real one.

  He was going to kill her.

  * * *

  Jayne answered the soft knock, throwing the door back and all but dragging Boone into the room. He closed the door behind him and dropped his duffel bag onto the floor.

  "What are we going to—"

  Boone grabbed her wrist and pulled her hard against his chest, then kissed her. She knew this kiss. It was of the "shut up" variety.

  Slowly he took his mouth from hers. Before she had a chance to speak again, he placed a silencing finger over his lips.

  His eyes scanned the room. He was looking for something.

  "You run in interesting circles, sugar," he said as he began to search the room. He went down on his knees and ran his hands over the underside of the table nearest the door. "This is some fancy place."

  "Yes," she said, immediately understanding what he was doing. But why would Corbin Marsh have his guest rooms bugged? Then again, why would he claim that Andrew Patterson was his nephew? "I'm glad you came," she added in a softer voice.

  "Like you could keep me away."

  He continued his search as they carried on their conversation. Jayne twiddled her thumbs. What could she safely say? They could hardly talk about the weather.

  "I was afraid you might be mad at me," she said softly. "You know, after the things we said last time we saw each other."

  He smiled crookedly. "So, should I cut my hair?" He got down on the floor and spent several long seconds looking under the bed.

  "No," Jayne said as Boone stood and went to the window, running his hands around the frame. "I like it, fashionable or not. It suits you." She couldn't imagine Boone in a suit, his hair cut short and his manner dignified. She liked him just as he was. Wild and unrestrained and noble.

  He continued to search the room, looking in the smallest crevices and around every piece of furniture. "I noticed that you left the T-shirt I bought you behind. No big deal," he added. "It wasn't expensive or anything. I just wondered if you were trying to say something by getting rid of it."

  Her breath hitched. She'd slept in that shirt last night, in her Flagstaff hotel, even though her own nightgowns were available. "I was a little angry, I guess," she admitted. She hadn't thought she'd ever see Boone again. Keeping remembrances would be silly. Unnecessary. Painful.

  "I brought it with me," he said, his back to her.

  "Good."

  Boone's search was thorough, but so far he'd found nothing. "I can't believe you called me BooBoo in front of someone else," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I warned you what would happen if you ever called me by that stupid name when there was anyone over the age of six months around."

  "Repercussions," she said softly.

  "Exactly." Boone lay down on the floor and stared up at the underside of the bedside table. He shook his head, rolled up and pointed to his ear. Someone was listening.

  "Drew was afraid of you," she said. "If you had smiled, instead of glowered, I likely would not have had to resort to the BooBoo defense."

  "I don't glower," Boone said as he walked toward her.

  "You're glowering now."

  When he reached her, Boone bracketed her face with his hands and stared down at her. He shook his head in what might have been dismay. "You drive me crazy," he said. "Why on earth did you come all this way without even telling me where you were headed?"

  "I needed to get away," she said. True enough, no matter who was listening.

  "Come on." Boone dropped his hands from her face and grabbed her hand. "I need a shower." He pulled her toward the private bath, grabbing his duffel bag as they passed.

  "There's no shower," she said as she followed. "Just a whirlpool bath."

  "That'll do," Boone said.

  When they were in the bathroom with the door closed, he quickly searched for more listening devices. He didn't find any, but was taking no chances. He sat on the side of the tub and turned the water on. With a rough hand he urged her to sit beside him, and then he leaned close and whispered in her ear.

  "You should have gotten out of here when I told you to."

  Jayne listed toward Boone, and kept her voice low when she answered, "I couldn't." Surely he would understand that she couldn't just walk away and leave that child. What if Marsh got suspicious about her quick departure and took the boy to another location? They might never find him again.

  "Why on earth did you wear your gun out in the open?" she asked, anxious to change the subject.

  "Doesn't matter where I carried it. They would have found it, anyway. Given my cover to this point, it seemed best not to hide the weapon." He glared at her. "I can't believe you didn't go when I told you to."

  "Boone…"

  "We'll talk about this again when we get out of here," he said. It sounded suspiciously like a warning. Since the tub was filling quickly, he turned on the water jets. More noise filled the room. "Where's the kid's room?"

  "The south wing, I think."

  "You don't have anything more specific?"

  Jayne shook her head. "Sorry. I haven't been in that wing. I think that's where Marsh's office and his personal rooms are, so I assume that's where Drew's room is."

  "I'll find out tomorrow."

  Her heart lurched. "How long is this going to take?"

  "A couple of days, maybe," Boone whispered. "I can't come in here with my own army and shoot my way out, not with you and the kid in the way."

  Jayne laid her fingers on his shoulder. "I'm in the way again?"

  Boone hesitated before answering, "Yes." And then his hand rested on her waist, possessive and warm. "But if not for you, I'd be back to square one. Thanks." His jaw was tight, the muscles in his neck tense. "I got a little worried when I couldn't find you. What were you thinking, just checking out of the hotel without telling anyone?"

  "I told Pamela."

  "You should have told Dean or your father. Or … me."

  "I know," she said. "Everything happened so fast. I just wanted a little time to think."

  When she'd left the hotel, they'd already said goodbye. She hadn't expected that he would want to be apprised of her mo
vements. But then, she hadn't expected to find Drew Patterson here, either. "You don't have to worry about me."

  "Worrying about you seems to be turning into a career," Boone said reluctantly.

  As the water ran noisily, the moment to tell Boone that he didn't ever have to worry about her passed. The fact that he did worry seemed to baffle him. Maybe she meant more to him than he was willing to admit.

  Time to change the subject. Jayne smiled. "For a man who specializes in finding lost children, you aren't very good with them. You really glowered at Drew."

  "I did not."

  "Did, too," she whispered. "Just a little."

  Boone moved closer. His breath touched her neck. "I usually deal with older children," he said. "Runaways, for the most part."

  Jayne all but nuzzled his neck. "Why?"

  Boone drew back, turned off the water and shook his head as he brought a finger to his lips again.

  "Are you going to take a bath with me, sugar?" he asked with a wink.

  "I'd better not."

  He stood and started to undress, pulling the T-shirt over his head.

  Jayne averted her eyes. He was here on business, people were listening, and he'd never promised her more than one night. "I'll get ready for bed," she said, turning away.

  Before she could escape, Boone grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back. She thudded against his bare chest. "You really are amazing," he said softly. His voice dropped to less than a whisper. "Remember, he's listening. Be careful."

  * * *

  When he left the bathroom, he found Jayne sitting up in bed. She wore a white cotton nightgown, something prim and proper and unexpectedly sexy. The woman could make a flannel shirt three sizes too big look sexy!

  Her eyes were huge, and when they landed on him, he saw the fear there. And that fear reminded him that she didn't belong here. She was out of her league. And she didn't even know about Darryl's threat, the knife through her blouse. He decided then and there not to tell her. Not until they were out of here, anyway. She had enough to worry about. A hysterical Jayne would not help matters any. She was wound tight enough as it was.

  And so was he.

  He had, in the interest of decorum and Jayne's tender sensibilities, put on a pair of navy-blue boxers.

  "You're naked," she said softly.

  "Yes, I am."

  She licked her bottom lip. Tilted her head slightly. "You have your own room across the hall."

  Boone sat on the side of the bed. I'm not leaving you here alone. He didn't make a sound, but Jayne could read his lips. She nodded once.

  "I'd rather stay here, with you," he said for whoever was listening.

  "Okay," she said, scooting over. She didn't hide under the covers and pat the top of the bed for him, just threw them back and invited him in. "But I have a headache."

  He slipped beneath the covers and raised his eyebrows. "A headache?"

  "Yes. You could just … hold me." Her lower lip trembled. "That would be nice."

  He thought she'd said that for the benefit of the bug planted under the night table, but when he lay down, she rested her head on his shoulder. "I can't pretend," she whispered. "Not now."

  Just as well. He'd have a tough time pretending, too. When had things gotten so complicated? Hell, who was he kidding? Things had been complicated from the moment he took off after Jayne, chasing her in the darkness, determined to keep her safe at any cost.

  No, not at any cost. The kid came first. Once he got Drew out of here and safely into the hands of his grandparents, then he could sort out this thing with Jayne.

  Thing. Why did he have such a hard time calling this what it was? A relationship. Like it or not, he and Jayne had a relationship. It was convoluted, it had come out of nowhere, and there were moments when he was sure it was downright impossible. But he couldn't deny that it existed and was growing stronger.

  He didn't have time for a relationship. Women came and went, but his job was his life. There was no room for a woman who would want his time, his attention, his commitment. Until the nightmares stopped, he didn't dare veer from the course he'd set for himself.

  "Boone?" Jayne snuggled close. "What are we going to do? When we leave here, I mean."

  Her voice was low. Maybe Marsh—or Gurza, if that was who was listening—could hear her words, and maybe not. It all depended on how sensitive that little bug was. "I don't know." He paused. "I do know I don't want things to end here."

  Jayne snuggled against him. "Good." Was she being real? he wondered. Or was it Jayne the actress?

  "Your father will hate me," he said.

  Jayne laughed lightly. "No, he won't."

  "Fathers always hate me. Especially fathers like yours." He shook his head.

  "My father is a good man," Jayne said. "He loves me. And he'll adore you because I … adore you."

  Boone's heart contracted. Well, at least now he knew she was playing for the hidden microphone. "I wish I could believe that."

  Jayne seemed quite comfy, snuggled against him with her arm draped over his chest. "I feel safe here," she said, her voice much too low for any microphone to pick up.

  Boone's voice was just as low when he answered, "You shouldn't."

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  « ^ »

  Jayne awoke from a sound sleep, her nose buried in Boone's bare chest, her arm draped over his side and one leg trapped between his. She didn't move for a moment; this was just too nice. Warm and comfortable and more right than she could have imagined.

  She had always known, of course, that there were men out there who were made like Boone. He was big, hard and strong, with sculpted muscles and not an inch of fat on his body. Looking at him was definitely not a chore. She'd always assumed that men who looked like this fell into the category of "more muscles than brains," but she knew that wasn't true of Boone. He most definitely had a fine brain. And a heart.

  Was she fascinated with him because he was so different from the other men she'd known? Life with her father kept her among lawyers, politicians and accountants. They were fine men, she supposed, but often they were also ambitious and calculating. Boone was honest in a way none of them had ever been.

  A month ago she would have gotten out of this house the moment she'd discovered that something was wrong. Her father had always taught her to take care of herself, to put herself first. But Boone, who put his life on the line for her and for Drew and for countless other children, had made her see that it wasn't always right to run. He made her want to do something important, to be willing to risk her life for something she cared about. Or for someone.

  Eventually she very gently moved away. Boone didn't get enough sleep. She didn't want to wake him while he slept so deeply.

  Without making a sound, Jayne gathered clean clothes and headed for the bathroom. With the door closed, she ran a bath, sitting on the side of the tub and running her fingers through the water while the tub filled.

  When they got out of here, would she ever see Boone again? The idea that she might not caused her heart to skip a beat. It made no sense that she slept better with him than without him, that he made her feel safe, that she loved his unfashionable long hair and his scowl and his hands and his leather jacket and … him. She cared for him deeply, in a way she had never cared for anyone else, and it made no sense.

  He definitely wasn't what anyone would call her type, but there was more to Boone Sinclair than met the eye. Yes, he was big and occasionally crude, and sexy in a bad-boy kind of way. But there was more. He had a good heart and a deeply ingrained sense of justice. He cared about people, though getting him to admit it would probably be tough. There was tenderness in his kiss, the kind of tenderness that could not be manufactured for seduction. It was real. Honest. Heaven above, she loved the way he kissed.

  Boone cursed less now than he had when she'd first met him. He did this for her, she imagined, even though he would never admit that he cared one whit what she thought of him or hi
s language. He didn't want anyone to know what a sweet man he really was.

  She'd given up on men after her disastrous engagement to Dustin. Until recently she hadn't realized that she'd given up so completely, but what else could you call a search for perfection? Boone wasn't perfect. No one was. But sometimes she thought that maybe, just maybe, he was perfect for her.

  One fact she knew for sure: Boone didn't want her in order to get to her father; he didn't have any ulterior motives. He was positively repulsed by the world she came from. If he wanted her at all, it was for herself.

  If he wanted her at all.

  After her bath, Jayne dried off and dressed quickly, slipping on a blue cotton dress that would be perfect for the day. She brushed out her hair, dabbed on a little lipstick and stepped into plain white sandals.

  From everything she'd heard, little boys rose with the sun. Maybe she could catch Drew and his nanny at breakfast, and once breakfast was over, she could ask Drew to show her his room. Kids always like to show off their rooms, right? And her interest in the little boy would be purely natural. Completely understandable.

  Jayne left the room as quietly as she'd left the bed, without making a sound.

  * * *

  He fought the wind as the motorcycle sped down the winding road. He was home. He knew this was home because the trees and the kudzu he flew past reminded him of Alabama. This even smelled like home, clean and brisk and humid. For a moment, it was a good dream.

  "You're going to blow it again," the voice behind him said.

  Boone swerved. The motorcycle almost went off the road, but he was able to recover. Boone glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough, it was Patrick riding behind him. Red hair. Freckles. At least this time he didn't look dead.

  "Hold on," Boone ordered.

  "No," Patrick said defiantly. The kid refused to hang on to Boone as he should. He sat on the back of the bike's seat, unsteady. Wobbling and uncertain and cocky. Dammit, the boy was going to fall!

  "You have really made a mess of things this time." Patrick shook his head slowly. "When are you ever going to learn?"