by Cathie Linz
After they looked suitably repentant, Betty restored them to order with a flourish of her wand, while giving a bit of big sisterly advice in her drill sergeant voice. “Conserve your energy for the important stuff. I have a feeling we’re going to need it to keep one step ahead of the Zopo brothers.”
STANDING IN HIS brother’s well-appointed office, with a Wagner opera playing in the background, Brutus rubbed his perspiring palms on his baggy trousers before speaking. “I found someone who said he’s sure he heard Anton talking about his niece and that she’s here in Oregon.”
Caesar’s eyebrow rose. “Did you get her name yet?”
“Not exactly.” Brutus shifted uncomfortably. “He thought it ended in ie or y. Annie or Mary or Cathy or Stacy—”
Caesar slashed his elegant hand through the air, slicing through Brutus’s words. “Or a thousand other options. Do you know how many girls’ names end in ie or y?”
“No.” Brutus blinked uncertainly. “Did you want me to look into that?”
“No, I don’t want you to look into that!” Caesar roared, standing up to pound his clenched fist on his mahogany desktop. “I want you to find Leva’s precious niece and I want you to bring her to me in the next twenty-four hours or else. Now get out of here.”
Brutus went. He had no stomach for tension. Twenty-four hours. He’d have to stay at the computer all night. Popping an antacid, he decided it was time to call in some help for this job. But he didn’t want Caesar finding out, didn’t want him thinking he couldn’t take care of things himself. Which meant he’d have to call in someone outside of their own circle.
The only person he knew was Stella, the woman he’d been courting unbeknownst to Caesar. She was the sweetest woman on the face of the earth, a shy and dainty flower. Those rumors of her being a con woman were vicious lies. When Brutus had fibbed and told her he was an investment manager, she’d looked at him with awe.
Caesar never looked at him with awe. Actually, no one ever had. Not until Stella.
So when she’d begged him to help Jimbo, her beloved younger brother, by giving him a job, Brutus hadn’t been able to refuse. Jimbo swore he’d do whatever Brutus needed him to do, no questions asked. Which meant that Jimbo might be just the guy to help Brutus out—by capturing Courtney for him as soon as Brutus located her. It would be nice to have someone else doing some of the grunt work for a change.
AN HOUR AFTER Ryan kissed her, Courtney was still trying to recover. Since the cataclysmic event she’d been holed up in her room, but the space was tiny and starting to make her claustrophobic. Besides, she had things to do, dirty clothes to wash, groceries to buy. There was no food left in the house.
But if she had no food, then neither did Ryan. It would serve him right if he starved. Then she remembered a small detail—his stash of junk food. She’d seen the pile of chips and cookies in his duffel bag. He probably had enough to last him until winter.
And the worst thing was that Courtney knew that there was no getting away from him, not unless she wanted to try to wiggle out a window the way her uncle had. She might have ventured it at one point in her past, but not now. It wasn’t the responsible thing to do.
Of course, Ryan would argue that not telling him everything about her uncle wasn’t responsible, either. But she owed her first loyalty to Anton. Maybe she should hire him a good lawyer, someone to do Perry Mason proud, although how she’d pay for it she wasn’t sure. And she didn’t actually know much about the details of her uncle’s case. She needed to talk with Anton again and get more information. As it was, she had only the barest of facts.
If you’re facing facts, her inner voice taunted, then how about the facts dealing with you and Ryan? Like the way you melted in his arms.
He’d caught her by surprise. That’s what had happened. She’d been momentarily weak, overcome by the nostalgia of old memories.
Yeah, right.
Drat. She couldn’t even lie to herself worth spit. How was she supposed to lie to Ryan? There was no way she could let him see the truth, that he’d gotten to her. That being the case, there was still no way he could kiss information out of her. Was there?
It might be fun for him to try, though.
Curses, there was her wild side again, trying to stir up trouble. She needed to be sensible here, to be cautious, to be distant.
At this very moment, Ryan was probably sitting in her living room, sprawled across her couch, watching her TV and patting himself on the back for having gotten to her. The image was enough to get her moving again.
As she stuffed her dirty clothes into a laundry bag, Courtney ruthlessly stuffed thoughts of Ryan into a locked corner of her mind.
Sure enough, he was watching her TV when she opened her bedroom door. “Laundry room,” she said curtly. “Downstairs.” Marching across the room was made somewhat more difficult by the fact that she had to sidestep his duffel and sleeping bag.
She didn’t wait to see if he was following her as she grabbed her keys and headed to the locked laundry facilities in the building’s basement.
Ryan’s hand shot out as she went to flip on the light switch downstairs. “Let me check it out first.”
It didn’t take him long to do so, since the room was postage-stamp-size. “Okay, you can come on in now.”
“Thank you so much.” Her sarcasm was lost on him. Within seconds she realized how his presence filled the tiny area.
Filled it, heck, he commandeered it, making it his own. She had the definite feeling he’d like to do the same to her. Commandeer her, make her do his bidding.
Not even bothering to sort through the laundry, she dumped it all in one load, praying there was nothing red in there to discolor the rest of the clothes. Stuffing in quarters, she set the machine and tried to make a quick getaway.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Ryan asked, barring her way.
She eyed him suspiciously. “If you think I’m kissing you to get out of here, you’re crazy.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” His grin was teasing. “I meant you forgot to put in any laundry detergent.”
“Since when have you become Suzie Homemaker?” she muttered, even as she returned to the washer.
“Hey, I haven’t forgotten that time I used dishwashing liquid instead of laundry soap.”
She smiled at the memory of bubbles cascading out of their laundry room in Chicago. “I still say that would have worked if you’d just gotten the proportions right.”
“Not my strong suit.”
“I know.” If he’d gotten the proportions right in their relationship it would have worked, too. But he’d gone overboard with his independence and his career.
But that didn’t bear thinking about. After sprinkling in a handful of detergent, she reset the machine and hightailed it back upstairs.
Vacuuming made her feel better. She went at it like a woman possessed. Which, of course, she was. Possessed by the forbidden memory of his kiss, of his mouth covering hers, of his tongue swirling over hers.
Distracted as she was, she nearly sucked up her single indoor houseplant, a hardy philodendron that had survived all her moves westward. Ryan’s reaction to her whirlwind cleaning was to sit on her couch and lift his feet out of her way as she vigorously steered the cleaning appliance in his direction. Finally he had enough. Pulling the plug, he said, “We have to talk.”
Anticipating trouble, she wrapped her arms around her middle to calm her jittery stomach before she met the mocking glint in his hazel eyes head-on. “I refuse to discuss what happened this morning.”
“I meant about your uncle.”
Of course about her uncle. Because that was work. Anton’s escape was a blot, no doubt, on Ryan’s record. She knew that any move on his part to try to seduce her was simply his way of trying to get the job done.
Taking a small black notebook out of the pocket of his flannel shirt, Ryan fixed her with an I-meanbusiness stare. “I’ll need the name of all your uncle’s friends, peop
le he might contact.” Seeing the stubborn set of her chin, he added, “There is such a thing as obstruction of justice, you know. You can’t help Anton if you’re behind bars.”
That took some of the wind out of her sails as she sank to the couch and tried not to show her jumpy emotions. “My uncle doesn’t have any close friends. He has lots of acquaintances, but no one that knows him well.”
“Besides you.”
“Besides me,” she confirmed.
“So give me the name of his acquaintances.”
She listed all the ones she was familiar with because she was sure her uncle wouldn’t be contacting any of them.
“I’m glad to see you’re cooperating.” Ryan ruined it by adding, “Finally.”
She wanted to smack him. Instead, she headed back to the laundry room to shift her clothes from the washer to the dryer.
Ryan trailed after her, watching her every move. His presence was even more overwhelming in the close confines. Moving blindly, she bent over to reach into the washer’s deep tub to grab her mangledlooking wet clothes, all the while aware that Ryan was probably eying her derriere. She’d gained some weight since they’d been together in Chicago, and at that moment it felt as if it had all settled in her bottom and thighs.
The beige slacks she’d worn before were baggy enough to hide that fact, but today she was wearing leggings which hid little. Yanking open the frontloading dryer door, she tossed her clothes inside and started jabbing the required change into the machine.
“You forgot something.” Ryan’s teasing voice should have warned her that whatever he held in his hands would be incriminating. It was. Her lacy ecru panties looked even more delicate against his masculine hand. “Won’t you be needing these?”
She grabbed them from him and tossed the traitorous item of clothing into the dryer. It would serve it right if it shrank in the dryer.
As Ryan watched her, he couldn’t get over how much he wanted to see her in those lacy panties and nothing else. He wanted to slowly peel them from her body, a body that had ripened in all the right places. Courtney might be trying to turn her life into a staid regimentation but beneath it all were passionate signs that the old Courtney was alive and kicking…and kissing him back.
An instant later Ryan’s teasing look turned grim as someone entered the tiny laundry room. In his line of work, Ryan had to be prepared for the worst. Felons weren’t usually the most polite element of society. And the guy who’d just walked in on them looked as mean and ornery as any of the scumbags Ryan had brought in on a warrant.
The guy was huge. His hair was greased back in a ponytail, his auburn beard was bushy, and his black T-shirt had the logo of a Portland motorcycle gang. Most important, he was carrying a baseball bat, smacking it against his hand with menace as he rushed toward Courtney.
Ryan, his body language conveying raw aggression, stopped the intruder in his tracks. “Back off!”
Ryan had the guy up against the basement wall ready to frisk him before Courtney could blink. Or speak.
She quickly recovered. “Ryan, that’s my neighbor you’re getting personal with! He’s a friend. His name is Red.”
“This bozo bothering you?” Red demanded, even as he straightened from the undignified position Ryan held him in.
“This bozo is named Ryan. I’m sorry he grabbed you like that.”
Red gave Ryan a leery look. “He do that kind of thing very often?”
Ryan knew when his masculinity was being questioned. So did Courtney. He could tell by her grin as she replied, “I couldn’t say. I haven’t seen him in a long time. I’m sorry I missed your baseball game this afternoon, Red. Did your kids’ team win?”
Red shook his head. “Not this time. But we all went out for ice cream afterward, so they didn’t seem to take it too hard.”
“Red is a real gem.” Courtney beamed, making Ryan wish she’d look at him that way. “He does so much for underprivileged kids, including coaching a Little League team.”
“Sorry about the misunderstanding,” Ryan apologized gruffly. “I thought you might be a threat to Courtney’s safety.”
“Red is my protector.” Courtney linked her arm through Red’s while flashing Ryan a defiant look. “He’d never hurt me.”
And what am I? Ryan thought. I’m supposed to be your protector. But he had hurt her by his behavior back in Chicago. Nor did she seem willing to forgive and forget. At least, not yet. Although she’d certainly kissed him as if she meant it.
As she made small talk with Red, Courtney could tell that Ryan was thinking about kissing her. She could see it in his eyes. The room was closing in on her.
She fled back upstairs with Ryan hot on her heels. She could practically feel his breath on the back of her neck. She couldn’t take it anymore. Once they were inside her apartment, she confronted him. “Do you have to stand so close to me? Is this the way you guard the rest of your prisoners?”
“You’re not a prisoner.”
It felt like she was. A prisoner of her own desire for him. A desire that she couldn’t, wouldn’t give in to.
“Since you’re staying here, dirtying half the dishes, you might as well do half the work.” She knew, from living with him, that Ryan hated doing dishes. He’d immediately gotten a dishwasher when he’d moved into a building without one. “The dishes are in the sink.” She pointed toward the small kitchen. “I’m going to dust in here while you do that.”
At least he’d be in the next room and out of this one.
“Dust?” he repeated, as if it were a foreign word. “You never used to dust.”
“I never used to do a lot of things I do now.”
“Like what?”
“Like bake.” It was the only thing she could think of on such short notice and she saw from the look on his face that it was the wrong thing to say. The man had a sweet tooth a mile long.
“Bake what?” he demanded. “Cookies? Brownies? German chocolate cake?”
“None of the above. I’m out of food. We have to go to the grocery store.”
His eyes lit up with visions of desserts dancing in them. “While we’re there, I’ll buy the ingredients for brownies and cookies if you’ll bake them.”
“I bake to please myself,” she informed him. “Not to please a man.”
“You mean you don’t bake to make an impression on Fred? He’s never tasted your…goodies?”
“My goodies are none of your business,” she retorted, knowing darn well he wasn’t talking about food. “You’d better get those dishes done before we leave.”
To give him credit, Ryan didn’t protest. She spent more time eyeing him through the open archway to the kitchen than she did dusting. Even up to his elbows in soapy dishwater, he still possessed a raw masculinity that put all other guys to shame.
The timer she’d set reminded her it was time to retrieve her dried clothing from downstairs. Another trip was made, again with Ryan right behind her. She scooped the clothes from the dryer, sneaking a deep sniff of them as she did so.
Ever since she’d been a little girl, she’d loved the smell of freshly dried clothes. It reminded her of her mother. Hoping Ryan hadn’t noticed her small idiosyncrasy, she dumped the clothes in a plastic basket and headed back upstairs.
She was still folding the laundry when Ryan finally finished the dishes. She was struggling to collect all four corners of a top sheet to her double bed when Ryan offered his assistance. “Here, let me help you with that.”
When he stood several feet away to shake the sheet into compliance, she had no trouble. The boldlycolored sheet billowed between them. Once the wrinkles where shaken free, he came close again to hand over his two corners. Their fingers collided and tangled during the transfer. That’s when things got tricky.
Because the second he touched her, shivers of irrational pleasure skipped down her spine. And with the pleasure came the yearning, along with the memories of crisp sheets and his fingers touching her. Of them rolling together in bed
, intimately entwined, bare skin slick with desire as he’d arch his back and thrust into her, making her his forever.
She could tell by the heat in his hooded eyes that Ryan’s memories matched her own. Her breath came in quick spurts, her lips parting. And still the connection between them grew, the images becoming more and more erotic, more and more powerful—binding her to him as surely as golden chains.
His fingers tightened on hers. His gaze shifted from her eyes to her parted lips. The sheet between them retained some heat from the dryer and reflected it back. She was already burning up, caught up in the moment.
He’d kissed her once today. He wanted to kiss her again. She could read the hunger in his eyes. She knew because she felt the same way. The taste of him was addictive. She’d never get enough. Never get enough of him. She’d loved him with everything she had. And it still hadn’t been enough.
Ryan made his move, swooping down to capture her lips with his own. But she surprised him, stuffing the now crumpled sheet in his face. By the time he shoved it aside, she was safely on the other side of the room, with her car keys in hand. “I think it’s time we got some fresh air.”
THE FIRST THING Ryan discovered Monday morning was that the apartment building’s hot water heater wasn’t large enough. Last night he’d discovered that Courtney could still drive like a maniac when it suited her. And he had the feeling that his being in the car had been the motivating factor in her Evel Knievel impression.
They’d spent more time in the grocery store than he had in years. She seemed determined to stay there, rechecking each aisle, picking up every item on her list and checking the ingredients, reading the nutritional percentages as if they were the opening lines of a summer blockbuster novel. She’d refused to buy anything to bake for him, not even a brownie mix, but had instead filled up the cart with tons of healthy stuff from the natural food aisle.
She’d been trying to avoid him. He knew that. And part of him felt a tad guilty about it. The rest of him had wished they were back at her place, naked and making out on her freshly washed sheets.