Hot Pursuit

by Christina Skye

  When the patrol car came to a stop, its lights picked up only a phone swinging by its cord and a wall of damp, forgotten garbage that had long since stopped mattering to anyone.

  Taylor noticed the silence first. She’d expected to find Jack either gone or stretched out with the TV roaring, engrossed in a Lakers game. When she walked into the hallway, his feet were the first thing she saw, perched on the edge of her coffee table. Then she saw his long legs and his body slanted comfortably against her couch.

  She went dead-still when she saw that he was reading.

  And chuckling.

  Holding her latest book.

  Her breath skated hard and she felt a little electric jolt of desire for that long, lean body stretched out in front of her. She closed her eyes.

  This was not good. Not good at all.

  She started to walk quietly away, but something held her. She’d done the research, knew all the patterns. When two people were cooped up together, they got close fast, and their loyalties could shift drastically, like Patty Hearst and her bodyguard. Princess Diana and her security officer.

  Taylor took a quiet step back. Out of sight, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, trying not to hear Jack’s steady breathing and low laughter. Trying not to feel warm, insidious fingers of pleasure at the thought of him immersed in her book.

  A curse word came to mind.

  She mouthed it silently, her hands pressed against the wall, while her heart beat loudly, almost painfully. What was happening here? She had always been the cool one, the aloof, amused, experienced one. Her sister, Annie, kept telling her she made cynicism an art form.

  So how had this one man gotten through all her defenses, making her mind fumble like a football throw gone bad?

  Even with her eyes closed, she could see his strong hand curled around the cover of her book. She could see the careful way he turned the pages, the way he nodded. The way his eyes squinted into laugh lines as he read.

  How could a man seduce you just by the way he held a book?

  It wasn’t happening to her, thank you very much. Not to Taylor O’Toole, who had tangled with more men than she liked to remember. Jack Broussard would vanish the second his work was done, and he wasn’t leaving her heart in shreds when he did.

  Taylor straightened her shoulders. Forget the sadness in his eyes. Forget the way he makes your body come alive.

  She wasn’t looking for a prince—charming or any other sort. She knew the rules. Men didn’t commit, and women didn’t stop hoping they would.

  She cleared her throat loudly and closed the door of her office with a loud snap, alerting Jack that she was coming. When she got to the living room, he was reading a magazine, her book nowhere to be seen.

  She started to speak, then stopped. She was used to people reading her books and denying it. But this time it hurt her.

  Jack looked up, frowning. He gave her a thorough scrutiny, one brow raised. “What are you, five months or six?”

  Taylor straightened the loose sweater and elastic-front skirt she’d forgotten completely. “Probably about seven, but I had to take out the pillow. It made me feel like a blimp.”

  “Is there a reason you’re wearing maternity clothes?” he asked grimly.

  “Calm down, Broussard. It’s research, pure and simple. I need to know how a character thinks, how she moves.”

  “So you’re thinking about having someone get pregnant?”

  “Possibly. When I get blocked, I spend some time doing exactly what my character would do.”

  “That’s got to be craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Now you’re a literary expert?”

  He looked her up and down, then shook his head again. “My sister says you get used to it.”

  “What?”

  “Feeling like a blimp. She’s on her fourth. Loves kids.” Jack tossed down the magazine and stood up. “How about some coffee?”

  Taylor sighed. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  Jack headed for the kitchen. “Seems I read somewhere that caffeine was out for pregnant women.”

  Taylor closed her eyes, rubbing the sore muscles in her neck, and sat down. “Stuff it, Broussard.”

  China clattered. A moment later she smelled the intoxicating fragrance of fresh Kona blend.

  She didn’t open her eyes. “Did you enjoy the magazine?”

  “Not really. Nothing good on television, either.”

  “Yeah, I know how that goes.” For some reason, his smooth lie hurt far more than it should have. Distance, she reminded herself. “Being pregnant is hard work.”

  “That’s another thing my sister says.” Taylor heard him move behind her. “Lean back.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.” His fingers slid into her hair.

  Taylor frowned as he smoothed her shoulders, kneading steadily. Her breath skimmed out in a sigh. “I’ll pay you a hundred dollars an hour if you never stop.”

  He did more of the same slow magic, working out every line of bad dialogue and flawed characterization that had found its way deep into her knotted muscles.

  Taylor took a slow breath. Not quite a moan, but close. “Make that a million dollars.”

  “You always get this tense when you work?”

  “Usually. If the words come, you forget everything else. When you stand up a few hours later, the feeling is roughly like a hundred little men driving bamboo stakes into your back.”

  Jack didn’t answer.

  She turned, one eye cracked open. “A problem?”

  “Yeah.” He massaged her neck. “I lied.”

  “You did?”

  “About the magazine. The truth is, I was reading your book.”

  Taylor opened her other eye, wary now. “Yeah?”

  He rolled his shoulders. “It was pretty damned good.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Am I supposed to sing the Hallelujah Chorus now?”

  “No.” He touched her cheek. “You’re supposed to shut up and let me apologize. I liked the book, but I didn’t want you to know. All of which puts me roughly on a par with the other unicellular organisms living in the sewer.”

  Taylor laughed, oddly moved by his gruff confession. “No problem. I’m used to it.”

  “It was still a slimy thing to do.” His voice was tight. “I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it.”

  He walked around her slowly. “I’m not sure I can. Being low and mean isn’t usually my style. I’m asking myself, why now? Why with you?”

  “And?” Her voice was a whisper.

  “I go by the book, Taylor. Always have. But now I keep wondering what if I didn’t, just once.” He caught her palm, turned it slowly. “The whole idea has got me a little frightened. A little angry.”

  She heard the edge in his voice, the confusion. The need. “Throwing away the rule book can be nerve-wracking.” She managed a smile. “Which is why I try to do it at least once a week.”

  He turned her other palm, his eyes hard. “I can’t be what I’m not. I’d try and it would make us both unhappy.” His fingers tightened. “But you make me wish I could.”

  He pulled her to her feet, his face unreadable. “I liked your damned book. I liked your damned characters. I even liked the damned dog.”

  “Don’t make it sound so painful.”

  “Oh, it was painful. I hate being proved wrong. Besides, you’re nowhere near my type. You’re reckless and snappy and a complete irritation.” His fingers moved around her waist and he pulled her against him—not gently but with anger, as if compelled, and hating every second.

  He shifted to be sure she felt the raw need she was kindling. “And it doesn’t make any difference.”

  “Hardly a compliment, Jack.”

  “It’s not meant to be a damned compliment. I’m changing and that makes me mad as hell. I don’t like change.” He cupped her hips and drove their bodies together, closing his eyes. “Sex with you should be the last thing on my list, but
I can’t seem to think of anything else.”

  “Who says I’d even consider having sex with you?” Her eyes narrowed. “You have the emotional range of a reptile and your literary knowledge stinks.”

  “Thank God for it, too.” His fingers tangled in her hair. “You’d drive a man to drink in twenty-four hours.” His jaw hardened. “So, your place or mine? I’m going to die if I don’t have you in the next fifteen minutes.”

  Though her throat was dry, Taylor managed a laugh. “Is this your idea of foreplay?”

  He pulled her head back slowly, every muscle taut. “No, this is.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  He backed her against the bookshelf, catching her wrists in his hands—not hard, but not letting her go, either. Taylor realized he hadn’t even kissed her yet and she was more aroused than she’d been in months.

  Alarm bells went off.

  She ignored them. “Do you do this often?”

  “Not nearly often enough, I’m thinking.” Her blouse traveled up beneath his slow hands. He watched her as he flicked open the clasp of her bra.

  “Are we about to do something amazingly stupid, Jack?”

  “Sure as hell looks that way.” He shifted his legs, moving in closer, and her blouse slid from her shoulders.

  Taylor’s heart slammed hard. It was impossible to breathe, much less stay rational, with his hand exploring her breast and his lips cruising over her neck, then lower, nudging hollows, finding the exact spots that made her body tighten in a rush of liquid sensation until all she could think was more more right now.

  Which was completely crazy.

  She pulled away, dragging in a deep breath. “Maybe we should pretend this never happened.”

  “That would be stupid. Besides, it wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re both too smart for that. We both know what’s happening here.”

  “I don’t.”

  “The hell you don’t. And neither of us is going to walk away from this easily.”

  Taylor closed her eyes, struck by the same awful certainty. “We haven’t done anything yet.”

  “We’re thinking about it,” he said hoarsely. “Speaking for myself, I’ve been thinking about it nearly every waking moment.”

  Taylor sighed. “We’re probably making a big deal out of nothing.”

  His eyes narrowed. His long fingers moved, stroking her tight nipples until the remaining air slammed out of her lungs.

  “Or not,” she whispered.

  “Damned right.” His lips closed over hers with slow, sensual friction, and then he added his tongue until Taylor struggled to be closer, to be hotter, to be part of him.

  Now, right now.

  Her hands went to his belt. Panting, she yanked his shirt free, sighing when she felt the planes of his chest against her fingers. He shoved away her hands, tugged off his shirt, then slanted her head back. His eyes were restless, greedy.

  “Where do you get your ideas?”

  “Now? You’re asking me that now?”

  “It’s fascinating. Frightening in a way, too.” He kissed the hollow beneath her cheekbone, while his hands closed over her breasts, stroking, teasing.

  Taylor could have sworn her head exploded.

  “What, no answer?”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head and then he sank in front of her, his lips covering her as his hands had done. He worked his way over the dark, aroused tips of her breasts with focused intensity, as if they were the only thing left in the universe and he meant to take his time so he missed no detail about them.

  Which was fine with Taylor, since her blood was slow and heavy and her whole body was hot and getting hotter, especially between her legs when he trailed a hand up her thighs until he couldn’t go any higher.

  He hooked one finger. Her silk bikini panties took a quick descent and her skirt was bunched in his hand.

  “Yes,” Taylor said, and he answered with something low and inaudible and Taylor pushed against his hand so that he found his way up and inside her. She lost herself in the pleasure of every hot, wet touch, surprising both of them when she said his name and dug her hands into his shoulders, moaning while something grew and grew until it dragged away her breath. Shuddering blindly, she swayed, grabbing the bookshelf and Jack’s shoulders, only half aware she was falling. Lost completely, she slid along the row of books, their spines digging into her back while her knees gave way and Jack shot one arm around her waist. But they kept going and ended up on the floor.

  She opened one eye.

  She was sprawled on the Oriental rug, with her skirt bunched high and his leg wedged underneath her. “Did I break anything?”

  “A few speed records,” he said hoarsely. “Otherwise, no.” He tried to hold her up, but she slid bonelessly down until her head rested on his bare chest.

  He smelled wonderful, like doughnuts and aftershave and clean clothes. She felt his muscles bunch and shift beneath her, heard the steady pump of his heart just beneath her head. “God,” she whispered. “If I wasn’t so amazed, I’d be embarrassed.” She wriggled closer against his chest. “Can we do that again sometime?”

  She was pretty sure he chuckled, but it might have been a curse. She didn’t wait to find out, because some instinct made her turn her head and slide her lips along his chest, then lower, until she felt the tight ridge of his zipper over the truly impressive erection straining beneath. Smiling, she explored those hard inches separated by taut denim. Definitely built, she thought, framing him with her fingers.

  “This zipper has to go,” she whispered, suiting actions to words, with hands that were shaky.

  “I doubt this is anywhere in my mission assignment,” Jack said harshly.

  Taylor turned her head. “Complaints?”

  “Hardly.” His jaw was locked, his eyes very dark. “But some other time.”

  “Now, Jack. I want to feel you.”

  He closed his eyes on a curse, then caught her body and hauled her up until she was propped against his chest. “Not now.” He brushed a strand of hair off her face. “Izzy’s expecting a report in five minutes.”

  She scowled. “So, I could be fast.”

  Jack couldn’t help it; he laughed. She was sulking—a beautiful, unbelievably sexual sulk, considering what she had in mind, and he gave a gritty gut-laugh that shook them both.

  “You think this is funny?” she snapped.

  “Honey, if I don’t laugh right now, I’m going to be buried inside you so fast that your heart’s going to stop.”

  “Which would be wrong because . . . ?”

  He traced her breasts, awed at her beauty and instant, responsive shudder. “Because when I’m finally inside you, I don’t plan on rushing through the job.”

  “When—not if?”

  So she’d noticed that, had she? “That’s right. Any complaints?”

  She sat back, still frowning, then stretched slowly. Considering she was more naked than dressed, the sight made him grow ever harder, which he wouldn’t have thought was physically possible.

  “About a hundred.” She shoved back her hair and came shakily to her feet. In the process her skirt fell off, leaving her absolutely naked.

  Jack closed his eyes on a groan.

  “I didn’t say I’d make it easy, Broussard. Just so you know.”

  “Message received,” he said thickly. “Now would you please get some clothes on?”

  “Maybe.” She picked up her skirt and tossed it over her shoulder “Maybe not. By the way,” she added in a voice like silk, “I sure do like your idea of foreplay.”

  The woman was as dangerous as they came.

  Jack let out a slow breath as she sauntered down the hall, long legs gleaming beneath the skirt tossed over her shoulder.

  For some bizarre reason he was grinning, which was strange because the rest of his body was so hard that even thought required a major force of will.

  A good thing that SEALs are expe
rt at pain and suffering, he thought grimly. Something told him that being around Taylor O’Toole was going to occasion both.

  He glanced at his watch, then pulled out his cell phone with a sigh. Time for Izzy’s report.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “Any sign of Rains?”

  “No luck—not that the Feds are saying much.” Izzy sounded disgusted. “Looks like he’s still underground, and he’s trusting no one.”

  “What about the man who went after Taylor’s sister? What about the hospital’s video surveillance?”

  “He used the service entrance off the doctors’ lounge. No cameras there. He’s good.” Izzy’s voice hardened. “But we’re still going to get him. I’ve got a new composite sketch based on descriptions from the witness at Tony’s Little Shanghai and the nurse at the hospital in Monterey. I’ll fax it through along with the building blueprints for the gala tomorrow.”

  “So they’re letting Taylor go after all?”

  “Afraid so. The good news is, she’ll only need to be there for about forty-five minutes, just to take part in the auction.”

  “A lot can happen in forty-five minutes,” Jack said grimly. “I want a complete guest list, along with the store’s security plan.”

  “On its way. I’ll try to get you one other person for the evening. Meanwhile, S.F.P.D. will be around since the mayor will be there, and I hear he’s a big fan of Taylor’s books. He’s making some kind of speech.”

  Jack moved restlessly through the room, listening to water run in the bathroom. “Any updates on the missing Navy bioweapons expert?”

  “Maybe. It seems a yacht ran aground off the Oregon coast last night. When the Coast Guard boarded, they said it had been completely trashed. Fires in both staterooms, furniture gone. Even the fixtures were ripped out.”

  “You don’t think it’s that simple.”

  “I asked them to send me pictures and there was a lot of burned and broken glass, so I sent in a forensics team to pull some blood samples. Our Navy scientist had definitely been onboard.”

  Jack frowned. “The glass was from broken lab equipment?”

  “Bingo. We found traces of assay material and chemicals consistent with recombinant DNA work in progress.”