Maybe she was right. Christ, maybe that was why he felt so damn responsible for Elizabeth. No, he’d have felt the same way about any of the agents on his team.
“Why’d ya do it anyway? Why her? So you could sleep with her?”
What the...? “I don’t sleep with colleagues.” Marsh refused to get angry. She was trying to rile him and he wanted to know why.
“You should have gotten someone mean, someone who knew the rules of the street. Someone who knew what happened when you crossed a wiseguy.”
“Like you, you mean,” Marsh smiled a cruel smile. Josephine thought she was so goddamned tough. “Elizabeth was a trained agent. Christ, she was never even supposed to get mixed up with the mob. She was supposed to investigate art fraud, not get involved with OCU.”
“Surprised you with that one didn’t she?” Josie smirked, sipped her lemonade, still watching him closely. “More guts than brains.”
“She’s a smart girl, but not smart enough.” Marsh wanted to hit back. He felt cornered and pissed off. When had this become about him? “It was her innocence that appealed to me. I needed someone clean, someone fresh.”
“You needed a devil in sheep’s clothing.” Josie looked him in the eye. “You should have recruited me.”
Marsh laughed, sounding a little cruel even to his own ears. “No way,” he said, looking away. “I would never have recruited you.”
“Why not?” she asked him sharply.
He’d already told her, but she hadn’t been listening. He didn’t sleep with colleagues—and he wanted to sleep with Josephine Maxwell so much it was starting to hurt.
He’d brought her out to his family’s cottage in rural Vermont. There were no neighbors to speak of and his parents were cruising halfway around the world. No witnesses, no innocent bystanders to get caught in the crossfire should the mob track her down.
From here she’d have a better chance of a clean escape, and he’d have a better chance of following her without a mob guy spotting her first.
But for all his lax security, for all his open doors, Josephine Maxwell hadn’t budged an inch and he’d been forced into close confines with a woman who drove him crazy in more ways than one. He had sworn to protect her, whether she wanted his protection or not, but she was as stubborn as a two-headed mule. And while he appreciated the bond of friendship and loyalty the two women shared, it forced him to do something he’d rather avoid.
And so, here he was, holed up with this incredibly sexy woman, about as miserable as he had ever been in his whole life. His fists tightened reflexively, thoughts hardened. She might be a hellcat, but she was on his territory now. Playing in his world, by his rules. He took another sip of Scotch and felt Josephine’s gaze follow his hand. He fought to keep from turning to face her. Didn’t want to stare at her like a lovesick puppy. Maybe the drinking bothered her because of her father, but he wasn’t about to get drunk.
Shit. Thinking about her father didn’t help. The mob was looking for this woman and they’d already killed to get the information they sought.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her stand and walk toward him. He braced himself for trouble as she slowly knelt at his feet.
Every man’s sexual fantasy.
Sprawled back against the couch, he watched her with narrowed eyes.
“Kiss me,” she said, putting her hands on his knees and leaning into him.
Marsh raised an eyebrow; thankful he had the sense not to drool like an idiot. He said nothing, made no move towards her. She looked at him solemnly, her blue eyes dark with secrets. When she wasn’t spitting fire she looked as serene as the Madonna.
She licked her bottom lip and Marsh watched the progress of her pink tongue like a flare in the night sky.
“What are you up to, Josephine?” he asked.
Uncertainty flickered across her features as she started to withdraw her hands, but he caught her wrists and pulled her slowly, inexorably, towards him.
“Nothing,” she murmured. Watching his lips as if she actually wanted to kiss him. Even though she was more likely to bite him. It wasn’t an idea he minded.
She didn’t pull away. And one kiss wouldn’t hurt...
“I don’t believe you,” he mouthed against her lips, “but let’s see what happens.” He kissed her gently, released her wrists and slipped his hands into hair.
The kiss was heady, like a starburst. Tentative lips met, sampled and tasted, heated and wanted more.
Josephine pulled back from him, broke the kiss and swallowed hard. “I think I may need a real drink after all.” She took the glass from his hand, the fleeting contact making his fingers tingle. He watched her take the tiniest sip.
She seemed to be building up to something, but he didn’t know what.
“I want to make love with you.” She ran her index finger around the rim of the whiskey glass and watched him from beneath heavy lids.
“Yeah, right.” Marsh let his disbelief show. One minute she was pissed at him, the next he was irresistible. He breathed in and held it. Waited. Tried not to get turned on because there had to be a catch. He wasn’t stupid enough to buy it, but God, he wanted to.
“I want you to make love to me.” She passed the glass back into his hand and slid her palm along the top of his thigh. “I dare you.” Her eyes looked into his with intense concentration and her hand rested on his thigh, kneading the muscles in a smooth massage that had him as hard as rock before he could count to three.
“Drink your whiskey, Mr. Special Agent, and then maybe you’ll have the nerve to seduce me.”
Marsh lifted the Scotch and swallowed it in one go. The single malt burned all the way down to his gut and he held on to the sensation, wanting to think about anything other than sex. He put the glass down on the side table and watched her, trying to decide whether or not she was serious.
Did she want a bout of sweaty sex to relieve the boredom of their stay? Did she look at him and feel her mouth go dry with desire, unable to look away? Or did she want to manipulate him in the age-old fashion of Eve? He wasn’t so easy—was he? Yesterday he wouldn’t have thought so. Today...
She knelt between his legs, her forearms pressed along his thighs, his knees brushing her torso and the soft swell of her breasts. Her lips were rosy from their kiss, slick with moisture that glimmered in the firelight.
Her hand moved higher, just a fraction, just enough for him to imagine how good it would be for her hands to be on his naked skin. And then the fire within him exploded, snapped his control and unleashed his desire. To hell with her motives. He pulled her up onto the couch beside him, laid her along its length and came down on top of her.
He trapped her face between his hands and dipped his head to kiss her, his tongue tasting the sweetness and nervousness of her mouth. She responded tentatively, returning each touch with short sweet darts that teased and fled.
It was unbearably erotic.
Still kissing her, Marsh slipped one hand down the length of her body and then dipped beneath her sweater. He caressed her breasts, brushed nipples that turned to rigid pebbles at one stroke, and moved gently around them. Teasing her with elusive touches that made her moan as she slowly began to wriggle. Subtle tremors ran through her body and built to unconscious rolling motions that grew stronger as her body strained against his hands. Incoherent pleas for more came out in breathy whispers. Watching her eyes, he rubbed the pad of his thumb across each delicate silk-covered nipple, first one and then the other. Her pupils dilated and she gasped and closed her eyes, throwing her head back and exposing her throat to his lips.
“That feels good.” She swallowed and he followed the reflex with his tongue.
Impatient with the clothes that hid her body, Marsh wrestled the sweater over her head, but she shook her head and grabbed the bottom edge when he started to lift her T-shirt. Frustrated, but not defeated he slid his hands beneath the cotton and unclasped her bra with a flick of his fingers and slipped it from her shoulders. She look
ed startled by the move, but Marsh figured she was nervous about the scars—scars she didn’t know he’d already seen.
Her curves were subtle, hidden, but all the more alluring. Bunching material in one hand he pulled the T-shirt tight across her breasts. His fingers traced the outline of her nipples through the thin cotton. He dipped his head and suckled them through the material. She groaned, her back arching off the couch and her head falling weightlessly against the cushions. Tiny sounds escaped her mouth as she breathed heavily. Marsh trailed kisses up her neck, slowly, gently, grazing her cool skin, enjoying making her shudder.
He looked up and found her watching him with shocked eyes; embarrassment and uncertainty mixed with mounting desire. She looked like a virgin in the first flush of passion.
Like hell. No woman that beautiful would make it to twenty-seven untouched and Josephine Maxwell was too tough to play the vestal virgin.
Marsh wanted to make her scream with pleasure before the night was over. He wanted to affect her the way she affected him. He slid his hands beneath the T-shirt, moved lower and outlined the waistband of her leggings with one smooth touch.
She tugged at his shirt and he pulled it over his head and flung it to the floor in an impatient move. Then her hands began to trail over his body, stroking the muscles on his back, down his chest.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she said unsteadily.
Oh yeah.
He stood, tugged her hand and led the way down the corridor. His feet dragged, felt heavy, but he didn’t want to stop. The whiskey had gone straight to his head.
Sinking with her onto the bed he kissed her again, needing to feel her lips against his. He nuzzled her earlobe, making her writhe as her fingernails bit into his upper arms. She breathed his name and his head whirled, discipline nearly deserting him.
After another long, drawn-out taste of her lips, he inched her leggings and panties down over smooth satiny thighs, and followed the revelation with his mouth. She tensed, but he wasn’t about to let her get away from him this time. She’d put him through hell and he was going to repay her with torture.
Tossing her clothes aside, he moved her thighs apart and lifted her hips high.
She squirmed with self-consciousness, totally exposed and vulnerable, tried to say something as he sank his tongue into the hot secrets of her sex. Her eyes blanked and she folded in shock. He slipped his finger inside her, his thumb gently rubbing the tight kernel of flesh that begged wetly against his fingers.
Marsh’s control began to slip, and his objectivity had long since flown out the window, but he didn’t give a damn. He felt light-headed with the pleasure of finally getting his hands and mouth on Josephine Maxwell. He was damned if he was backing out when she was begging him to be inside her. Her hands pulled at his hair and her hips rose off the bed with hunger.
He desired her more than he’d ever desired anything in his life. Slipping between her legs, he moved slowly against her, arousing her with his hard and ready body. She squirmed and twisted, ran her hands over his skin, then lower over his buttocks. With a muffled oath he kicked off his pants, all the while focusing his entire being on making Josephine blind with lust.
Marsh breathed hard, but still couldn’t think properly. His head felt hot and heavy, like lead, his penis pressed up against her center, aching, drowning out rational thought and common sense. He kissed her mouth, mating his tongue with hers and trying to restrain the need to drive into her until she was completely ready for him. Her thighs opened, her hips arched against him, seeking him out with instincts as old as Eve.
He thought he might die when she wrapped her legs tight around him. He’d meant to hold back, to take some precautions, but all he could think about was burying himself in her tight folds. Now.
He thrust his hips hard against her and buried himself fully inside her with one long stroke, feeling something give within her and he froze even as she came around him.
A virgin—she was a virgin?
His vision dimmed to gray; her body pulsed like a glove fitted tight around him. Her surprised cry made him smile even though he couldn’t open his eyes.
Something wasn’t right.
He gritted his teeth as he tried to hold still for her, to think, to let her get used to him. But she was so damn tight. His head felt fuzzy. Swirling images dislocated his mind. Marsh counted to ten and breathed, eyes closing with grinding fatigue, as he felt every quiver and clench of muscle around him.
She tilted her pelvis, took him deeper and he knew he was lost. He moved his hand down, between them and stroked her swollen flesh. His head dropped to her shoulder, his weight pinned her, and drove into her deeper and deeper. He knew he was finished, game over, but as he felt the edge of his own release she stiffened again, her mouth falling open in a cry of pleasure and surprise. His climax hit him with the force of a hurricane, drowning him in sensations so startling he thought he’d exploded. His mind went blank, dazed by wonder, his body so sated with pleasure he couldn’t move.
Sex had never been that good before and he’d had plenty.
Josephine’s eyes were round and startled. “I can’t believe we had sex.”
Neither could he.
He rested his head beside hers on the pillow. Something was wrong with him. He couldn’t move. His lips felt like wool.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Fan—” Marsh yawned, “fucking-tastic.” Fatigue whipped away his energy like a thief. He passed out still inside her.
Chapter Fourteen
Eliza kicked Tiger on with her heels, ignoring the insecurities that clamored through her brain and urged her to turn back. She’d frozen Nat out last night. Shut down and shut him out. She been scared, caught up in her own terrifying memories of rape, and had ignored his rights to a few answers. Well, now he was going to get all the answers he wanted, and quickly, because she was leaving the ranch. Today.
Andrew DeLattio would come for her, and she didn’t want him to find her here where so many people she cared about could get hurt.
Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, rolling along her spine as the sun beat down mercilessly.
She would have left already, but the damned Jeep hadn’t cooperated. She’d realized then, as she’d turned the key in an ignition that refused to fire, that she’d been taking the cowardly way out. She’d been so busy running from her past that she’d never given a thought to Nat’s rights. He was a good man, not a deviant. He’d seen her on TV—hiding out under an assumed name—and had had every right to be suspicious. She sure as hell would have been. He deserved an explanation and she was determined to give him one—just as soon as she found the damned cowboy.
Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Cal had given her directions to where she could find Nat.
Cal had owed her one—and she’d collected. He was still moving stiffly from his beating, but it turned out nothing had been broken. Cal had directed her up in the hills, about a mile north of the glade where she’d first tested out her rifle. Told her to make enough noise and Nat would find her. He was photographing the wolves in their den and had planned to be gone most of that day and maybe overnight. Eliza couldn’t wait that long. The agitation in her chest already made her feel sick.
Tiger stopped and sniffed the air, dancing sideways as his gaze locked onto a stand of lodgepole pines. He jerked his head against the reins, snorted, dug his heels in and refused to go any further.
Shit, the horse was spooked.
Eliza peered into the trees but couldn’t see anything through the densely interlaced branches. Her palms grew damp and she swiped them along her jeans.
Was it animal or human?
Nat had assured her the wolves were ‘more or less’ harmless. She wasn’t so sure. She unslung her rifle from her back and tried to soothe Tiger with encouraging words as she loaded the magazine with cartridges. Not so easy with the horse dancing beneath her.
Should have done it earlier.
Tiger jerked and she
dropped a cartridge into the short grass that edged the deer track she’d been following. She left it. Tiger was close to bolting and she couldn’t risk the horse getting away from her. She chambered a round, left the hammer half-cocked. She didn’t know what the danger was, but she also didn’t want to shoot some hapless hiker taking a leak. Her heart hammered so hard she could hear the pounding of blood in her ears. She managed to load three cartridges before she was forced to give up and try to control the horse.
Her stomach dropped and rebounded to her throat as a massive brown form shouldered its way through the branches, out into the open. The grizzly ambled towards her, head high, nose keen, black eyes beaded directly on her.
Shit.
She’d never encountered a bear in the wild before, but she knew what the experts advised. Don’t panic. Don’t run away.
Yeah. Right.
Tiger reared up with a loud squeal and plunged into the trees at a gallop.
Eliza clung one-handed to the horse’s mane, gripping her rifle with the other hand. The reins dangled dangerously loose, but she didn’t dare reach for them.
Feck. Feck. Feck.
The bear followed, giving chase at breakneck speed through dense forest and over rocky ground. Shit. She’d had no idea that anything so large and cumbersome could shift like a rocket. Tiger seemed to know though, reminding her that instinct was a powerful thing. Thank God. The horse stretched out his legs in a flat-out gallop. Eliza, lying along his neck, hugged the saddle like a limpet.
Eliza saw it a split second before the horse did, a sudden drop over a sheer cliff. Eliza compensated by leaning hard to the left, but she had no chance of staying on-board as Tiger made a right-angle turn at top speed.
Eliza sailed through the air, gripping her rifle like a lifeline. Self-defense training kicked in as she hit the dirt, dropped into a roll and careened down a grassy bank more than ten meters from where she’d left the horse’s back.
Seeing stars as her teeth jarred on impact, the side of her head rang with bludgeoning pain. Blasts of light assaulted her brain. She still held the rifle, but released it onto the grass as she lay back and tried to regain her breath. Her ribs felt flattened, her chest squeezed so hard the air had been knocked right out of her lungs.
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