“Seriously?”
He grinned. “Gotcha. Nope, blues is my favorite, but my mom is still crazy over Motown—bet I could sing you every Temptations song ever made. And Jason Aldean kicks butt.” He leaned across the table. “Austin has every kind of music you can imagine. Want to catch some afterward?”
“Is Martin’s club very far away?”
His jaw flexed. “Didn’t you say he was out of town?”
“He’s due back tonight, but…” He hadn’t offered to see her. Just dropping by might not be the best idea. “Never mind. Surprise me.”
His gaze warmed. “You got it.”
The miles rolled past somehow. Martin didn’t know where he was or how long he’d been driving aimlessly around until he realized he was nearing Galveston.
He was headed in the wrong goddamn direction.
He stabbed a finger at the GPS to zoom out. What the hell was the best way from here? He didn’t want to go back through Houston. What was the fastest way around? He zoomed out too far, closed in too much—
Damn it! His fist slammed down onto the console. He swerved into the first convenience store he spotted. Jammed the car into park and shoved his head back into the headrest.
Damn it, Sage. Damn you.
For a second, he imagined not going back. Leaving this disaster in the hands that had created it.
He’d told her he’d take care of it. Bately would have listened to him. They had a deal; he could have worked something out.
But Sage hadn’t trusted him to do that, oh, no. She always wanted to take the lead, to call the shots.
Or maybe she’d figured out that he had plans that didn’t include her. Bately and he had been exploring a partnership of their own.
Now Bately was dead. Would anyone remember Martin being there at the scene? Had he been spotted, coming or leaving? Had he left fingerprints? From the moment he’d picked up that sweet, metallic odor, his movements were a blur. Something deep in his animal brain had sensed that the smell was blood, but it had taken seeing the man lying on concrete, a gaping hole where his heart should have been, for Martin to flee without thinking.
He could have touched a dozen surfaces in that warehouse. He didn’t know.
Sage, you bitch. What he did know was that everything had suddenly turned very, very serious. He had a partner who was vicious and not quite sane. They were in bed with men who made her look tame.
He eyed the road ahead of him. He could keep going until he crossed the border.
No. Lima would find him. Mexico was the cartel’s turf.
He’d be dead in days.
Maybe he’d find his way to I-10 and just keep driving cross-country. He could light out for the West Coast and drive straight through. He’d be in California in twenty-four hours or so if he didn’t stop to sleep.
He might never sleep again, anyway.
Bately’s dead eyes wouldn’t let him.
But the person who’d offer shelter to him in L.A. wasn’t there—she was sitting back in Austin, innocently waiting for him to return. He couldn’t leave town yet, but he needed her to do so, immediately. She had to get as far away from the looming disaster as possible.
He fingered his phone. Started to punch in her number.
The hour was late. He would wake her. He didn’t know what to say, anyway.
But he had to go back. Face down Sage and figure his way out of this. Fortunately, he’d had misgivings early on in this enterprise and had socked away money along with two passports, one his own and one that only looked like him.
A visceral sense of danger was kicking in, sharpening his wits. He would return, get the money and passports and keep them with him at all times. He’d call Annabelle in the morning and find out her plans for going home. She should be going back soon, anyway, but he’d nudge her gently.
Once that was accomplished, he’d face Sage with a cool head, playing the role of his life, the one where he wasn’t scared senseless, where he studied his partner and figured out how to either get rid of her…
Or vanish himself.
Sean took her to Antone’s and introduced her to the blues. Memphis was solid blues territory, but she’d grown up on the opposite end of the state and had never taken much notice of that genre.
“Those lyrics are downright dirty,” she marveled. “And here I thought blues was all about social injustice.”
“Oh, honey…blues is about life. Just in coded language.” He drew her onto the dance floor and tugged her close. “With amazing vocals and world-class guitar playing. And every bit of it crawls right down where you live.”
The floor wasn’t overcrowded, but she couldn’t find any reason on earth to move away from where their thighs brushed and their bodies entwined, responding to rhythms as primal as the act of love itself.
“This music is made for hot summer nights,” she murmured in his ear.
“And sweet, slow lovin’,” he agreed.
She didn’t know how much time passed as they lost themselves in each other. Before she knew it, the band was playing last call. She and Sean blinked at one another, climbing out of the spell of great music and all the ways in which dancing brought two people together.
“You’re a really good dancer,” she said to him.
“Easy to do when you’ve got an angel in your arms.”
She tried to save herself before she went down for the third time. “You, sir, are an unregenerate flirt.”
He brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed them over her fingers. “I’m not flirting, Annabelle. You’re the one who’s breaking my heart.” For a moment, who he was at his core looked out from those usually playful eyes.
“I don’t want to,” she whispered. “I wish…”
He shook his head to stop her. “Sometimes we don’t get our wishes, Hollywood. We just have to live in the moment and be grateful as hell we get that much. That’s what I’m trying to focus on.”
“I’ll try, too.” But oh, it was hard. “Can we go home, Sean?” There was an odd look on his face. She corrected herself quickly. “I mean…to your place.”
“It’s yours for however long you can stay.” He tucked her into his side, and they walked out. As they neared his truck, he bent to her. “We have tonight. Let’s make it count.”
She smiled up at him. And tried her best to forget anything beyond tonight.
They went home to the house that felt more like one than anywhere she’d lived since she left Tennessee. They made love through the night, desperate and beautiful, fevered and savage…ragged and sweet…
And exquisitely tender.
When Annabelle awoke, she was alone. Soft pale light filtered through the window. She rolled over and opened her arms wide, her whole body awash in a dizzying sense of well-being.
She looked up at the ceiling she’d teased Sean about and smiled. So many images flickered through her mind, all of them filled with him. Some were fun, some were…delicious. Some were X-rated.
So where was he?
She rose and once again donned his shirt. Sniffed the air and detected the scent of coffee, which lured her downstairs. She padded through the kitchen, found a mug and poured some for herself. She leaned back against the counter and took the first, reviving sip.
The man made excellent coffee.
She’d like to tell him…if she could find him.
Just then, the sound of his voice filtered in from the back. She crossed to one of the wavy windows and made out his form as he crouched on the porch and continued speaking.
Was he talking to himself? He didn’t have a phone to his ear.
Just then he rose, and she could see beyond him.
A kitten, scrawny and pathetic, lapped at a saucer of milk.
“Oh.” Unbidden, the sound came from her throat.
Sean pivoted and spotted her. Helplessly shrugged those bare, broad, yummy shoulders.
She grinned and pointed to herself. Okay to come out there? she mouthed.
&n
bsp; He nodded, but put a finger to his lips for quiet. Carefully he backed away and opened the screen door for Annabelle to come through and join him.
“Where did you get her? Or him,” she whispered. “Boy or girl?”
“Haven’t checked,” he replied in a low voice. “I went out to get the paper, and it was outside yowling like crazy. I assumed it was just looking for its mother, so I watched for a few minutes, but no mother showed up. Then it spotted me, and came bounding over. I figure it belongs to somebody around here, but it’s early to be knocking on doors and the thing wouldn’t stop crying, so…” He lifted both palms.
She smiled up at him. “So Sir Galahad rescues another lost soul.”
“Not really, not—” He broke off when she laughed. “Cut it out. I’m no hero, I just…”
“Rescue damsels and kittens in your spare time.”
His cheeks took on charming color. “Quit that.” He grabbed her mug. “Gimme. I never got my coffee.” He sipped, then made a face. “Good grief, how can you drink it sweet like that?”
“Then give it back. You don’t use sugar? I couldn’t find any sweetener.”
“Cop coffee is never sweetened.”
“Wouldn’t be macho enough?”
He grinned. “Nope. The stuff at the station is beyond redemption, anyway. No amount of sugar or milk can fix sludge like diesel oil. And you don’t always have the time. You just learn to be thankful for the caffeine and ignore the rest.”
“Really.” She smiled at him over the rim. “For someone who’s apparently so used to the bad stuff, you make an amazing cup of coffee.”
“Guests deserve better treatment…especially certain guests. You know, pampered movie stars, for instance.”
Before she could argue, he dipped his head and kissed her. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” Oh, lordy, those kisses were as lethal at dawn as in the depths of midnight.
“Want to sit in my porch swing with me, Hollywood? I’ll get a cup and join you. You’re on cat-watching duty until I get back.”
She blinked. She’d already forgotten the kitten. Oh, man, he got to her in more ways than she could count.
Instead of sitting down, though, she set her mug on the porch railing and crouched near where the kitten lapped milk, though not too close.
Then she couldn’t resist. Just one little touch…she reached for the kitten, but it jumped and hissed.
Then it started batting at her finger.
She remembered this, hours and hours she’d spent playing with her own kitten as a girl. She glanced around her for something to use and found a twig that had fallen from one of the trees shading this beautiful old porch. She brushed it along the floorboards while the kitten stared, mesmerized.
Then it pounced. Annabelle chuckled and kept dodging and darting with it, drawing the kitten closer and closer until finally she could drop the twig and stroke one finger down the spiny little backbone while the kitten attacked the vicious enemy.
A few more strokes, then the kitten stopped attacking and arched its back against her hand, purring like a tiny motor. She scooped it up and held it against her, the vibration making her smile. She lifted it up, and a quick glimpse answered their question. “Where’s your mama, little girl?” she asked as she cuddled the small gray and white. The kitten let her cuddle and stroke for a couple of minutes, then Annabelle’s hair swung too temptingly, and the kitten leaped. Her claws tightened and she clung for dear life, frantically trying to climb upward to something stable…in this case, Annabelle’s scalp.
“Ow!” The yank on the roots of her hair made her eyes tear. She tried fruitlessly to untangle the kitten, who was getting ever more entrapped as she struggled.
Behind her, Sean’s laughter warmed her. “Want some help there?” He set his mug down and knelt beside her, using one hand to capture the kitten and still it while the other held onto her hair before it could be yanked out by the roots. The kitten yelped, and Sean nearly dropped her, setting up a further struggle. “Hang on,” he said. “I’ve nearly got it free…ta da!” He held the kitten up in triumph, but a tiny screech had him instinctively bringing her to his chest.
Immediately the kitten rubbed her head against him and resumed purring.
Annabelle completely understood the reaction, surrounded by him as she was. One powerful thigh brushed her back, his other leg bracketing her where he crouched on one knee and held her within the vee of his legs.
She shivered. Never in her life had she felt the potent combination of being both protected by and so powerfully attracted to a man. Sean made her feel safe…but in some thoroughly delicious ways, not safe at all.
“Are you all right?” His eyes were bright with both concern and suppressed humor. “I can’t really blame it for wanting to get lost in that beautiful hair. I’ve been wanting to roll around in it myself.” Humor quickly slid into heat.
“Her,” Annabelle said absently, lost in his eyes.
“Oh.” Sean’s were locked on hers as his head lowered until his lips brushed hers. “Did I say good morning?” His voice was husky.
“Yes, but don’t let that stop you,” she murmured, stretching upward to him like a daisy reaching for the sun.
A screech jerked them apart.
They shared a laugh, and Annabelle realized then just how seductive shared laughter could be.
Sean set the kitten down by the dish of milk, and she returned to eager lapping.
He didn’t move away but stayed right where he was, surrounding Annabelle with a warmth that was both physical and an indelible part of his personality. He slid his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head as he watched her solemnly. “Now,” he said, his voice low and intense, “Where were we?”
“A proper good morning,” she said, staring at that mouth that had given her so much pleasure already.
“Right.” He bent to her, cradling her cheek with his free hand and stroking her skin with his thumb. “Let me know when I get it right,” he murmured.
She closed her eyes and sank into the kiss. Small sips at first, then faint, tantalizing tracing with his tongue until her nipples ached and her body trembled with need for him. “Sean…” she said against his mouth. Then she rose to her knees and took the lead.
“Man—” he gasped when they both came up for air. “You absolutely kill me, Annabelle.” He clasped her head in his hands and restrained her. “You are so damn sweet. I wish…”
His eyes were dark and sad and a little haunted. She understood completely. She was bewildered by how quickly this had accelerated, since she’d sworn never to fall hard and fast again.
But this was Sean, and he was, she realized more every second they spent together…special. Absolutely unique.
She could trust him, surely. His background was like hers. He came from the same kind of people, the same moral code. He was a Boy Scout, he was John Wayne, he was Sir Galahad.
“Annabelle…we have to talk. I—”
“No.” She stopped his words with her fingers, replaced them with her lips. “You make me believe in dreams again.” Another kiss, then she threw her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “Let’s enjoy the magic.”
He crushed her to him with a fervor that gave her hope. He pressed his face into her hair and held on so tightly she could barely breathe.
The very thought of saying goodbye to him sent an agonizing pain stabbing straight to her heart.
She used every last bit of strength she had to hold on and not beg.
Inside on the kitchen counter, his phone rang. She started to release him, but he only lifted his head and looked at her with an echoing pain in his own eyes. “I don’t care who’s calling.”
Fiercely he kissed her, and they let their bodies speak, letting them drown out the words neither wanted to hear.
And when her cell chimed, ruthlessly she ignored it, as well.
Chapter Thirteen
Martin stood in his office and listened to
Annabelle’s phone ring, then go to voicemail. Damn it, Annabelle, I need to talk to you. Where the hell are you?
He didn’t want to leave a message, but he was afraid not to. “Annabelle, I know it’s early, but I have to talk to you. It’s important. Call me back the second you get this.” He disconnected, and stood at the one-way glass, staring out at the darkened club, trying to think his way through an alternate plan, if it turned out that he had to go over to the hotel to talk to Annabelle in person.
The connecting door opened. Sage strolled in.
“Pretty early for you, isn’t it?” he asked.
“I never left. Someone has to take care of things around here.”
“Yeah, like you took care of Bately?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said coolly.
“The hell you don’t.” Rage swept over him. “What were you thinking? Aren’t we in this deep enough, Sage? Now, thanks to you, we could have cops looking at us for murder?”
“Us?” She arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t at that warehouse. You own it. There’s no connection to me.”
Fear stabbed an icy finger in his gut. “What are you saying?”
“You didn’t think I was smart enough to know you were cooking up a little side venture and leaving me out?” Her expression was withering contempt. “I’m the smart one, Martin. You’re only the greedy one.” She turned toward her office. “And I don’t need you anymore.”
The shock staggered him for a moment, then fury came to his rescue. “I’m all that’s kept us from going down already. You’re impetuous, and your impulses are going to get both of us killed. Lima listens to me, not you, and all I have to do is—”
“Are you so sure of that?” She examined her manicure. “The pieces on the board are changing.” A smug lift of an eyebrow. “And you lack some essential assets Jorge likes very much.”
“You—” He blinked. “You’re screwing him?” His hand made a fist.
“Touch me, and your little girlfriend is dead meat.”
“What?” Horror made all his muscles go lax. “No.”
“Did you think I wasn’t having you followed when you conveniently disappeared every day? When I already knew you were double-crossing me?” Her smile was vicious. “Imagine that…Annabelle Quinn…” She stared upward, her expression calculating. “I wonder what the gossip rags would think of America’s Sweetheart being connected to a sordid little murder in Houston. Poor thing, she doesn’t choose men well at all, does she?”
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