by Julia Harper
“Visit you?”
“Yeah. Hop a plane, eat three peanuts, and get off in California, where I’ll be waiting at the airport. Visit me.”
Turner raised her eyebrows. Brad had never invited her out to see him. She didn’t even know if he lived in a condo or a house or what. “I—”
“It wouldn’t have to be for long.” Brad spoke quickly, as if he were nervous she might hang up on him. “And you don’t have to answer right away. You know, think about it a bit while you’re breaking into safes or whatever you desperadoes do in your spare time.”
She couldn’t think of anything right now besides bringing Calvin down. Although how she was going to do that without any evidence . . . She dragged her mind back to Brad and the conversation. “Thank you. I will.”
“Good. Fine.”
There was an awkward little pause.
Turner cleared her throat. “What, exactly, brought on this urge to see me?”
“Well, you know . . .” Brad trailed off.
“No, I don’t know,” she said gently. “Tell me.”
“I’ve been thinking.” He cleared his throat. “After I called you yesterday. That, you know, we haven’t seen too much of each other lately, and, um, maybe we should. See each other, I mean. Get to know each other again. After all, you’re my only living relative.”
“I guess we could try.”
“Yeah.” Brad sounded relieved. “Just, you know, try it for a while. No pressure.”
“Okay.”
“Great. And try not to get in too much trouble, please, Turner?”
Her face twisted. She couldn’t really make that promise, but Brad sounded so worried. “Okay.”
He said good-bye, and she went back to staring at the motel. Would it really make a good impression on Victoria if she had to argue her case all grungy? Hard to claim that you were in your right mind when you stank—and Turner had the sneaking feeling that she did indeed stink. That decided it. She hopped down from the pickup and went in the pink office.
Ten minutes later, she emerged with a key on a ping-pong paddle. Painted pink. Apparently, they’d had problems in the past here with people absent-mindedly walking off with the room keys. Something that was almost impossible when the key was attached to a pink ping-pong paddle. Turner got in the pickup and drove it the short distance to her bungalow parking spot. Fortunately, the parking lot for the cottages was in back. The pickup wouldn’t be easily seen from the road. She jumped down from the truck and went around to the passenger side to lug out her suitcase. Inside the bungalow, she shut and locked the door and let the suitcase drop at her feet. The room was already cool. The air conditioning must’ve been running all day.
She tiptoed to the bathroom and squeezed her eyes shut before looking. If she’d just spent fifty dollars on a room with a yucky shower stall . . . But no. Turner grinned. The bathroom was, as advertised, fully refurbished. In pink, true, but everything was shiny and very, very clean. Complimentary herbal shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion stood on the sink.
Humming happily to herself, she stripped naked and turned the shower on full blast. She twisted the knobs to hot and stepped in. Ahhh. Nothing was as wonderful as getting clean after being filthy. She washed her hair twice and scrubbed a washcloth all over her body like a loofah. When she finally stepped out, her skin tingled. Turner dried herself and then wrapped a towel around her head. She wiped a spot clean in the mirror and applied all of the complimentary body lotion in the eensy little bottle. She took the towel off and almost laughed when she saw her short hair sticking up. She’d forgotten her hairbrush in the suitcase sitting in the outer room. Smiling, she ran her fingers through her hair and opened the bathroom door.
And stopped dead because she had almost run down Squeaky. The dog was whining and wagging his whole body, he was so glad to see her. But that wasn’t what sent the thrill down her spine.
John was lying on the bed, propped against the headboard. His blue eyes were calm and watching her, it seemed, without expression. On the bedside table beside him was a gun in a holster. He’d taken off his jacket, as well, and rolled up his white shirtsleeves, but otherwise he was fully dressed and looked totally at ease.
Except for the handcuffs that stretched his arms above his head.
Chapter Thirty-three
T he second thing John noticed about Turner was the way her cat eyes immediately flew to the door. Even while petting the Great Dane’s ears, her gaze was taking in the room. No doubt about it, the woman wanted to run. Good thing he’d taken the precaution of shoving the dresser in front of the motel room’s door. True, it had felt like it was made of matchsticks when he’d lifted it, but the dresser would still take her a moment to wrestle aside if she tried to make a run for it. Of course, she’d have to get dressed first. Because that was the first thing he noticed about her.
Glory hallelujah, Turner was nude. Maybe this was his reward after a freaking bitch of a week.
“Why are your hands cuffed to the bed?” she asked.
Squeaky gave her one last lick and settled back down in the place he’d found for himself: the floor of the alcove closet. He could just fit if he curled into a ball. John tore his eyes away from Turner’s breasts, soft and white and with shockingly dark nipples. His cock was already throbbing.
“I thought it might make it easier for you.”
She looked wary, like a wild thing ready to run. Her slim legs were braced apart, and she held her arms slightly away from her sides. “Easier for what?”
“To talk.” That was what he’d gambled on, anyway. If he made himself nonthreatening to her, maybe she wouldn’t run. Of course, the flip side to that equation was if she did run, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
A gamble.
“Talk?” She made a sudden swift move that had his heart leaping painfully in his chest, but she only grabbed his jacket and wrapped it around herself. Technically, she was covered. But the sight of her, with bare legs and the jacket only coming to midthigh, was a wet dream come true. He was never going to look at that jacket in the same way again. He nearly groaned.
He didn’t, though. He kept his voice calm. Light. As if they were still conversing via cell phone. It was important that he not scare her. “Yeah, talk. I think it’s about time we spent some time together and figured this thing out.”
“And the handcuffs?” She pointed with her sharp little chin. Her hands were occupied keeping his jacket closed around her nude body.
“I figured you’d find me less intimidating this way. I’m not wearing my Glock.” He pointed with his own chin to the bedside table, where his holster and a handcuff key lay. “I can’t chase after you if you decide to leave.”
She exhaled on a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Baby, do I look like I’m kidding?” He rattled the metal cuffs against the headboard.
“I’ve wondered what your expression would look like when you said that.” Her scratchy voice had lowered.
“What?”
“Baby.” Her gaze was on his crotch, where she was probably getting an eyeful.
Oh, man. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “That wasn’t what I was wondering about you.”
She raised her green eyes and took a step closer. Was she conscious of her move? “What did you wonder about me?”
“Your taste. What it would be like to kiss you on the lips.”
She stared at him as if sorely tempted, and he sure as hell hoped she was. But she didn’t move closer. She just stood there flexing her narrow hands on his coat lapels.
He exhaled. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“I ought to leave.” Her straight, dark eyebrows knit. “How do I know you haven’t called for reinforcements?”
“I haven’t.”
She nibbled at her bottom lip as if debating whether to believe him.
“We’re all alone,” John said softly. “Just you and me.”
Her gaze flew to h
is. Her eyes were narrowed, suspicious.
John waited, breathing in and out slowly, concentrating on the flow of air to his body. He met her eyes calmly and, he hoped, reassuringly.
“Okay.” She sat on the far corner of the bed.
He suppressed his smile. True, she looked ready to fly at any moment, but he’d just won the first round.
“Bet it was nice to have that shower,” he said.
She snorted. “Obviously, I’m not meant for a life on the run when I can be caught because I stopped to bathe.” Her voice had a bit of wry self-disgust, and her soft mouth had twisted.
He smiled. It would be wonderful to touch her, but just watching the expressions move across Turner’s face was oddly satisfying in itself.
“You’re not doing so bad. You managed to escape from an experienced FBI agent twice.”
“Only to be caught the third time.” Her eyes narrowed again and the outer corners tilted up, making her look more like a cat than ever. “How did you find me?”
He shook his head. “I can’t let you know all my techniques, can I?” Dumb luck, in this case. “So what do you plan to do now?”
Was it his imagination, or did the color rise in her cheeks? “What do you mean?”
“You don’t have the evidence, do you?” A soft canine snore started in the corner. They’d bored Squeaky.
“No.”
“Then what can you do?” He crossed his legs on the bed, and her gaze slipped down to follow the movement. “Is there another place you can look?”
He carefully didn’t mention her arranged meeting with Victoria Weidner the next morning. That was his ace in the hole. If this didn’t work, he could still catch her in Madison. But he was hoping she’d tell him about the meeting herself.
She didn’t. “I don’t know.”
“So what will you do?”
“You want me to give up, don’t you?”
“Not give up, exactly.” He grimaced. “If Hyman really is embezzling from the bank, we’ll get him eventually. Don’t worry about that.”
“But it’ll take time, won’t it?” She stared at him with what seemed like fading hope in her eyes. “You’ll need warrants and a special investigator and some kind of evidence just to start. That’s assuming the FBI even decides to investigate. And all that time Calvin will be hiring expensive lawyers and destroying whatever evidence there is.”
He sighed. “Turner—”
“No. I’m right, aren’t I, John?”
He shifted. This handcuffing-himself-to-the-bedpost business wasn’t such a good idea, after all. He wanted to touch her, hold her, keep her from running. Of course, he could get out of the handcuffs if he wanted to—he had the second key sewn into the band of his watch. But he wanted to maintain the illusion of vulnerability.
Not to mention it would take some time to get the handcuffs unlocked. “It might go down that way, but there’s always a chance—”
“A chance? A chance isn’t good enough.”
“That’s how the system works.”
“No. I’m sorry, I can’t wait for a chance that might never come.”
She stood up, and he straightened reflexively. Or tried to. The handcuffs prevented him from moving his upper body much.
“Stay.”
She’d turned away to her suitcase, but now she stilled and looked at him over her shoulder. “Why?”
“Because I want you to.”
“What are you saying?”
He put as much intensity as he could into his gaze. “Stay with me. Forget about Hyman and the bank and everything else. Just for tonight. Stay with me.”
“John—”
“Just the two of us. Here. Let whatever is going on outside stay outside. Just for tonight.”
She looked at the door. “You’re stalling.”
“No—”
“You’re waiting for some kind of backup and you—”
“No, goddamnit!” John lunged against the stupid handcuffs and nearly tore his arm from the socket. “Shit!”
She was by his side immediately. “I can’t believe you actually handcuffed yourself to the bed.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my brightest moment.”
“I don’t know.” Her mouth was wry. “It kept me here, didn’t it?”
He closed his eyes. “Stay with me.”
“You’ve hurt yourself.”
“Turner—”
“I can’t stay, you know that.”
“Why not?” He opened his eyes to find she was even closer than before.
He inhaled. There it was: the green scent of pine, even under the flowery perfume of whatever soap she’d used. He was smelling Turner—her special scent. She stared at him mutely. He could see yellow slivers in her green eyes, she was that near. Finally. God, he couldn’t let her disappear again.
“There’s nobody outside. It’s just you and me—”
“John,” she said in her low, sexy voice. “It’s impossible. You know that.”
“Why? No one need ever know.”
“That’s—”
“It’s only you and me. Forget everything else.”
“I can’t.” She ran a hand through the drying spikes of her hair. “You want to arrest me. I want to get Calvin. This won’t work.”
“Just for tonight.”
She laughed softly. “You’re crazy.”
“Maybe. But I need you so much, baby.”
She sighed and looked away.
“Please.” Christ. He was begging.
“How do you undo these?” She was touching his shoulder lightly now, her fingers gentle.
He was losing her, he could tell. An uncharacteristic panic filled his chest. “Don’t leave me. I want—”
She turned her face and her mouth was suddenly inches from his. “What do you want?”
If he lived another forty years, he’d never forget the erotic huskiness of Turner’s voice whispering that to him. What do you want? You, he wanted to say, I want you, now and forever. But he settled for something a lot less intimidating.
“I want you to kiss me.”
Chapter Thirty-four
A kiss.
Such an innocent request. Unless the person making the request was a man with desperation in his gaze and an almost palpable tension in his body.
A man like John.
Turner stared into his eyes. The irises were a strange kind of blue, so pale as to make his pupils stand out in sharp contrast, with a thin, dark blue ring around the outer edge. They were the kind of eyes that made some people uneasy because they were so light. But at the moment it wasn’t his eyes that were making her uneasy. And excited. It was the look they held: part need, part compulsion. John wanted her very badly.
He hadn’t given up on her. That had been the first thought she’d had when she’d seen him. Somehow, despite all the times she pushed him away, despite her prickly self-sufficient personality, he’d stayed. He’d come after her. It wasn’t logical, but she felt triumph. Triumph and heat. She wanted this man, too.
She shifted on the bed. The jacket she was wearing had ridden up a little when she’d sat down next to him, and her bare bottom was in contact with the bedspread. On top, the jacket covered her decently, but underneath . . .
Why was she still here? She should have taken advantage of his chivalrous urge to handcuff himself to the bed. She should have been out the door fifteen minutes ago. Instead, she was leaning over him, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
So close she could scent him.
Ah, that. She felt her eyelids droop half-closed. That was what she’d wanted to do the first time she’d actually seen John, only two days ago at Tommy’s place: to smell him. And now she could. It was almost intoxicating, his aroma. He smelled like a man. A delicious, wonderful man. Not sweaty or smoky. Not even any identifiable odor like cologne. She smelled just him.
His essence.
Turner swayed forward, tantalized by that scent, and f
ound her mouth was almost on his. It seemed so natural, so right, to give in to his plea.
She kissed him.
She brushed her lips over his, warm and firm, and then brushed again. She felt his beard stubble at her cheek, and he opened his mouth. His tongue stroked her lips and she parted them slowly, cautiously, to let him in. A groan whispered against her lips, and then he darted his tongue into her mouth. She gasped. She could taste him. Coffee and something else she couldn’t identify. He darted in again, and she stroked his tongue with hers, feeling the texture. She drew back a little and looked at him.
“Come closer,” he murmured.
His eyes were half-lowered. Passion should have softened his face, but instead it had deepened the lines around his mouth and hardened his jaw. She inched closer until her hip bumped his side and leaned down, delicately, deliberately biting his lower lip. He watched her kiss him, his eyes still open. Then she licked his bottom lip, licked all around his mouth, slowly, thoroughly, with him watching all the time. She broke the kiss with a small, wet sound, intimate in the still room. She raised her head and paused, looking at him.
He didn’t comment.
So she lowered her head and fit her open mouth over his. Immediately, he angled his face and thrust his tongue into her mouth, more strongly this time. She caught it and sucked until he groaned.
He pulled his head back. “I want you closer. Climb on top of me.”
She arched her eyebrows but did as he asked. First she knelt on the side of the bed, and then she swung one leg over him, hiking the jacket up a little. Her bare bottom was now just below his pelvis, partly on his thighs. She sat still for a moment, adjusting to the feel of his trousers against her bare legs. Her hands held the jacket—his jacket—closed across her chest, but then she looked into his eyes and let go. The jacket fell partially open.
His gaze dropped to her pubic hair and her parted sex. His eyes narrowed, and his face became almost saturnine.
She leaned forward and placed one hand on his chest. The other cupped his jaw. And she kissed him again with tongue and lips, moaning with the voluptuous freedom. She could do anything—anything she liked—with this man. For tonight.