“I can’t eat an energy bar without something to drink,” she said. “I’ll choke. I have a strong gag reflex.” Good Lord, had she really said that aloud? Mortification stung her cheeks and she inwardly winced, horrified. The silence in the cab suddenly swelled with tension, one of those awful pregnant pauses that seemed to lengthen impossibly with every second that rolled by.
He chewed the inside of his cheek. Hesitated. Cleared his throat, presumably of a laugh. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
6
SOPHOMORIC OR GUTTER-BRAINED, call it whatever you want, but typically when a man heard the words “gag reflex”—much like those association card games shrink’s liked to use—his first thought was “blow job.”
Butter—biscuit.
Peanut butter—jelly.
Gag reflex—blow job.
It was just the way most men were wired and, though he liked to consider himself a little more evolved than most men—certainly above the curve, at any rate—evidently he was not.
Because when she’d said gag reflex, he’d immediately imagined her lovely raspberry bow-like mouth wrapped around his dick, her fiery hair spread out over his bare thighs, and the resulting image had made him harden past the point of pain, made his hands involuntarily tighten on the wheel. The only thing that prevented him from shifting into a more comfortable position was the fact that he knew she would notice—despite the high color on her peachy cheeks—and, more importantly, the she-devil would know why he’d moved and then she’d have even more power over him.
She already, after less than an hour in her company, had him turned upside down and inside out. The idea that she could potentially have him eating out of her hand the same way she’d had those mindless pups back at the safe house doing it was just enough incentive to keep him in check.
He would not allow it.
He couldn’t afford to be that reckless, not when her life and his future at Ranger Security hung in the balance. Naturally, her life was more important—he could get another job if he needed to—but he sure as hell didn’t want to have to seek alternate employment.
I am a professional, Judd told himself. An adult. The ultimate master of my actions.
Evidently hungry enough to risk choking, she shifted in the darkness, then turned to open the console. Her bare fingers brushed his arm in the process, shocking him with a crackle of static. He gritted his teeth, feeling the jolt rush through his balls.
She jumped a little and quickly withdrew her hand. “Sorry.”
“There’s a case of water in the back,” he said. “It hasn’t been refrigerated, but it sat in the truck overnight, so it should be cold enough.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’d better get a bottle.” She adjusted her seat so that she could put her basket onto the floor, then unhooked her safety belt and scrambled between the two seats, her lush rump narrowly missing his head as she wriggled past.
He wasn’t going to survive this, Judd thought, every muscle in his body going taut. Not with a shred of sanity or the enamel on his teeth. By the time he delivered her for trial, he’d be a blathering idiot with newly groomed hair. Which reminded him...
“I didn’t realize that you were a hairdresser,” he said. “Your file simply said humanitarian.”
His gaze drifted to the rearview mirror—an apt description, considering her rump was all he could see—and her muffled voice reached him from the back. “I’m not a hairdresser,” she said. She tore into the plastic, cursing under her breath when it didn’t cooperate as quickly as she’d like.
“Then why were you giving Roy a haircut?”
She grunted in victory. “Do you want one, too? While I’m back here?”
Might as well. His mouth was as dry as a desert at the moment, anyway. “Yes, thanks.”
“Just because I haven’t been formally trained doesn’t mean I don’t know how to give a basic trim, which was all I was doing.” She came forward again, stuck a bare leg through the two front seats, then withdrew it. “Well, hell. This is going to be a little trickier than I thought.”
Right, Judd thought, his mouth curving. Evidently going to the back had been easier than coming to the front. Her predicament was endlessly entertaining. Which was a little pathetic, when he thought about it. So he didn’t.
“Were Roy and the others aware of your limited experience before they turned you loose with a pair of scissors?”
She grunted, made another awkward attempt to come through, this time head first—it didn’t work. “I don’t remember,” she said. “But it wouldn’t have mattered. They trusted me.”
He hummed under his breath. “Blindly, it would seem.”
“This is...I—” She wiggled around a little more, putting both feet forward this time, nearly knocking the car out of gear in the process. “Oh, hell. Sorry,” she muttered sheepishly.
“That’s not going to work,” he said. “Unless you can magically grow longer arms to give you the needed leverage to come through.”
“Yes, I’d worked that bit out for myself, thanks,” she said tightly, seemingly annoyed with herself.
“Put both feet on the floor board and stand up.”
“I’m too tall to stand up.”
“Obviously. Crouch,” he told her.
She heaved an exasperated breath, shoved the hair out of her face. “If you’re going to start bossing me around again, we’re going to have a problem. Honestly, do you even hear yourself? Put both feet on the floor. Stand up. Crouch,” she mimicked. “It’s irritating.”
“I’m trying to be helpful,” he told her, feeling his own temper rise. “But never mind. I’m sure you can work it out on your own.”
“Yes, I’m sure I can,” she said, her tone smug enough to make him want to scream. He floored it instead, gunning the motor as he passed another car, and sent her tumbling backward, landing with an “oomph” and a grunt on her rear end.
“That was juvenile.”
He turned his head to hide his smile. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” She scooted forward and stood, crouching low. “Fine, I’ll try it your way. What next, Boy Genius?”
“Boy Genius, my hero, Arrogant Autocratic Ass,” he listed off. “I’m not opposed to a nickname, per se, if you’re going to give me one, but I have to say I don’t care for any of my choices thus far. I am not a boy,” he said, biting the words off. “Nor am I a hero. And while I am confident, I’m not arrogant.” He released a breath. “Someone needs to get you a dictionary for Christmas.”
He darted a look in the mirror just in time to see a shadow race over her features, one that tugged at him, made him feel like he’d said something unintentionally hurtful.
She rallied quickly, though, making him wonder if he’d imagined the look. “That still makes you an autocratic ass,” she said.
“Here’s a thought,” he said. “Why don’t you just call me by my name? Judd. Simple enough. One syllable. Or ‘Judd the Heroic Confident Genius?’ if you want to combine the remains of the others?”
“Judd the Heroic Confident Genius?” she said, humor shaking her voice. “Wow,” she said, shaking her head. “Just wow. “ A little pause, then, “Are you really a genius?” she asked suspiciously, almost like she dreaded the answer. Her tone made him grin.
He was. “Profoundly gifted” according to his test scores. “What do you think?” he asked, genuinely curious.
She sighed heavily, relaxed against the backseat and opened the water bottle. “Probably so,” she said, sounding dejected. She grimaced. “It would be my luck.”
Judd chuckled low, looking at her thoughtful, glum expression. He didn’t have any idea what to make of her response, but for reasons which escaped him, it cheered him all the same.
“My grandfather was a barber,” she announced from the backseat, picking up their conversation pre-argument, as though it had never happened. “I had no formal training, but I spent a lot of time at his sho
p.” She met his gaze in the mirror, that lovely, startling green tangling with his. “That’s where I learned to do a decent trim and shave.”
“Oh.” That was one question answered, Judd thought. Naturally—stupidly—he had thousands more. She was too intriguing by half and he was too curious for comfort.
Maybe she’d had the right of it to start, he thought. Maybe a different agent would have been better suited to this task. One that had a better grasp on his control and his tongue. One that could look at her and not think about sliding his controlled tongue down the length of her luscious body.
Because he sure as hell couldn’t.
* * *
THEY’D JUST STOPPED to let Lilo and Stitch out for a quick romp in the grass and to pee in the sandy gravel by the roadside when Noelle noticed that Judd had evidently received a text and, judging from his dark expression, the news it contained wasn’t good.
She carefully reeled the kittens in on their leashes, smiling when Lilo batted at Stitch’s tail and made her way over to where he stood, the kittens tangling around her ankles. He’d leaned against the hood of the SUV, a booted foot against the bumper as he broodingly watched her approach. Another pitch of desire hummed through her. Mercy, he was hot. “You can leave them out of the basket if you can keep them from darting up under my feet while I’m driving,” he said, eyeing her pets.
“I’d rather not risk it,” she said. “They’re small and devilishly quick. And even if I could keep them from getting under your feet, there’s no guarantee I couldn’t keep them from climbing all over your head. It’s better this way. They actually like the basket, so that makes things easier.” She frowned, tucked a strand of hair away from her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, glancing at the phone still in his hand.
He looked at her, his dark eyes even blacker under the evening sky. “What makes you think anything is wrong?”
She felt her lips twitch. “The thunderclouds rolling across your face.”
“Jeb always said I was easy to read,” he remarked quietly, more to himself than to her. “Unlike him,” he grunted. “Mr. Mysterious.”
“Jeb?” Who was this Jeb? If it was his boyfriend, then she’d save her attackers a bullet and shoot herself. Because that would be unforgivably unfair. Cruel, even.
“My brother,” he said. “My twin.”
She felt her eyes widen in shock. “Twin? There are two of you?” she asked, her voice rising. Two of him? Loose on the population at large, free to wreak havoc with female hormones at will? Good Lord...Well, that was certainly proof that the Almighty had a sense of humor.
He laughed, revealing a deep dimple in his left cheek. She smothered a whimper. Criminally handsome, magnificently built, sexy as hell. Her cheeks puffed as she exhaled mightily. And dimples.
She was doomed, Noelle thought, feeling that tell-tale dip and clench deep in her belly. Doomed, doomed, doomed.
“We’re not identical,” he said. “Exact opposites, as it happens. Jeb is a blue-eyed blonde. Rather angelic-looking I’m told.” The corner of his lip curled significantly. “I am not.”
A shuddering breath left her lungs. No, he wasn’t. He was strikingly dark, that black hair and blacker eyes contrasting vividly with his gorgeous skin. The parking lot lights glowed brightly from above, giving him a strangely ethereal quality, and her gaze inexplicably dropped to his mouth.
Curved just so, it had a devastating effect on her equilibrium and seemed to knock her off balance and forward, closer to him. The cold air suddenly crackled with a new tense heat, sizzling along her nerve endings. Longing welled up inside of her, so fierce and so quickly that she nearly groaned aloud, giving voice to the need hammering through her.
His black as sin gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered hungrily, before returning to her eyes and the raw desire she saw staring back at her nearly ripped the breath from her seizing lungs. He looked away, swallowed, then pushed off from the car and put some much needed distance between them.
He obviously had more strength of will than she did.
“That was my boss,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“You asked if something was wrong,” he reminded her. “I got a text from my boss. The Cedar Street safe house went up in flames a few minutes ago. Another Molotov cocktail, this one more potent than the last.”
She sucked in a breath, horror billowing through her. “What? The boys? Roy? Les? Clark?”
“They’re all safe,” he assured her. “They’d left immediately following us.”
She wilted with relief, her body weary after the post-adrenaline rush brought on by fear. Noelle felt tears prick the backs of her lids and resisted the urge to scream in frustration. She was so damned tired of being afraid, of feeling powerless to keep those around her safe, much less herself.
“I want you to call D.A. Jeffrey Stark,” she said, her voice cracking with anger, “and tell him that if he doesn’t put a stop to this—if he doesn’t make finding this miserable bastard priority number one—then I’m not going to testify. I won’t do it.”
He leveled a look at her, his gaze serious, his mouth set in a grim line. “You don’t mean that.”
It was true, she didn’t. But... She lifted her chin, returned his stare. “How do you know that?” she asked, still simmering with equal levels of irritation and anger. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. You’ve looked over a file, made a few deductions and have decided you have the measure of me. Well, you don’t. Any more than I do you.”
An odd expression slid fleetingly over his face, a haunted shadow of...what? Relief, maybe? “That might be true,” he conceded. “I don’t know you. But I can make a few educated guesses about your character based on the ‘actions’ I read in your file. In my experience, you can tell a lot more about what a person does than what they say.”
Hers, too. Actions did speak louder than words. But if that was the case, then what did this madman’s actions say about him? Other than he was determined to see her dead. Better still, why had Tubby killed Rupert? In the grand scheme of things, what difference did it really make if Rupert preferred one ketchup brand to another and chose to stock the one he liked? It was his damned café, after all. Talk about a stupid reason to kill someone.
It was evil. Pure evil.
And the most unnerving part in all of this? Mossy Ridge was a relatively small community. In all probability, the person who was trying to send her to an early grave—at the bidding of Tubby Winchester—was more than likely someone she knew, possibly even held in high regard. Because Tubby hadn’t gotten to his level of organized crime without greasing a few well-connected palms.
D.A. Stark had intimated more than once that Tubby was getting help from some friends in high places. And the friends in high places were especially dangerous, because unlike Tubby—who didn’t pretend to be a good guy—these men did.
Which made them all the more protective of their reputations, and gave them a whole lot more to lose.
This was what she was dealing with. This was why she was so afraid.
Her eyes stung once more, imagining the house up in flames, her friends trapped inside. Had she dawdled a little bit longer, they all could have been dead, Judd included.
She pulled in a shallow breath. “Can I have my cell phone, please?”
Judd winced. “You know I can’t—”
“I’m not going to use it,” she said. “I want to make sure that it’s off and that no one can ever use it again.” Most especially me, she thought feeling like the biggest idiot in the northern hemisphere. Why had she placed that call? Why the hell hadn’t she stopped to think?
It would be so easy to blame him, she thought, shooting a look at Judd. Easy...but unfair. She’d snapped and retaliated, hoping to get him replaced because she didn’t trust herself around him. She could hardly fault him for that. That unfortunate insight was hers and hers alone.
“I can pop off the battery,” he said. “You don�
��t have to destroy it.”
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”
She thought she caught the barest glimmer of a smile cross his lips. He sighed. “What purpose is that going to serve, really?”
She raised her chin. “It’ll make me feel better.”
“Fine,” he said, withdrawing it from his pocket. He reluctantly handed it over. “I hope you have all your contacts saved.”
“The ones I care about are memorized.” She dropped it onto the ground, then stomped on it until the glass shattered and the back casing broke away from the rest of the housing. With every determined strike of her heel, she felt a little better, a little more in control. Which was probably ludicrous because to any onlooker, she no doubt looked like she’d lost her mind. But...there was something very cathartic about the process. In breaking what they’d used to track her. Like a damned animal.
“All of them?” he asked. “You’ve memorized all of your contacts?”
She reared back and gave the phone one more vicious kick, sending it skidding across the parking lot. Lilo and Stitch, naturally, thought this was a game and tried to take off after the pieces. “Numbers are easy. I rarely forget them.”
“Really?” he asked, seemingly impressed. “How many did you have stored?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. A couple hundred, I guess.”
He stilled, seemingly shocked. “And you knew all of them?”
She felt a blush crawl over her cheeks. “I know I’m a freak,” she said. “Ask me to recite the preamble to the Declaration of Independence and I draw a blank. Ask me the bar code on top of the receipt from our dinner and I can give it to you backward.” She gave her head a shake. “Weird, right?”
“I didn’t even know there was a bar code on the top of our receipt,” he said, smiling at her. “Wow. That’s cool.”
“It’s not the least bit useful, but thank you, anyway.”
His gaze turned a bit speculative, made her a little nervous. “I bet you’re good at cards.”
His First Noelle Page 6