by C. J. Snyder
The tremors were replaced by shudders so strong no amount of anger in her voice could hide them. “I met your plane. Manhandling me isn’t part of the deal.” Jack thumbed the soft skin of her arm just above her elbow. She was coming to grips with losing the tight control she’d kept over her life for the past two years. But she was about to lose all control. Period. The sooner she realized that, the sooner they could get back to the important part of the evening. He would give her a little time—let her come deal with the fact that her game was over. He could generous in victory. Of course, reminding her of the stakes wouldn’t hurt either.
“Touching you is part of my deal. Or I can get Melissa back here. She didn’t seem all that thrilled to go.”
Maggie stopped struggling. But she held herself stiffly, still fighting. “She won’t be that thrilled when she finds out who you really are. What you really are.” The words bit deep—to the heart of the feud raging inside him. Maggie was a criminal—a fugitive. He’d tracked her endlessly, studying her, tracing her steps, berating her for the life she’d chosen. A coward’s choice. The easy way out. Too bad he wanted her like he’d never wanted a woman in his life.
Angry at her for pointing out his glaring fault, he caught her by the arms, yanked her off the bottom of the escalator and shoved her back into the wall. “You’re a fine one to talk. Does Melissa know her sister associates with felons? I can describe aiding and abetting with vocabulary even your sister can understand.”
“I didn’t—“ She stopped the lie before it was fully formed. He reigned his temper back in because she did. “So what’s next, Special Lieutenant? Handcuffs?”
“Do I need them?” She turned her eyes up to his. Her conflict was easy to read—nearly identical to his own. He watched her focus on her irritation. That erased his own, for some reason. Her reactions were no surprise. If the situation were reversed, he’d do exactly the same as she. Her lips twisted into a sneer. “So what’s special about you?”
He focused on her mouth again and felt his gut twist. Intentionally, he turned her words around. “We’ll get around to that. When we do, you can tell me.” Baiting, testing her, he continued, “Unfortunately, that probably won’t be tonight.”
“Damn straight it won’t.” He chuckled. She hadn’t pretended to misunderstand. Good. “You’d spit right in the devil’s eye, wouldn’t you?” Distracted by the tongue that swept nervously over her lips, he pulled out his handcuffs as a warning. Her tongue darted out again. Jack forced his fingers to open, releasing her arms. He had to get her out of the airport—away from all the people. A room at the Adam’s Mark hotel was already reserved.
Maggie’s eyes were a knife slicing into his soul. Her tongue made one more quick pass over her lips. Her increasingly frequent invitations would drive him crazy. When she spoke her voice was quiet with resigned defeat. “Get it over with, please.”
The proposition surprised him. Her lack of enthusiasm didn’t. He understood the loathing, the disgust she must be feeling—he’d suffered it all himself. But in the end, none of that mattered. His need for her—hers for him—wouldn’t be dissuaded by self-deprecation. Maybe she didn’t know that yet. “Right here?”
“Why not? What difference does it make?” Jack looked at her infinitely kissable mouth, then back to her eyes. The passion reflected there stole his breath. He’d bet she wasn’t consciously aware of that need she kept locked up tight inside—probably wouldn’t acknowledge its existence. But the urgency was there—a fire in her dark eyes.
“You sure?” His hand returned to her arm, sliding softly now from her t-shirt sleeves down to her elbows. With the other, he traced the column of her throat. Maggie sagged back against the wall. Did she feel the ripples racing just under her skin? He couldn’t feel anything else.
“It won’t matter. I know it’s something you have to do. But don’t forget you promised we could talk, after.”
His brain diligently commanded his hands to release her. His fingers ignored the order, sliding up her arm, under her sleeve. Her skin was unbelievably soft.
“Jack,” she whispered. “Couldn’t you just let me go?” Way too late for that. “No.” He murmured the word against her mouth. She froze, then gave a soft cry. Her lashes drifted closed. He breathed in her scent and control holstered its gun and surrendered.
Maggie’s fingers gave one quick shove against his chest then twisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. He traced her lips with the tip of his tongue and she opened to him with another sigh, one hand sliding up over his shoulders to till through his hair as she went up on her toes to get closer.
He traced her jaw, her cheekbones, slid the baseball cap off her head to run her short curls through his fingers. Her hair, though not the thick, long strands of his dreams, was every bit as soft as he’d imagined. She tasted of honey.
A husky sound—not quite moan, not quite whimper—escaped from deep in her throat. The sound—barely more than a whisper—slid through him and Jack’s control slipped further. His hands raced to the hem of her t-shirt, needing to feel her naked flesh, while he paused, needing to breath, to let her breath.
He used his thumb instead of his mouth to trace her lips. Maggie panted, unable to draw a complete breath, just soft bursts of air against his skin. His other hand cupped her head behind her neck, teasing the sensitive skin behind her ear.
She made that soft sound again and Jack yanked his hands away from her. The sound of that cry burned—ripped a hot, searing hole deep inside. He felt its path—straight toward his heart. Angry at his own lack of control, he shoved his hands into his pockets. She’s a felon, Myles.
He could read the very real fear in her eyes now—fear of him—of her response to him. That fear only helped fuel his anger. And his resolve. He had plans—arrangements. Getting lost in those damn eyes of hers was not a part of reality. Having the feel of her linger, slicing through his defenses, stealing his control, wasn’t either. Time to stop the fantasy and deal with reality. The game was over. The terms of surrender would be dictated by the victor.
“Me–e–ga–an!” The man made her name four syllables. “Get a room, baby.” Maggie’s reaction was instantaneous. Her body—softly straining against his one second—was rigid the next. Under her shirt, his hands spanned her waist and held her still. He opened his eyes and found hers. She’d already shoved all the want and need away. And she blamed him for releasing any of the disturbing emotions.
He smiled. Her reactions—all her reactions—were exactly what he’d expected. “Megan is it now, darlin’?” Maggie choked. Intense strength-sucking desire roared to furious rage in one split second. What the hell am I doing? What the hell is he doing? Her hand moved quickly, but she wasn’t as fast as he was. He caught her wrist with inches to spare before her slap connected. “Adding to the assault charge, Maggie? Not real smart.”
“Let go of me, you son of a bitch,” she hissed. She cast a quick glance around for Terry, one of her regulars at Shipwrecks. He’d been the one to interrupt them. She owed him a huge thank-you, but he’d disappeared.
Jack’s amusement boiled down deep inside her. She wished it was two years ago all over again—she’d have pulled the trigger.
“Don’t you ever try that again.” “What?” He wore surprise along with his amusement. “Kissing you?” His rich, deep laugh sounded again. “I intend to do a lot more than that.” Just like before, the amusement didn’t touch his eyes.
She’d been wrong to think facing him would be easier this time. It was much, much worse without the gun. “You lay your hands on me again and I’ll scream.” His eyes raked over her features. “You’ll scream all right. But it won’t be the kind that brings people running.” He focused in on her mouth. She could taste his soul-consuming kiss all over again. In one heartbeat, her knees were weak. Struggling to breathe, she leaned back into the wall. He was so tall—so solid—so real. And the things he made her feel—she couldn’t even name them—didn’t really need to name them. Enough
to know they were about to devour her.
“Now’s not the time.” The cool reminder was as much to himself as her. “Let’s go. Before I change my mind.” With one hand on her shoulder, he propelled her to the serpentining belt of the baggage claim. He picked up both of Melissa’s bags with one hand. At the counter in the corner, he flashed an ID and a claim ticket, retrieving a small box. He tucked it under his arm and caught her hand firmly in his.
Maggie tried to ignore him. Out of habit, she reached to shove her cap down on her head. She found only tousled curls. Naked curls. “My hat,” she murmured, unaware she’d spoken out loud until he stopped and put down Melissa’s suitcases. With the small box still anchored firmly under his arm, he pulled her folded baseball cap from the side pocket of his own carry-on bag.
She hadn’t noticed before, but he’d had the bag with him the entire time. His smile at her surprise lit up his entire face. “It was in the way.” Not an apology, just an explanation. Irritation roiled in her belly. Maggie wrenched her hand from his and settled the cap back firmly on her head, pulling it down low over her eyes.
Get a grip, Maggie. You’ve been kissed before.
But she hadn’t. Not like that. Not in her wildest dreams. Not even in her wildest dreams about him.
Exasperated with herself as much as him, she slammed her eyes shut for a brief second. She would not let him get to her again. Remember the plan, and stick to it.
Giving a firm nod, she opened her eyes.
He stood watching her, Melissa’s luggage at his feet, the little box under his arm and his bag over his shoulder. He held both hands open in front of him, palms up. One hand was empty. The other held a pair of handcuffs. The sheen of the metal sent a shiver up her spine. Her plan wouldn’t work that way.
“Your choice, darlin’.”
Her gaze darted over his shoulder to the exit. Could she make it?
Jack shook his head, reading her mind. “Not one of your options. You have two. Decide now or I’ll do it for you.” She slid her hand into his with a frustrated growl. His chuckle grated in her ears. Clamping her lips into a thin line, she followed him out of the airport, seething. The night wasn’t over. She was determined to laugh last. That was all that mattered, really.
“Did you bring two cars?”
She stared at the grim black shadow of Mount Garfield in the distance. A quick shake of her head was the only response she’d give. “Then we’ll take a taxi.”
With cool determination she didn’t feel, she gave the driver the name of the restaurant.
Jack overrode her request. “Adam’s Mark,” he instructed calmly. He smiled at the outrage in her eyes. “I want to check in. Then we’ll eat.”
She nearly choked at his first words. Her heart raced at the second. Her scheme would work after all. She settled back into the seat and tried not to smile.
***
The trip to the hotel was blessedly short. He retrieved her hand as they waited for the driver to pull the bags from the trunk. “Behave.” He whispered the word directly into her ear as the doorman opened the wide glass door. Maggie kept her eyes on the patterned carpet and walked sedately beside him. Thirty more minutes—forty at most. “Smile, Maggie. Like your future depended on it.”
The whisper tickled her ear. She shuddered, but gave him a dazzling smile while her eyes glittered coldly. Thirty more minutes. Jack tipped the bellboy and closed the door of the room behind him. He opened his soft-sided suitcase and Maggie eyed the door. Unfortunately, she’d moved too far inside the room. He straightened and she was instantly wary. The spacious room was suddenly tiny. And Jack was way too close.
“I’m going to take a shower. You sit.” When her shoulders stiffened at the command, he smiled. “Unless you’d rather join me.”
Maggie sat, scowling. She focused intently on the single carnation in a vase on the table. He could have his shower. She wouldn’t be here when he was finished. He had the handcuff fastened around her wrist before she realized what happened. He still smiled. “Not that I don’t trust you.” He fastened the other loop around the chair. She sprang to her feet. His fingers skated across her cheek. She jerked away as if he’d burned her.
“I told you to keep your hands off of me.”
She commanded herself to be still when he eliminated the slight distance between them. She tried to ignore the slamming of her heart in her chest when his thumb traced her lower lip. His amusement let her know she wasn’t fooling either of them. Jack Myles was a very dangerous man. When he turned away her breath eased out in a soft sigh of relief. “We don’t have to go to dinner, darlin’.” She watched him finger the small box. He hadn’t let that little box out of his sight—in the taxi it rode between them on the seat.
He opened it. A gun. Maggie took an unconscious step backward. “Not as big as yours.”
No. But definitely big enough to have her heart suddenly pounding. What was going on?
Jack waited until she looked back up at him, smiling at the questions in her eyes. “Paybacks,” he whispered.
Paybacks? She took a second involuntary step backward. The chair brushed her leg. “W-what?” One step brought him close to her. The second brought him too close—close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. The chair was against the wall. Nowhere for her to run. Jack acknowledged her panic with a sneer. “You heard me. Paybacks.” Still holding the gun, he again traced a slow finger over her lower lip. “I get the gun. You get naked.”
She felt the blood drain from her cheeks and couldn’t do a thing to stop the reaction. He couldn’t be serious. . . You’re a cop. She couldn’t get the words out.
“Or,” he whispered against her mouth, “you can have a seat while I take a shower. Then we’ll go to dinner.”
Maggie collapsed into the chair. Her hand unknowingly covered her racing heart. Jack grinned down at her. “I thought so.” He pulled a few items out of his bag. “See the paper today?” He turned on the television, then dropped a newspaper casually on the table. “I won’t be long.”
She heard the bathroom door close and stared at the folded paper. She wouldn’t look. There really wasn’t any point, was there? Water splashed in the next room.
Don’t look. Do not look.
She grimaced and reached for the newspaper.
Fool.
The handcuffs rattled, scraping her wrist as they abruptly halted her movement. She swore softly and grabbed up the paper with her left hand. The message was short. Cold. Dagger-sharp.
Maggie. . . Gotcha. She flung the paper back to the small table with an exasperated groan. It sailed over the top and landed on the floor on the other side. Sitting back in her chair, she eyed the closed bathroom door in frustration. Of course he’d taken the gun with him. Dragging the chained chair with her, she shut off the too-loud television.
Without the background noise, she could hear him. He was talking to someone but the words were too soft to be discernable. She picked up the chair and carried it to the bathroom door.
“Thanks, Chuck. Later.”
Her eyes widened. Chuck?
Nervous all over again, she returned the chair to its place by the table. And saw his jacket, neatly draped over her chair’s twin. She rifled the pockets, praying for the handcuff key. She found two boarding passes, a pack of Melissa’s favorite gum, and one of her sister’s fashion magazines. No keys. No plane tickets. Nothing of his at all.
Stick to your plan, she reminded herself. No need to let him upset you. The evening will be over shortly. He’ll go back east—empty-handed—and you can go on with your life. She even smiled at him when he stepped out of the bathroom. He was fully dressed. Relief enveloped her. She’d worried about his ‘paybacks’ threat for the last ten minutes. He followed her into the packed Mexican restaurant twenty minutes later. Their hostess requested drink orders. “Water, please,” she murmured. Maggie scooted into the booth, thoughts on the far side. Jack halted her progress with a hand on her knee. She thought of
the handcuffs—the scene it would make. She stopped at the back of the booth.
He smiled when he turned to the hostess, “Two. Thanks.” The hostess left. Jack didn’t move his hand. In another life an old boyfriend had told her she could kill with one of her glares. Jack was apparently immune. “You don’t drink?”
“I don’t like a fuzzy head. Besides, I’m around—“ She clamped her lips shut and unrolled her napkin-wrapped silverware before risking a glance to see if he’d caught her near lapse. “It’s a good enough reason.” The amusement had returned to his eyes, but there were questions too, back behind that.
She had questions of her own. “How long did it take you to find out my identity?” “Two weeks. For your name,” he smirked. “Granted, it was a long two weeks. But, yeah. Fourteen days later I knew you pretty damn well, Margaret.” About the time she’d first discovered he was a cop.
“Finding you—now, that took a bit longer.”
Her turn to smirk. “I heard your press conference. You were wrong back then—about a lot.”
He shook his head. His hand moved on her knee, softly stroking. “I wasn’t wrong, darlin’.”
The gentle friction on her leg had her headed right back toward the mess she’d been at the airport. “Yes, you were. You said—“
”I said I never forget a pair of eyes. I haven’t. I said I’d find you. Here we are.” She tried to shove his hand from her knee. He clamped it down tighter. “You put out false information intentionally?” “I did. Yes.”
“Why?”
“So no one else would arrest you before I found you.”
She shoved back into the booth. He leaned close. “See, the way I figure it, you owe me.” His fingers inched up her thigh. Beneath her jeans, her skin tingled and caught fire. “Three bad guys, one key, a whole helluva lot of money, and one shirt.” His lips were dangerously close to hers now. “As a down payment, I’ll accept one night with you.” His eyes were on her mouth and she felt his devastating kiss all over again.