by Lori Foster
What the—“Outran...?” Jack asked.
“In my car.” She huffed. “The important part is that I handled it. But now my bosses have the mistaken idea that the job requires someone more badass than me. And it doesn’t. They pay well, but you really wouldn’t like it. If you want, I can let them know that you’re passing on the offer.”
Jack stared at her, trying to absorb that diatribe enough to dissect the pertinent bits.
Brodie, no doubt equally thrown, gulped the rest of his coffee. After setting his cup on the desk, he turned his finger in the air. “Rewind a bit. Bosses? As in more than one?”
“Twins. Very eccentric. Goth-like.” Her frustration pulsed in the air. “Collectors of oddities.” She said the last with dramatic effect, as if doing her utmost to scare them off.
But Jack saw things other than her determination. Like how her fingers curled around the arms of the chair, so tightly her knuckles strained. And how the pulse in her throat beat a little too quickly.
Why fight working with him when she’d already made her attraction clear? He had a feeling she was apprehensive. About him. Of complications.
Maybe more.
Leaving it to Brodie to get a few answers, Jack sat back to look over the terms of the offer. He bit back a whistle at the hourly wage. Nice.
“I’ve dealt with some oddities,” Brodie said. “Murderabilia, to be exact.”
“Murderabilia?” she asked, with obvious surprise.
“Nasty business.”
“Yes,” she agreed with alacrity, latching on to his comment like a junkyard dog to a bone. “This would be similar, I assume. Very nasty. In fact, sometimes it’s even dangerous.”
Jack looked up. Their gazes met.
Her stubborn jaw tightened. “I’m completely familiar with it, of course, so I don’t need any help, but they—”
“Your twin Goth bosses?” Brodie supplied, his humor barely veiled.
The way she’d described the men was humorous. He already had an image in his mind of two scrawny identical dudes draped in black and wearing eyeliner, reverently admiring a pregnant frog or something even more comically odd.
Bristling, Ronnie stood, flattened her hands on the desktop and leaned toward Jack. Storm clouds darkened her gray eyes to pewter and a wash of rose tinged her cheekbones. “Reject the offer and I’ll be on my way.”
His attention moved to her mouth, so close to his. An invitation? Another taunt? He breathed in the scent of warm womanly skin, the fresh outdoors, and citrusy shampoo.
Hanging on to his civility, he ruthlessly tamped down the lust and, ignoring her request, passed the paper to Brodie.
Huffing, she spun away, arms crossed tight, and glared.
Making his casual comfort a stark contrast to her antagonism, Jack sat back in his seat. “So your bosses want two badasses on the job?”
As if trying to figure out a puzzle, she studied his face, gave up on her anger, and dropped her arms. Silver bracelets on her left wrist jangled. Today she wore the rings on different fingers, but included multiple earrings in her ears.
“That was their wording, not mine.” She’d tried to sound more composed, he’d give her that, but the indignation, and more, seeped through.
“They consider you a badass?”
Jack waited for her explosion at Brodie’s question, but it didn’t come. Apparently she saved all that sizzling heat for him.
“Drake and Drew know I’m more than capable of handling anything that comes up.”
“And yet...” Brodie looked up at her. “You’re here.”
A flash of pain crossed her face, and damned if Jack didn’t feel the discomfort in his chest.
Leaving his seat, he circled the desk and propped a hip on the edge. It brought him closer to her and also blocked her from Brodie’s view. Gently, because he could see this mattered to her, he said, “Give me an example of what comes up?”
Shrugging one narrow shoulder, she said, “People try to ditch after they get the payment, without turning over the goods.”
“We’ve dealt with that,” Brodie murmured, back to perusing the particulars of the offer—or at least pretending to. It was a single sheet of paper, not a tome. Neither he nor Brodie were insensitive to distress, so Jack assumed Brodie had seen the same things he had—belligerence to cover insecurity, determination to conquer fear. Strength but also vulnerability.
Unlike Brodie, who was now married, Jack’s attentiveness went beyond curiosity and compassion. He wanted her and by God, he’d figure out the quickest, easiest route to get them there.
Her chin lifted. “I was shot at once.”
“Me, too,” Brodie said, without much inflection.
Jack almost laughed. Ronnie was doing her best to turn them off the deal, but she didn’t realize that Brodie took danger in stride, or that her efforts merely sharpened his interest.
Her jaw worked, her lips compressing as she tried to decide the next tack to take.
The concentrated expression amused Jack.
Until she said to Brodie, “Okay, sure, so you can handle yourself. I already knew that. But your time is mostly taken so the offer is for Jack.”
Brodie looked up in surprise, then barked a laugh.
For his part, Jack locked his jaw to cover his irritation.
“That’s funny?” she asked, her heavily made-up eyes narrowing.
“You think Jack can’t handle shit?” Brodie still laughed, but managed to say, “Oh, honey, don’t let the polish fool you. Jack’s downright deadly when he needs to be.
For the love of... “What my brother means is that the threat of violence doesn’t send me running, as you seem to think it would.”
“Not exactly what I meant,” Brodie countered, “but it’ll do.” He leaned forward to put the paper back on the desk. “I say go for it. Pay’s good. Commitment isn’t unreasonable.” He eyed Ronnie. “Company might be a bit sketchy, but I figure you can—”
Jack gave him a shove that almost took him out of his chair. “You’ll have to excuse Brodie. He’s an ass.”
Ronnie didn’t appear to be listening to any of it. She dropped back to lean on the wall, her disappointment as loud as a scream. “You’re accepting the job?”
“I’m considering it.”
At that, she brightened. “What’s the deciding factor?”
So she could sway him to the negative? To hell with that. He wanted her, but unlike his ape of a brother, he could and would handle things with a little more class, a touch of finesse. Since she’d already spelled it out last night, he knew that she wanted him, too, and that gave him extra confidence.
“C’mon,” she said, impatient as ever. “What would it take for you to say no?”
Jack wasn’t used to women rejecting him so thoroughly. He definitely wasn’t used to it the morning after being propositioned.
Staring into her incredible eyes, the gray irises enhanced with a striation of darker hues, he wondered what they’d look like without all the makeup. If he stripped away her layers of clothes, washed away that painted veneer, and pleasured her until only a warm, naked woman was left... Would she be just as appealing?
He had a feeling she’d be even more so.
He casually straightened. “I want a trial run.”
Distrust sparkled in her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“You pick a job and we’ll handle it together.” His gaze skimmed down her body, but only for a nanosecond. Doing his best to bank the heat simmering to the surface, he added, “Just to see how we fit.”
Brodie choked, but Jack ignored him, his gaze never wavering from hers. He admired the way she didn’t blink...even when her cheeks warmed. Even when her nostrils slightly flared. And her lips trembled.
“All right, fine,” she burst out, throwing up her arms. “Is that it?�
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Not even close. “I want to meet your bosses.” Something troubled her, and if these supposedly Goth-like grown men were the cause—
She went from reluctantly agreeable to stiff with umbrage in a heartbeat. “Your contact with them would be through me.” Her thumb landed against her own chest.
Jack couldn’t help but look where it pressed directly between her modest breasts. At least until she dropped her hand.
“Ultimately they’d be my employers—so I want to meet them.” He held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
The seconds ticked by while she considered him, a dozen different scenarios flickering across her expressive face with obvious calculation. Finally, she asked, “Are you free to do the job today?”
He wasn’t presently, but he could rearrange. “Sure.”
A triumphant smile put a dimple in her cheek as she fit her small hand into his for a single firm pump. “Deal. We’ll leave in half an hour.”
* * *
RONNIE DID HER best not to gloat with her new plan. Mr. Sexy, as she was starting to think of him, would soon be over the idea of accepting the offer. She couldn’t have asked for a better pickup to change his mind.
Plus, she now knew it had to be today. If she was forced to see him again, she’d cave in to the ever growing need building like a small volcano inside her.
She wanted him. Now that she’d seen two sides of him, the scruffy worker and the polished businessman, it was worse. She liked how he was with his brother. She loved how he was with Howler. She enjoyed verbally sparring with him, and she was almost relieved that he hadn’t yet given up on the job—despite how she’d pitched it.
God Almighty, she wanted him bad. He infuriated her, and she thought about squeezing close to him. He smiled in mockery, and she wanted to lick that smile off his mouth. He stayed calm in the face of her irritation, and oh, how she wanted to rile him.
Worse than those physical reactions, when he joked with his brother, she had the urge to join in. When he spoke reasonably to her...she wanted to be reasonable back.
These days, she wasn’t reasonable with anyone. Being unreasonable kept people from getting too close.
But...the way he looked at her really got to her. It was as if he saw her, not just the person she presented, like he could somehow read her past and understand her hang-ups. It was both scary as hell and oddly sexy.
He’d be her match in bed, she sensed that much. He could play all elegant and urbane, but she had his number—Jack Crews would be 100 percent raw man during sex.
Ronnie shivered despite the warmth of the car.
“Cold?”
More like so aroused she had to struggle not to squirm in her seat. “I’m fine.”
Sitting beside him in his very awesome yellow Mustang was a bit torturous. He was right there, close enough that she felt the heat from his body. Near enough that, when she drew a nice deep breath, she could pick up his spicy scent.
She had the terrible suspicion that it was him, not cologne, that smelled so damn good. It was enticing enough that her toes kept curling in her boots.
To keep herself from groaning, she needlessly repeated the directions to their destination. In just a few more minutes, they’d arrive.
She couldn’t wait to see how he handled things, and to see how quickly he rejected the job.
If he did.
He had to.
So why was she already thinking that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be bad to work with him?
Because you’re thinking with parts south of your brain, that’s why.
Clearly, it wasn’t only men who were sometimes ruled by their bodies. Her body was making every attempt to change her mind.
Traitor.
Every thirty seconds or so, Jack glanced at her. She’d almost gotten used to it. That is, if a woman could get used to sitting beside breathing, smoking testosterone.
After yet another glance—and a small smile—he asked, “You want to tell me anything about where we’re going and what we’re retrieving?”
No, she didn’t. But so far he’d been completely agreeable, doing whatever she directed without fuss, so she supposed she could spare a few details. “We’re meeting a familiar seller at the bar she runs. It’ll be a piece of cake.” For her, at least. Not so much for him.
“It’s a woman we’re meeting?”
Not just any woman, but Marge. Ronnie smiled in anticipation. “Yeah, so?”
“I figured you’d pick someone difficult. A problem to be handled.”
And he thought he could handle any woman? What an egotistical jackass. It was all she could do not to laugh, but instead she put on a serious face. “You think women can’t be problematic?”
“Of course they can, but unless she’s a beast of a woman, I figure—based off everything you’ve said—that you would do all right on your own.”
Ronnie refused to let his confidence in her ability soften her. Yes, it was nice that he acknowledged she might have some skill. And yes, it was extra nice to be respected on her word alone.
Because, seriously, he didn’t know her. She’d done some boasting but he hadn’t seen her in action. Yet.
Unless you counted her many fits of anger.
Ronnie sighed and forced herself to focus. She was fighting for her future here. If he didn’t retreat, he’d try to take over her job and she’d be damned before she ever came under another man’s thumb. “Ah, so you wanted me to put you up against a goon? Maybe some dude with brawling experience and death in his eyes?”
Jack laughed. “You say that with such relish, like you’d love to see me get my ass handed to me.”
Actually, she didn’t. She liked his face, perfect in its masculine arrangement with the strong nose, the low brows, and high cheekbones, and didn’t want to see it rearranged. Not that she’d let that happen, but still... “So I know your brother handles himself well. The twins studied up on both of you before sending me on this useless errand.”
She almost winced. Would he think she meant he was useless? Even she wouldn’t go that far in her effort to turn him away. A glance showed he didn’t look insulted, only curious, so she continued.
“I know all about the trouble Brodie ran into working for Therman Ritter.” She also knew Brodie was exclusive to Ritter, which took him out of the running altogether, leaving only Jack.
A shame, since she and Brodie had hit it off, without all the chemistry mucking up her decision-making skills.
Not that it mattered really, because she didn’t need either of them. She didn’t need anyone. Eventually she’d prove it to everyone...herself included.
“It’s public news,” he said. “Not a secret.”
“What about you, though? Yeah, I know your brother talked you up, but that’s what brothers do, right?” A guess on her part, since she only had a sister and she couldn’t imagine Skylar ever sparing her a true compliment.
Jack didn’t take the bait. Instead of getting annoyed, he grinned in a way that ramped up all that overwhelming sex appeal. “Believe me, if you hadn’t already been hostile, Brodie would’ve run me through the wringer. He probably would’ve recounted every black eye I’ve gotten since grade school.”
Oh man, when he piled on the down-to-earth charm, it did crazy things to her insides. Her brain skipped right past I need to get rid of him and headed into Could it really hurt to get him naked?
Not good. It would hurt, damn it.
It’d hurt if he stuck around and took over, as slick men like him always tried to do. And it’d hurt...if he didn’t stay. God, sometimes she was just too pathetic.
She blew out a breath, determined to stick with her original plan. Working alone. And that meant, Jack and all his appeal had to go. “I wasn’t hostile.”
“That’s a joke, right?”
She, of course,
couldn’t resist the bait. “So big brother had to jump to your defense, huh?” Even to her own ears, that sounded way too snide. She tried to moderate her tone to mere curiosity. “Does he always do that? Play protector?”
“Of course.” Unfazed by her nastiness, Jack said, “He’s the big brother,” as if that explained it all.
She was still trying to comprehend what type of man made such an admission when Jack spoke again.
“You should know, younger brothers are the same. I’ve had Brodie’s back more than a time or two.”
No, that absolutely was not jealousy creeping around her heart, making it feel so damned heavy. What did she care if he had a good relationship with his brother? She didn’t. Just because she and her sister had never gotten along...
“Turn here.” Thank God the need for directions gave her something to do other than look inward. “You can park at the curb, just make sure you keep plenty of space from the motorcycles. They get really pissy if anyone hems them in.”
Giving a low whistle, Jack took in the seedy area as he pulled into an empty space right in front. “You don’t mean this broken-down building is a running bar?”
“Sure it is.” Seeing the establishment as he might, Ronnie took in the half-painted brick facade. Puke-green paint, faded and dirty, had been haphazardly slapped around the blacked-out windows on the upper level. A slightly less pukey shade of dark, dull pink covered most of the bottom half. Grime-coated windows, one balancing a rusted, rickety air conditioner, hid the interior, but the black metal front door, dented in numerous places, stood open to allow cigarette smoke and other noxious odors to drift out.
There was no charming jukebox spinning a country tune, no happy din of conversation from friends and neighbors. All a passerby could hear was the low drone of drunken whispers and threatening connivance.
Two men slouching outside eyed the Mustang with flat, indecipherable gazes.
Hmm. In her haste to be rid of him, she hadn’t considered the possible hazard to his car. It was such a sweet ride, she had sudden reservations. No way could she do that to him. It wasn’t his fault her bosses wanted to hire him.
Damn her conscience.