Slow Ride

by Lori Foster

  “Tell you what,” she said, unbuckling her seat belt. “You wait here and I’ll take care of business. We’ll figure out another job that we can do togeth—”

  The sound of his door closing drew her attention and she looked up to see him walking in an unhurried, casual stride around the hood of the car.

  The men who’d been watching became more attentive.

  What the hell does Jack think he’s doing?

  He opened her door. “You ready?”

  Blinking up at him, Ronnie took in his styled hair, the crisp shirt, the nice trousers. He stood out in the worst possible way—an easy target.

  She frowned. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “I’m not letting you go in there without me,” he replied in a low voice, “and I sure as hell won’t leave you sitting out here alone, so...” He gave her a look and stressed, “Let’s go.”

  A rush of anger wiped out her concern. Mostly. It took her a second of fumbling to get her big purse off the floor. In the process, she nearly dumped it, which wouldn’t have been great considering she had things inside that she didn’t want Jack, or anyone else, to know about.

  Finally getting the strap securely across her body, she gave the car one last fond look, wondering if it’d ever again be the same, then stood to square off with him.

  Even for a single trial-run job, he had to know that she was the one in charge. Not him.

  “Later,” she snarled, matching his low tone, “we’ll discuss this idiotic idea you have that you can allow or disallow anything I do. But until then, just stay quiet and let me handle things.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, ma’am.” He locked the car doors and gestured for her to lead.

  Still, she noticed that he positioned himself to her side, a barrier to the two loitering men. She also noticed that he stared them in the eyes, his gaze daring and full of warning.

  What. The. Hell.

  Was he trying to start a brawl? She brought her elbow back into his ribs and hissed, “Stop that.”

  But damn it, he caught her arm and then didn’t let go and she could either let him get away with it or cause a scene in a place where scenes were best avoided.

  Worse than being outmaneuvered by him, though, was the fact that his hand was big. And hot. Power seemed to emanate from him, a raw type of strength that enveloped her in the same comfort as a security blanket.

  Dangerous.

  Waaaay the hell more dangerous than the thugs inside the bar who eyed them up and down, measuring their worth.

  Ready to wrap up this ill-conceived plan, Ronnie made her way straight to the bar where Higgs handed out drinks.

  A big man, both in height and girth, he could intimidate most people with a single look from his faded blue eyes. He kept numerous weapons behind the bar, including a knife, shotgun, and a clichéd wooden baseball bat. His brows and scruffy beard were brown, and she’d never seen him without a do-rag tied around his head. He changed them out like some men switched up neckties. It was Higgs’s one and only fashion statement.

  She guessed him to be midforties, knew him to be rattlesnake mean, and had, oddly enough, found in him an ally.

  She slid onto an empty barstool between two slouching men, which forced Jack to release her. Leaning forward, she called, “Hey, Higgs. How goes it?”

  He looked up and smiled, showing even white teeth. “Slow and steady. You?”

  Nodding back at Jack, who loomed very close behind her, she said, “Training day, so it’s a grind.” Take that, Jack.

  Higgs laughed. “You want a drink, girl?”

  “Never on the job, but thanks.” In a place like this, a smart person kept her wits razor sharp. “Marge around? She’s expecting me.”

  “In her office. You can go on back.”

  “Thanks.” She slid back off the stool and made full body contact with Jack.

  The butthead didn’t move.

  His lower chest pressed her shoulder blades, and his thighs pressed her butt. Standing still, soaking in this one horribly timed moment of pleasure, Ronnie registered the differences in their sizes.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Wanna back it up?”

  “Not really, no.” But he did.

  He didn’t go far, just enough that she could catch her breath and get her brain functioning again. And still she hesitated.

  “What are we waiting for?”

  Shaking her head, Ronnie leaned back into the bar. “Hey, Higgs, there’s a very sweet yellow Mustang outside. If anyone touches it, I’m going to be really pissed.”

  “Yours?” he asked.

  “Same as,” she replied, because that’d bring about quicker compliance.

  “Consider it safe, then.”

  “You’re the best, Higgs.” Now she took Jack’s arm—and she couldn’t help noticing that his wrist was as thick as her biceps. Also hot. With a soft sprinkling of hair... Stop it, Ronnie. Really, she didn’t need to notice every little thing about him. So he was hot. Big deal. She’d known other sexy men. None like him, but still... She growled at her own distraction. “This way.”

  Leading Jack through the smoky bar, she ignored the blatant stares of curiosity and fervently hoped he did as well. This would not be a good time to mean-mug anyone.

  Few people ever made it past the kitchen, but Ronnie was the exception since she did business with Marge. The hall was dark and narrow, hiding some of the more repulsive stains on the floor. The smell of the perpetually out-of-order bathroom assaulted her nostrils. Just beyond the ancient pay phone, she saw the closed wooden door with a peephole. “Stay quiet.”

  Jack said again, “Yes, ma’am.”

  If he “ma’amed” Marge, no doubt Marge would feed him his teeth. After she played with him, that is. Marge was as lecherous as they came.

  And...there went her conscience again, pricking and prodding her determination.

  A little late, but Ronnie finally admitted to herself that she’d overreacted by bringing him here. True, it’d be expedient, but there were other ways that’d cause him less embarrassment and be less of a threat to his person.

  So she’d have to suffer him a little longer? He wasn’t that bad. Eventually he would turn down the job, she felt sure of that.

  Extremes like this weren’t needed.

  Relieved by her own decision, she turned to face him—and had to look way up. He was just so gloriously big.

  Of course, he was looking back down at her, too, and they stood so close together, she almost forgot what she wanted to say. “Jack...”

  He smiled.

  “That damned dimple is overkill,” she grumbled.

  His brows climbed up. “Am I supposed to understand that?”

  The door opening behind them cut off any reply she might’ve made. A very pissed-off person stormed out. Before Ronnie could blink, Jack had her behind him so only he caught the hard brush of a shoulder as the man plowed past.

  Normally she’d have taken his protectiveness as an insult, because she really could take care of herself. She’d proven that plenty of times in her not-so-rosy past. But now, well, coming from Jack it just felt nice. Not arrogant as much as considerate. After all, he was a hell of a lot of bigger than her.

  Marge’s crackling laughter trailed the disgruntled guy, followed by her succinct “follow him,” which meant yet another man trailed out.

  As this one passed, he said back to Marge, “You have company.”

  Marge appeared at the door. “Ronnie Ashford, back for more?” Then her gaze bounced over to Jack, and her brows went so high they took the wrinkles from her eyes and drove them into her forehead. “Well, well. What have you brought me?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  JACK SAW THROUGH her ruse right away. She’d planned this little field trip, but now had regrets. Too lat
e, Ronnie. He’d let it play out and hope that, once they both left hale and hearty, she’d have a little more faith in him.

  Ronnie sat in a chair, arms crossed, long legs crossed, eyebrows almost crossed, too.

  Marge mostly ignored her as she circled Jack, once, twice. She trailed talon-shaped red fingernails along his arm.

  Marge Mayer was quite the character. Six feet tall and wearing heels, she looked Jack in the eye. Wide shoulders over a massive rack tapered to a nipped-in waist and flared out again in ample hips, all emphasized by a low cut, body-hugging red dress.

  Jack had noticed all that when she’d first appeared in the doorway. Since then, he’d kept his gaze strictly on her face, especially with the way she sized him up like a prime steak.

  She probably wasn’t more than fifty, but he sensed it had been a hard fifty, leaving creases carved in an otherwise striking face. Her hair, dyed an unnatural shade of strawberry blonde, did nothing to soften her features. Her application of makeup wasn’t as precise as Ronnie’s, making it look more garish. Lipstick bled into lip lines and her fake lashes were so thick and long, he wondered how she could blink.

  As she circled behind him, her boobs brushed along his back.

  “Do you have it?” Ronnie asked, bristling with impatience, and maybe a touch of annoyance, too.

  “What’s the rush?”

  “Getting late, that’s all. I have other things to do today.”

  “It’s on the way.” Marge’s hand boldly stroked over his butt, ending with a pat as she said, “You’re a day early, or I’d have had it on hand.”

  Jack stepped out of her reach and turned to face her. Without saying a word, he drew a line, ending the nonsense.

  Marge stared him in the eyes, only slightly deterred, then cut her gaze to Ronnie. “You’ll leave him here.”

  Curious to see how she’d react, Jack held silent.

  “No,” Ronnie said, the word sharp, bit off between her teeth. “I won’t.”

  Propping a hip on her desk, Marge smiled. “Why? Does he matter to you?”

  Good question. Jack watched the way tension gripped Ronnie’s body, how she struggled to keep her expression impassive. He’d give her points for a credible poker face, but he knew better. Marge and her bully boys might buy into the act, but he didn’t.

  Beneath the sardonic indifference, panic edged forward. He saw it in her eyes, in the subtle shifting of her hand on her purse.

  Deciding to spare her, he opened his mouth—

  And Ronnie snorted. “Actually, he matters to the brothers. They hired him as the driver. You already know I prefer to work alone.”

  Admiration took him by surprise. Good cover, Ronnie.

  It definitely was a cover. Somehow, he already knew she wasn’t mercenary enough to sacrifice him—even if that had been her initial intent.

  Yet Marge seemed to buy in. “You know how to drive.”

  “Right? That’s what I keep saying, but I’m not the boss.” Ronnie stood, moving closer. “Still, I need to keep him.” She added with mock regret, “Sorry.”

  When she possessively slipped her arm around his, Jack almost grinned.

  Almost. The fact that they were still on shaky ground kept any real amusement at bay. The two burly goons standing at either side of the door didn’t help either. As if he could forget their presence, one of them made a production of cracking his knuckles.

  Jack gave him a pitying look for the obvious display.

  Cackling another laugh, Marge said, “I like him, Ronnie. Maybe I’ll just borrow him for an afternoon?” She looked at his mouth. “What do you say, honey? You want a real woman instead of a scrawny bag of bones?”

  Ronnie stiffened again, meaning the shot hit home.

  “Tempting as this all sounds,” Jack said, his tone flat, “I’m here strictly for the job.”

  Subtle signs of anger transformed Marge, hardening her gaze, putting a slight curl to her painted upper lip. She moved away from the desk, asking with lethal undertones of disbelief, “You’re rejecting me?”

  There’d be very few right answers, something Ronnie had probably anticipated. Was this her plan then, the way she’d chosen to chase him off?

  Why, he wondered, did she want him gone so badly?

  “Marge,” Ronnie said with a touch of warning, one hand half inside her purse.

  “If she doesn’t shut it,” Marge said to her lackeys while keeping her sharp gaze locked on Jack’s, “shut it for her.”

  The goons stepped forward.

  Jack considered a few scenarios, including demolishing them both for daring to threaten Ronnie. He discarded them just as quickly because he couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t get hurt. Yes, he could handle the men in this backroom office, but there were other men crowded into the bar not so far away.

  Satisfying as it’d be to level the bastards, he wouldn’t risk Ronnie, so he shrugged. “Only because I’m loyal to the job. I was hired to see to a pickup—” he still didn’t know what they were picking up “—and that’s what I intend to do. No other offers, regardless of how tempting, can come before that.”

  Arrested, Marge weighed his words, some emotion contracting her features even more, honing them into cruel lines...until she gave into a rusty, robust laugh far more authentic than those that came before it.

  The men joined in, roaring with hilarity while Ronnie stared at him. For his audacity? Or because she’d expected him to cower with fear?

  Jack wasn’t sure if the lady-boss’s humor signaled death or reprieve, but while hoping for the latter he stayed vigilant, ready to react if necessary.

  Wiping tears from her eyes without smudging her makeup, Marge said, “Oh, now that was slick. Very slick.”

  “He’s known for being slick,” Ronnie offered, releasing him now that the crisis had passed. “It’s one of the things the brothers liked about him.”

  “I see why.” Right in front of him, Marge rearranged her boobs, hiking them up and plumping them together, making sure plenty of cleavage showed. “This,” she said to Jack, “is what you’re missing. Few women are as gifted.” After a pointed nod at Ronnie’s chest, she waved off the knuckle-crackers.

  The two goons snickered, earning a glare from Ronnie, but she didn’t utter a verbal protest. Why would she bother?

  At the first opportunity, Jack would find a way to show her the appeal of her slender frame. At the moment, though, his number one thought was that Ronnie dealt with these people on a regular basis.

  Did her employers realize the threats, ridicule, and danger they exposed her to? If so, that would explain why they wanted her to have a driver.

  And come hell or high water, it’d be him.

  “Relax, Ronnie. Your man is safe enough.”

  Until Marge said it, he hadn’t realized that Ronnie remained on high alert, too, poised to...what? Fight for him? With such a low opinion of his ability, it was no wonder she wanted to shake him loose. She actually believed she was better equipped to battle grown men than he was.

  Sure, she appeared to be resourceful given she’d gotten through it so far on her own, but she was still half his size and that of the other men looming nearby. Hell, in many ways, she was actually delicate... And if she knew he thought that, she’d probably give him holy hell. With her prickly nature, she’d see it as a weakness, and he already knew she’d deny any hints of that. Just as she’d deny needing his help.

  Getting her to accept him wouldn’t be easy, but he’d figure it out.

  Ronnie didn’t know it yet, but her ruse had backfired on her in a big way. Rather than scare him off, the little show of danger had sealed the deal. He wanted the job—and he wanted Ronnie, too.

  It was a decision he didn’t make lightly. He’d long ago outgrown the sport of chasing women. They either came through easy agreement, or he moved on.

/>   Nothing about this lady would be easy. It would take time and effort to win her trust, but already he knew she’d be worth the effort.

  When Ronnie relaxed her stance, Marge headed across the room. As if nothing much had happened, she asked, “Something to drink?”

  Jack said, “No, thank you.” He didn’t trust the woman enough to consume anything she offered.

  Surprisingly, Marge poured herself coffee. Somehow, in this particular setting, he’d have bet on whiskey regardless of the time of day. After all, plenty of patrons filled the front of the bar and he was pretty sure they weren’t having breakfast.

  Ronnie, obviously, felt differently. “Thanks. I’ll get my own.” Her stride was that of a much taller woman as she joined Marge and poured herself a cup, this time adding both sugar and creamer. She gulped down half, her gaze meeting his over the rim.

  She winked.

  Jack didn’t dare smile, but damn, she impressed him. Ronnie Ashford was a chameleon, changing from one second to the next depending on what was needed.

  A short knock sounded at the door seconds before a man opened it and stuck his head in. “I have it.”

  “Good,” Marge said. “Bring it in.”

  * * *

  SILENCE STRETCHED OUT as Jack drove. Ronnie knew he had questions, accusations, demands, but the impossible man played mum, leaving her to stew in her own guilt.

  Things could have gone south so easily.

  If Marge didn’t respect her.

  If she didn’t want to keep doing business with the brothers.

  If Jack hadn’t handled himself so calmly and, yes, competently. That’s what really rubbed her raw. He hadn’t needed her effort. To serve her own best interests, she’d stuck him in that untenable situation, and he’d have gotten out just fine on his own.

  “You’re going to break your teeth if you don’t stop grinding them like that.”

  She shot him a look of acute dislike and then couldn’t drag her gaze away. They’d just faced a very iffy situation and he didn’t have a single hair out of place. He appeared as complacent as he had in his own office.

  “I should have let her have you.”