Slow Ride

by Lori Foster

  Scoffing, she said, “Hand holding? Are we in high school?”

  In a deliberately lofty voice, he explained, “Gestures of affection aren’t relegated to adolescence.”

  The scoff turned to a laugh, and she relented. “You probably know better than me.” Her small palm slid over his, adjusting until she could lock her fingers in his, their wrists resting on the console. “You’re feeling affectionate?”

  “Yes.” Affectionate, aroused, possessive... So many emotions blended together in a potent combination, he felt bombarded by them.

  “Is this safe? Shouldn’t you have both hands on the wheel?”

  “If we hit any dicey traffic, yes. But we’re smooth sailing for a while now.”

  With her free hand, she explored the back of his, tracing one delicate fingertip over his knuckles. “Do you work out?”

  That came out of nowhere. “Sometimes, when I can fit it in. Other times I jog to unwind. Why?”

  “You’re so big all over. Not as bulky as your brother, but your strength shows even in your hands.” Her butterfly touch drifted up to his wrist, trailed back and forth through the hair on his forearm, then over his biceps.

  Exploring him as if it wouldn’t make him nuts.

  He stayed quiet, not wanting to dissuade her.

  “You’re impressive, Jack.”

  Impressive enough to take to bed? He couldn’t press her, not yet. He’d already made his preferences well known. “I’m glad you think so.”

  She snorted. “I’m sure most women think so. Betty Jo sure did.”

  Squeezing her fingers, he said, “Let’s forget Betty Jo, okay?” Before Ronnie could argue, he added, “Dad is an ass, but he’s as tall as me, almost as solid.”

  “And your mom thinks he’s good-looking?”

  Jack scowled. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her that part. “Apparently he is, given the women he brings around.”

  “You said your mom is short, but is she pretty?”

  “I think so. She’s short like you, but according to her, she’s chunky—though I don’t see it.” To him, his mother was perfect. Always had been, always would be.

  “She must have very pretty eyes.”

  Her emphasis made him laugh again. “Are you insulting me?”

  “You have to admit, your eyelashes would make a lot of women jealous.”

  He’d heard that before so it didn’t bother him. “I imagine there are things about you that make men jealous.”

  Her chin tucked closer to her chest and her gaze sharpened with mock offense. “Such as?”

  “Your bold confidence. Your courage. You have your own strengths, Ronnie, and they’re obvious. Don’t tell me you haven’t met a man or two who wasn’t threatened by them.”

  Pleasure softened her voice when she said, “Not you.”

  Since he had his own confidence, he could easily admire hers. “I don’t scare easily.”

  That made her smile, but only for a moment. “When people look at me, none of that is what they see first.”

  “Of course not. People, men especially, would notice all the physical assets first, and you have plenty.” Enough to make him nearly obsessed. “But it wouldn’t take more than a minute to see the rest, and makes you one hell of a catch.”

  “Thank you,” she said, lifting her chin in challenge. “But just so you know, the thing I excel at most is not being caught. Not ever again.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ANYONE LOOKING WOULD see only a distracted college boy driving an inexpensive car. No reason for alarm, no reason to be wary.

  Which was how North Runde planned it when he arranged the rideshare with the obtuse young man.

  From the back seat, North scoured his computer for info on the woman he surreptitiously followed. She’d taken something that belonged to him. A cardinal sin that would demand the sweetest kind of retribution.

  “Do you need me to turn up the air?” his driver asked.

  “I’m fine.” Eyes narrowing, North studied her image on the screen. Women, he’d found, were more enjoyable than men, more easily controlled. The size of the man now with her didn’t particularly bother him.

  Even big men could be brought to heel.

  But a woman, her skin so soft, her bones so fragile... They frightened more easily and it was that fear that he enjoyed the most.

  “You sure, dude? You look a little sweaty.”

  North forced his mouth into the semblance of a smile. “Fine. Adjust the air.”

  “Sure thing.”

  No reason to tell the brainless sheep that it wasn’t heat glossing his skin. No, it was the craving that had built and built until he felt it expand with every breath he took, the excess oozing from his pores, leaking from his eyes, making his mouth water...

  Using his shoulder, he mopped at his temple while keeping his attention on the screen.

  Veronica Ashford. He tasted the name, savoring it.

  Careful not to make contact with the touch screen, he brought his fingertips close to her features, tracing around the gray eyes, the unsmiling mouth. Soon, very soon, she’d be within reach.

  For a while now, he’d been studying her, familiarizing himself with her acquaintances, learning her habits. In a day and age where people put their entire lives on social media, she didn’t have a big online presence. That had slowed him down a little. He believed in doing his homework to avoid errors.

  In the end, finding her had proved to be a challenge. But he liked challenges, and he’d more than like getting his hands on her.

  It had been a risk, asking others about her. Yes, he’d worn a disguise, but an astute person would have seen through it. He tsked quietly, recalling the guileless fools who’d all but handed him her address. No one used the caution they should, probably because they didn’t know him.

  They didn’t understand his craving.

  He eyed the sheep in the driver’s seat, considering him...but no. Using him would only whet his appetite and leave the hunger stronger than ever.

  Perhaps the oversize whore who ran the bar? He could use her as an appetizer.

  “No.” North shook his head, reining himself in, controlling the urges.

  “What’s that?” the driver asked.

  Ideas, images, formed in his head, painting his vision crimson red. Red like his desire. If he was patient, he might find a different use for a conniving, mercenary woman like the bar owner. Yes, he liked that idea better. Kill two birds with one stone, as the saying went.

  He glanced up in time to see the yellow Mustang switch lanes. “You can take this exit,” North instructed, ensuring he didn’t lose sight of them.

  “But I thought—”

  “Slight change of plans.” It wouldn’t do to get too close, just close enough to see where she was going. He’d missed his chance at the hotel today, once the big man had shown up to her room.

  Not that he was afraid. In his line of work, with the tools he employed, size didn’t really matter. But his interest began and ended with Veronica.

  She owed him. And that meant she’d eventually have to pay.

  * * *

  BRODIE WAS IN the yard at the offices when they arrived, allowing Howler to water the grass. The second the big dog spotted them, his angular butt, all bones and spindly tail, started swaying. Jack grinned.

  As Jack parked and opened his door, Ronnie fretted. “Maybe we should wait until your brother takes in the dog.”

  “No need. Howler is gentle.”

  She didn’t know the dog well enough to understand, so of course she still worried. “It’s just that he’s so big and clumsy. Even if he didn’t mean to hurt her, he could—”

  “Won’t happen, honey. Trust me.” There, he’d gotten in another endearment without pissing her off. He was making all kinds of strides today. “H
owler’s like a big mother hen. If anything, he’ll make the kitten feel safer. You’ll see.” He shut the door on her protests and headed around to her side of the car. He understood her worry, but showing her would probably be easier than trying to explain.

  Already out and blocking him, Ronnie insisted, “Still. It’s not worth taking a chance.”

  Jack thought about kissing her. So far it had proven an effective method to getting his way. As he considered it, he looked at her mouth, at the soft pink lips slightly parted, and he completely forgot that his brother and Howler were around.

  Until the dog almost knocked him over as he shoved past Ronnie and into the back seat.

  Howler’s entire body went still, poised in surprise and glee. Jack had a feeling the dog even held his breath. Slowly, oh so slowly he lowered his haunches to the ground while sniffing the carrier.

  “Once,” Jack said softly, “he tried to befriend a baby raccoon. He was heartbroken when the mother raccoon showed up and gave him hell.”

  Ronnie laughed. “You’re serious?”

  “He tried the same with an adult skunk. That didn’t go too well either.”

  “Oh my God, a skunk?”

  “Anything smaller than him, he instinctively tries to protect it. He’d make a miserable hunting hound.”

  Giving a soft whine, Howler looked back at Jack in question, but only for a split second before he returned his attention to the carrier.

  Brodie stepped up. “What do you have in there?”

  “A kitten.” Very briefly Jack explained to his brother what had happened.

  “Bastard,” Brodie said low, anger coloring his tone.

  “The cat doesn’t need another fright,” Ronnie said.

  “Agreed.” Seeing the concern still in her eyes, Jack couldn’t resist a kiss, but he kept it short since they weren’t alone and he wasn’t into torture. “Try a little trust, okay? You know I wouldn’t endanger her.”

  Shifting her gaze from his face to Howler to Brodie and back again, she gave one quick nod.

  In so many ways, she pleased him. The compassion for a kitten, her acceptance of Howler, and ultimately the trust she afforded him, all felt very special—because she was special.

  Jack touched her cheek. “Thanks.” He turned to the dog. “Back it up, Howler, and I’ll get her out.”

  The dog sprang away as if launched from a trampoline. Excitement rounded his eyes comically as he went to his stomach, his knees poking up along his big body, his face on his front paws, his tail wildly flagging the air.

  “Good boy,” Brodie praised. “Now be gentle.”

  Jack lifted out the carrier and set it on the ground.

  “What if she runs away?” Ronnie fretted.

  “Howler won’t let her.” In a gesture of comfort, Brodie draped an arm around her shoulders. “Just watch.”

  Jack frowned at the familiarity, but what could he say? Nothing. Yet. Soon, though, he’d have some rights. Hopefully.

  He opened the latch on the door and swung it wide, freeing the kitten.

  To everyone’s surprise, Peanut tottered straight to Howler without a speck of shyness or reserve, almost as if she recognized him—or at least recognized another animal and, perhaps, a protector.

  For his part, the dog held perfectly still, only his eyes moving, as the kitten sniffed his nose, head-butted his snout, and tasted his ear.

  “Such a good baby,” Brodie crooned in the ridiculous voice he reserved for Howler, earning an incredulous stare from Ronnie. “What? He is a good baby.”

  Ronnie snickered.

  Stepping away from her, approaching cautiously, Brodie lowered to his knees near the animals. “You’re such a good dog, Howler, yes you are.”

  Howler whined, sniffing the kitten’s butt and knocking her over in the process. His ears shot up as if horrified by what he’d done, and he watched her closely.

  “She’s not hurt,” Brodie assured him. He didn’t reach for the kitten, instead stroking the big dog until his fingers got closer and closer to the little ball of fur.

  Jack and Ronnie stood together, watching the proceedings with shared awe.

  “He’s so patient,” Ronnie leaned in to whisper, her gaze still glued on the animals and Brodie.

  “We all love animals.” Jack brought her closer still with an arm around her waist.

  As Brodie won over the kitten in infinitesimal stages, Jack did the same with Ronnie—until finally she stood in front of him, leaning her back to his chest, both his arms around her.

  Damn, it felt good to hold her like this.

  “You guys,” Charlotte complained quietly as she came from the office. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a kitten?”

  Brodie said, “Hey, Charlotte?”

  She paused. “What?”

  “Jack brought home a kitten.”

  “Ass.” Shaking her head, she said to Ronnie, “Do you see what I put with up?” As if, because they were both female, they should have a natural rapport.

  In Jack’s experience, that was usually the case, but Ronnie didn’t seem to get it. She pressed back as if retreating, confusion making her frown.

  In her ear, Jack whispered, “Siblings give each other shit all the time.”

  Putting her chin to her shoulder, she replied just as quietly, “I got that—although it’s not something my sister and I did.”

  “Maybe women are different.” The softness of her cheek drew him and he couldn’t resist pressing his lips there. Then to the tender skin below her ear. And her ear lobe.

  With her eyes going heavy, she pointed out, “Charlotte’s a woman.”

  “But she was practically raised with us,” Brodie said, proving they hadn’t been quiet enough, though he didn’t look at them.

  Later, Jack would have to thank his brother for his discretion. In the yard with his family around wasn’t the right time for advancing his pursuit, but he couldn’t seem to keep his hands or his mouth off Ronnie.

  “I’ve learned to give as good as I get,” Charlotte quipped, before crouching next to Brodie. Her gaze immediately went soft with delight. “Ohhh, it’s so tiny.”

  Just then, Howler licked the kitten from butt to neck, raising her small hind legs off the ground and leaving the fur along her back wet and standing on end. Owl-eyed, tail in the air, the kitten turned—and laughter resounded everywhere.

  Peanut looked to be permanently caught in a heavy wind gust.

  Jack was amused by the sight, but more than that, he enjoyed the way Ronnie so freely shared her humor. The woman didn’t do anything half-assed, including laughing.

  Hugging her a little tighter, Jack nuzzled the soft skin at the side of her neck, left more available by the open collar of his shirt. She instantly quieted.

  God, he needed to get her alone, and soon.

  Charlotte, who had fallen against Brodie in her hilarity, wiped her eyes. “She’s precious.”

  “She,” Jack said, “is Peanut.”

  “Well, amusing as Peanut has been, I came out here to ask if either of you could do a job.”

  “I’m leaving in fifteen,” Brodie said.

  Tilting her head, Charlotte caught Jack’s gaze. “Mrs. Anderson, who doesn’t live that far from you, is having a party, but you know she doesn’t drive. Her nephew was going to pick up some catered food for her on his way over, but he’s stuck at the airport, so she’s hoping we can make it happen. Everything’s ready, just has to be picked up and taken to her house.”

  Several reasons came to mind for why he didn’t want to do it, but he’d known Traci Anderson since sixth grade when she’d been his favorite teacher. Once she’d retired, she’d gotten as popular as Freddie’s with her regular hosting of neighborhood groups. Mrs. Anderson helped organize everything from the Strawberry Festival to the annual parade down Mai
n Street. Unfortunately, her eyes were bad enough now that driving wasn’t a good idea.

  She was a very dear lady, so of course he’d help, but first he needed to figure out what to do with the cat, and then he needed Ronnie.

  Alone.

  Pulling away from him, arms crossing in that now-familiar way, Ronnie said, “We’re done for the day.” Her tone claimed indifference, but in her eyes he saw the disappointment.

  She wasn’t thrilled to call it quits for the day either.

  “It’s not our usual job,” Jack explained, “but Mrs. Anderson is a sweetheart.”

  “Your sweetheart?”

  For anyone in earshot, it was impossible to miss the sharp crack of her jealous suspicion.

  Brodie gave a bark of laughter. “Good God, I hope not, because she’s eighty-five.” He drew one fingertip down the kitten’s back, smoothing her fur back into place. “Plus she likes me more than Jack.”

  “Bullshit,” Jack said, going along with the joke to spare Ronnie more embarrassment. “She thinks you’re too bossy.”

  “Whereas you,” Charlotte chimed in, “use your well-mannered civility like a weapon, bludgeoning people with it.”

  Ronnie jumped on that. “What a perfect description! He does that all the time and it’s annoying as hell!”

  “Right?” Charlotte winked. “Kittens have claws, and Jack has diplomacy.”

  Brodie was back to laughing again.

  “Shut up, you asshat,” Jack growled.

  Brodie shook his head, unable to stifle the humor. “She compared you to a kitten.”

  Charlotte turned on Brodie. “And you’re a big cuddly bear.”

  With a snort, he muttered, “Better than a kitten.”

  Jack started to respond, until he noticed Ronnie grinning. Now seemed like a good time to push his agenda. “I don’t mind doing Mrs. Anderson a favor—if you’ll ride along?”

  The smile dimmed. “Me?”

  “Sure. Why not? Did you have somewhere else you had to be?”

  Instead of answering that, she asked, “How long will it take?”