by Lori Foster
Granted, she didn’t usually let men get to her. She made arrangements, fulfilled them, and moved on. Done.
This morning she’d do the same.
He shifted, drawing her body a little closer in such a delicious way, his hairy calf tickling her leg, his breath warming her neck. Oh, the urge to relent was strong. It’d be so easy to curl against him, to give into the need to relax her guard.
But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
* * *
STRUGGLING TO NOT be affected, Ronnie stared at the ceiling, watching dawn creep in through a crack in the curtains.
That light meant nothing; certainly it meant less than the heat of his body or the comfort of his nearness. Holding perfectly still, she concentrated on the light as she cleared her head.
Until, minutes later, Jack settled back into a deep sleep and the arm around her waist went utterly slack again.
Stealth was not her fortitude, she realized twenty minutes later as she silently dressed in the dark, grateful for the typical hotel noises that drowned out any accidental sounds she made.
Because she’d already been planning to go, she’d packed the day before and only had a few small items in the bathroom that she had to retrieve. Her hairbrush, toothbrush, her makeup case.
She told herself that the lump in her throat didn’t matter. It was caused by nerves at the idea of waking him. Not because she knew he’d be upset to wake and find her gone.
The urge to cry wasn’t because she already missed him. It was anger at herself for forgetting, even for a minute, that she didn’t do shit like this.
When he turned over, she froze, staring at him, hoping he wouldn’t wake...while half hoping he would.
His back to her now, he slept on.
Go. She lifted her bag and hesitated one more time. Stop thinking about it, about him, and get out while you can.
Right. This never should have happened.
Knowing she looked a fright with her ruined makeup and wrinkled clothes, Ronnie slipped out the door. Her breath remained shallow until she got down the stairs and approached the desk, leaving special instructions as she checked out.
Not until she reached her car did she dare relax. In the early dawn, the main street was quiet, empty, only a few lights showing from inside businesses. It was cold, damn it, but she hadn’t wanted to dig out her jacket and risk waking Jack.
He’d have questions, and if she had answers, it’d be better not to give them.
Hands trembling, she threw her single duffel bag in the back seat, got in behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled away. At the first stop sign, she drew a ragged breath of relief.
And crushing disappointment.
Things would be different now. She knew it. She’d instigated it. She had no one but herself to blame. For lowering her guard. For getting to close.
For hoping.
Jack wasn’t a man who’d appreciate being left behind. His ego was as big as hers, just not as obnoxious. Had any woman ever walked out on him? Doubtful. So she’d be a first, a miserable first, and he’d probably prefer that she be the last.
Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Whipping her head around, expecting to see Jack, she searched the street. The empty street.
Yet the feeling of being watched grew stronger.
She’d feel better about things if there were people up and about, but other than the lonely strain of a train whistle and the occasional lowing of distant cows, all was silent. Too silent.
The car idling, her heart a jackhammer in her chest, Ronnie hit the door locks. Drive away, she told herself. Yet her eyes kept searching...
There! Beside a darkened building, a gloomy shadow shifted, elongating, moving closer, taking on the shape of...a man.
Finally the spell broke.
Lifting her foot off the brake and moving it to the gas pedal, she drove forward, not speeding but more than anxious to be away.
Over the years, since her kidnapping, she’d honed her instincts, learning the difference between being unnecessarily spooked—and sensing danger.
This was danger.
When the rock hit her back windshield, causing it to crack, she nearly screeched. Was the rock meant to make her stop?
Fat chance!
Gripping the wheel tighter, doing her best to regulate her breathing, she drove faster and as soon as possible, she turned a corner, going left. Two streets down she turned right again, and eventually she wound back to the main road. She didn’t see anyone following her, but she wouldn’t leave it to chance.
Forty-five minutes later, she finally arrived at her apartment. Away from the small, quiet town, it wasn’t so vacant. People milled in and around the businesses, arriving for work, prepping for the day. Numerous cars drove back and forth.
She wasn’t alone.
Still, she used care as she parked and headed inside, staying vigilant, watching every dark corner, tracking every shadow.
A few people stared at her, reminding her that she’d left the bed less than an hour ago, without a shower, without even brushing her teeth.
Screw ’em. Lifting her chin and curling her mouth into a smile, Ronnie stared back until they looked away.
The hallway on her floor was deserted when she reached it, giving her chills again. Once safely inside her apartment, she stood against the door, waiting to see if it felt secure.
She didn’t sense any trouble, but before stepping forward, she withdrew the knife from her boot and kept her keys in her hand. Given the apartment was small, the interior stark without much decor, it took her only a minute to completely assess it, especially checking the single closet, under the bed, and behind the shower curtain.
The room felt empty. Emptier than usual. But that’s how she liked it. Right?
While she was in the bathroom, she turned on the shower so the water could get warm. And then she remembered.
She’d left the snake and rat in Jack’s trunk.
Well damn. She’d have to go back, if not today then tomorrow. Or at least...soon.
She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself, but now that she had the perfect excuse to see him again, the heavy sense of despondency no longer felt quite so heavy.
* * *
A KNOCK AT the door stirred Jack awake. He smiled even before he had his eyes open—until he realized he occupied the bed alone. Turning his head, he checked the clock and saw it was nearly 8:00 a.m.
Coming up to one elbow, his gaze bounced around, but the bathroom door stood open and there was nowhere else in the small hotel room for her to be.
“Housekeeping.”
The closet was empty. He sat up completely, checking the floor, but only his clothes remained.
Reality crashed onto his head. “Son of a bitch.”
The door swung open and a middle-aged woman poked her head inside. She and Jack locked eyes.
“Excuse me.” Her gaze stroked every inch of his chest. She didn’t back out. “I was told I could clean the room at eight.”
Ensuring the sheet covered all things vital, Jack asked, “Told by whom?”
“Well...the guest who checked out of the room.”
And that wasn’t him. “When?” It was a small hotel, run by a local family. Nothing happened here that didn’t immediately become gossip for the town.
“A while ago.” She stepped in, dragging her cart with her. “You didn’t know she was checking out?”
Great. He was about to look like a giant ass. “Of course I did. I just lost track of time.” Holding the sheet with one hand, he ran the other over his head.
The maid stood there—waiting for him to stand? Not happening. Jack looked at her name badge. Lillie Johns. He probably knew her brothers. “Would you mind, Lillie? I can be out of here in five minutes.”
Disappointment turne
d down her mouth, but she gave a mulish, “I guess.” Leaving the cart inside, she stepped out the door, closing it behind her very slowly.
Jack waited until it clicked shut, then bounded out of the bed and turned the lock. He didn’t trust Lillie not to come back in unexpectedly for a peek.
He hadn’t lied about the five minutes. He spent two in the bathroom, splashing his face, gargling with the hotel-supplied mouthwash, which Ronnie hadn’t finished, and then pulling on his clothes and shoving his wallet into his pocket.
He thought to check his phone, but no, she hadn’t left a message. Frustration clawed at him.
He felt used. He felt...insulted. Not hurt, damn it; he was a grown-ass man, not a lovesick youth. He’d had rejections before and barely blinked.
So why did this make his temper boil?
It shouldn’t have blindsided him. He knew Ronnie was different, skittish. Everything about her was unique, how she reacted, how she gauged emotions, her motives.
Was he the only one who’d been affected last night? She probably wanted him to think that, but he knew better. There was no way—
The knock on the door drew him out of his musing. He’d promised Lillie five minutes, and five it would be. Striding around the cart, he opened the door with a ready apology—and came face-to-face with a man.
Casually dressed, neatly trimmed dark hair, and wearing his own look of surprise.
The stranger leaned to the side, looking past Jack into the room, saw it was empty, and something dark passed over his face.
Standing a head taller, Jack scowled down at him. “And you are?”
“I came to see Veronica.”
Tension seeped out of his posture. Jack shook his head. “You have the wrong room.”
The man, probably midthirties, five-nine or thereabouts, glanced back to see the number on the door. “This is her room. Veronica Ashford?”
New irritation dug in. “Ronnie?”
The man gave a slow smile. “Is that the name she goes by?”
Stepping out and pulling the door shut behind him, Jack towered over the smug prick. Here was a hapless source for his annoyance. “I’ll ask one more time. Who are you?”
Not in the least intimidated, the man shrugged. “An admirer.” He checked his watch, a utilitarian watch, Jack noted, and murmured to himself, “I assumed she would be back by now.”
“You knew she left?”
A superior smile spread over his face. “You didn’t?”
Smashing the bastard would do a lot to take the edge off his escalating anger—but it wouldn’t be fair. Jack had him in height, weight, and obvious strength. The stranger, with his unimposing form, wouldn’t stand a chance.
And yet, he didn’t seem to realize the risk as he turned to go, saying in amusement, “You win some, you lose some. Looks like we both missed out this morning.”
Watching him leave, Jack considered following him, maybe insisting on a few answers...until he heard a sound, almost like a moan.
Where had the maid gone? He glanced down the hallway and noticed one door standing open. Thinking to tell her the room was now empty, he walked over and looked inside.
At first he didn’t see her, which he thought was curious. Then he noticed a foot sticking out from the far side of the bed. A limp foot.
Entering in a rush, he found the maid on the floor, her face white, blood oozing from a head wound.
CHAPTER TEN
JACK CALLED RONNIE on the way to the hospital. The maid, who’d awakened disoriented, sure that she’d merely fallen and hit her head on the nightstand, didn’t need him to be there.
But he wanted to go. He felt somewhat responsible, which he recognized was absurd. How could he have prevented a fall? Yet if she’d been in Ronnie’s room cleaning, instead of waiting on him to come to grips with Ronnie’s defection...
It was useless to speculate. All he could do was visit Lillie, ensure she had everything she needed, and offer her a ride home if she wanted. The ambulance had left with her minutes ago.
Unfortunately, the nearest hospital was an hour east of where they lived and everyone else in Lillie’s family worked at the hotel.
At first Ronnie didn’t answer her phone, which made him nearly frantic, a feeling he didn’t like. Call it instinct, call it jealousy, but it alarmed him that a stranger had tracked her down to the hotel, a man who seemed to have known that she’d left that morning—but hadn’t realized she’d checked out and wouldn’t return.
What if she hadn’t left on her own?
What if someone had her right now?
Jack waited two minutes, then called her again.
She finally answered with a succinct, “What?”
His jaw ached from grinding his teeth. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re hung, but you’re not deadly or anything.”
Leave it Ronnie to say the most outrageous things. Cutting to the chase, he replied, “A man came looking for you at the hotel.”
Silence. It became so prolonged, Jack wondered if she’d disconnected. “Ronnie?”
“What man?”
Oh, she tried to sound casual, but he heard it in her voice, the strain, the concern. “That’s my question to you.”
She gave an exasperated huff. “I didn’t see him, so how would I know?”
Good point—and it assured him that she hadn’t invited another man to her room. That possibility had burned his ass big time and accounted for a big chunk of his anger. To be safe, he asked, “You weren’t expecting anyone?”
“No.” After a second, she mellowed enough to add, “Look, I don’t know anyone around there except you and the people you’ve introduced me to.”
“You were at the bar before I got there. You didn’t know me either, but you invited me to your room.” Which made him wonder how many other men she might have noticed, and who else she might’ve considered until he showed up. It was possible the wrong guy had caught her eye.
“Yeah, well, you stole the show, ya know? I haven’t been back to Freddie’s since then.”
Relief was an astounding thing, blunting the edges of resentment. She’d walked out on him, and he’d have to deal with that, but he felt certain it wasn’t lack of interest that had urged her to sneak away.
In short order, Jack explained what was said and what had happened to the maid.
Agitated, her worry more pronounced now, Ronnie whispered, “She’ll be okay?”
“I hope so.” There’d been blood, too much blood, but that was the way with head wounds. “I’m not far behind the ambulance. I’ll know more once she sees a doctor.”
“Text me, okay? I want to know if she’s all right.”
Until the moment he’d heard her voice, Jack had been suppressing red-hot rage. Now a sort of relief along with renewed determination gradually chased out other emotions.
Somehow, some way, he would figure her out...because he wanted her again. He wanted...too many things to sort out right now.
All he knew for sure was that the next time it happened—hopefully sooner rather than later—he’d find a way to convince her not to run away. How long he wanted her to stay, he couldn’t yet say. But he didn’t want to wake to an empty bed. He at least wanted an opportunity to...talk.
Shit. Talking after sex, that was a sure sign that this was more than just physical. But then, he’d sensed that all along.
Now to convince Ronnie.
Hoping not to spook her, he kept it casual when he said, “I should be free by lunch. I could update you then.”
“Perfect. I’ll wait for your call.”
He’d prefer to see her in person, so he asked, “You want to get together?”
“Eventually,” she said. “I mean, we’ll need to.”
“Good, because I was think
ing—”
“I left stuff in your trunk, remember? That’s a big no-no, so don’t mention it to the brothers.”
How could he have forgotten? “I hope they were...preserved in some way?”
“I assume so. I can swing by in a day or two to pick it up.”
Apparently not too anxious to see him. “There are a few things we need to clear up.” Like the fact that he wouldn’t be used.
“I figured we’d already said everything we needed to.”
Her voice was so clipped, Jack could almost see those straight but narrow shoulders snapping back while her stubborn chin lifted. “Not even close, honey.” Anger began to leech back in. “You could have woke me before you sneaked off.”
“I didn’t sneak.” A nearly audible wince precluded her defensive, “At least, not the way you mean! I just figured it was early, and you’d pretty much exhausted yourself last night—”
“I wasn’t at all exhausted.” But damn it, he had slept through her dressing and walking out. “In fact, I woke up wanting you again.” He wanted her still. “Scurrying out without saying goodbye is not only rude, it’s...”
He hesitated to call her a coward, sensing that the insult would hit her harder than any other. He wanted her back, not so pissed that she’d never speak to him again.
Luckily, she didn’t wait for him to finish that line. “What do I know about morning-after protocol? I don’t do the morning after, and with good reason.”
“Never?” he asked, stunned by that disclosure. He knew she avoided involvement, but to have never slept over?
“Why would I?” she asked, her tone flippant. “They’re called one-night stands for a reason, you know. By definition, they shouldn’t include awkward morning-after chats.”
Until that moment, the thought of her with other men hadn’t bothered Jack. Now, hearing the vulnerability in her voice, it nearly leveled him. “I don’t think it would’ve been that awkward.”
“Look,” she said, exasperated. “I figured you’d be thrilled to find me gone.”
Ronnie was special. She needed to learn that. “Figure out the opposite of thrilled, and you’ll know how I felt.”