by Lori Foster
Seconds ticked by where he heard only her uneven breathing.
He wanted to hold her, and he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to argue with her more, and make love to her. He wanted to keep her around long enough to see where the feelings would go, how much deeper might they might get.
It’d be an uphill battle, but he wasn’t a quitter, not when he wanted something.
He wanted inside Ronnie’s head.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology, even grudgingly given, worked as a balm to his mood. “Will you agree I’m not a one-night stand?”
“Apparently not, if we’re going to do it again.”
Damn it, now was not the time for humor. Thank God she couldn’t see his quick grin. “We definitely are.”
“Well... I’ve never heard of a two-night stand, so...”
Her uncertainty was endearing, and it brought out all his protective instincts. Now that he’d gotten her agreement, he moved on before she could change her mind. “The man who came to your room asked for Veronica.”
More silence. “No one calls me that except family.”
Her father? The man wasn’t old enough, but Jack already knew that’s what she was hoping. “He looked to be in his midthirties,” he explained gently. “Five-nine, maybe five-ten. Average build. Dark hair.”
Making light of her disappointment, she laughed. “What, you didn’t get his eye color?”
“Green.”
She whistled. “Damn, Jack, you’re a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you? Anything else you noticed?”
“He wasn’t afraid of me, even though I was damn near breathing fire.” Worse, he was there when the maid got injured.
What if Lillie hadn’t tripped and hit her head?
What if...someone had struck her?
“Doesn’t sound like anyone I know.”
“Not even a past client? Someone you met during a pickup for the brothers?”
“Nope. I’m not as detail-oriented as you, but I’m not without my own power of observation.”
Sensing that she held something back, Jack narrowed his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Another long silence, too many of them for one conversation.
“Ronnie, talk to me.”
She huffed again. “I will, when I see you again.”
“How about later today?”
“How about I’ll call you when I find some time?” She rushed on, saying, “I have to go.”
Damn it, why did he feel like danger loomed? “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Always. Don’t worry about me.”
At this point, he didn’t think it was something he could control. He cared. Too much, too quickly.
“Jack?” She hesitated. “Sorry for ditching you.”
Coming from Ronnie, that was about as sincere as it could get. “Make it up to me over lunch.” He heard her inhale, no doubt to deny him, so he finished with, “Tomorrow at the office, at noon. And seriously, Ronnie, until then, watch your back.”
* * *
FOR TOO LONG NOW, Jack stewed.
The doctor hadn’t been entirely convinced that Lillie Johns had tripped. The injury to the back of her head was too blunt, as if someone had bludgeoned her. The sharp corner of a nightstand would have left a different cut. However, he’d speculated that the smooth sideboard of the bed could have caused her injury, as unlikely as that seemed.
The maid still didn’t remember anything, but luckily, other than a concussion and a row of stitches, she’d be okay.
The local cops had assured Jack that they were looking into things. But what could they do?
No one else recalled the man who’d come searching for Ronnie. He was so nondescript that he hadn’t drawn attention, not from the desk clerk, not from anyone outside.
He hadn’t inquired about her room number—but then, the hotel was small and it wouldn’t take a lot of surveillance to discover which room she’d rented. Conceivably, someone could have watched from outside as she entered, and then noted a window when a light came on.
As Brodie passed the office, he paused to give Jack a second look, then shifted his gaze to the clock on the wall. “She’s late?”
“Half an hour.” After a sleepless night, Jack had updated Brodie on the current problems, but not the intimacy of his growing relationship with Ronnie.
Now that she’d left the hotel, Jack didn’t know where she was staying, and he hesitated to call the brothers to find out. Better to let her come to him, but in the meantime he started some online research.
As far as Jack could tell, Ronnie avoided social media. She didn’t have a Facebook or Twitter account, and he couldn’t find an email address for her.
Apparently, when someone wanted to reach her, Ronnie either answered her phone—or she didn’t. Contacting her in any way was dependent on her whim. He respected that.
Yet some things she couldn’t control, like the news.
Again Jack scoured over the article that filled the screen of his computer. A photo in the sidebar showed a much younger Veronica Ashford. While she huddled in a chair, a female officer wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Another officer stood to the side, talking on a radio.
Ronnie’s hair was longer, a darker blond. Less makeup defined her features. Devastation, trauma turned her normally bright eyes utterly blank. She appeared so pale, so small and young that his heart squeezed.
He hadn’t found an excess of coverage over Ronnie’s kidnapping, but the barest facts were there. She had been taken. She had escaped. And nowhere was her family mentioned or shown.
Since that awful episode of her life, she’d reinvented herself, morphing into a cast of courage, attitude, and isolation.
Jack knew he’d have to be patient. Never before had the prospect posed such a problem.
“Did you call her?” Brodie asked.
“I talked to her yesterday morning.”
Brodie drew up one brow. “And since then?”
Jack shook his head. Twice he’d tried to reach her. She hadn’t answered either time. Damn it, he wasn’t in the habit of chasing women. So far with Ronnie, that’s all he’d done.
He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “She’s probably just being stubborn.” At this point, Jack hoped that’s all it was.
But what if something had happened? What if she couldn’t answer?
“Giving you the cold shoulder, huh?” Brodie tsked in an annoying way. “That’s gotta be tough on the old ego. Not what you’re used to, is it?”
Just then, they both heard the sound of her car pulling up. The little Chevy left a dust cloud behind on the cool but dry day.
Finally. Recalculating now that he knew she was safe, Jack sat back in his chair.
Brodie’s eyebrow went higher. “Not planning a warm greeting?”
“Mind your own business.” This was the second time she’d been late, and to ignore his calls... Jack looked at his brother. “Did you know her full name is Veronica?”
Brodie shrugged. “Yeah, so?”
Posing his thoughts aloud, Jack said, “She set her first appointment with us as Ron Ashford. Later she told me to call her Ronnie. And then a stranger asked for Veronica—the full name used by her family.”
Thoughtfully, Brodie asked, “You think we might be missing a clue?”
Jack wasn’t sure what to think. “I mentioned it to the cops. If they talk to her family, she’s going to be pissed.”
“You don’t know that.”
Actually, he did—because he knew Ronnie. “It’s doubtful they will, though. Overall, they didn’t seem to think much of it.”
Brodie shrugged. “They probably assume the guy met her at Freddie’s and wanted to invite her for breakfast or something.”
“Is that what you think?”
“I’m your brother,” Brodie said, as if that made all the difference. “If you think something’s off, then it probably is.” He looked toward the door. “Here she comes.”
When Jack stayed in his seat, Brodie muttered, “Dumbass,” and stepped out of view, presumably to greet her.
After closing the screen on his PC, Jack stared at the office door. His heartbeat picked up speed, his temperature rising. Two nights ago, he’d had her under him. He could still feel her fingers digging into his shoulders, hear her ragged moans. They’d slept with limbs entwined.
And the next morning she’d slunk away as if none of it mattered, and other than talking to him once, she’d avoided his calls.
Was it any wonder he felt so conflicted? Jack tightened his hand, then forced his fingers to relax.
He heard Brodie say something, heard Ronnie’s husky laugh, and every muscle on his body twitched with awareness. That was a reaction only Ronnie had roused. He didn’t twitch for anyone else, damn it.
The sound of her boot heels coming closer sharpened his senses.
Jesus, he had it bad. He already pictured her in his mind, her fair hair swinging in the same tempo as her slim hips, an excess of silver hoops dangling from her ears, her clothes all black for dramatic contrast, and the way her trim body moved so gracefully in her long, exaggerated strides...
Ronnie stepped into the doorway and Jack lost his relaxed posture, drawn forward by the sight of her in a low cut, midriff hugging beige pullover.
Braless. Again.
Stretchy material clung to her upper body like a second skin, outlining her high, round breasts and currently soft nipples.
Yet...maybe not so soft anymore, not with him noticing her. She looked so hot he felt himself reacting, too.
That particular flesh-toned sweater paired with tight jeans emphasized her slenderness, the delicate, female contours of her body.
Fuck. He felt it all again, the satiny texture of her skin, that tight shapely ass beneath his large hands, the sweet wetness of her sex hugging him tight as he’d slid deep.
The taste of her nipples.
As if she remembered, too, her little nostrils quivered with her quickened breath. Her gaze held his and a flush climbed up her neck to her cheeks, turning her eyes to glittering silver.
She assessed him with new knowledge.
Carnal knowledge.
Whether she liked it or not, things would never be the same between them. She could run all she wanted, but neither of them would forget.
Closing his hands over the arms of his chair, Jack grounded himself so he wouldn’t go to her. “You’re late.”
“Yeah, so sue me.” Ungluing her feet, she sauntered the rest of the way in and took a chair, trying to pretend that moment of sizzling electrical awareness hadn’t just snapped and crackled between them. “Where’s Peanut? I was looking forward to seeing her.”
Brodie poked his head into the office. “He’s with Mary and Howler.”
Ronnie twisted to see him. “He?”
“Boy kitten. Not easy to tell at that age, but I’m pretty sure.”
“Oh.” Her mouth pinched as if suppressing a smile. “So you...looked?”
“At his junk, yeah. Not like I could tell by staring into his eyes.”
Ronnie snickered.
Brodie folded his arms and leaned in the doorframe. “Envisioning it, are you?”
“Sorry, yes.” Her smile broke through.
How could one woman be so damned appealing? When giving him hell, when looking sad. When laughing at his brother. No matter what Ronnie did, Jack admired her, her looks, her manner, her big soft heart.
Brodie didn’t seem to mind that he was the source of her amusement. “I can get them down here, or you can go up with me to see him.” His gaze shifted to Jack. “That is, after your meeting.”
She gave him a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Brodie. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” Whistling, Brodie withdrew and headed farther down the hall.
When the hell had they gotten so chummy? Jack couldn’t recall Ronnie ever speaking to him in that particular, carefree tone.
And damn it, he would not be jealous of his brother.
“How’s the maid?” she asked, melting into the chair in a posture so casual, it came off forced rather than relaxed. Long legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed. She rested her elbows on the chair arms, her laced fingers on her stomach.
If someone didn’t know her, they might believe she hadn’t a care in the world, but Jack was so attuned to her, he saw the tension in her shoulders, in her exposed neck and the wariness of her gaze.
“Back home with her family.” He’d texted her earlier about the maid’s mild concussion. Her reply had been short, but at least she’d acknowledged him. Barely. “The doctor says she’ll be fine.”
“Good.”
The sight of Ronnie made it difficult for him to talk—especially when he’d rather be touching. How could she ever question her physical appeal? “Another day or two off, then she’ll be back to work.”
Accepting that with a nod, Ronnie looked over her shoulder to ensure the hallway was clear. Leaning forward and dropping her voice, she said, “I hate to ask it, but do you think she could have been hit?”
That she’d come to that conclusion didn’t surprise Jack. “I think it’s possible, yes.”
“Damn.” She sat back, frowning in thought.
And suddenly he knew something more was going on. “Ronnie?”
Her mouth flattened as she met his gaze. “I feel like I need to tell you something, but I don’t want you to overreact.”
Alarm bells blared in his brain. “I’m listening.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed frown. “And you better not dismiss me.”
Dismiss her? Unable to keep his ass in the chair a second longer, Jack stood and walked around to lean a hip against the front of the desk. He was closer to her now—but not close enough.
They’d both have to be naked, bodies touching, to be as close as he wanted to be.
Tilting his head, he encouraged her.
With worry etching her expression, she leaned in again. “The other day, when I booked...that is, when I left the hotel...”
“Without telling me.”
She frowned at the interruption. “I was driving away when it felt like someone was watching me.”
Those protective instincts surged. “Did you see anyone?”
“Yeah, I did.” Grumbling low, she admitted, “Fucker threw a rock at my rear window and cracked it. I haven’t had a chance to get it fixed yet.”
He stared at her, equal parts furious at her and afraid for her. It wouldn’t help to share either reaction, so he sucked it up and kept his civil facade in place despite the urge to...what? Give her hell?
Yeah, that definitely wouldn’t go over well.
“Did you get a good look at him?”
She snorted. “Hell no. I took off.”
Jack locked his jaw. She’d left well before 8:00 a.m. two mornings ago. Whoever it might have been—her visitor, or a random prank—the person was likely long gone by now.
Few things really enraged Jack. And even when they did, he could keep it under wraps and be reasonable. Or as Charlotte always accused, he’d be polite.
Not today. Not now. The words practically growled out of his throat. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
She blinked at his tone. “I believe I just did.”
The need to touch her, to draw her out of her chair, out of her nonchalance, had him breathing harder. “Why. Didn’t you tell me. Right away?”
Though her shrug couldn’t have been more indifferent, her gaze skirted away with guilt. For a few agonizing heartbeats, she kept her thoughts to herself and Jack couldn’t tell if her t
emper was winding up or down, if he’d offended her or just pissed her off.
Finally, she looked at him again, and what he saw was...apology. Regret. “I don’t count on other people,” she explained. “Haven’t for a long time. If I have a problem, I solve it.”
“Jesus, Ronnie,” he muttered low, unsure how to deal with her in this particular mood.
“What?” Her defensive scowl returned. “You think I, a mere woman, should have run to you, the big man, the second something spooked me?”
Definitely pissed. Jack quickly retreated behind manners. “I would have preferred being informed at least, yes.”
“Well, like I said, I solve my own shit. I would’ve eventually solved this on my own, too, except apparently it’s spilling over to you and this town, and I don’t want that. If it’s not just me—”
Those words snapped the tight leash on his control. Catching her upper arms, Jack drew her from the chair and to her tiptoes. His nose almost touched hers as he said succinctly, “It’s not just you.” He wanted her to understand that she wasn’t alone.
She took it all wrong, wrenching away and glaring. “I’m sorry, all right? You think I wanted that maid to get hurt? You think I wanted you hassled by some random stranger? I told you not to take the job. I told you we should just screw.” She tossed up her hands. “I warned you a dozen times.”
In the distance, Jack heard Brodie whistling, which was his brother’s not-so-subtle way of letting him know he was near, and judging by the sound of his footsteps, coming down the hall.
“Let’s go to my house.” At least there they’d have privacy—for him to vent, for her to curse...to touch, explain, comfort, convince, and share.
Brodie walked on past, studiously pretending they didn’t exist.
“Why?” Ronnie sneered, her gaze locked to Jack’s, oblivious to everything else. “You want to spank me again?”
The whistling stopped. Brodie leaned back to look into the room, his gaze wickedly amused.
Jack ignored him.
Ronnie never even realized he was there.
With a grin, Brodie moseyed on...but he no longer whistled, probably because he hoped to hear more.