The Dare Affair: Summer In Savannah Anth. (Dynasties: The Danforths Book 6.5

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “Rise and shine, sweetheart. Time to get a move on.”

  The slap on her behind was anything but gentle. Her eyes flew open just long enough to look over her shoulder and glare at Nick. He stood beside the bed, already dressed. Sinking back down into the mattress, she pulled her pillow over her head. “You interrupted a beautiful dream, Sloane. Come back in an hour.”

  “No can do.” When she sank deeper under the sheet covering her, he sighed. “Don’t make me come in there and get you.”

  If she hadn’t wanted to sleep so badly, she would have dared him to make his threat good. But they’d been up until two, and it couldn’t have been much more than six right now.

  Sophia had never cared for women who whined, but under the circumstances, she felt completely justified. “I’m tired. Leave me alone.”

  He sat on the mattress beside her and pressed his mouth to her bare shoulder. “Were you dreaming about me?”

  “No,” she lied, bit back a moan when he brushed his lips back and forth on her skin. “I was dreaming about George Clooney. He was rubbing suntan lotion on my back.”

  “Liar.”

  In spite of the exhausting night they’d had, and the fact that her body was still sore, Sophia felt her blood heat up as Nick moved systematically up her neck. Maybe she wasn’t so tired, after all.

  Still, maybe she’d make him work a little before she dragged him into bed with her. “You’re pretty sure of yourself, buster.”

  “Any reason I shouldn’t be?”

  She turned her face toward him and smiled. That was one lie she couldn’t tell. “No.”

  “Good.” He grinned back. “Now let’s get going.”

  “Hey!” When he snatched the sheet off her, she yelped, then grabbed her pillow and covered herself as she flipped to her back. “You are no gentleman, Nick Sloane.”

  “Never claimed to be, darlin’.” He laid a quick kiss on her lips, then yanked her out of bed and tossed her sweatpants and tank top to her. “Get dressed.”

  “I’ll bet you were the playground bully when you were a kid,” she groused, reaching for her sweatpants. “So where are we going, anyway?”

  “Marcos’s apartment.”

  She glanced up sharply. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “If we can find a connection there between Kurt and Marcos, we just might stack a few more chips on our side of the table.”

  “But wouldn’t Kurt have already gone there?” she asked. “He’s covered himself everywhere else so far, surely he wouldn’t have left anything to incriminate himself.”

  “Sooner or later everyone makes a mistake. I’m hoping his will be sooner.”

  Sophia was fully aware of Nick’s eyes on her as she tugged her tank top on, considered torturing him a little, then thought better of it. “So how do we get in?”

  His gaze lifted from her breasts and he smiled. “How else? We break in.”

  Marcos’s apartment was on the bottom floor of a two-story brick building on the south side. Nick had done enough undercover work to know that if you acted like you belonged somewhere, most people wouldn’t give you a second look. Though Sophia had donned her red wig again, Nick didn’t bother with a disguise today. From listening to Kurt’s phone calls yesterday, he knew that his partner—his ex-partner—had a hearing in front of Judge Watkins at 9:00 a.m.

  Nick glanced at his watch. It was 8:45 now, which gave him at the very least an hour before Kurt would be out of court. Plenty of time to get in and get out again.

  “Are you going to pick the lock?” Sophia asked after Nick knocked twice on Marcos’s door. There was no sound from the other side, but upstairs someone was playing Led Zeppelin at full volume.

  “Something like that.” Nick stepped back, then kicked the door in with one solid hit just below the doorknob. He waited a moment, listening, but Led Zeppelin never missed a beat.

  Wide-eyed, Sophia stared at him.

  “Come on.” He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, then swore at the mess in the living room. Sofa cushions pulled out, pictures crooked, every drawer open in a corner desk.

  “Looks like the maid hasn’t been here in a while,” Sophia said dryly.

  Nick checked the bedroom and kitchen, then swore again. “Kurt was thorough, I’ll give him that.”

  “What was he looking for?”

  “Insurance, most likely.” Nick pulled on a pair of black knit gloves he’d found in the prop room, then picked up a stack of unopened mail. “If Marcos had half a brain, he would have kept something to use as leverage in case Kurt didn’t play it square. But if he kept it here, Kurt would have found it.”

  Folding her arms, Sophia watched him sort through the mail, then pick up the phone lying on the floor and make a sweep through the directory. “What if he didn’t keep it here?”

  “Kurt would have checked Marcos’s car and work space, too.”

  “If I could get into the security tapes at Steam, maybe we could—hey, wait.” Sophia looked at the speed dial buttons on the phone. “This one says ‘mom.’ Marcos told me his mom died when he was a kid.”

  “You don’t say.” Nick pressed the button and held the receiver between his ear and Sophia’s. It rang twice on the other end.

  “Captain Emmet’s office,” Iris said cheerfully.

  Nick hung up the phone, then met Sophia’s surprised gaze.

  “Well, well.” He grinned at her. “Looks like Marcos’s got a friend.”

  An hour later, from a pay phone in the back of Churchill’s Pub, they called Captain John Emmet’s office again. This time Nick not only didn’t hang up, he told Iris who was on the line. It took Emmet exactly two seconds to pick up the phone.

  “Sloane! Where the hell have you been?” Emmet bellowed. “I’ve been covering for you, but dammit, I—”

  “Kurt’s dirty.” Nick kept an eye on his watch, knew how quickly his captain could not only trace the call, but have a patrol car respond, as well. “He was in on the drug smuggling with one of the bartenders at the nightclub, Marcos Cooper.”

  “Well, isn’t that a coincidence,” Emmet drawled sarcastically. “Kurt said the same about you. Only reason I haven’t put out an APB is I wanted to hear your side before it’s all over the Savannah Morning headlines. Tell me where you are and I’ll have someone pick you up.”

  “Can’t do it, Captain.” Nick looked at Sophia, who was worrying her bottom lip, then at his watch again. They didn’t have much time. “There’s someone inside the department involved, too. I’ll have the proof I need by tomorrow.”

  “What proof? If you have proof, then you come to me, dammit. How do you expect me to—”

  Nick hung up the phone.

  “Come on.” He took hold of Sophia’s arm. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To wait.”

  They crossed the street to a corner deli and took a seat in a window booth. They’d barely ordered coffee when Kurt pulled up, alone, in an unmarked car and went into the pub. He came out two minutes later, scowling, looked around, then jumped in his car and screeched his tires when he drove off.

  “Oh, God.” Sophia drew in a slow, shaky breath and closed her eyes. “So they are in on it together.”

  “Maybe.” He stared at the steaming cup of coffee the waitress put in front of him. “Maybe not.”

  “Gosh, that helps.”

  He saw the moisture in her eyes when she opened them, wanted to tell her it would be all right, that they would be all right, but the truth was, he didn’t know. And the one thing he couldn’t do was lie to her.

  “It’s only three blocks to my parents’ bakery from here,” she said quietly and stared out the window. “They’re in the middle of the lunch rush right now. My sister Tina will pick up the slack for me, but I imagine my mom is cursing me, blaming my lack of responsibility on my gypsy blood.”

  He reached out and covered her hand with his. “Gypsy blood, huh?”


  “On my father’s side, so my mother says whenever she disapproves of my behavior, which is most of the time.” She wiped at a tear that slid down her cheek. “She drives me crazy, but, God, I miss her. And my father and sisters. Did I tell you my sister Rachel is pregnant?”

  “Rachel?”

  “I’m the oldest, then Tina, then Rachel. Rachel and Tina both got married this year, which makes me the spinster.”

  He laughed at that, then settled back in the booth and sipped his coffee. “Boy or girl?”

  “What?” She furrowed her brow.

  “Is she having a boy or girl?”

  Sophia smiled. “A girl. My mother’s first grandchild. She’s already carrying a picture of the ultra-sound to show everyone.”

  “When’s she—Rachel—due?”

  “Eight weeks. Good job distracting me, Sloane. Does the sight of a woman’s tears frighten you?”

  “Terrifies me. Usually I run the other way.”

  “Not this time?” she asked carefully.

  “Not this time.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, then Nick said, “So what about your dad?”

  “What about my dad?”

  “You think he’ll like me?”

  Sophia arched one delicate brow. “Are you asking to meet my parents?”

  “Yeah.” He set the coffee cup down so she wouldn’t see his hand shake. “I guess I am.”

  “That bullet you took might be easier,” she said. “My father will scowl at you all night and my mother will interrogate you on everything from how much money you make to how many children you want. Most men can’t handle it.”

  “I’m not most men, Sophia,” he said simply.

  “No.” She smiled slowly. “That you’re not.”

  They sat quietly for a long moment, then she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and sighed. “So what now, Nick?”

  “Now—” he gestured to the waitress “—we call Kurt and set up a meeting.”

  Chapter 9

  “This is insane. You’re insane.” Arms crossed, Sophia paced the length of the Savannah Sweetheart’s dining area, then back again. Nick stood at the mahogany bar several feet away, assembling a silent security alarm he’d purchased that afternoon at an electronics store. “There’s no way Kurt is going to let you walk away alive.”

  In two hours Nick was meeting Kurt in front of the Crab’s Net on River Street. Sophia’s biggest complaint was that he refused to let her come with him.

  “He won’t kill me in the middle of a very public, very crowded tourist spot, especially if he thinks I have evidence against him.” Screwdriver in hand, Nick opened the lid of a white plastic dome. “Hand me those batteries inside that bag, will you?”

  “You don’t know that.” Frustrated, she pulled the package of batteries from a brown paper bag and slapped them on the bar. “If you’d let me go with you, I could cover your back.”

  “We’ve been over this. You’re not going, and that’s that.”

  Resisting the urge to stomp a foot, Sophia moved closer, hands on her hips. “You have got to be the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

  “I’ll just take that as a compliment.” He popped the batteries in and ran his hand over a sensor. The alarm screeched like a banshee, then Nick pressed a remote control and the alarm went silent.

  When Sophia started to argue again, he pointed the remote at her. She snatched it from him and tossed it back on the bar. “Dammit, Nick. This isn’t funny.”

  “Sophia.” He took her by the shoulders and sighed. “I’m not going to do anything stupid or foolish. I just need to flush Kurt out into the open, and unless I miss my guess, whoever’s in on this with him will be there, too. Once I know who and what I’m dealing with, I can make a move.”

  She dropped her head on his chest. “I’ll go crazy if I stay here.”

  “You’ll be safer.” He smoothed his hands over her shoulders.

  “And if something goes wrong?” she asked softly. “If you don’t come back?”

  “Call your sister Tina. With the Danforths’ influence, she’ll be able to get you a good lawyer and protection.”

  She shook her head. “Abraham Danforth is running for senator. If the news media picks up a story that his son’s sister-in-law is involved in drug smuggling, it won’t matter that it’s not true. The scandal will hurt his campaign. And my parents. Oh, God, I can’t imagine what this will do to them.”

  “Stop it.” Nick cupped Sophia’s chin in his hand and tipped her head up. “None of that is going to happen, dammit. Don’t even think it.”

  There were times when a woman needed a man to be comforting and tender, but there were times, like now, when a woman really just needed a man to be strong and reassuring. How Nick seemed to know which one she needed when was a mystery, but she knew he was right. She couldn’t think about him not coming back. Couldn’t bear it.

  “Okay,” she said, sighing. “But so help me, if you don’t come back, I’ll kill you myself.”

  He smiled at that, then lowered his head slowly. When his lips touched hers, she leaned into him. This time she sighed, not with exasperation but with longing.

  “How much time do we have?” she murmured, pressing her body closer to his.

  “An hour.” But when her hands slid up and under his T-shirt, he drew in a breath. “Maybe an hour and a half.”

  It wasn’t enough, she thought. An hour. A day. A lifetime. But she’d take what she could get, and right now she wanted it all.

  She felt his heart jump when she slowly moved her fingers over his muscled chest. His skin was warm, slightly damp from the heat and humidity of the day. He tensed when her fingertips skimmed tiny circles over his flat nipples.

  He took hold of her arms and held her still, his gaze intense as he stared down at her. “Don’t think you can change my mind about coming with me.”

  She lifted a brow. “Sounds like a challenge.”

  “No.” He grinned, then released her arms. “But you’re welcome to try.”

  “Maybe I will.” She slid her hands down to the snap of his jeans. She lingered there, brushing her knuckles lightly back and forth on his skin above his waistband. Smiling, she dropped her hand and stepped back. “Or maybe I’ll just go take a cold shower.”

  On a growl, he snatched her back. “Or maybe you won’t.”

  When his mouth swooped down on hers, Sophia felt the kiss sizzle through her limbs. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, lifting herself up on toes that surely had smoke curling out of them. She understood that the danger she was in intensified everything she was feeling, but still, this kiss was different. This kiss had more than an edge of desperation. More than raw, piercing need. This kiss was charged with promise. Not just that he’d come back to her today, but that he’d come back to her every day.

  He reached down and cupped her behind, pulled her closer to him. When she moved her hips against him, he moaned.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he said, his voice ragged and hoarse.

  He lifted her higher, and she wound her legs tightly around his waist. He kissed her again and again, and she met every thrust of his tongue with her own. She was already aching for him and the intimate joining of their bodies. He had her gasping for breath and impatient.

  “Too many clothes,” she managed between gulps of air.

  His mouth never left hers as he moved the few feet to a booth in the corner of the dining room. When he bent and lowered her onto the tabletop, she lay back, offering herself to him, wanting him to know that she was his.

  He stood between her legs, his gaze dark and glinting with desire. She refused to think about later, refused to waste these precious moments with doubt or worry.

  Without a word, his gaze still on hers, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants and inched them past her hips, down her thighs, then slipped them off her legs. Her heart slammed in her chest as he stared at her. She gripped the table edges, wait
ing, breath held, trembling with anticipation.

  She thought it might be possible to die from a need this acute, this staggering, and when he slid his hands ever so slowly up her bare legs, she was certain of it.

  “Nick.” His name rushed out on a breath. “Please…”

  He ignored her plea, content with caressing the outside of her thighs with his callused palms. The rough texture on her skin left her breathless, incredibly aroused and thoroughly frustrated.

  “You’re so soft,” he murmured. “Like silk.”

  When he slid his hands to the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, Sophia sucked in a sharp breath, then reached toward him, needing to touch him, to bring him closer to her.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not yet. I want to watch you.”

  She started to complain, but then he lightly brushed the vee of her thighs with the tips of his thumbs and it was impossible to speak. When he lowered his head, she couldn’t think.

  Oh, but she could feel.

  Her body pulsed with sensation, and when he pressed kisses to the inside of her thigh, she moaned. Instinctively, she arched upward, gasping when he slipped her panties off in one quick move. He teased her with soft bites and hot kisses, until she was pleading with him. His tongue found her, stroking, sliding over her until she was crazed with desire.

  “I want you inside me,” she sobbed. “Now, please.”

  He rose, lowered the zipper of his jeans and shoved them down, then slid his hands under her hips and lifted her to him. She gripped the sides of the table on a moan when he entered her, moaned again when he seemed to grow harder and larger inside her. Raw need consumed them both, and when he began to move, nothing else existed but the overwhelming, primitive pleasure between a man and woman. The pleasure grew like flames, rising higher and higher, hotter and hotter, sweeping over them both.

  She cried out, shuddering. On a groan, deep and guttural, pure male, he followed her.