Barefoot With A Stranger

by Roxanne St Claire

  “‘Solid’ is a guy who offered his seat, bought me a drink, and doesn’t flirt with married women.” Slipping out of his touch, she searched his face, no doubt comparing the real thing to the pictures in her file. He hadn’t shaved in a week and had let his hair grow since he’d known he’d be getting out of Allenwood, but surely they knew that.

  “So, what about you?” she asked, her voice just the right amount of tentative and hopeful. “Are you…unattached?”

  “I’m a free man,” he said, for the benefit of any bastards listening who would like to change that status. He might be out of prison and not even on house arrest, like he thought he’d be, but he’d never be free. Never. He’d be hunted and watched and followed and pestered until they got what they thought he was hiding. And if they couldn’t, then they’d be happy to dream up a way to put his ass back in the slammer, just for spite.

  They stared at each other for a few seconds, and this time neither looked away. “And you’re from Texas,” she said. At his raised eyebrows, she laughed. “Very subtle, but I hear…Houston?”

  You should know, honey. “Dallas. And San Antonio. And…” Where the hell had he lived after that? Some trailer park in some dump. “Yeah, around Texas.”

  “What do you do?”

  Time. He did lots and lots of time for crime. He stalled with a long, slow sip of beer. “I’m between jobs now.”

  “Ahh.” She gave a knowing nod.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “I’m in, uh, well, I guess the best way to describe it is computer research.”

  He almost laughed out loud. Is that what the kids were calling spy work today? “You must be smart,” he said, adding a smile for the sheer pleasure of getting one back.

  “Well, I work for my family, so I get away with a lot.”

  Family. How sweet. He gulped some beer.

  “Are you looking for work in Florida?” she asked.

  This was getting tiresome. Not looking at this lovely woman—he actually could do that for hours. But the volley of lies was wearing him down. He wasn’t going to lose her now, that much was certain. She’d end up next to him on the flight, then follow him after they landed. He’d be wearing her.

  Which didn’t exactly suck. Because if she wasn’t one of them, this wouldn’t end here. Not a chance. And that wasn’t just his poor, lonely, unloved, semi-hard-twenty-three-hours-a-day dick talking. That was just him, starved for an easy smile, a quick wit, and that sweet something in her eyes that made him think of…hope.

  He shifted in his seat, mentally repacking the ice that had slipped from his heart. Well, hell. Maybe he’d underestimated this woman’s talent in the field.

  He leaned much closer and ran a light finger over her knuckles, daring himself not to react to the feel of her. He lost that dare. “I’m boring, Francesca. Let’s talk about you.”

  She let her gaze drop to where he touched her hand. “No one calls me Francesca.”

  ’Cause it’s not your name. And he couldn’t forget that. “It suits you. It’s a graceful name, with depth and class. It’s sexy.”

  She frowned as if she wasn’t buying it. “It’s old school and sounds like I should be kneading pizza dough in an apron.”

  “You’d look hot in an apron.” And nothing else.

  She pointed to him, giving a throaty laugh. “You’re good, you know that?”

  And so was she. Because, damn, this was some real electricity, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d be fried. He leaned back and assessed her, wondering what they gave her as a backstory. “So who was this bonehead who made you feel like you weren’t pretty? I might have to make him eat my fist.”

  “Wow. You really do take this knight-in-shining-armor thing seriously. His name was Matt.”

  “Like in ‘door’?”

  She gave a genuine laugh, tilting her head back with gusto. “Exactly. He was my boyfriend for the past year. And two months. And ten days.” She gave a self-deprecating eye roll. “Oh, I’m pathetic, right?”

  He scanned her face for a tell, but couldn’t find one. No color rising, no averted glance, and her hand was utterly still under his. Okay, he’d jumped the gun assuming she was a rookie.

  “He’s the one who’s pathetic,” he said, dying to hear the tale she’d spin. There might even be some truth in it, as he recalled from his training. “What happened?”

  She took a drink and squinted back across the concourse at their gate, then lowered her glasses back to her nose as if they weren’t a disguise at all and she really was nearsighted. “Oh crap. We have trouble.”

  He followed her gaze, wondering if her buddy had blown their cover. But as he watched the flock of people milling about and caught a glimpse of the departure board, he knew exactly what trouble they had.

  “The flight’s canceled,” she said, standing up. “Son of a…”

  He threw money on the table and grabbed his bag, following her out to the gate. “Come on, let’s go see what the deal is.”

  Except he knew the deal. They’d canceled the flight to give this woman time to worm her way into his head. Yes, damn it, they had that much power.

  “There are no more flights tonight,” a man informed them, sounding disgusted as he walked by.

  “I have to find an airport hotel,” another woman said into her phone. “I am not sleeping in the terminal.”

  Chessie looked up at him, her eyes wide, as if this news actually surprised her.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “A hotel might be a good idea, Francesca.”

  He felt her shudder under his touch. A shudder that felt damn real, and damn…interested.

  Just how far would this talented little spy take her mission tonight?

  Chapter Two

  There was a low-grade panic humming through the tight squeeze of humanity packed into the Marriott hotel’s airport shuttle. Or maybe that was just Chessie’s fried nerve endings vibrating with a bad case of now what?

  As if she didn’t know what.

  The other dozen or so stranded travelers were griping about inconvenience, worried about room availability, questioning where they’d get a toothbrush or clean underwear. Chessie, with nothing but a handbag, laptop, wallet, cell phone, and an e-reader, was in the same boat.

  But she could handle the possibility of wearing the same clothes for twenty-four hours. Her tension was caused by a whole different unexpected problem—namely, taking off those clothes with a perfect stranger.

  Damn near perfect, and getting to be less of a stranger with each passing minute. Right this second, he was the intense, sexy, attentive, and oh so ridiculously hot guy who made her laugh and whose muscles tensed against her every time the van hit a bump.

  By unspoken agreement, they’d stuck close to each other in the airport, getting information on possible solutions, the shared travel glitch intensifying, and justifying, the connection. They’d finally walked with a small group of weary travelers to the transportation area and stayed close while waiting for the shuttle to an airport hotel reported to have vacancies.

  He hadn’t texted or called anyone, she noticed, and he didn’t seem overly put out by the delay. She’d sent a text to Gabe that she’d be on the first flight to Fort Myers, leaving at ten thirty a.m., and then she did the unthinkable and shut off her phone.

  Just that little act of defiance sent a shiver of anticipation through her, a little frisson of tension that made her feel like anything could happen. Anything and everything.

  She glanced up at the man on her right and caught him eyeing her as well. Silent in their secret companionship with only the background sounds of unhappy phone calls and explanations still going on inside the overly warm van, it was like they were magnetically pulled to each other.

  “You need anything to make it through the night?” he asked.

  Um…sex. Lots of it. “I’ll buy a toothbrush and can sleep in my clothes.” Or naked. She swallowed, her throat dry.

  “You can borrow a T-sh
irt, if you want.”

  His voice, with just enough of a timbre of implication, rolled over her, warming her so much that she turned to the rain-streaked windows, tempted to press her cheek against the cool glass. Instead, she let the blur of the Atlanta airport pass by.

  Chessie had never had a one-night stand, didn’t do the hookup thing that was considered the norm among many thirty-year-olds. The whole idea was just too damn spontaneous for a planner like her. But this situation was different. Weird. Electrified. Off anything that resembled a plan.

  Screw a plan.

  No, no. She fought a secret smile and a tingling in her lower half. A plan was not what she wanted to screw tonight.

  “Here we are,” Mal said, shifting slightly in his seat, making her unable to think about anything except how his leg felt pressed against her. It was hard, thick, and strong. She’d never really thought about a man’s leg before. She was a shoulder and biceps kind of girl. But his leg…

  Lust had clearly fried her motherboard.

  He met her look with the slightest hint of amusement in his dark eyes. Like he knew something about her that even she didn’t know. That was part of his appeal, she noticed. Always a very subtle, tacit hint that he knew what she was thinking.

  And she was thinking about legs. And…other parts.

  She let out a sigh as the van pulled under the hotel overhang, the lights of the lobby looking warm and inviting on the cool, December night.

  “You okay?” Mal asked, leaning close to her ear so his breath fluttered some of her hair and launched a landslide of goose bumps.

  “Yeah, sure. I mean…” She wet her lips and looked up at him. “Are you?”

  They were dancing around the obvious. Are we doing this or not?

  He broke into a slow grin that made her stomach feel like a butterfly garden during a windstorm. “Define okay, Francesca.”

  And did he have to say her much-hated name in a way that sounded like a warm breeze over flower petals? She wanted him to say it again and again, in her ear, against her mouth, as he got on top of her and—

  “Out to the right, please,” the driver barked as he stopped the van and silenced her thoughts.

  Blood thrummed in her head as she waited her turn to climb out from the corner at the way back, but Mal was on her right, so he had to go first, giving her a bird’s-eye view of his ass in jeans.

  A gorgeous ass. A strong ass. An ass custom-made for a woman’s first one-night stand. She couldn’t wait to get a handful of that ass.

  And why the hell shouldn’t she? No one even knew where she was, not a brother, cousin, or overprotective grandfather to put the brakes on this hairpin turn the night was about to take.

  He stood on the sidewalk, giving her a hand as she hopped out of the van. And then he kept holding it as they walked into the lobby. His palm was rough and masculine, his fingers strong and protective.

  Her heart flipped around helplessly, like that of a teenage girl about to get felt up for the first time. The whole thing was so sexy and illicit, so blissfully impromptu.

  The registration line was long, and they ended up separated for a bit while they each checked in. Yes, it was nice not to be forced into an awkward discussion over sharing a room in front of the hotel staff, but the brief separation also left her uncertain if hot sex with a stranger was in her immediate future.

  With her key in hand, she met him across the lobby, where he stood holding his own key and his brown duffel bag. Oh shit, moment of truth. Didn’t these things usually happen after too much booze? At least enough to fend off some kind of anxiety attack in which she would blab on about how she’d never done this before?

  But he just stared at her, a challenge in his eyes. No smile, now, but the corner of his mouth turned up with an unspoken question.

  “I, um, need to go in here,” she said, hating the bout of nerves that clutched her. She turned to the tiny convenience store, already full of several of their vanmates. “To get…stuff.”

  “All right.” He didn’t move, but didn’t offer to wait, clearly leaving the next step up to her. That was another thing she liked; he wasn’t aggressive. He was letting her call the shots, but all along, there was that secret suggestion that he was the one in control.

  It made her dizzy.

  She headed into the little store, rounding a rack of books to get to the toiletries in the back. She picked up a toothbrush, travel-size toothpaste, and skimmed the rest of the items, imagining what she’d need for one night.

  Trojans.

  She stared at the box.

  “Francesca.” A hand landed on her shoulder, making her startle and turn to see an unexpected fierceness in his narrowed eyes. “You can call this thing quits any time you want.”

  This thing? Quits? Her heart dipped. “What if I don’t want to…call it quits?”

  He didn’t move his hand or make any effort to step away. Instead, he studied her face to the point of uncomfortable scrutiny. “I mean you don’t have to.”

  She gave an awkward laugh. “I know I don’t have to. I…want to. I mean, not if you don’t, but I like you, and I’m…” She closed her eyes and let out a ragged sigh. “You’re not making this whole seduction thing very easy.”

  His eyes flashed for a second, and he inched back, almost as if this news surprised him. He didn’t know where this was headed.

  “Francesca.” He added some pressure to her shoulders. “You’re not who I think you are…are you?”

  What the hell? Who did he think she was? An easy lay, of course. She’d practically thrown her panties at him. She wasn’t, normally. But nothing was normal about tonight. “Is that some kind of trick question?”

  He stared so hard it felt as if he were trying to see right through her. And from the look on his face, he did. At least, his expression changed in some immeasurable way. That challenge disappeared from his eyes, and he almost looked…like he was seeing her for the first time.

  “I thought…” Her voice caught. “I misread you…this.” She shook her head and tried to step away. “Sorry.”

  “No, no. I’m the one who misread you.” Very slowly, he skimmed his hand down the length of her arm, burning every centimeter he touched with promise.

  She didn’t answer—couldn’t trust her shaky voice—but held his gaze, his face so close she could kiss him by moving one, maybe two, inches closer. And, good God, she wanted to.

  She took a slow breath and closed her eyes, steadying herself. Before she opened them, he brushed her lips with the softest kiss. “I’m in 318,” he whispered before slipping away, disappearing into the lobby, and rounding the corner to the elevators.

  She stood there for a good thirty seconds, trying to find her balance. There was nothing balanced about this, but…

  She bought the condoms.

  * * *

  Holy shit, he was off his game. A spy? She was no more a spy than his grandmother. How could he have been so wrong?

  She couldn’t fake that reaction to his question. Her eyes were pure and honest, and she wasn’t trailing him or trying to get information. She was a damned beautiful computer tech traveling to Florida, stuck in a hotel on a rainy night…as hungry for the pure release of sex as he was.

  What a fucking idiot you are, Mal Harris.

  He stood over the sink, his hands under cold water, trying to wash away the frustration. He wanted her. Sure, it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, but it was more than that. He liked her.

  And, damn it, she wanted him, based on every physical response he’d been trained to read in a woman. Hell, it didn’t take CIA schooling to see the way her eyes devoured him or hear the quick intake of breath when they not-so-accidentally touched.

  He bent over and splashed his face. All that time he spent analyzing her and surmising her motives when he should have been—

  A soft knock on the door made him stand up straight.

  He smiled like he had the day they unlocked his cell. Hell yeah. Sec
ond chance.

  He looked through the peephole, catching her looking from side to side. Before, he would have assumed she was looking for her partner, or even sending a signal. She self-consciously touched the button of her sweater, which paranoid Mal would have thought meant she was adjusting a mic.

  And he’d have been wrong.

  His hand trembled just a little as he fumbled with the lock, a sign of just how badly he wanted this woman.

  He took a slow breath and opened the door, letting her speak first.

  Uncertainty played at the edges of her features as she held up two bottles of beer. “We didn’t get to finish our drink.”

  He took one and let her in and closed the door, snapping the security bar.

  She took a few steps into the room and put her beer, handbag, and a plastic bag on the desk.

  “You seem—”

  “I don’t usually—”

  They talked right over each other, and she gave a self-conscious laugh. “You first.”

  “You don’t usually what?” he asked.

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the dresser. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here.”

  He took a few steps closer, noticing the slightest quiver in her chin and a wariness behind her glasses. How could he have missed that?

  “Yes, you are.” He slipped off the specs and set them on the dresser, not surprised to confirm she was nearsighted, not fake-sighted. “And you want a T-shirt.”

  “Or something to sleep in.” She took a slow, uneven breath, staring up at him as he placed his hands on her cheeks and jaw, easily feeling the thump of her pulse.

  “Sleep with me,” he whispered. “And don’t wear anything.”

  She angled her head, biting her lower lip as she studied him. “I’m not, you know, the most experienced traveler in this airport hotel, but I’m pretty sure that’s why I came here.”

  That made him smile. Okay, so the only thing she was a rookie at might be casual sex. Good thing for her, he wasn’t feeling casual at all.

  “You have no idea how glad I am that you did.” He slid his hands down her throat, and that pulse jacked up even more. She breathed again, her chest rising and falling, her lips parted, her pupils wide with arousal.