by MJ Rodgers
Icy fingers circled A.J.’s heart and clutched it so tightly that it stopped beating.
“And now for the coveted best actress award,” the tall, handsome man on the stage said in that all-too-familiar silky-smooth voice that now dripped like acid into A.J.’s ears.
He turned to the glamorous blond woman beside him and circled his arm about her waist. She leaned against him and gazed into his sparkling green eyes as she returned his possessive smile. Then she held a card in front of her as her soft, sexy voice breathed into the microphone.
“The nominees are Patsy Harper for her role as A.J. in Hit Man Escape. Here is a scene from that movie.”
A.J.’s eyes flew to the large screen mounted on the auditorium wall, sure she hadn’t heard right. But there she was. Not Patsy. Her. Running through that dank, damp forest, holding a gun in her hand.
It was a reenactment of that night two and a half months before when she chased Wessel, the killer of Mitchell Klamm.
A.J.’s heart pounded as she saw herself gasping for breath after tripping over the rotted stump. She saw herself fighting her way to her feet, then to the top of the steep ravine.
It was too real! Too damn real!
Suddenly, she wasn’t just watching from a lush seat at the Academy Awards. Suddenly, she was there in the forest, fighting the floor debris, the cold night closing in around her.
Her muscles ached from her exertions, sweat poured over her body, her breath wheezed through her lungs. She climbed over the rise of the steep ravine. The bullet whizzed past her ear. She fired at the flash of light exploding between the trees. She rolled onto her belly behind the base of the sturdy fir tree.
She hurt. So bad. But she knew she had to get up. She knew she had to see where he had gone. She knew she could not let him get away.
“Stay down!” a voice called suddenly from behind her, but it was too late. She was already jumping to her feet to see what direction he was taking.
Before she heard the retorts of the gun, before she had time to even blink, the first bullet tore into her side, the second through her arm, spinning her backward.
She fell hard against the ungiving ground, the blow knocking out what little breath remained in her lungs. Her arm and side erupted in a raging fire. Desperately, she battled unconsciousness.
He was out there. He would be coming for her. She must be ready!
Dead leaves crackled like dry bones beneath his heavy boots. Her eyes flew open. He stood over her—an enormous dark silhouette wavering against the tall trees.
A sliver of silver light bounced off the large automatic in his hand as he shoved a new clip into firing position. She gritted her teeth against the pain and raised her gun.
Suddenly, the moon blew out from behind a cloud and illuminated his face—his finely chiseled, elegant face. His green eyes pierced her with their icy cold light. A mocking smile froze on his lips.
Then he raised his gun and fired. Right into her heart.
Chapter Twelve
“Damn, damn, damn,” Zane kept repeating as he held A.J. tightly, rocking her in his arms.
She was shaking. He was shaking, too. For so many reasons he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get them all sorted out.
“Damn, damn, damn.”
He knew he was displaying a deplorably limited lack of vocabulary, but the continuing aftershocks of the last fantasy seemed to be prohibiting him from verbalizing any other word.
He consoled himself with the fact that it could be worse. “Damn” was a choirboy’s cuss word when compared with his extensive Marine repertoire.
After a while her shaking subsided and Zane’s verbal stutter finally shook loose. He released his tight hold on her to see her face. It was so pale, the vein in her temple looked like a thin frozen stream set in a snow-covered land.
“A.J., for heaven’s sake. Tell me you’re all right.”
She exhaled with a jerky shudder. For a moment she said nothing. Then her words began, barely audible and totally lacking that deep huskiness that so defined her strength.
“I’m okay, considering. That was a unique experience for me. First time I’ve ever died that I can recall.”
Zane gathered her in his arms and rocked her gently. Her body felt taut and stiff. He could feel her muscles tensing and releasing, as though she was still trying to flee from the afterimages and negative emotions of the fantasy.
He, too, was still angry.
“You have to talk to me about this, A.J. I have to understand it. Why did you react so strongly to those announcers when they came on stage?”
She was quiet for a moment. When she finally spoke, her words were little more than air.
“He was Peter Danner, my fiancé. She was Patrice Justice, my brother’s wife.”
Yes, of course. He should have known.
“So that’s why instead of Wessel—the real hit man—you saw Peter Danner standing over you.” The full implication hit Zane then. He felt the shock of it go through him. “Dear God. You just lived a fantasy where your fiancé got another chance to shoot you through the heart!”
Her laugh was hollow, empty. “Rather dramatic, wasn’t it?”
Zane kissed the top of her head, quick and hard, surprised at the anger sweeping through him. “The bastard.”
“Yes,” she said after a moment on a long sigh. “I guess he was. Strange. I never really was angry at Peter for leaving me for Patrice before today.”
“You weren’t angry at him? How could you not be angry at him?”
“Well, you saw her, Zane. She’s incredibly beautiful. And there was always that angelic sweetness about her. How could I blame Peter for falling in love with a woman who was every man’s dream?”
“Don’t talk like an idiot. Peter Danner was a damn fool. He deserves his faithless glamour girl. Sooner or later she’ll throw him over, just like she did your brother.”
Zane kissed the top of her head again, a little softer this time, and realized her hair possessed the richness of raw silk.
“And you’re a damn fool to have ever loved him, A.J.,” he spat out, still angry. “You deserve your broken heart. Matter of fact, you deserve a dozen more for being so stupid. Peter Danner was never worth even one of your damned glances. Where were your damned brains?”
He held her with a fierce possessiveness that would have bothered his highly valued single status mightily if he had thought about it. He might have begun thinking about it, too, if he hadn’t heard the deep, husky laugh gurgling in her throat.
The unexpectedness of the sound jolted through him.
“Well, maybe he was worth one damned glance,” she said as she backed out of Zane’s arms and looked into his face. “You have to admit he was very good-looking.”
Her smile was incredibly beautiful and all for him. Zane never knew a woman’s smile could be so beautiful. A soft glow had settled in the center of her pale blue eyes. That glow was doing something to his insides that hadn’t been done in a very long time.
Desire, sudden and hard, locked his loins in a viselike grip. His heart began to pound. He said her name, half prayer, half curse. His hands reached beneath her blouse and dove up her back. His touch was no longer that of comfort. His touch was that of a man who wanted a woman.
He needed her to know this. He needed to give her time to pull away.
While he could still let her.
She did not pull away. Her flesh quivered beneath his fingers, and the breath stalled in his lungs. Her eyes, as always, looked straight into his. They told him she knew what was going on here. They told him other things, too. Things that maybe even minutes before he couldn’t have handled. But he found he could handle them now. The only thing he couldn’t handle was not having her.
He had never wanted a woman like this. He knew it. Never. And he meant to have her. Now. What had ever given him the idea that he was a patient man?
He took her lips, trying not to bruise them, trying to rein in the hot pulse that pounded in
his blood. For the first time in his life he was afraid it would break loose.
When she softened in his arms, fire flowed through his veins. The tip of his tongue dove into her mouth, famished to sample the heat of its silken depths.
She sighed in pleasure as her hands lifted to hungrily sculpt the muscles in his chest and send his senses reeling. Her returning kiss was hard and hurried. She seemed as eager for him as he was for her.
He forced himself to pull back from the sweet seductiveness of her mouth. His breath was raspy and already way too loud. He tried to unbutton her blouse, but his fingers were shaking too badly.
Her husky laugh filled the room and rumbled in his fevered blood.
“A.J., I’m warning you. If you don’t want these clothes torn off you, you are going to have to help me out here.”
She undid the buttons and removed her blouse, then her bra. He watched, stunned, vaguely wondering if his tongue was hanging out. She was so lovely, sleek and pale, tight muscles stretching, taut nipples flushed with arousal. She slipped out of her slacks and panties and lay back on the bed. He stared at her for a moment, spellbound and speechless at her beauty.
The next moment he tore the clothes off his body as fast as he was able to get his damn shaking hands to move.
He lay beside her and rested his hand on her belly, forcing himself to slow down. He loved the heat of her skin, the response in her eyes and the resulting tremble as he felt her muscles clenching beneath his palm. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to her cheek. He was going to take the time to arouse every single incredibly beautiful inch of her. Even if it killed him.
Her arms entwined around his neck and she brought his mouth hungrily down to hers. There was the hot taste of need on her lips. The unexpectedness of it knocked the wind out of him. But what kept him absolutely breathless was how good that need tasted. How much he wanted her to need him. How much he needed her to need him.
His tongue slipped into her mouth as he ached to slip all of him into her. She rubbed her body against his as hungry sounds escaped from her mouth into his. His hand felt its way to her breast and circled the taut nipple. She moaned against his mouth in pleasure. He released her lips to run his tongue around her breast. She arched her back, feeding her body to him, whispering his name over and over, until it rose between them like steam.
He continued to lick her nipples as he moved his hand across her tight tummy to the silky triangle between her thighs. She spread her legs for him, eager for his touch.
She was very wet and seemed to shatter at the first soft flick of his fingers. Her incredible responsiveness was driving him insane.
He sucked her nipple as she wiggled beneath his hand, calling to him to come to her.
He knew she was already close to climaxing. He didn’t want it to happen so soon. He wanted the need to build in her so the final release would be truly satisfying. He withdrew his mouth from her breast, his hand from the silky curls between her legs.
She murmured in immediate protest. He chuckled hoarsely as he rolled onto his back, circled his hands around her waist and lifted her trembling body over him, setting her warm, moist folds right next to the heat of his erection. He held on to her hips, slowly raising and lowering her sensitive folds against him, prolonging his agony to give her that extra portion of pleasure.
She moaned against him in ecstasy. But she was in no mood for slow. She seemed oblivious to this desire he had to intensify her pleasure. She thrust herself firmly against him and threw her head back. Almost instantly he heard the hoarse cry that broke through her throat as the climax claimed her.
Her release—so gloriously free, wild, wonderful—undid him.
In one swift thrust, he sheathed himself inside the hidden heat between her legs with all the urgency his body could no longer deny. He felt her contract around him in the final stages of release. His cry of incredible pleasure was so fast in coming that it sounded like an echo to hers.
As he fell back, she fell on top of him—a warm lump of luscious, exhausted feminine flesh. If she had left him any breath, he would have laughed from the pure joy of it.
A.J. LAY in Zane’s arms feeling shaky and achy and happier than she had been in years. Until tonight she had never realized the damage Peter had done when he left her for Patrice.
She had never kidded herself that she was beautiful. But it wasn’t until she had fallen in love with Peter and he had discarded her for Patrice that A.J. had begun to truly doubt her attractiveness as a woman.
But that self-doubt faded when she took off her clothes and saw the reflection of how beautiful she looked in Zane’s eyes.
Seeing that much approval in a man’s eyes could do some pretty strange and wonderful things to a woman. It had done some pretty strange and wonderful things to A.J.
She smiled in remembrance and concentrated on the pleasure of feeling Zane beside her—so strong, so close—of feeling his hand roam her body—so warm, so possessive.
She had never felt so sexually aroused or been so quick to climax before. It had been so fast it was almost embarrassing. She remembered the times Peter had apologized to her for coming too quickly. She had always thought it her fault that she was so slow to be aroused.
But then Peter’s eyes had never looked at her as Zane’s had tonight. Tonight, A.J. had learned just how powerfully sensual and totally seductive a man’s look could be. Hell, with Zane, it was all the foreplay she had needed.
“What’s that smile about?” Zane asked as he traced long, lazy circles around her bottom with his fingers.
She hadn’t realized he was watching her face.
“This feels very good,” she said, rubbing her cheek against the soft sexy dark curls on his chest.
“It feels wonderful,” he amended, gently stroking her hair. The warmth in his words sang through her soul. “You feel wonderful.”
She sighed, heavy and full with the lazy honey of love.
She wasn’t surprised that she loved him. That was the only way this could have happened between them. That was the only way she would have wanted this to happen between them.
But she knew love wasn’t what he wanted. He’d had the love he wanted. Nothing else could ever compare. He had told her so himself.
She believed him. He was a man who could be believed.
But she did love him. She couldn’t help herself.
She had already known the worst of love—that which was unrequited. And here she was facing it again.
Except there would be a difference this time. This time, she would not speak of her feelings. This time, she promised herself, at least she would keep her pride.
He ran his hand into her hair and his fingers gently stroked her scalp. A sound that was half sigh, half purr escaped from the back of her throat. It made her smile. It felt so good to be touched like this. She had forgotten what those special moments of closeness could be like in the aftermath of passion. She had forgotten the incredible intimacy that could be conveyed in a touch—the right man’s touch.
She could lie like this forever. Yes, please, let this go on forever.
“A.J., we need to talk about…about our making love. I don’t want you to think—”
“That it was anything more than a very enjoyable interlude?” she said quickly, pushing herself away from the warmth and closeness of his touch that she had prayed would last forever a mere moment before.
It looked like pride, after all, would be the winner here. She tried to smile, but her lips suddenly felt funny, like two rubber flaps. “Don’t worry, Zane. I don’t.”
He blinked at her in obvious surprise. “A.J., are you serious?”
“Did you expect I would be one of those women who would start talking about being in love and swearing my undying devotion to you?”
She couldn’t read his expression, but something about the flicker in his eyes said he might have thought just that.
“How relieved you must be to find I’m not.”
&nbs
p; She laughed. Before the incongruity of the sound could find her ears, she buried her cheek against his hard chest and congratulated herself on a battle well fought. She would eventually be losing this war, of course. But she knew her fight would be a brave one. She would not disgrace herself.
His warm arms came around her, his large gentle hands touching, stroking. Gradually, she began to relax once more. The afterglow might have been extinguished by his need to clear the air, but the aftermath was beginning to feel damn good. Of course, it wouldn’t last, either. But right now, she didn’t care. It had been too long since she had felt like a woman desired by a man. She intended to savor every second of it.
“A.J., I owe you an apology.”
She looked at his face, surprised at the sincerity in the words. “For what?”
“It’s my fault that you went through what you did in that last fantasy. I should have ended it much sooner. I would have, too, if I had been thinking straight.”
She propped her chin on the palm of her hand in order to see him better. “Why weren’t you thinking straight?”
“I got caught up in the fantasy, A.J. Just as you’ve described being caught up in them. When that scene of you running through the woods flashed on the screen, well, suddenly I was there, running after you.”
“I thought I recognized your voice. It was you who called out from behind, telling me to stay down, wasn’t it?”
He leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose. “A lot of help that was, coming so late. Damn, I’m so sorry. It shouldn’t have happened. I thought I could control the situation. I forgot that I didn’t have my right hand in the fantasy. If I had, believe me, I would have shot the bastard.”
A.J. smiled as she rested her head on Zane’s chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, letting his last words rumble around in her ears as she listened to the sturdy heat of his heart.
She did believe him. Zane would have shot Peter. He would have done that for her. Because Peter had hurt her. Nothing near a declaration of love, but still it carried a special warmth that she knew she would wrap around herself on some chilly future night.
