by Joyce Lamb
Her stomach growled. “Mmm. As long as garlic bread is involved.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a garlic bread kind of woman.”
“Why not?”
“A spy with garlic breath just doesn’t sound effective. What would you do if you had to hide behind a curtain? The bad guys would know you were there in a heartbeat.”
“That’s why I always carry breath mints.” She much preferred this light banter to worrying. And they’d slipped into it so easily.
“Now, see, that wouldn’t work either. Bad guys can smell minty breath, too.”
She shrugged. “Maybe the bad guys I target have no sense of smell.”
“Interesting idea.” Then he pointed off to the left toward a brightly lit strip mall in yellow stucco. “There’s an Italian place right over there. Pizza Planet. Like Burrito Planet. It’s a theme.” He flashed her a grin. “How appropriate, seeing as how you’ve rocked my world.”
She laughed, and her heart did a dance that felt both unfamiliar and exactly right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The hotel was just as Mac remembered it: comfortable and welcoming. The palm trees, ferns and floral-patterned cushions adorning the wicker furniture dotting the lobby crooned, “Relax, you’re on vacation. Put your feet up. Read a book.”
As he waited at the check-in counter, he watched Sam wander over to the open-air back of the lobby and stop to look out at the beach. Lights from the hotel illuminated only the first few feet of surf about six yards from where she stood. Tables and chairs dotted the sand between the hotel and the waves, some occupied by hotel guests sipping drinks.
He watched the night breeze stir through her dark hair, watched her wrap her arms around her middle, as though hugging herself. She looked too tense in such a relaxing environment. At least, Mac mused, she’d eaten a decent dinner—salad, lasagna and garlic bread, followed by a brownie sundae, which they’d shared. As they’d eaten and had a light conversation, he’d seen healthy color bloom in her cheeks for the first time.
If she had any chance of relaxing, he decided, this hotel should do it.
He recalled being there with Charlie, the gentle gulf breezes stirring the curtains in the hotel room against the soundtrack of waves advancing and retreating. He’d thought at the time it was perfect, because he was there with the woman he loved. But he knew now that what he’d felt for Charlie had not been love. Deep affection, yes. He’d enjoyed being with her, enjoyed talking with her, enjoyed laughing with her.
But when he’d looked at her, he hadn’t had that feeling in his gut that felt like hanging at the very top curve of a roller coaster just before the big plunge, followed by the exhilarating sense of flying, the wind in his hair and the anticipation of the stomach-flipping loop-de-loops. He felt that way with Sam, and he was only just getting to know her. He imagined that weightless, I-can-take-on-the-world-and-win feeling would get even more intense the longer he knew her.
“Your key cards, Mr. Walker.”
Mac turned to the clerk, a thirtysomething young woman with short brown hair and glasses that sported rectangular black frames, and accepted the small envelope. “Thanks.”
“The penthouse suite is on the eighth floor. I’ll have the bellman bring up your bags.”
Penthouse suite? Hallelujah. “No need. We’re good.”
“The concierge took care of the special requests you stipulated when you made the reservation, too. You’ll find everything you asked for in your suite.”
“Excellent.”
“If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call the concierge.”
“Will do.”
With one last thank-you smile at the clerk, he walked over to Sam and stood beside her for a minute. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even seem aware of his presence.
He took the time to breathe in the salty air, hoping the rhythm of the waves would soothe some of his tension. Soon, Sam would be reunited with her sisters. She wouldn’t need him anymore. What if she, or Charlie and Alex, asked him to leave? After all, he’d have no more ties to any of them, no reason to hang around and get in the way.
After a few more moments, he decided he’d deal with what happened next when it happened.
He gently bumped Sam’s arm with his.
She drew in a breath and looked at him. He’d obviously jolted her out of some deep thoughts. Not for the first time, he wished he had a psychic ability to help him figure out what she was thinking and feeling.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and fell in step beside him.
In the elevator, she said, “The name you used to check in—Simon Walker—is that . . .”
“Yep. Billionaire investor a la Warren Buffett. He rescued the Lake Avalon Gazette last year. I suggested Charlie check with him about borrowing his credit card.”
“And he’d be okay with that? Isn’t he your boss at the paper?”
“Yes, but he’s also a seriously good guy. Once Charlie explained that there was an emergency, I’m sure he was willing to do more than was necessary.”
“That probably wasn’t a good idea to get him involved.”
“We needed credit, Sam. We couldn’t very well check in under our own names, or even fake names, or pay cash. Simon isn’t related to any of us, so it’s unlikely Ford can track us through him.”
When she continued to look stressed, he sighed. “I know this isn’t your usual high-tech-spy way of doing things, but it seemed like a good way to fly under the radar.”
“No, that’s not it. You did fine. I didn’t mean to look critical. It’s just that, based on the situation with Arthur Baldwin, Flinn could be extremely well connected with wealthy people like Simon Walker.”
“We can trust Simon. I’d stake my life on it.”
The suite of two bedrooms, a sitting room and a small kitchen impressed Mac. The furnishings, in black wood and red fabrics, looked like something out of an interior design magazine. As he wandered into the first bedroom to check it out, he whistled with appreciation at the sixty-inch plasma TV adorning the wall across from the king-sized bed. Another, smaller bedroom was similarly appointed.
Sam met him in the sitting room, which held another large television, a sofa in red microfiber, two club chairs in black leather and a glass coffee table piled high with shopping bags of varying sizes and colors.
“Your boss didn’t spare any expense, did he?” Sam said as she sank onto the overstuffed sofa.
“That’s the way Simon Walker rolls. Without him, the Trudeau family newspaper would have joined the ranks of all the other newspapers shutting down the past few years. He’s taken a special interest in Charlie.” At her arched brow, he quickly added, “In a grandfatherly kind of way. He loves the newspaper business as much as she does, so they have common ground. He wouldn’t dream of doing anything that would jeopardize her or anyone close to her. So you don’t have to worry, okay? Simon’s one of the good guys.”
She smiled slightly. “Okay.”
He sat next to her and nodded at the bags that bore names such as Dillard’s, Gap, CVS and Best Buy. “Looks like he sent us some stuff.”
He tore into the Gap bag first. “If there’s a clean pair of jeans in here, you’re going to want to cover your ears, because I’m going to let out a big ol’ whoop.”
Sam laughed softly as she pushed to her feet and walked through the kitchen into the bigger bedroom, where the balcony doors had been opened to let in fresh air.
Mac let her go without comment, ignoring the sinking in his gut. She was already putting distance between them, preparing for the moment when she’d tell him to get lost.
He focused on the moment and pulled out not one pair of new jeans but six pairs—two in his size and four in varying women’s sizes.
“Oh, hell, yeah,” he said under his breath.
The bag also contained several pairs of men’s and women’s cargo shorts, T-shirts and light jackets. The Dillard’s
bags held undergarments, pj’s and socks. The CVS bag yielded various toiletries, and the Best Buy bag contained an inexpensive notebook computer and, wonder of wonders, six prepaid cell phones. Flinn Ford wouldn’t be able to trace a call from one prepaid phone to another.
Mac was grateful that the even number of phones—one for each of Sam’s sisters and their significant others as well as ones for Mac and Sam—hopefully meant no one planned to make him hit the road anytime soon. Except maybe Sam.
When Sam didn’t return to the sitting room, he joined her on the large balcony. She stood with her hands resting lightly on the railing as she stared up at the stars, brilliant points of light against the inky black of the sky.
“Charlie and I were here at Christmas,” he said. “Of course, our room was about a quarter the size of this one, if that. They did luminaria on the beach, so most of the lights were off. The sky was so clear we could see all the stars you don’t normally see because of the city lights. It really does look like the pictures. You know the ones where the stars look like a dust pattern sweeping across the sky? Captiva does luminaria at Christmas, too. I haven’t gone over to check it out, though. I think I’ll do that this year.”
He smiled as he thought about it. He hadn’t felt the urge to do anything like that in ages, perhaps since he and Jenn had moved to Lake Avalon. Funny what having bad guys threaten your life could do for your appreciation of it.
Sam still said nothing, and she’d curled her fingers tight around the railing.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m nervous.”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen your sisters.”
“What if they hate me?”
“I’ve known Charlie and Alex a long time. They’re not haters.”
“I made promises I didn’t keep.”
“We all make promises we can’t keep, Sam. It’s part of life. And even if that’s true, I’d bet my life that you meant to keep every promise you made, but circumstances got in the way.”
She cast him a sad smile. “You’re a good man to assume the best. I suspect I don’t deserve it.”
“I suspect you do.”
Sighing, she looked back out at the darkness. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you this week.”
Great, here it comes, he thought. The big brush-off. As much as he wanted to grab her to him and never let her go, he instead gave a vague shrug. He wasn’t a grabber. And he certainly wasn’t the kind of man to impose his presence on someone who didn’t want it. “I did what anyone would have done in my position.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” She turned toward him, eyes glimmering in the light bleeding onto the balcony from the room. “Thank you.” She brushed a kiss over his cheek. “For everything.”
Surprise arced through him at the contact of her lips against his skin. It wasn’t nearly enough. When she started to step by him, he caught her with his hands at her waist and drew her back. He saw her eyes widen just before he tugged her forward and slanted his lips over hers. Her mouth was soft under his, unresponsive. This is so stupid, he thought. How could you be such an idiot?
But before he could pull back and fall all over himself apologizing for being a jerk, her lips moved, then parted on a small, shaky moan. She started kissing him back, one hand sliding up his arm to the back of his neck, where her fingers sifted through the hair curling against his nape. She tasted like garlic and tomato sauce and the future.
His brain went blank when her tongue glanced off his, and all the blood in his body seemed to rush to one place and he went instantly, painfully hard. Oh, Jesus, kissing her made the top of his head feel like blowing off.
Yet, as much as he wanted to start easing her clothes off and touching her everywhere possible, kissing her soft skin and making her tremble for him, he forced himself to back off and breathe. He didn’t release her, though. He held her close against him, swaying some in the night air, the ebb and flow of waves and the soft murmur of voices far below a backdrop to the moment.
As he held her, smoothing his hands over her back in soothing caresses, he focused on trying to get her to relax against him. It took several minutes before he actually felt the tension begin to leave her body. Finally.
“I wish things could stay just like this,” she whispered.
“This is pretty nice.” Being naked would have been even better. Exactly the right thing to think, dumbass, when you’re trying to control yourself. And then he imagined her palm-sized breast cupped in his hand, his thumb sweeping back and forth over a bare nipple. Shit, shit, shit. So not helping.
Her warm hands bracketed the sides of his face, and their eyes met. He saw invitation in hers and didn’t have to be asked twice. When he kissed her this time, he backed her against the glass door and trapped her there with one hand braced against the glass and the other cupping the back of her head. His thigh nudged between hers, and he felt her intake of breath as his thumb stroked the delicate skin under her ear.
He kissed her for a long time, nipping at her bottom lip, tangling his tongue with hers, their bodies pressed close together but all attention focused on what they could do to each other’s mouths and tongues.
Heaven, Mac thought. Absolute fucking heaven.
And he didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to walk away from this . . . ever.
He drew back from the kiss reluctantly, watching her face, her eyes, for a clue to the next move. She looked deliciously dazed, slate eyes dark and heavy, mouth already swollen from their kisses.
He ached to carry her to bed and make love to her all night. Ached to thrust inside her, into all that scorching, wet, Sam heat. But he forced himself to hold back. It had to be her move. Maybe it was too soon for her, at a too-vulnerable time. The last thing he wanted to do was take advantage. Not to mention the fact that she still had a bullet wound in her shoulder.
He hated his gentleman genes with a fiery passion right now.
In the next moment, she leaned in, taking his mouth with hers, and he reveled again in the soft warm play of her lips, the gentle sweep of her tongue against his. Catching his hand in her silken hair, he cupped the back of her head, pressing her closer, taking her deeper, his breath sucking in as her right hand slipped under his shirt and up, up, warm palm caressing his nipple so firmly that his eyes tried to roll back. Good sign. Excellent sign. But still . . .
He broke off the kiss with a mighty effort, his body screaming at him to stop thinking and go with the moment. It took all of his will to ignore the growing urgency. “Shouldn’t we take it easy? Your shoulder—”
“Is fine. Don’t make me beg.”
He grinned. “No begging, huh? That’s too bad. I like begging.”
“There’s still time. Just please tell me you have protection.”
“A smart man never leaves home without it,” he said, patting his back pocket, where he kept his wallet, a condom tucked inside.
Smiling, she captured his mouth again, the stroke of her tongue against his just about setting him off like a rocket. He shifted to walk her back into the closest bedroom. They paused at the foot of the bed, still kissing, breath coming faster now, ragged and urgent. Mac’s fingers undid the buttons of her shirt, sure and quick, eager, until he could nudge the flannel off her shoulders with both hands. She dropped her arms straight, letting the shirt pillow around their feet. He hated seeing the white bandage at her shoulder, the stark reminder that she was injured, that this might cause her pain. Her strong fingers on his jaw demanded that he shift his gaze from her shoulder to her eyes.
“It’s fine,” she said, voice low and raspy, sexy as all fucking hell. “I’m fine.”
He had to focus on breathing as she undid her bra and let it drop, then he watched, fascinated at the darker tone of his own skin against the vanilla of hers as he smoothed a hand down between full, palm-sized breasts tipped with rosy nipples. When he cupped one, his thumb stroking the nipple into pointed awareness, she dropped her head back
on a shaky moan.
Need spiked at the sight of her arched neck, his cock so hard and ready that it neared painful. But he was determined to take his time, to show her how much he cared, that this wasn’t just about sex.
Trailing kisses over her temple, her cheek, her eyelids, he caressed her breasts, kissed his way down to the hollow of her throat, where he played his tongue against her skin, tasting salt and soap and Sam. At the same time, her hands went to work on the fly of his jeans, and his heart kicked into a more frantic gear, an insistent, surging pulse in his groin.
When he urged her down onto the bed and braced himself above her, every cell in his body rejoiced as she slid her hands down his hips, taking his jeans with them. The material of his boxers hung up on his jutting cock, and he held his breath as her hands freed him from the confines of his underwear. He was almost self-conscious at how huge and hard he was, clear evidence of how badly he wanted her, but then she wrapped her fingers around his heat and squeezed, and his elbows threatened to buckle.
She’d stroked him twice, sliding her palm over the head of his cock, gathering some of the moisture at the tip for easier gliding, when he tensed, his balls already drawing up for the countdown, and put a hand over hers. “Stop,” he choked out.
A satisfied smile curved her full lips, a sexy, lung-sucking heat in her dark blue eyes, and he felt himself start to fall head over heels, a breathless dive of rushing air and hot, stroking rays of sun against his skin.
He helped her wriggle out of her drawstring pants and panties, revealing miles of creamy skin, firm muscle and soft angles, all for him. She bent one leg, parting her legs for him, and his grin grew at the explicit invitation. Yet he ignored it, focusing instead on sucking her right nipple into his mouth, his thumb and forefinger tending to the other, plucking and squeezing and kneading while his tongue and teeth did similar tricks, until she arched into his mouth, hooking one calf around his thigh and pressing her flat belly against his cock.
