Found Wanting

by Joyce Lamb

  Before she could respond, he resumed the onslaught, slow and easy. Tender. So tender. Then he shifted, taking her fast and hard but careful to not let her peak so easily again. Each time he sensed she danced on the edge, he slowed the pace, sometimes stopping altogether and leisurely kissing away her pleas.

  Her breath was sobbing, her nails digging into his back, by the time he let her soar. He covered her mouth with his when she screamed, and she felt his body buck against her.

  Damp and breathless, she savored the aftershocks that jolted through her, fairly certain she saw stars that time. This is it, she thought. This is what it's supposed to be like. And she'd been afraid she wouldn't like it.

  Mitch kissed her nose, her lips, then paused, his eyes widening in alarm. "Are you crying?"

  She swiped at the tear that had rolled back into her hair. "No."

  "Oh, God, did I hurt you?" He started to roll away.

  She caught his shoulders and, rearing up, kissed him. "You were incredible."

  He relaxed, grinned. "Then you're up for another round?"

  She smiled, thrilled to be there with him, naked and satisfied and knowing that her sexual appetite was indeed strong and healthy. "Bring it on."

  * * *

  "What kind of music do you like?"

  Alaina smiled, enjoying the play of firelight across Mitch's bare chest as he sat cross-legged before her. Only moments ago, he'd brought two plates from the kitchen piled with grilled steak, mashed potatoes and green beans. A second trip had delivered two glasses and a bottle of red wine -- compliments of one of his treks for supplies. It touched her that he'd cooked while she'd slept in front of the fire, exhausted from their lovemaking.

  "You're not going to psychoanalyze me again, are you?" she asked as she cut into the steak. It was pink in the center, just the way she liked it.

  "Only if you say Springsteen."

  Her mind went blank when she sank her teeth into the first bite. "Oh my God. Where did you learn to cook?"

  "My mama taught me, of course."

  "Your mama rocks."

  He grinned, digging into his own steak. "If you're really nice to me, I might be able to talk her into giving you some lessons."

  She cocked her head as she chewed, savoring the teasing glint in his eyes. "Are you saying you don't think I'd be a good cook?"

  He exaggerated a surprised expression. "You cook? In three weeks, I saw you and your kid eat pizza, mac and cheese, pasta out of a box, sandwiches and what else? Oh, yeah, more pizza. There are other food groups, you know."

  "Tell that to a teenage boy. The only way I can get any vegetables into him is if they're smothered with cheese and tomato sauce on a crust." Her eyes widened as she sampled the mashed potatoes. "Oh my. These are real."

  "Potato flakes just don't do it for me."

  "You know how to live, Mr. Kane."

  "I think I'm remembering how."

  As they ate in silence, Alaina's thoughts turned to Jonah. She wondered what he was doing, how he was doing, what he was thinking. Missing him was a pain that clamped around her heart like a fist. Helplessness squeezed it tight.

  "He'll be fine, Alaina," Mitch said, as if reading her mind. "There are two people we trust -- Chuck and Julia -- keeping an eye on him. They won't let anything happen to him."

  She met his eyes, felt a flutter inside. "How can you trust Chuck after what he did to you?"

  "I trust him as an agent of the FBI, but I don't imagine we'll ever be friends again." He paused, studying her. Gradually, his eyes warmed, as if what he saw pleased him immensely. Then he held up the nearly empty wine bottle. "More merlot, darling?"

  Her laugh was a bit breathless, and she imagined that was the response he was looking for. He enjoyed throwing her off guard, and the endearment did it big time. Darling. It was all so new and unreal. She, Alaina Chancellor, was sitting in front of a fire with a half-naked man, mellowed by wine and lovemaking ...

  Mitch's lips curved. "Want me to pinch you?"

  "Try it while I'm eating, and you might lose a thumb." She said it with a sweet smile.

  "Fiery," he said, snagging a green bean off her plate.

  "Hey!"

  He shrugged as he chomped on it. "Mine are all gone."

  "You should have paced yourself."

  "I'll save that for later."

  Flushing with anticipation, she flashed a wicked grin. "Good food. Good sex. You're going to spoil me."

  "Actually, that's the idea," he said.

  Setting aside her empty plate, she said, "I might start having expectations."

  "Maybe I'll even meet those expectations."

  "I think you've already surpassed them by far," she said.

  Male pride broadened his smile. "Yeah?"

  She nodded, draining the last of her wine. "But then, they were pretty low."

  Growling, he reached out and dragged her laughing across his lap. "That sounded like a challenge."

  "Are you up for it?" She trailed a fingertip up the center of his chest, enjoying the way his flesh quivered. Because of her caress. It made her feel powerful, in control. Desired.

  "Oh, yeah," he said, his voice a rough rasp. "I'm up for it."

  Chapter 31

  "These are the best scrambled eggs ever."

  Mitch chuckled, taking in Alaina's rosy cheeks and smiling gray-green eyes. She was propped against pillows, breathtaking in his T-shirt as she dug into the breakfast he'd whipped up while she'd dozed. They'd slept little during the night, yet this morning he felt more invigorated, more awake, than he had in years.

  "I noticed you're adamant about constantly feeding me," she said. "If you're not careful, I'm going to expect a snack every time I wake up."

  Chuckling, he leaned forward, cupping her cheek as he kissed her, pleased when she returned the embrace, her mouth hungry, sliding effortlessly into demanding. Her easy, heated response sent his pulse tripping. "You floor me," he said.

  She gave a soft, self-conscious laugh as a faint blush colored her cheeks. "You mean you weren't just faking it all night?"

  He shrugged. "I might have faked it one or two times, but mostly I enjoyed myself thoroughly."

  Grinning, she swallowed a forkful of eggs. "What did you put in these to make them so tasty?"

  "Hot sauce."

  "Another cooking lesson from your mama?"

  "Nope. My idea." He studied her, the way her hair fell into her eyes, the way she blew it away with a huff of air. The way the slim column of her throat flexed as she ate. The way her eerie green eyes glittered and darkened as they roamed his bare chest. He was pretty damn sure he'd fallen in love with her. In record time.

  It took him a few moments to realize that Alaina had stopped eating and was watching him, her forehead creased.

  He hated the wariness that crept into her eyes, hated the circumstances -- life's cruel twists and turns -- that had ensured its everlasting presence. He figured it would never go away, that she would always be braced for the next blow. He thought about what it would take to banish the wariness, imagined how satisfying it would be to slay her dragon, to be her hero.

  "What are you thinking so hard about?" she asked.

  Faking a leer, he snagged her hand on the bed and tangled his fingers with hers. "I'm thinking about what I'm going to do to you when you're finished with breakfast."

  She dropped her fork and shoved the plate aside. "All done."

  He shifted, drawing her down on top of him until her breasts under his T-shirt were flattened against his chest. Burying his hands in her hair, he kissed her, reveling in how her tongue sought his first. He tasted passion and hot sauce, the serrated edge of need.

  It shocked him that he could still want her so desperately. The feeling appeared to be mutual as her hands raced over him, greedy in their quest for his flesh. When she rose over him, he tensed, gritting his teeth. "Wait," he gasped, his fingers gripping her hips.

  She paused, her gaze, dark with heat, focused on his. He gest
ured weakly at the bedside table. Understanding, she reached for a condom. When he started to take it from her, she brushed his fingers away. "Let me," she said.

  He clenched his eyes shut, concentrating on not blasting off in her hands.

  Finally, she sank down, taking him in, and moaned low in her throat, almost a purr. Then she pulled his shirt over her head, tossed it aside and shook her hair back, her eyes closed. The graceful, uninhibited motion turned his blood molten. He had to force himself to hold still, to let her set the pace. When she did, it was so slow, so languid it was all he could do not to roll her under him and ravage.

  She smiled down at him, catlike. "Come on," she murmured. "You can take it slow, can't you?"

  He gulped at air that seemed too thick. "I can take whatever you've got," he replied, his voice strained, one hand gripping the edge of the mattress.

  She laughed deep in her throat, then her breath caught, and she dropped her head back. He felt the tension coil in her muscles, felt her thighs flex against his. "Oh."

  That one word, expelled on a hitch of strangled breath, very nearly sent him to the moon. Watching the wonder that spread over her features as her body rocked above him was sweet torment. And he couldn't take it anymore.

  Grasping her hips, he surged up, changing their positions so fast that she blinked up at him in shock. "Your turn to squirm," he growled, and buried his mouth on hers.

  The pace he set was hard, fast, and he noted with immense satisfaction that her hands clutched at the sheets, then his shoulders, then simply slid down his arms as if she didn't have the strength or presence of mind to hold on.

  When she reared up with a sharp cry, he caught her close against him and pressed his forehead against hers as they exploded together.

  After the tension drained out of her limbs, and she was limp in his arms, her breath still ragged, he kissed her damp temple. The silence was deafening after all the rockets that had just gone off in his head.

  Sighing, she pressed a feather kiss against the scar that marred the skin of his left shoulder. The sweet gesture sent his heart soaring, and he didn't want to let her go. Ever. "Will you freak out if I tell you I think I love you?"

  Alaina tensed in his arms, but before she could respond, his cellphone began to chirp in the other room. She started to shift, but he held her in place, reluctant to break their connection, or give her a chance to not respond to what he'd just said. "Ignore it," he said.

  "It might be important."

  Reluctantly, he acquiesced. "You're probably right." He eased away, smiling as she arched on an intake of breath. "Hold that thought," he said, brushing her forehead with a kiss.

  In the other room, he flipped open the phone. "This better be good."

  "It's Chuck. I need to meet with you and Alaina. It's urgent."

  Mitch's sated mood vanished, and dread knotted his stomach. "What's going on?"

  "I can't get into it over the phone. Let's meet --"

  "I don't think it's safe," Mitch cut in, alarmed at Chuck's urgent tone but more concerned about keeping Alaina out of Keller's strike zone.

  "I'll make it safe. Remember that place where we babysat the witness to that mob hit?"

  "Sure."

  "We'll meet you there. Twelve-fifteen."

  The call cut off.

  Lowering the phone, Mitch glanced at Alaina, who stood in the bedroom doorway, a sheet wrapped around her body. Her mouth was swollen, her eyes glazed with the aftermath of passion. As he watched, anxiety drew her features taut, chased the color from her cheeks.

  "What is it? Is it Jonah?" she asked, so softly it was as if she feared giving voice to her fear would provide a higher power with ideas.

  He shook his head. "He's fine. Chuck would have said so otherwise."

  "Then what's going on?"

  "I don't know."

  "We'll meet you there."

  Who was "we"?

  * * *

  As Mitch steered the rental car into the parking lot of the Hyatt in the Fair Oaks area of Fairfax, Virginia, Alaina gazed up at the tall, glass building. It had seemed to rise up out of the tops of budding trees as they'd approached, the lone high-rise in a D.C. suburb dominated by foliage, restaurants, apartment complexes and big-box stores.

  "You babysat witnesses in style in the old days," she said. "All I got was a broken-down safe house in Manassas." She'd tried to sound light, but the nerves were evident in her voice.

  Mitch turned off the car, then slid his hand over hers resting on her thigh and squeezed. "This guy was a trip. The Bureau treated him like royalty because all he had to do was clam up and their case was fried."

  She turned her hand so their fingers could tangle. Her heart hadn't stopped racing since they'd left the cabin, and it wasn't just because of Chuck's mysterious summons. Mitch had said that he loved her. No, he'd said, "I think I love you." So that meant he wasn't entirely sure. And, of course, he'd said it right after a powerful climax, and she figured that could probably skew a man's thinking. It certainly had scrambled hers, perhaps was still scrambling it.

  Love.

  The thought of it gave her chills. A man in love with her. And not just any man. Mitch Kane. The hunkiest guy by far that she had ever met. Kind, too. Considerate. Thoughtful. Honest. If circumstances were different, she would have been doing somersaults. Yet, if circumstances were different, they never would have met.

  And, really, what kind of relationship could they possibly develop? Once he helped her get Jonah back, it would have to end. She and Jonah would be back on the run, and she couldn't expect Mitch to give up his identity, his detective business, his plans to reconnect with his son. And he'd have to, because Layton would never stop hunting. He'd use everything he could against them, including Mitch's son.

  Plus, it would be far easier to track down three people than it was to track two. She and Jonah alone stood a much better chance of disappearing again, but adding to the equation ... that would make it tougher. Tougher for them, easier for Layton.

  So love wasn't an option. Not for them.

  Not for her.

  She had accepted that once. It shouldn't be that difficult to accept it again. Except now she would know what she was missing ...

  Mitch squeezed her hand. "Ready to go in?"

  She glanced at him, her lungs constricting at the concern in his beautiful dark eyes. She wanted to touch his face, press her palm to his lightly bearded cheek, memorize his features. We still have time, she told herself. It's not over yet.

  Slowly, she nodded. "I'm ready."

  * * *

  They walked, hands linked, into the lobby. At the concierge desk, Mitch greeted an impeccably dressed middle-aged man with slicked-back hair and a black bow-tie. Alaina thought he looked ready to attend a ball.

  "You have an envelope for Jack Palatine?" Mitch asked.

  The man handed over a legal-size envelope with the name Jack Palatine scrawled across the front. On the elevator, Alaina watched Mitch tear it open.

  "How'd you know what name to use?" she asked.

  "Jack Palatine was the name we used when we babysat the witness," he replied as a key card slid into his hand.

  As the elevator stopped at the twelfth floor, she noticed the card had no identifying numbers or markings on it. "And the room number?"

  "Chuck told me on the phone." He guided her out into the hall with a hand at her elbow, as if ready to jerk her behind him if all hell broke loose.

  "On the phone? Isn't that unsafe?"

  "He didn't mention a hotel or a room, or at least what would have sounded like a room. He told me twelve-fifteen, which anyone listening should have assumed meant the time." He paused before a door. "This is it."

  Before he could use the key card, though, the door opened, and Chuck waved them in. "Thanks for coming so fast," the agent said.

  The room contained a Mission-style queen-size bed, desk, comforting muted yellow walls and a hunter green sofa. Large windows looked out over trees and a b
usy highway. Next to them, a minibar stood against the wall, its door hanging open, tiny, empty, wine bottles scattered across the top.

  Tensing, Alaina turned, and sure enough, her sister came walking out of the bathroom.

  Addison's appearance shocked her -- her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, dark circles underscoring them. She wore no makeup, and her hair was in desperate need of a brush. Her teal wrap dress looked like she'd slept in it.

  Addison fixed Alaina with a burning glare. "You," she said, taking a jerky step toward her. Venom dripped from the one word. "Did you think no one would ever find out?"

  Alaina smelled the alcohol on her sister's breath, heard the slight slurring of her words. She glanced at Chuck, hoping to get some background on Addison's mood. "What's going on?"

  "Don't talk to him," Addison snapped. "Talk to me."

  Mitch cleared his throat. "Perhaps you should tell us what this is about."

  Alaina felt him behind her, close enough that his heat seemed to envelop her, reminding her that she wasn't alone. Not anymore. At least for now.

  Chuck said to Mitch, "We've got the room next door, too. Let's let them talk."

  "I'm not going anywhere just yet," Mitch replied mildly.

  "I'll wait for you over there then," Chuck said, and made a hasty exit.

  Addison walked up to Alaina, trembling, eyes spitting rage. "Jonah isn't Layton's kid."

  Alaina didn't flinch, having learned long ago how to withstand Addison's attacks. The skill had not grown rusty. Besides, this wasn't the first time, or even fifth, that she'd heard those words come out of her sister's mouth. It disappointed her, though, that it appeared that whatever insight Addison had gained before their earlier meeting had vanished. Denial. Addison had it down to an art.

  At Alaina's lack of immediate response, Addison's face reddened. "Don't just stand there and look at me."

  Alaina kept her expression bland. "What do you want me to say?"

  "You lying bitch!" Addison struck out, lightning quick.

  Alaina staggered back a step, stunned by the stinging attack.