Jinxed!

by Jacquie D’Alessandro

  And why did she suddenly believe what the fortune-teller had said at all? “Are you sure your date-”

  “Gone,” he said with certainty.

  Who would ditch him? And why? She couldn’t imagine…But looking into his tense face, she knew she was missing more of his story, and that made her nervous. Still, she led him through the throng of people, past the dance floor where only a short time ago she’d stood next to him, thinking about gobbling him up from head to toe.

  She was still thinking about it.

  They left the courtyard out the back of the building, and into the parking lot.

  At her car, he waited until she unlocked the door, then pulled it open for her. She stood in the V of the opened door, and he stood just behind her, his free hand on the roof of the car, the other linked to her, surrounding her. His body heat seeped into her, through her, and she closed her eyes to savor every second, because she knew that when she took him home and they were unlocked from each other, he was going to vanish again.

  Maybe for good this time.

  Unable to stand the thought, she turned to face him. Cupped his jaw.

  “Chloe-”

  In answer, she kissed him, kissed him until his hand left the top of the car and came down to her waist.

  When she opened her eyes, his held surprise and that intoxicating heat that made her knees wobble. “I just wanted to do that one more time,” she whispered.

  He stood there a moment, and then, when he opened his mouth to say something, it began to rain again. He nudged her aside so he could slide into the car, moving slowly across the passenger seat to allow her the time to keep up with him.

  They drove in silence except for Ian’s giving her directions to his condo complex. When she’d parked and turned to him, he was already looking at her.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Yes. Yes, she was. The real question was, what was she ready for?

  The rain topped its earlier show, coming down in thick sheets. They ran up the path to Ian’s front door, where he quickly slapped his pockets for his keys while they got soaked. Finally, he dropped his head and swore.

  “Let me guess,” she yelled over the sound of the rain hitting the roof. “You misplaced your house keys, too?”

  He looked at her, the irony and a good amount of wry amusement in his eyes. She could do nothing but laugh.

  He joined her, until the sky lit up with a strobing bolt of lightning, followed by a booming clap of thunder that made her squeak.

  “The back!” He led, and by the time they ran around the building and through a gate, they were both a soggy mess. Chloe could barely see through her streaming hair. Shoving it back, she looked at Ian, who was also trying to see, and laughed.

  His eyes laughed, too.

  It was true. His eyes laughed, which brought another silly smile to her face, because suddenly she felt like a kid.

  No, scratch that. Not a kid. A teenager.

  A rather horny one.

  “Sorry,” he said, reaching up into a potted plant, and then the next thing she knew she was standing in his kitchen. He had hardwood floors and pale green walls with gorgeous trim, and like a real guy, dishes piled in the sink, a fact that made her want to smile as she dripped all over his pretty floor.

  Ian dripped, too. Water ran down his temples, in his face, making his dark eyelashes inky-black and spiky.

  He was looking at her, slowly taking in her wet clothes, including her thin tank and gauzy skirt that had to be clinging to her like a second skin.

  And his smile slowly faded.

  So did hers.

  His was replaced by a heat that singed her every erogenous zone, of which she apparently had a lot more than she remembered.

  Lifting the hand that was connected to hers, he pulled, and she found herself in his arms, staring at his mouth as he slowly lowered it to hers.

  “Stop me,” he whispered. “Stop me now, Chloe, because I can’t seem to do it.”

  Instead she lifted her free hand to his chest, gliding it up around his neck, cupping his nape to tug his head down to hers.

  6

  AH,HELL, IAN HAD TIME TO think as Chloe’s soft lips touched his. The kiss, her kiss, felt better than anything had in a damn long time.

  He’d been working around the clock, neglecting pleasure for so long that it whipped through his veins, demanding more, more, more.

  Never mind that he shouldn’t.

  They shouldn’t. She was a possible suspect, a definite witness, and hell, he couldn’t take his hands off her.

  With Chloe, he had no resistance, not when her curvy body had shrink-wrapped itself to his, not when she’d slid her warm, sweet tongue inside his mouth…

  At this rate, he wouldn’t survive if they stopped. “Chloe…” His fingers sank into her hair, gently tugging her head back so he could look into her eyes, but instead he pressed his mouth to her bared throat and made his way along her wet skin, to her jaw, her ear.

  She let out a shaky exhale and held on. “Ian…why were you really in that office?”

  He’d expected the questions. What he hadn’t expected was to be so completely blindsided by needing her that his guard was down. Down, hell. It was flat-out gone.

  “For a case, I’m guessing. Right?”

  He sank his teeth lightly into her earlobe, then soothed the spot with his tongue.

  “Ian.” Her voice was wobbly, her free hand clutching at him, as if she was having trouble standing. The handcuffs clanked, reminding him again of their presence. They were a tool of his job, not a sex toy. He’d never really been into bondage. Yet he couldn’t have begun to explain how unbearably erotic it felt to be handcuffed to her.

  “Are they in trouble?” she asked. “The guys?”

  It took a moment to get past the sexual haze and be able to talk. “Guys?”

  “Steve and Al? I do their books.”

  Against her deliciously wet, warm skin, he sighed.

  And she went still. “I suppose you probably already know that.” Lifting her head, she stared at him. “Talk to me, Ian.”

  He knew the regret was all over his face. “I-”

  “Can’t.” Her worried smile broke his heart. “Or you’d have to kill me, right?” She lifted their handcuffed wrists. “Key?”

  “Yeah.” He backed her to the countertop and opened a drawer at her hip.

  “Um…” She rocked her hips to his, making his eyes cross with lust.

  “Chloe,” he said on a low breath. “You’re killing me.”

  “It’s like we were never apart. Do you remember?”

  He looked into her eyes. “Everything.”

  “Our first time…?”

  Especially that. He’d driven them through the Angeles Crest forest, to an overlook where they could see the lights of sprawling Los Angeles far beneath them.

  Neither of them had noticed the view. Instead they’d ravaged each other in the front seat of his truck, and then the bed of his truck, stretched on a blanket beneath a sky littered with a million stars… “I remember.”

  He’d had plenty of sex since then, some really good sex, but looking into her eyes now, he knew the truth-nothing had ever quite lived up to his time with her.

  No one had ever come close to touching his heart the way she had.

  How to explain that to her, much less to himself, he hadn’t a clue.

  “Today, it was like you appeared out of thin air.” She leaned in close as he searched the drawer. She brushed a wet strand of hair from his temple, letting her fingers linger on him.

  His gaze locked on hers as his fingers closed over the key.

  She smiled and somehow the simple gesture warmed him. “You grew into your skin quite nicely, Ian McCall.”

  “Not nearly as well as you…” Straightening, he ran his fingers over her bare shoulders, playing with the spaghetti strap of her very wet tank. “You’re wet.”

  Her eyes widened, maybe wondering if the double entendre had been
intentional, which actually it hadn’t, but now he could think of nothing else.

  “So are you,” she whispered, running her free hand over his shirt, then under. Her fingers brushed his nipple, and he actually dropped the key.

  The pulse at the base of her neck was racing. She wasn’t breathing all that steadily either, but then again, neither was he.

  Neither of them bent for the key.

  Send her home, his brain ordered. He had to, before he did something stupid.

  She was still touching his chest, sliding her hand back and forth over him, lingering. “Chloe-”

  She shivered.

  He could see her white lace bra-it was playing peekaboo with the wet cotton of her tank, blowing his mind. So were her nipples, pebbled to two hard points, clearly outlined and defined, making his mouth water. “You’re beautiful, Chloe,” he breathed. “So damned beautiful.” His finger slid beneath one of her straps, and then, oops, look at that, it fell to her elbow.

  Stop, he told himself. Seriously, stop.

  But then Chloe lifted their joined hands and slipped the other strap off…and then the top slid down so that it was just barely, oh, God, barely covering the very tips of her breasts. “Chloe-”

  “That’s my name,” she said in a soft, whispery voice that reminded him of long, achingly deep, toe-curling sex. She tugged on the hem of his shirt, leaving him no choice but to lift up his arms and let her pull his shirt all the way off.

  No choice at all.

  Now his shirt hung between them, caught on the handcuffs. And then she was working on the button fly of his jeans, and he was trying to find the zipper on her skirt, but their hands were getting tangled up. Breathless with anticipation and with a hunger so all-consuming neither of them could talk and make any sense, they fell back against the counter, mouths fused, bodies still damp from the rain and practically steaming they were so heated up.

  Unable to get her skirt off, he bunched the light, gauzy material in his fingers. She broke off the kiss to drag hot, wet openmouthed kisses down his throat and over his chest.

  He found her panties.

  She got his buttons undone.

  Being with her like this felt like a homecoming in ways he couldn’t really wrap his brain around, except that stopping was no longer an option-

  And then he heard something that snapped him out of it like nothing else could have.

  “What?” she murmured, her mouth on his pec.

  “I thought I heard something-” His brain had gone hazy. “I heard-” She sank her teeth into him and his knees nearly buckled. “Hold on-”

  She slid a hand into his pants. “I am.”

  His head came up as he realized two things at once. One, he loved feeling her hands on him again. Two, someone was in the house with them. And he was standing here with his hand down the back of her panties, more than half-undressed himself, still handcuffed to her, and shockingly, frustratingly helpless. “Be very quiet,” he said in her ear. “I’m going to-”

  That’s when the lights went out.

  7

  CHLOE GASPED AT THE sudden, unexpected darkness. “The storm?”

  “No.”

  That was when she realized Ian had gone taut with tension, and not the good kind of tension.

  “Someone’s in the house,” he said quietly, without inflection. “They just cut the power.”

  “Ohmigod.” Since he was so calm, she panicked for the both of them, clutching at him, feeling all one hundred and eighty pounds of him quiver with a dangerous edge. “Are you sure?”

  Instead of answering, he reached for something, came up against the restraints of the handcuffs, and swore beneath his breath.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Not we.” His voice was low, a barely there sound against her ear. “Me. You’re going to-”

  “We’re handcuffed! There is no just you!”

  He pushed her behind him, where she concentrated on breathing. Not easy. Only a moment ago she’d been breathless for an entirely different reason, and now with the adrenaline flying through her, she felt dizzy, light-headed and sick.

  She heard another drawer open and then caught the glint of something-

  A knife. He’d grabbed a knife.

  Oh, God. Her hands were on his back, smooth and sleek and shirtless.

  Defenseless.

  Not defenseless, she reminded herself. He was trained; he knew what to do.

  She hoped.

  He moved, and without any choice she followed, thankful at least that they were on familiar territory for him because she couldn’t see a damn thing.

  God, she was tired of the dark. After tonight she wanted never to be in the dark again.

  “Careful,” he said, craning his neck to speak softly to her. “Stay behind me.”

  Which she’d be glad to do, except that left him even more defenseless because he had one hand twisted behind his back, attached to her.

  Oh, God.

  He flattened them against a hard surface. Given the icy-cold steel that hit her bare shoulders, she realized it was the refrigerator. She bit back her gasp, and with her free hand attempted to right her tank top. But it was twisted around her and not cooperating-

  “Stop.”

  Yes, she understood he wanted her to stop fiddling around, but hell if she’d be chased around the house by a burglar while half-naked.

  “Shh,” he added, as if she’d dare say a word, and he brought their joined hands to her belly, maybe as comfort, but more likely to hold her in place so she didn’t give them away.

  She heard a light squeak and caught the vague outline of the double kitchen doors opening, which had her heart launching into her throat.

  Ian’s hand tightened on her stomach. Definite warning.

  But she wasn’t going anywhere, she was paralyzed in fear.

  A shadow stepped into the kitchen, crouched low, holding something that looked like a-

  Oh, God, a gun.

  Then Ian stepped into the middle of the room-dragging her with him-and executed some amazing sort of roundhouse kick that sent the intruder flying. It would have sent her flying too, just from Ian’s momentum, but he grabbed her and they both fell to the floor.

  Ian immediately rolled toward the intruder, but what exactly he did after that, Chloe couldn’t be sure, she couldn’t see, she was too busy trying to keep out of Ian’s way while attached at the wrist.

  “Got him,” he said grimly.

  She came up to her knees. She realized Ian was on his as well, at her side. “Who is he?” she whispered.

  “No idea.” He was holding the guy down with his free hand. With his other he tried to reach into his pocket and instead came up against the cuffs. “Damn it. My cell phone. It’s in my pocket. Can you-”

  She slid her fingers into his pocket. Only a few minutes ago she’d been in his pants for an entirely different reason.

  “Call 9-1-1,” he said.

  Sitting back on her heels she did just that, thinking of how just a short time ago her plans for this evening had been a few cookies and more work. Well, the evening had veered just about as far from her plans as it possibly could have.

  CHLOE SAT IN A cold, hard metal chair at the police station sipping the water Ian had brought her before he’d gone to talk with a group of police officers.

  Each of whom repeatedly kept glancing over at her.

  Ian’s intruder had been ID’d from his driver’s license, but once the police had arrived and had shone their flashlights on them all, Chloe hadn’t needed to see the guy’s ID because she’d recognized him.

  He was one of Steve and Al’s employees, and at the sight of him and the gun he might have used on them, she instantly realized two things. One, this case of Ian’s was apparently far more dangerous than she could have imagined. And two, given the clench in her heart every time she so much as looked at Ian, she’d fallen for him all over again.

  Which actually brought her to a third problem-did he
think she was connected to his case?

  Was she…good God…a suspect?

  She shivered wildly, and almost before she’d finished, he was there, wrapping his own zippered hoodie sweatshirt around her shoulders. “Almost done,” he promised in a low voice, giving her arms a quick squeeze.

  She hugged herself tightly and didn’t look at him. Looking at him screwed with her head because she couldn’t seem to reconcile the man she’d played tonsil hockey with, with the FBI agent with secrets.

  “Chloe?” he asked. “You okay?”

  Taking a deep breath, she bit the bullet and asked, “Am I a suspect in something, Ian?”

  “McCall,” one of the men called out, gesturing with his chin for Ian to join them.

  She just looked at him, wanting, needing, an answer.

  His eyes held regret. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

  It didn’t escape her that he was avoiding her question.

  “Chloe. I will, I promise.”

  “I think I’ll just go home, and-”

  “You can’t.”

  Oh, yeah, he was definitely bad for her mental health. “Why not?”

  He grimaced, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Because there are questions.”

  “Theirs? Or yours?” She could see his colleagues waving him over, and she shut her eyes. “So. I am a suspect. Do you kiss all your suspects like you kissed me?”

  “Chloe-”

  “Just go. The sooner you do, the sooner I can get the hell out of here, go to bed and sleep off yet another bad Valentine’s Day.”

  She didn’t open her eyes, and after a moment, felt him move away. She nodded to herself, refusing to acknowledge the pain in her heart.

  IAN SET DOWN A MUG OF hot tea in front of Chloe. As peace treaties went, it was a poor one, but it was the best he could do.

  Without looking at him, she pulled the mug closer to her, and as she did, his sweatshirt-too long for her by half-fell back from her wrist. It was rubbed raw, chafed by the damn handcuffs, and he stared at it, feeling sick. “Let me get the first aid kit-”

  “I’m fine.” She said this curtly, and covered her wrist back up. “Just ask me whatever it is you think I know so I can go home.”