by Debra Webb
Pete’s sake, she’d forgotten all about him. Where the hell was Drake?
“It’s safe now.” His voice. Drake’s.
Relief washed over her so quickly she felt weak with it. But what about the other guy?
Dammit. Drake could be an open target.
Blue lunged from her hiding place and almost stumbled over the jerk on the ground.
“There’s another guy out there,” she warned softly, peering through the darkness in the general direction from which she’d heard Jaymo’s thrashings.
A leaf crushed beneath a footstep.
She whipped to the right.
Nothing.
Just the darkness.
“Where are you?” Her whispered words held a distinct edge of impatience. She was just about tired of Drake’s hide-and-seek maneuvers.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” that silky voice assured her. “I’ve taken care of him.”
Fury abruptly replaced all other emotions. “You were supposed to stay put,” she said crossly. What was wrong with this guy? Did he have a death wish? she wondered as she crouched down to feel around for her Glock.
“If I’d stayed put,” he commented dryly, his voice closer now, “where would that have left you? Two against one? Not very good odds.”
She located her Glock, tucked the backup .38 into her ankle holster and pushed to her feet. “I can take care—” he stood right in front of her…only inches away; she staggered back a step “—of myself.”
Standing in a thin shaft of moonlight, the amused look on Drake’s face was clear to see, telling her he was not convinced. “Looking for this?” He dangled the broken chain and light stick in front of her.
She snatched it from his hand. “Actually,” she snapped, “I was looking for my Glock.” To punctuate her words she shoved the weapon into its holster at her shoulder.
“I suppose we should tie up these two,” he suggested, “and call the sheriff.”
“I suppose.” She checked the jerk, Sykes, who’d manhandled her for a concealed weapon. Nothing. The rifle was accessorized with a strap so she slung it over her shoulder. Rolling him over as necessary, she stripped off the guy’s shirt and belt to use for restraints.
When Drake had dragged Jaymo to where she waited, she did the same to him, tucking his handgun into the waistband of her jeans. Using their shirts and belts, she secured the two men’s hands and feet. They wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“Are you all right?” Drake asked when she was finally ready to head back to the house.
“I’m fine.” It was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that. “Lead the way,” she relinquished with a sweep of her hand. He would know the most efficient route to take and the sooner they returned to the house and made that call, the sooner these guys would get theirs. She was pretty sure they had nothing to do with Drake’s situation. Just a couple of lowlifes with too much time on their hands.
To her surprise, Drake stayed close as they moved through the dense woods and curling fingers of fog toward the house. She’d half expected him to disappear as he usually did. The realization that he was probably making it easy on her because she’d gotten roughed up only made her angry. She didn’t need his protection. She was here to protect him. The jerk who’d pinned her to the ground had only momentarily gained the upper hand. She had taken him. She’d only needed the right opportunity.
Now Drake would no doubt think he was the protector because he’d gotten the other guy before she did. She’d just have to make sure he understood the chain of command here. He was supposed to follow her orders when it came to security. He hadn’t, thus risking his safety in a situation she was perfectly capable of handling.
Lucas Camp and Edgar Rothman would not be pleased. She had to make sure Drake played by the rules from this point forward. She didn’t need his heroics…though she had to admit that a tiny part of her was flattered. She forced that thought away. The last thing she needed was a foolish notion like that. She had a job to do.
And what the hell had gotten into her with that kiss proposition? Her face flushed with heat. She thanked God Drake wasn’t looking at her right now. She’d asked—no, she’d told him to kiss her. What had gotten into her?
Yes, they’d both wanted it and the tension had been annoying. But there was simply no telling what he thought. Most likely he had come to the conclusion that she was a few cards shy of a full deck. And she couldn’t blame him. She was more of a professional than that. The demand had simply popped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
His reaction had very nearly undone her. He’d taken hold of her so fast that it had startled her. Then he’d touched his lips to hers, just the slightest brush of skin, but she’d almost lost her mind at the contact. There was no way to pretend the desire away, it was there…strong and insistent.
As they emerged into the yard she couldn’t resist a long look at the fog-embellished ocean. The sound of the waves lapping against the sand soothed her. Therapeutic, she decided. Just listening to it made a person want to forget the problems of the world. The moon hung so low in the sky it threatened to dip right into the water. She shivered, then hugged her arms around herself. How could danger lurk in such a beautiful place?
She looked up at the house and suppressed the urge to shiver again. The same ornate features that were appealing by day turned eerily haunting by night. She stared a moment at the shutter-clad windows that flanked Drake’s bedroom—the tower room. Her imagination conjured his image on the widow’s walk, looking out over the sea, yearning…wishing for what he could not have. She wondered how often he stood there and viewed the world to which he’d been sentenced?
No matter how beautiful, considering the vivid blue of the ocean, the pure white of the sand and the intriguing, albeit dark, emerald forest, this place was still a prison.
Life without the possibility of parole.
Life…alone.
The enormity of it was suffocating…overpowering. He had no options, no goals or hopes. Only this place and the darkness. The painting she loved came to mind again. This was the kind of place, the kind of forlornness that the artist must have felt when painting it.
Noah Drake was like that.
She blinked, startled by the depth of her own emotions.
She turned back toward the house just in time to bump into the muscular frame belonging to the subject of her intense reverie. He stood near the steps, waiting for her to catch up, watching her every move.
“Sorry,” she murmured, another blush heating her cheeks. Could she do nothing right in this man’s presence? She closed her eyes for a second and sighed wearily, then forced her attention to the steps. She just needed to get inside and put this episode behind her.
Long fingers curled around her forearm, restraining her when she would have moved past him. “You’re injured.” When she looked up at him he touched her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. Worry furrowed his brow. “I should see to that right away.”
An electrical charge skittered over her skin. She moistened her lips, for the first time tasting blood. She hadn’t even noticed, but now the aches and pains made themselves known. Her back ached where she’d hit the ground. Her left elbow burned where it was skinned and her lip was busted.
“It’s nothing,” she protested as she pushed past him and onto the screened porch. She didn’t have to look back or even hear him to know that he followed. She could feel him right behind her. He watched her with an intensity that unnerved her so completely that she felt at a loss to explain her reaction.
“What’s happened?” Lowell demanded the moment they entered the kitchen. It didn’t help that she deposited the confiscated rifle and handgun on the table. “Dear God, what is all that?”
Only then did Blue recall her torn blouse. She tugged the edges together, knowing full well she must look a mess. “You should call the sheriff. The two guys who did the careless shooting yesterday are tied up out there. A Sykes and a Jaymo.” She glanced at Drake, who was sti
ll staring directly at her. “He can tell you where they are.”
“Are you all right?” Lowell persisted as he followed her across the room.
She held up a hand to stop him. “I’m fine. Really. Call the authorities and everything will be fine.”
Lowell looked at Noah, a question in his eyes.
Noah shook his head in answer to what he knew Lowell wanted to ask. “We left them bound and down for the count about a hundred meters east of the yard’s perimeter. By the time a deputy gets here from the mainland they’ll have regained consciousness. He won’t have any trouble locating them then since they’ll likely be screaming their heads off.”
Lowell nodded, though he still looked hesitant.
“I’ll take care of her,” Noah said reluctantly, knowing that’s what the older man wanted to hear.
“Perhaps she should call her superior,” Lowell suggested before Noah could exit the kitchen.
Noah turned back and pinned him with a gaze that left no question as to the certainty of his words. “This has nothing to do with the general or why she is here.”
Lowell conceded the point. “I’ll make that call and take care of any questions.”
Satisfied, Noah turned his attention to Blue Callahan. She didn’t want to see him again tonight, he was certain. But she was not going to get her wish. This was his fault. Though the riffraff they’d encountered tonight had nothing to do with Noah or his past, still, she was here because of him and that past. Had she not been here, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt tonight. Admittedly, he had wanted her to leave, still did, but he didn’t want her hurt in any way.
Perhaps her injuries were only superficial, but they troubled him greatly. More than they should. That couldn’t be helped. He’d thought himself incapable of such tender emotions. To feel them now, after all this time, for a woman he barely knew, surprised him. He fully recognized the error in the course he was about to take, but somehow he couldn’t turn away from it. He had to go to her.
He hesitated outside her door, tried once more to discourage himself, but a force beyond his control would not allow him to walk away. He tapped on the door, hoping against hope that she would order him away…refuse to open the door…
“I’m in here.”
Her muffled voice echoed through the closed wood panel obliterating any possibility of doing otherwise.
He opened the door.
Walked into the room.
Found her in the bathroom, dabbing at her injured lip with a damp cloth.
“I’m okay, really,” she insisted, those deep blue eyes warning him not to come any closer.
He didn’t stop until he stood right next to her before the mirror and sink. Her blouse lay open, torn and with the buttons missing. There would be a bruise on her left cheek by morning. Her silky blond hair was tousled as if someone had run their fingers through it over and over. His fingers fisted with the need to do just that. He’d plunged his fingers into her hair earlier. The feel of it haunted him still. Soft, silky.
He’d forgotten how smooth and velvety a woman’s skin felt beneath his fingers. His loins grew heavy as he recalled those brief seconds when he’d cupped her face in his hands, grazed the warmth of her lips.
“You don’t have to watch over me,” she complained shattering the trance he’d fallen into. “I’m not a child or a damsel in distress, however hard that is to believe.”
He felt the corner of his mouth lift in amusement. “I never considered you a child.” His gaze roamed the length of her feminine body. Definitely not a child.
She tossed the cloth into the sink and planted her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “I’m no damsel in distress either, Drake. Get this straight here and now, I could have taken both those guys on my own. I’ve had all the right training. I know my business and don’t you forget it.”
He held up both hands in surrender. “Got it,” he acquiesced. He’d been right, her eyes turned a good deal darker when she was angry. When she was calm they were blue like the ocean, serene and cool. But when her emotions flared, they turned almost cobalt blue.
She inspected the damage once more, leaning close to the mirror. Grimacing at her reflection, she dampened the cloth again with cold water and held it against her cheek. She muttered an expletive that precisely described the guy who’d done this to her. Her inventiveness made Noah smile.
“Would you like a brandy?” he offered, certain that she suffered from other pains not visible to him and that she would adamantly refuse to mention for fear of showing weakness.
She looked at him from the corner of her eyes, clearly suspicious of his attentiveness. “That would be nice.”
Another warning went off somewhere in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. “Come with me.”
He led the way to his suite, taking the stairs slowly. Opening the door, he entered his sanctuary, the third floor dungeon into which, until tonight, no other human had been allowed since Noah’s retreat here. Not even Lowell was permitted on the third floor. Noah took care of things here himself. He preferred complete privacy.
He considered the woman following close behind him. She’d already been here, he reasoned. Uninvited yes, but she’d been here nonetheless. What would it hurt to have her here for the brandy? She needed…deserved a drink after what she’d been through.
It had been, after all, his fault.
Noah hated the way he rationalized his actions. He knew better than to do this…to think any of this. But the bottom line was he simply couldn’t help himself.
Despite his circumstances, or maybe because of them, this woman was attracted to him. A part of him that had nothing to do with reason or rational thinking wanted to explore that…wanted to know why she succumbed to it knowing what she knew. He was familiar with her record, she was a professional all the way. These circumstances were as out of character for her as they were for him. That part intrigued him…made him desperate to know the why of it. Or maybe he just wanted to feel again.
It had been a very long time.
The realization that his body could react so strongly so quickly startled him as nothing else had since exiling himself to St. Gabriel.
“Would you like to sit?” he offered as he moved to the bar and poured her two fingers of brandy.
“No, thank you.” She paused a few feet away, looking sorely uncomfortable and far too sexy, rumpled as she was from tonight’s battle.
She was afraid of where this might lead. She was holding back…being the professional. He had to respect that. He handed the glass to her, reveling in the brief feel of her skin as their fingers touched. If she only knew what her mere presence was doing to him…
She sipped the liquor, closing her eyes and savoring the burn. Noah considered pouring himself a drink, but decided against it. He wanted to watch her…didn’t want to miss a single nuance. Those eyes opened in a heart-stopping laser show of cobalt blue and he had to remind himself to breathe.
When she’d finished her drink and set the glass aside, she leveled her gaze on his. “We have a problem,” she announced firmly.
Oh, yes. They definitely had a problem. But it was more his problem, he felt relatively sure, than hers. Every muscle in his body had hardened merely watching her drink. “And that is?” he invited her to continue.
“I asked you to stay put out there, you didn’t. You could have been injured—”
He started to argue, but she stopped him with an uplifted hand. He deferred to her wishes.
“It’s my job to keep you safe. As I told you before, I’ve been well trained. I know how to handle myself. I don’t need or want you getting in the way. I have a problem with failure. If you keep disobeying my orders I’m going to end up with a black mark on my record. I’d like to prevent that if possible. Do you think you can give me a break here? My boss is watching.”
The fire in her eyes underscored her words. He understood perfectly. He’d been there before. Her career was top priority. Failure was not an opti
on. She wanted to do her best, to excel, and he was getting in the way. There had been a time when he had felt just as strongly.
Noah considered her needs as well as his own for a few moments longer. She waited, clearly impatient, her hands still planted on her hips. Need so strong welled inside him all over again just watching her that he wasn’t sure he could do with the proper finesse what he was about to propose. But there was only one way to find out if he could.
“All right, Maggie Callahan, I’ll be more cooperative starting immediately, on one condition.” Anticipation thrilled through him as he waited for her response.
That lovely blue gaze narrowed. “And that condition would be?”
An unfamiliar sensation coiled in his chest, a wide smile stretched across his lips. “That you agree to follow through with the offer you made earlier…before we were interrupted.”
He recognized the instant realization dawned on her. Her eyes widened, her lips parted and the breath trapped in her throat.
“Mr. Drake,” she began, shaking her head adamantly, “I—”
He shook his head slowly from side to side, cutting off the lengthy rebuttal to his suggestion she would have made. “No contingencies, no exceptions. All or nothing.”
She chewed her bottom lip, unconsciously making him salivate. He wasn’t sure he could hold out for her agreement. The notion of simply grabbing her and kissing her flitted through his mind, but he didn’t want it that way. He wanted to do this kiss right…slowly, thoroughly.
He wanted her to know she’d been kissed.
Finally, she drew in a deep, bolstering breath and looked straight into his eyes. “One question.”
He nodded once for her to continue.
“Is this a one-time thing or will you be requiring repeat performances?” she asked, her voice a bit stilted.
He inclined his head and pretended to consider the question, then he shrugged. “That possibility will remain entirely open. If one of us wants to do it again and the feeling is mutual, then we’ll follow our instincts.” He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug that was in no way indicative of his feelings. “Bearing in mind that neither of us may want to do it again, we’ll proceed under the impression that it’s a one-time deal.”
