Driven by Fire

by Anne Stuart

  Whether he was a threat to her was yet to be determined. He rose lazily, draining his whiskey and setting the old juice jar he used as a glass down on the unsteady railing. He was going to have to send someone out to fix it for Dr. Gentry, or she’d just ignore it, he thought absently, staring at the woman. “Don’t worry about it. I can be a real bastard sometimes.”

  The moon was bright overhead, and he moved closer, so close he was almost touching her. It was supposed to be an intimidating gesture, but it backfired. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to touch her, kiss her, take her, but she was so damned tempting. He leaned closer, brushing against her, and took the glass from her limp hand.

  Her swift intake of breath didn’t help matters. He was scaring her, all right. But was it the danger he represented, or something else that ran between them on this lazy night by the river?

  If it had been any other woman, he would have hauled her into his arms. She was sending out hidden signals that she was as turned on as he was—no, scratch that. He didn’t think anyone could be as turned on as he was at that moment. His dick was rock hard in his jeans, painfully so, but he wasn’t going to adjust himself in front of her. He wasn’t going to show any sign of his reaction to her; it would complicate matters, not give him the answers he needed.

  He hadn’t gotten where he was by giving in to temptation, no matter how sweet and sultry it seemed. He had an iron-hard will, and nothing could break it—not torture, not lust, not mercy.

  “The car’s here,” he said, and she blinked at his words, taking a belated step back from him. He might almost have thought she’d forgotten all about her secrets, but that guilty look was in her eyes again.

  “How do you know?”

  Score one for him. She’d been too caught up in the moment to hear the tires on the gravel road that ran up to Dr. Gentry’s shack. He could even tell which car Wilson had brought—the anonymous gray Lincoln. Good choice.

  “I listen,” he said. “Why don’t you go see if you can find a shirt or something to wear over that dress? Doc wouldn’t mind.”

  “I don’t want to wake her . . .”

  “She’s not here,” Ryder said. “I think she was hoping we’d end up in bed. She’s always telling me I’m too intense, that I need to get laid more often.” There, he’d put it out there, just to see her reaction.

  She turned pale, but her scoffing laugh was almost believable. “That’s never going to happen. We don’t even like each other.”

  “Who says liking each other has anything to do with sex?” He gave her a faint smile. “Find a shirt or a coat or something and let’s go.”

  “I’m not cold,” she said stubbornly.

  “I can see your nipples and they’re either hard for me or you’re freezing. Or maybe both.” He reached down and picked up the discarded shawl, dumping it around her shoulders, and for a moment he let his hands rest on her. She quivered under his touch, but he could feel her, soft, yielding.

  Wilson was waiting, smart enough not to come in and interrupt something that wasn’t happening. “Let’s go,” he said, releasing her, and headed out into the early morning.

  He gave Wilson a nod of greeting, and the young man immediately went around to open the back door of the vehicle. He even kept his eyes averted from Parker’s scantily clad figure, a rare feat for any red-blooded male.

  She stepped into the back of the car, settling in, and Wilson gave him an inquiring look.

  “No, I think Ms. Parker has had enough of my company for a while.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wilson said, opening the passenger side door for him like the perfect chauffeur. On the way back around he popped the trunk, or whatever you did when the damned things were automatic, fetched something from the depths, and opened the back door, wrapping a rich-looking wool blanket around Jenny. He tucked it in with gentle hands, and for the first time Ryder saw Parker smile without the shadow of irritation and defensiveness, and he found the whole thing fascinating. Deeply annoying, but interesting. Clearly she didn’t think she had anything to hide from Wilson, just him.

  Well, Jenny Parker was his cross to bear, and Wilson was going to have to learn to keep his hands to himself. He should’ve been the one to wrap her in cashmere, damn it, if only to see her muffled fury at having to be grateful to him for anything.

  Wilson slid behind the driver’s seat and Ryder gave him a sour look. “Take us back to headquarters,” he said briefly.

  He should’ve known Ms. Parker wasn’t down for the count. She’d snuggled into the thick, oversized blanket like a sleepy kitten, but her snippy voice emerged.

  “Headquarters? You call that beautiful old house headquarters?”

  “That beautiful old house, as you call it, is a state-of-the-art surveillance and intel-gathering operation, and an armed fortress besides. Which is exactly why you’re going back there and staying there until I find out who’s trying to kill you.”

  “Why do you care?” she murmured sleepily.

  Good question. He shouldn’t care, but he was damned curious. “They shot at you at my front door, they nearly killed me when they blew up your house. Let’s just say I have a vested interest.”

  “But . . .”

  “Go to sleep, Parker. I have to talk business with Wilson and I don’t want you eavesdropping.”

  “Now I’m determined to stay awake,” she responded, her eyes half closed.

  “Sure you are. Go to sleep,” he said again. “You’ll have plenty of chances to eavesdrop in the future.” He turned back to Wilson, resisting the urge to growl. “So what’s been happening with our other unwilling houseguest?”

  Chapter Nine

  Jenny was asleep before she heard the answer, and by the time she woke up, Ryder was already carrying her up the broad front stairs. He must have felt her startle awake. He gripped her tighter and growled in her ear: “If you put up a fuss I’ll drop you and let you roll down two flights of stairs. And while I might find the sight amusing and potentially interesting, I don’t think you’d enjoy it.”

  “So instead we get to reenact Gone with the Wind?”

  “You should be so lucky. I’m leaving you the moment I drop you on the bed.”

  “Lucky?” she fired back. “You do have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you? I hate to tell you this but you’re not exactly my type.”

  He said nothing, but she had the uneasy feeling he didn’t believe her. He was the enemy, she reminded herself. Nothing more and nothing less.

  He carried her all the way to the third floor, all without the slightest sign of effort, and Jenny found herself wishing she could make herself heavier. Anything to derail her damnable reaction to him. By the time he kicked open the door, she was so steaming mad she didn’t bother to look around her. She was too busy thinking of biting things to say.

  The problem was, none of her threats was viable. Her house was gone, and she’d never feel safe at a hotel. It didn’t matter how many houses her father owned, how much muscle he could command, the fact was she wouldn’t turn to him if she were dying. Especially after he’d gotten her involved in Billy’s debacle.

  She could feel the cell phone lying heavily in her pocket—thank God Ryder hadn’t noticed. He’d paid far too much attention to the damned thing already. If he did she didn’t know what she would say—her planned excuse was that she never went anywhere without her cell phone. There were hundreds of thousands of people with the same addiction—it was entirely reasonable, even if she didn’t seem the type to have a New Orleans Saints case for it.

  But she’d told him she’d replaced it. Big mistake, but she’d panicked. She should have said one was for business and one personal, but then he’d probably ask her something about the Saints and she’d be at a loss.

  She hated the damned cell phone. Since the day she’d picked it up, she had spent every waking hour taking care of the kidnapped women and children, finding safe haven for them, trying to atone for her brother’s sins, because sins they were, even if
he hadn’t realized what he’d gotten into. She had barely slept, eaten just enough to ensure she didn’t lose the stubborn ten pounds that needed to be gone, and all her other clients had faded into the background. She needed her life back. Once she got Soledad settled she was going on a long vacation, and she would throw the damned phone into a volcano.

  Ryder finally dropped her, and she landed hard on the bed, feeling herself settle into it, and she recognized the upscale mattress with appreciation. One thing in his favor.

  He was already halfway to the door when she called after him: “You know how much I dislike you, don’t you?” It was unnecessary, and she knew it. The depressing truth was that she was trying to convince herself, when more and more she was drawn to him.

  Her words stopped him cold. He turned, and he looked almost brutal in the shadowy light of the bedroom. He came back toward her, his walk direct and purposeful, and she found she’d edged away from him, farther up the bed.

  It wasn’t far enough. He caught her chin in one hard hand, holding her still as his blue eyes blazed down into hers. “I’d be more than happy to demonstrate just how much you really hate me,” he said, his mouth hovering over hers, and she felt her entire body freeze and then melt into nothing but pure desire. He was going to kiss her. This man, her enemy, was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to. Desperately.

  His mouth moved close. She could feel his warm breath against her lips, and instinctively she parted them. He moved in, they were almost touching, and she closed her eyes, ready to take it all in. Her heart was in her throat.

  “Your pulses are racing, Ms. Parker.” His voice was silky. “Am I having an upsetting effect on you?” He didn’t move any closer, he didn’t move away. So close, and all her irritation abandoned her, so that all she could think of was how much she wanted him to kiss her, how much she wanted him to put his hands on her.

  He moved closer, their lips almost touching, when she heard Soledad’s bright voice from the shadows beyond. “Oh, Ms. Parker, I was so worried about you!”

  Ryder moved away from her slowly, with no sign of being caught in a compromising position, but Jenny knew her cheeks had flushed a deep red and she must look just like a child found with her hand in the cookie jar. She scooted up the bed, out of his way, and she summoned her brightest smile.

  “I’m fine, Soledad.” She’d begged Soledad to call her Jenny a dozen times, but the young woman insisted on the tiresome Ms. Parker, making Jenny feel far older than her twenty-eight years. She’d given up trying, at least for now. Soledad had had a very sheltered upbringing, and certain formalities had been too deeply instilled. “Ryder got me out of the house before it blew up, and we’ve been at the doctor’s place all this time. Surely someone here must have told you I was all right.”

  “They told me,” Soledad said, her eyes wide and anxious. “But that does not mean I trust them. I find that men will lie quite easily. But what about this doctor? Who was he? Why did he not come to the house?”

  Jenny opened her mouth to speak when Ryder turned, interrupting her. “We have a number of doctors on retainer. Did you need to see someone?” His voice was surprisingly short, without the drawling, infuriating caress he used when speaking with her. It made no sense, but Jenny couldn’t rid herself of the notion that Ryder didn’t want her talking about Doc Gentry and the shack by the river.

  Soledad’s expression made it clear that she considered Ryder one of those lying men. Her dislike was thinly veiled but genuine, which surprised Jenny. Even when he was being his most annoying self, Ryder was still an undeniably attractive man, with those piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones, and strong jaw. It was more than obvious that Soledad didn’t agree, and for some reason it made Jenny happy. She’d seen man after man fall at Soledad’s feet, and she’d prepared herself for Ryder to be equally besotted. Instead, their mutual antipathy was somehow cheering. If he could be wrong about Soledad, thinking the worst of her, then chances are he could be wrong about her.

  Not that he was wrong. She just had to hope she could convince him that he was, or Billy would never be safe.

  “There you are, my little dove!” A new voice murmured. “You keep running away from me.”

  “Do a better job, Remy,” Ryder snapped, as one of the handsomest men Jenny had ever seen walked into the room. He was tall, with a sort of rumpled elegance and lazy stroll, with sun-streaked hair and the face of an angel.

  She really must have a concussion, Jenny thought. This gorgeous man left her entirely unmoved, while the incalculable grump still sitting on the bed beside her made every inch of her body uncomfortably aware, her very skin tingling. If Ryder wasn’t such a threat he would be dangerously attractive. Dangerous because she didn’t want to be attracted to a man who solved things with guns. Dangerous because she suspected it was already too late. She’d wanted him to kiss her. She still wanted him to.

  Remy ignored both the reprimand and Soledad as he came forward, a meltingly gorgeous smile on his face. “Pay no attention to him, Ms. Parker. Ryder’s been in a bad mood for weeks now, and no one can figure out why.”

  She couldn’t help but smile back at him while Ryder said nothing. “Afraid I can’t help you,” she said. “I only met him a few weeks ago.”

  “Exactly,” Remy said obscurely. He turned back to Soledad, and there was a surprising note of steel beneath his charming voice. “Come along, chickadee. Your mentor has one hell of a headache, unless I miss my guess, and I think Ryder wants to be alone with her.”

  At that Ryder got off the bed, and Jenny wanted to protest. She’d liked the weight of him beside her, almost touching her on the big bed. She must be brain-damaged. He was nothing but trouble as far as she was concerned, and he needed to go away quickly, before her brain melted further.

  “Parker needs to get some sleep,” Ryder said. “I had to wake her up every hour to make sure she was all right. She must be exhausted.”

  “You must be just as tired,” Jenny said fairly. “You should go to bed too.”

  The damned man looked at her, and then looked deliberately at the large bed she was in, at the empty space beside her. A moment later the look was gone, but it had left her strangely shaken.

  “I’ve got things to do,” Ryder said. “I’ll be in the room across the hall—call me if you need anything. And you two,” he addressed Remy and Soledad, “can make yourselves scarce. She doesn’t need any more distractions.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” Remy purred. “Soledad is feeling housebound.”

  “I don’t give a fuck how housebound she feels, she’s not going anywhere.”

  “Just the Café Du Monde for some beignets,” Remy said. “No one should come to New Orleans without sampling the beignets.”

  “No one should come to New Orleans and be subjected to the horror of chicory-flavored coffee,” Jenny said in a grouchy voice. Caffeine would probably help her headache.

  “Coffee snob,” Ryder murmured.

  “You too,” she shot back, not sure how she knew that.

  He didn’t dispute it, and the man called Remy laughed. “She’s got you there,” he said. “You’re the biggest coffee snob I know.”

  “We can discuss my gourmet tendencies after Ms. Parker gets more rest. And you’re not taking Soledad anywhere!” Ryder was effectively shooing the others out of the room. He threw one last look her way, and the temporary warmth was gone, leaving the dangerous man she was too smart to want. “And you, stay put.”

  Right then Jenny didn’t particularly feel like moving. The bed was comfortable, and she wasn’t up to dealing with the complications that were Matthew Ryder, any more than she wanted to be responsible for Soledad at that moment. Any woman worth her salt would be so distracted by the man called Remy and his good looks that she wouldn’t have time to get into trouble, unless, of course, it was with Remy, and Jenny’s concerns weren’t for Soledad’s tender heart and no doubt virginal body. She could close her eyes and sleep in peace.

  “But M
s. Parker is dressed like a puta,” protested Soledad. “She needs something better to wear.”

  Ryder glanced back at her. “There are some clothes in the dresser. Help yourself.”

  And then she was finally alone. For a moment she was tempted just to stay where she was, until she remembered what Soledad had said about the flimsy outfit she was wearing. She dragged herself out of bed and picked the cell phone from her pocket, turning it on. It looked none the worse for wear, and belatedly she wondered why she hadn’t just dropped it over the side of Doc Gentry’s rickety railing. One problem neatly solved, and she’d missed her chance. She only needed it for leverage if she didn’t completely trust him, and that was absurd.

  On impulse she slid it under the mattress. She’d have to find a better hiding place, but that would do for now, particularly since no one in the house had any idea she was hiding it.

  Looking in the massive chest of drawers, she wasn’t impressed with her choices. She could wear old-fashioned men’s pajamas or an oversized T-shirt and flannel boxers. Since that was closest to what she usually wore, she changed quickly and slid back beneath the silky sheets. She was so bone weary she could scarcely move, and her head was throbbing. She probably ought to ask for some Tylenol or something, but she couldn’t bring herself to even lift her head from the pillow. At that point all she wanted was sleep.

  “Where’s our little waif?” Ryder said in a sour voice when Remy strolled into the hidden office on the second floor. “She didn’t see you come in here, did she?”

  “Ryder, please!” Remy said in tones of mock horror. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Miss Soledad is pacing her room like a caged hamster, wanting to get back to our other houseguest and soothe her fevered brow. Speaking of which, what’s up with all this? Since when did we become a halfway house for women in trouble? I thought you were convinced Parker was hiding something. Did you manage to clear her?”

  “I wouldn’t trust her farther than I could throw her,” Ryder said flatly. “What better place to keep her than right under our noses? I was all set for a quiet afternoon yesterday when she and her protégé came tapping at the door. Since then I’ve been shot at and nearly blown up, all thanks to Ms. Parker. The question is, who’s after her? If she’s dirty, then it may be someone on our side. That, or a business rival who wants to take over the trafficking now that His Eminence is dead and the whole thing is in shambles.”