by Judy Teel
Dakota shoved his hand off her breast and pushed him away from her. "Stop doing that."
He leaned back against his door, his lids heavy over eyes that were black with only a rim of green. He gave her a slow, knowing smile. "I can't seem to help myself."
"Try harder." Snatching her purse from the floor, she fumbled with her door handle.
"Where are you going?" he said in that silky, hot way he had.
"Home. While I still have one."
"They're out there, you know."
"They're starting to look tame."
"I keep a small apartment here for when I have to do business in this part of the country."
An image of a string of beautiful women trailing in and out of his apartment broke into her thoughts. "No thanks. I'd rather not be your latest business."
His expression sobered. "I've never brought a woman here before."
She frowned at him.
"I feel obligated to set things right," he said.
"Your feelings of obligation are what got me into this in the first place."
His gaze trailed over her face. "From now on I'll keep my distance."
But could she?
"I'm leaving. Don't try to stop me." Dakota opened the car door and jumped out. Her bare foot hit the pavement and the cold shock of it pushed a squeak out of her.
He leaned across the seat and gazed up at her, looking incredibly sexy in his boyish contriteness, damn him.
"In the morning you can go back to frumpy redhead and we'll sneak back to Harts Creek without the vultures ever knowing."
Frumpy redhead? He had a lot of nerve. "You forget that it was you they spotted in the first place."
He grinned at her and his blasted dimples made her insides melt all over again. "You're not the only one with a few tricks up your sleeves."
She glared at him and debated the situation. On her own the chance of escaping the paparazzi was slim. With him...? The odds might improve slightly, but he also added a whole new layer of complexity.
What choice did she have? Go out into the city and limp away at top speed from the press? Hardly.
"I want a room with a door I can lock," she said, sternly.
"No problem."
"You keep a distance from me of at least three feet at all times."
"Whenever possible."
"As soon as we get back, you pack up and go."
"No."
She blinked. "No?"
"I made you a promise. Until I'm convinced your secret is safe, I'm sticking around."
"How cheering." Dakota turned to march away, took one hopping step and gave it up. Well hell.
She sighed. By her estimate it was nearly midnight. She'd been up since four-thirty that morning. To say she was beginning to ache with exhaustion was putting it mildly.
She needed a place to crash and a way out of town. Trey was offering her both.
It galled her to give in, but one battle at a time as Dad always said. At least he'd taught her one useful thing.
"I call dibs on the shower in the morning. Single occupancy." She looked back at Trey pointedly, and did her best to ignore the triumph lighting his eyes.
* * *
Trey pushed the brim of his ball cap up and rubbed his hand across his face hoping to wipe the fatigue from his brain. Even the noise of the coffee maker grinding beans didn't make a dent.
Things were not going according to plan.
After he'd made arrangements for getting himself and Dakota out of town, he'd spent the few hours he had to sleep tossing and turning. He wanted to lie to himself and claim it was because a beautiful woman he wanted slept in the room next to his and he couldn't do anything about it. But that wasn't true.
At least not entirely.
He did want her, with a deep sizzling ache that drove him nuts. But it was more than that. She made him laugh...and think. She challenged him...and surprised him.
For the first time ever he felt a little sorry about what he had to do.
Was he finally getting a conscience after years of not giving a rat's ass about anyone but himself and his goals? Something like this could ruin everything.
She was just another woman. A means to an end. The bargaining chip for getting Jamison's help so he could finally get Rosie's adoption records opened.
Dakota could never be more than a tool to him and he could never be anything real for her, although he had to convince her he was. Otherwise she'd never accept his pitch.
That's what every job required. That was the game he had mastered--a skillful way of fracturing himself so he could feel what he didn't feel and be what he wasn't and convince the mark that he had their best interest in mind, please sign here.
As he watched the sun come up over the city that morning, he wasn't sure he could do it anymore.
Trey heard Dakota's light footsteps coming down the hall and looked up. She'd pulled her hair back, put her glasses on, and scrubbed off the heavy makeup. The clean New York Yankees sweatshirt, blue jeans and running shoes he'd left by her door suited her. She looked approachable. Appealing.
His groin tightened, increasing the pressure against the zipper of his jeans to an uncomfortable, and demanding level. He struggled to tone down his reaction to her, but it was no good. There was only so much a guy could do when a woman drove him nuts.
It would be so much easier if he could just hand her off to Jamison, but without compliance, without her wanting to go back, there was nothing to stop her from running again. She had to be willing. Wasn't that always the catch?
Dakota came into the small kitchen and planted her butt on a bar stool. "You said you never brought a woman here." She plucked at her sweatshirt and gave him a pointed look.
Trey gathered his charm around him like a shield and reached up into the cabinet for two glass coffee mugs. "I haven't."
"Where'd the clothes come from, Trey?"
Was she jealous? A smile tugged at his mouth. "I have connections and my connections have sisters."
She eyed him suspiciously. "What connections?"
He snagged the other Yankee's hat off the counter and slid it down the bar to her. "I got you a matching hat."
She glanced at the ball cap that was a duplicate of his, then nailed him with a challenging look. "I know what you're doing, you know."
"I'm glad somebody does. How do you like your coffee?"
"Black."
Amusement feathered through him. "Figures."
"What does that mean?'
"I have a theory," he said, pouring coffee into the mugs.
She picked up the hat and settled it on her head, pulling her pony tail through the space in the back the way women did. "Do tell."
"You can learn a lot about a person by how she likes her coffee." He grabbed a spoon and moved to the bar stool one down from her--no need to torture himself unnecessarily. After handing Dakota her mug, he pulled the jar of sugar toward himself and started loading up.
Her eyes widened as she watched him. "Enlighten me."
"People who drink it black want to be seen as powerful. Nothing bothers them. They can handle anything. They're out to prove that the hardships of life mean nothing to them."
"And the ones who take their coffee sweet enough to cause instant diabetes?"
"They're secure in their power. They know life is a game and they know how to enjoy themselves. They know how to get the most out of what the world has to offer."
She took a sip from her cup. "I have another theory."
Trey stirred in the sugar, trying not to enjoy the way she challenged him. A tall order. "Enlighten me."
"People who drink it black like it that way."
He took a long swallow from his mug, letting the thick sweet-bitter taste of it roll over his tongue. "And?"
"The ones who pollute a perfectly acceptable beverage with other crap are the kind of people who jump from one cheap thrill to the next never amounting to anything."
If she only knew. "I'm starting
to like you Dakota Jamison. Is that what you want?" He took another swallow of coffee.
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "That's the best you have? No witty comeback? No quick unwelcome grope?"
Was she trying to provoke him? Amateur. She had no idea the level of skill she was up against. "Shallow thrill seekers have no problem being labeled shallow thrill seekers."
He smiled and slid off his stool. She pulled back a little like she thought he was going to pounce on her, again. Her eyes swept down his body, settling briefly on his crotch before moving back up.
When her gaze landed on his mouth, guilt flashed across her face.
She wanted him to kiss her. Wanted it bad.
He ignored the responding ache in his groin. "We're on a tight schedule, so we'll have to grab breakfast later. You ready?"
The disappointment in her eyes flickered into apprehension. "What are we about to do?"
He opened a drawer and pulled out two pairs of dark sunglasses. "Make our daring escape, of course."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dakota followed Trey out of his tasteful white-and-chrome themed apartment. As they headed down the hall, she tried not to look at the way his worn jeans cupped his tight rear like a pair of loving hands. Tried being the key word.
The image of him standing at the counter flashed into her mind. The jeans riding low on his hips, his T-shirt clinging to his flat stomach and the muscles of his chest and arms, showing off his mouth-watering physique, the ball cap he wore somehow adding to the appealing casualness of his clothes and the day's growth of dark beard on his lean cheeks.
Why not sleep with him? Why not finish what she'd started?
The question had kept her awake most of the night. There were a million reasons why the answer was 'no,' the first being that he was here to get her to agree to a shady business proposition that he couldn't even tell her about. Number two involved the fact that against all common sense she liked being with him even though she was very aware he was up to no good.
By the time they stepped onto the elevator she'd reached number six: Because it's always a bad idea to sleep with someone you're this attracted to. As the doors slid shut she became acutely aware of his fresh, outdoorsy scent and the way he dominated the small space.
She could feel the power radiating off him and a compelling kind of electricity that made her heart skip and sent a trembling wave of heat sweeping through her body.
Why not sleep with him?
The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors slid open. Dakota jumped out ahead of him and speed walked toward the Jaguar before she did something she'd regret.
"Not that way."
She stopped and turned toward him. "That's your car."
"I've loaned it to a friend."
"The same friend who has a sister my size?"
His green eyes sparkled with humor. "Smart and beautiful."
Reason number seven, he was tricky. "What are you up to?"
"Put your sunglasses on and come this way." He slipped on his own glasses and headed toward the front of the parking garage and to the right. Two black trash bags sat next to a brown steel door.
Trey picked one up and gestured for her to do the same.
"We're taking out the trash?" she asked, puzzled how this was going to get them out without being spotted.
"Do you object to doing a little dirty work?"
"I take out my trash every day, I just don't see the point." She grabbed the other bag and was startled to find it hardly weighed anything. "What's in here, balloons?"
"Old packaging material." Trey leaned against the wall next to the door and stared past her toward the elevator.
Dakota scanned the parking garage, wondering what he was waiting for. In a moment two people came out of the elevator. The man was brunette and dressed in a well-cut business suit that looked expensive, even from a distance. The woman had long blonde hair and wore a black trench coat that covered her nearly to her high-heeled shoes. Both the man and the woman wore dark glasses.
"Those two people look very familiar," she mused as she watched the couple head toward the Jaguar.
"I told you I had connections," Trey said, his tone full of self-satisfaction.
"Do your connections include car thieves? Because they're getting into your car."
"Go over to that pillar and see if you can see the front gate. Without being seen," he added firmly.
Dakota dropped her bag of fake trash and decided to play along. When she got to the pillar, she peered around the edge. A swarm of camera men and reporters were camped out in front of the gate.
She jumped back behind the column with a gasp. Trey had arranged for decoys!
Dakota hurried back to him. "I hope your connections are convincing," she said, drawing in several quick breaths to try and calm her panic. "There are five times the number of reporters out there, now."
"Just be ready to stroll through that door when I say 'go.'" He nodded toward the steel door next to him.
Dakota picked up her trash bag, doubt in his abilities to pull this off making her palms sweat. She turned around when the Jaguar's engine growled to life and watched as it carefully pulled out of the parking space and cruised toward the gate.
Trey pushed himself off of the wall and shoved down on the handle of the heavy door. "Go," he said, calmly.
Dakota's heart jumped into overdrive. She yanked the bill of her cap down low and scrambled after him.
They emerged onto the wide blacktop area next to the building just as three groups of newspaper men went tearing past them, heading toward the front of the building. They disappeared around the corner as a collage of shouted questions roared to life from the street.
Hugging the pretend bag of trash in front of her, Dakota quelled her anxiety and stuck close to Trey as he strolled across the parking lot toward the dumpster. He slid open the rusty metal door and the pungent smell of garbage hit her in the face. "Give me your bag," he said, holding out his hand. "Slowly, like it's heavy. Now step behind the dumpster."
Dakota eyed the row of thick bushes. "Why?"
"I wouldn't debate too long if I were you. They could come back any minute."
Her panic charged back to life. Shoving her bag at him, Dakota jumped behind the dumpster.
Trey swung the bags on top of the rest of the trash and smoothly squeezed in beside her. He gave a last cautious scan of the area and then ducked into the bushes.
"Trey?" she whispered, slightly alarmed that he'd abandoned her.
"There's a path here. Sort of." Trey's disembodied voice drifted from the thick foliage. "Come on." His hand stuck out of the tangle of branches in front of her "It's only a few feet to the other side."
She slipped her hand into his and his warm fingers wrapped around her palm. A feeling of safety settled over her like a hug. Crouching low, she let him guide her into the bushes. For a moment it was like they were in a green, light-dappled fairy world, then suddenly they were coming out on the other side and into another parking lot.
Dakota looked out over the scattered selection of cars. "I don't see the Jag."
"With luck the Jag's already barreling down Ninth Street with a swarm of mosquitoes on its tail. We have something better."
His hand enclosed hers firmly and he led her forward. She told herself she should let go now. Problem was, she didn't want to. She decided not to examine that too closely.
Trey wove through the scattered parked cars and then crossed a side ally into the loading area of another building. From there, he headed down a narrow street and into another parking lot.
Trey released her hand and pointed toward a rusty green Ford pickup at the end of the second row.
"Wow." She followed him to the truck, wondering why she felt such a pinch of loss over her now empty hand. It wasn't like Trey was anything to her. Right?
"That's...really something," she said, studying the truck instead of looking at him.
"Looks can be deceiving." He dug in his front
pocket and pulled out a set of keys with a blue rabbit's foot dangling from them. "I'm counting on it, in fact."
Trey unlocked the passenger door. "If your eyebrows go up any higher they'll disappear into your hat."
"I just can't picture Trey Peters deigning to drive a bucket like this."
"Then call me Larry."
"What?"
"Goes with Lark." He stepped back so she could climb into the surprisingly clean interior.
"Lark?" Oh yeah, the silly name Richard had given her last night. Pulling herself up into the truck, she tried not to smile. "You're not as hilarious as you think you are."
"You're just a tough audience." He grinned at her as she pulled the door shut.
She had to admit it. He was incredibly cute even with his long list of faults, known and unknown. The fact that he was here only to convince her to go back to her father couldn't detract from the way looking at him made her heart beat a little faster.
She admired the muscles of his arms bunching as he pulled himself into the cab and realized she couldn't hide from the truth any longer.
She liked him. She wanted him. Why not sleep with him?
She knew Trey had an agenda, but that was the whole point. She knew. With Jack she hadn't, so she'd believed everything he told her and convinced herself she was falling in love.
There was no danger of that with Trey. There'd be no surprises. No illusions. No disappointing betrayal at the end.
She had a business to get off the ground and she spent a lot of time running it. She didn't have time for a relationship. But she was lonely. A little companionship would be nice. After a short and pleasant affair, they would part as congenial enemies with happy memories. It was perfect.
He was perfect.
Trey glanced at her, and then looked more closely. He gave her a puzzled smile. "You okay, Dakota? You look hungry."
Warmth poured over her cheeks as embarrassment burst to life under her ribs. "Starved," she choked out, turning toward the window.
The truck coughed to life, rumbling around her like a geriatric beast. "I'll get you something to eat as soon as we get out of town," Trey said.
His neutral, brotherly tone reminded her that she'd made him promise not to come near her. Apparently he'd taken her order seriously. Now what?
