Dangerous Waters

by Janice Kay Johnson

  She gave a jerky nod, but her agreement was a lie. She knew he would die for her, that much was true. But what she had begun to realize she needed and wanted was for him to love her. He hadn't offered love, and he never would. After hearing about his childhood, Megan wasn't sure he was capable of loving anyone.

  But maybe tonight, for a few hours, she could pretend. "Mac, will you kiss me?" she asked huskily.

  He made a sound that might have been torn from him, but was all the answer she needed. Then his mouth covered hers in a kiss as devastating as her emotions.

  He dropped to his knees and hauled her up to meet him. Megan wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. He plundered her mouth, demanding a response she was eager to give. Her lips felt bruised, but she kissed him harder. His body was long and powerful against hers, and his erection pressed against her stomach. She whimpered and bit his lip. In answer Mac groaned, his mouth leaving hers. Before she could protest, he nipped at her neck and she let her head fall back. With one hand he tugged at her shirt, pulling it away from her jeans. Inside, he struggled with the front opening of her bra.

  "Yes," she whispered, then exultantly, "Yes!" when the bra fell away and his big hand engulfed her small breast.

  A moment later he untwined her hands from his neck to wrench her shirt off over her head, taking the wisp of a bra with it. Megan was shocked by the sight of his face. The angles of cheekbone and jaw seemed sharper, the shadows more exaggerated. His eyes blazed like molten iron and his mouth was twisted. He was almost a stranger, but one who looked at her with desperate hunger. Just the expression on his face was more erotic than any other man's touch had ever been.

  Very gently Mac cupped her breasts, weighing them, learning their soft curves. His thumbs traced a line around her nipples. Megan tried not to move, not even to breathe. She watched his hands shape her, felt their strength. Then he lifted his head and smiled at her. In that smile she could imagine all the tenderness and desire and love she wanted to see. And so she smiled back, making no effort to disguise her own emotions.

  He groaned again and wrapped his hands around her waist, effortlessly lifting her as he stood in one graceful motion. He shoved the suitcase aside, then laid Megan across the bed and followed her down, one knee braced between her legs. When his mouth closed on her taut nipple, Megan cried out and threaded her fingers in his hair. He tasted and suckled and rubbed his rough cheek against her breasts, then threaded a line of maddening kisses down her flat stomach to the top button of her jeans. Kneeling above her, Mac unfastened her jeans and drew them down her long legs. And then he kissed her there, where she was hot and wet and desperate. Her hips bucked and she pushed herself up on one elbow.

  "Not fair," she protested, in a voice that didn't sound like her own.

  He lifted his head and grinned. "Who said it had to be fair?"

  "I did." And she sat up and with his cooperation tugged his sweatshirt off over his head. Then, nervously, she began working down the zipper of his now too-tight jeans. She was almost afraid when she saw the size of him, but he was so sleek and hard and blunt that something deep inside her cramped with longing.

  Mac responded to the tentative touch of her fingers as involuntarily as she had to his mouth. His voice sounded like gravel. "Sweetheart..."

  "You feel so good," she murmured, and rubbed against him like a cat who wanted something.

  "Damn right I do," he growled, and with his weight bore her back against the bed. The blunt tip pressed against her opening and he kissed her, tongue probing in a taste of something more primal to come. "Wrap your legs around me," he whispered. "That's it. Oh, God, that's it." And he was in her, buried as deep as her earliest memories.

  It felt so good, like nothing she'd ever known. He started moving, lifting her hips, withdrawing and then filling her, the rhythm calling up responses from unlearned instincts. She heard a voice calling his name and was astonished to recognize her own. She sounded like a wild woman. She was a wild woman. He was silent, each thrust coming faster, harder.

  The drive to the finish demanded everything she had to give. They rolled and twisted, separated and came together, the tension building until it was unbearable, until it had to explode. And then it did, in a sweet, hot tide that washed her away and left something new and different in its place. In gratitude and pain, she knew she would never be the same person again.

  *****

  If kissing Megan had been stupid, making love to her was suicidal. It should have been sex, plain and simple. Hot and sweet, making a nice memory and spicing his anticipation for next time, even if the woman with her legs wrapped around him was a different one. No matter how good the sex, that's the way it had always been.

  Instead, Mac felt sick with a hunger to hold her more tightly. He lay there across her big bed with Megan's head on his shoulder and his arms around her. His skin was cooling except where it touched her. He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the thick silk of her hair, trying to make himself face tonight's finality. She was supposed to go one way tomorrow, he another. It was pretty damned unlikely that they'd ever find themselves in the same bed again. What was he going to do, take two weeks of vacation next summer to see if she wanted to take up where they'd left off?

  Assuming he was alive—and that she was alive. If she had to hide only for a matter of days, he was confident she wouldn't be found. But what if this thing dragged on? What if weeks passed, months? Sooner or later she would use her bank card, charge something on a credit card. She'd get homesick and call her mother. She'd start forgetting tonight's terrifying events and convince herself it had really been him they'd been after. And then she'd come home. Maybe by then they wouldn't care about her, but Mac didn't believe it. A professional killer was professional because he almost never screwed up, and when he did he cleaned up after himself. Megan was a little mud on the carpet that wouldn't be tolerated.

  What if she died? Died because of him? A detached part of Mac was staggered by his own emotional response. He wanted to believe that he just couldn't face the fact that she might suffer more because of him. Gut-level honesty forced him to look at the truth: He needed her. He could no longer imagine life without her.

  She murmured something and shifted, not away but closer. Just like that, he wanted her again. Mac was smart enough to know his reaction wasn't totally sexual. She was his, all his, when he was buried inside her.

  He swore silently. He had never wanted to kill, even though he'd done it. But tonight he would have given his right arm for both men to die. Then Megan, at least, would have been freed from this nightmare. Dead men don't care about witnesses.

  There was no way he was going to let her go tomorrow. The certainty hit him as hard as a slug from a .44 Magnum. He immediately tried to justify it. The least he could do was see her settled somewhere, make damned sure the bastard who'd escaped tonight hadn't made a quick enough recovery to follow her.

  He owed her. Mac didn't want to think about love. She had turned to him tonight because terror made you reach for life the next minute. That didn't mean what she felt had any significance beyond this bed. With a return to normal life, she'd want a normal guy, not one who'd admitted he hardly remembered his real name. But that didn't change what really counted here. He owed her a chance to want that normal guy.

  So when she stirred and turned her head, he said softly, "You asleep?"

  "Um." Her breasts pressed more firmly against his side when she inhaled before a sigh. "Just trying to...hold onto the moment. And not think about tomorrow."

  "Well, I have been thinking about tomorrow."

  He could feel her withdrawal, both mental and physical. She didn't move far, but an inch opened between them. "And?"

  "I figure we should stick together, at least for a few days."

  Now Megan scooted back far enough to raise up on one elbow. "Wait a minute. You've been trying to get rid of me."

  "What happened tonight changed things. I need to hole up long
enough to give Tevis a chance to identify the dead man. Then I'll know for sure who I'm dealing with."

  "So you can go into your act where you're a worm wriggling on a hook."

  "Yeah." He tugged so that she sprawled on top of him. "Until then, I want to know for damned sure that you're safe. The only way I can do that is handle it myself."

  "Mac..." Despite her undignified position, Megan gravely studied him. "You should do whatever you have to. Not play bodyguard some more."

  He tried to lighten the moment. "Even if the body is this good?"

  "Especially then." She searched his face. "I wasn't trying to...tie you."

  "I know." He grabbed a handful of her thick hair and pulled her face down for a long, hard kiss. Then he said gruffly, "I won't promise more than a few days, but I want to set you up somewhere, be sure you can't be found. I can leave with an easier mind then."

  Her eyes closed, and she whispered, "Thank you. I was...scared."

  "I know." He kissed her again, scared himself. Scared of losing her, scared of the tenderness that welled in his chest.

  "Mac?"

  "Um?" he murmured against her mouth.

  "Can we take Zachary?"

  A tail thumped from beside the bed, and despite himself; Mac grinned reluctantly. "Yeah, what the hell. What's one more?"

  If the dog was hoping for some more conversation, he was disappointed.

  CHAPTER 8

  "How's this place look?" Mac slowed the rental car to a crawl as he and Megan gazed at the row of cabins that fronted on Lake Shasta. Zachary panted over Megan's shoulder, the heat obviously getting to him.

  With late summer the water in the lake was low, exposing the dry, cracked banks of red mud. In contrast, the lake itself was aquamarine, a welcome sight on a day when the temperature was pushing a hundred.

  "I guess it's okay," Megan said doubtfully. The cabins weren't prepossessing; they could have used a coat of paint and the ground in front was dusty. On the other hand, this small resort was out of the way. Megan was the one who'd noticed a faded, tilting sign out on the main road. This place was isolated enough to ensure she and Mac wouldn't run into anybody staying at a fancier resort.

  "I'll go see if they have a vacancy."

  Megan nodded "I'll let Zachary out for a minute, just in case we have to go on."

  She watched Mac head for the office, his stride slow enough to show that he was as tired as she felt. What with one thing and another, they hadn't slept much last night, and they'd left at the crack of dawn. Mac's blue T-shirt was sweat-stained, but when he lifted his arms above his head to stretch, she didn't notice anything but the play of muscles and the sheer masculine beauty of his narrow hips and strong back. Then she looked at Zachary, who was panting nonstop.

  "You're too long-haired for this climate," she said affectionately. "How about a dip in the lake?"

  Somewhere he found the energy to bound out of the car when she opened the back door. Two kids who were scratching pictures in the dust with sticks lifted their heads to watch him. Megan whistled softly and the retriever followed her down a path that circled the nearest cabin to the lakeshore. The cove was a long, narrow one, with a roped-off area at the tip. Megan continued on the path to the deserted side of the cove.

  It should have been cooler here, but wasn't. Boat traffic farther out made small waves, but not the faintest hint of a breeze came off the lake. Megan looked longingly at the water, but she couldn't do much more than wade until she unpacked her bathing suit. On the bank she found a two-foot-long stick and tossed it into the water. "Go get it, boy!"

  Zachary hit the water with a long, arcing dive that almost submerged him. He came up shaking his head, his webbed feet slicing the water as smoothly as her crawl stroke did. Two minutes later, he dropped the stick at her feet and gave a great shake that splattered her with secondhand water. "Not the way I would have chosen to get wet," she told him sternly, snatching the stick before he could grab it in his mouth again. Back-handed, she gave it another toss. "Here you go!"

  A minute later, Mac said from behind her, "Well, he looks happier, anyway."

  Megan turned. "Any luck?"

  "Yep. Somebody just checked out. The manager's not sure about this weekend, but we have the last cabin for the next three days anyway."

  "Thank God," she said, then, in the next breath, "Are you sure we've come far enough?"

  His gray eyes were narrowed against the brilliant sunlight bouncing off the lake. "I don't know that it makes much difference. There's a happy medium between the back-of-beyond and getting lost in a crowd. I figure Lake Shasta in the middle of the summer fits the bill."

  Megan nodded. She was just drained enough by the heat to accept any reassurance. "Any chance there's air conditioning?"

  "Are you kidding? I'll be impressed if the shower works." Then he grinned crookedly. "Hey, what do you say we take a dip?"

  Zachary bounded up, dropped the stick, and shook again. Water flew everywhere.

  Megan laughed despite everything. "That's called asking for it."

  "Obnoxious dog," Mac said good-humoredly.

  Zachary reluctantly left his stick and accompanied them back up the path. Mac had already moved the car to the last cabin from the road. The door creaked when he unlocked and opened it, but the inside wasn't bad. Faded but clean green linoleum covered the floor, and the kitchenette at one end was tiny but functional. Megan couldn't help but notice the one and only bed, double instead of queen. Cozy.

  She investigated the cupboard while Mac brought in the suitcases. "There are even pans," she said. "Now we don't have any excuse to eat out."

  His gaze met hers across the room. "It's just as well if we don't."

  The reminder was an unpleasant one that chilled Megan despite the heat. She nodded and silently followed him outside to help bring in the last of their luggage, including a forty-pound bag of dog food for Zachary.

  Megan hung up a couple of shirts before she came across her bathing suit. "I'll change in the bathroom," she said quickly.

  Mac raised a brow, but didn't say anything.

  Knowing it was silly, Megan still closed the bathroom door behind her. Lord knew he'd seen everything she had, but the passionate, impulsive actions of last night didn't keep her from feeling self-conscious now.

  By the time she emerged in her Speedo suit, Mac wore athletic shorts and was just shutting his gun and shoulder holster in a suitcase that he shoved under the bed. Half of Megan hoped it would stay there; the other half was nervous that they would be stepping out the door so vulnerable. She just said, "You're sure you want to do this?"

  "Swim?" He shrugged. "I don't mind getting wet as long as my feet are on the bottom."

  Down at the lake, Megan dropped her towel on the bank and left her rubber thongs beside it. Then she waded in knee-deep before diving the rest of the way. The water was pleasantly cool in comparison to the heat of the afternoon. She came up laughing.

  Mac still stood about thigh-deep, looking dubious. Zachary was swimming toward her.

  "Oh, no, you don't," she said, fending him off as she swam a lazy breaststroke toward Mac. "Zach thinks I'm a rock he ought to be able to climb on," she told Mac. With her cupped hands, she shot him with a stream of water.

  "Hey. Just remember you have to come out of this lake sooner or later, and then you're in deep trouble," he warned.

  Megan laughed and emerged from the water. Now the hot sun on her wet back felt good. "Can you swim at all?"

  "I can float on my back, dog paddle a little." His mouth quirked into a smile. "Though I'm not in Zach's class."

  "Who is? He can probably beat me." She took a deep breath. "You want a lesson?"

  Alarm subtly changed the lines of his face. "Hell, no.”

  "Come on, what do we have? A couple of days at least?" She splashed him again and coaxed, "I can have you swimming by then. Next time someone drops you in the lake, you can save yourself."

  "That was the first and last time," he
said stubbornly.

  Megan admired the drops of water glistening on his sleek brown chest. "This is your big chance. Don't blow it. How many people have a chance to get taught by the best?"

  A reluctant smile softened his hard mouth. "Modest, too."

  She stuck out her tongue. "Just advertising my services."

  Megan let him think about it while she chased Zachary across the narrow cove and watched kids splashing at the shallow tip that was roped off. Not her responsibility, but the lifeguard in her couldn't help an occasional assessing glance.

  When she returned to Mac, she found him back-floating, his eyes closed. She would have thought he was relaxed if she hadn't noticed how tight his arm muscles were. His eyes opened when her wave lapped at his face and he stood up quickly.

  Seeing his wary expression, Megan just said, "Hi. Guess what? I won."

  Mac glanced past her to the retriever who'd almost reached her. "Tough on his pride," he observed. "Maybe you'd better let him win once."

  Did Mac's pride not allow him to take the chance of appearing foolish in front of her? she wondered. It wouldn't be surprising, considering how macho most men seemed to be. And this one was a cop.

  But Mac surprised her. "Okay. I'm ready."

  "Really?"

  His voice was grim. "I don't like being scared of anything."

  Megan accepted his motivation with a nod. "Can you face-float?"

  "For about two seconds, until I panic."

  "Take my hands," she said, holding them out. As he obeyed, their gazes met. Megan tried to communicate reassurance, but she didn't know if she succeeded. Determination was all she saw on Mac's face.

  When she stepped back, he eased into a float, lasting considerably longer than two seconds, although his grip on her hands was so hard they hurt. Finally he reared up and shook his head, spraying water like Zachary had.

  "Good," she said, smiling. "Now I'll show you how to kick."

  He nodded, and she recognized the same unusual quality that had made the rescue possible: an iron will stronger than any fear. She wondered if the same will could overcome emotional fears. Could he make himself take the risk of loving someone, even though in his heart he must believe he'd be betrayed yet again?