Playing For Keeps (Montana Men)

by Jaydyn Chelcee

  Duel choked at the memory of all the silk and satin in her dresser drawers, in his big hands. He hadn’t known a woman could use so much fluff-and-stuff. And perfume. Surely she had a favorite, but he had no idea which, so he grabbed all of them, at least a dozen bottles of assorted shapes and sizes, and dumped them in a bag. Hell, he’d lost precious minutes locating her car and parking it in her drive.

  The moment he spotted the purple bug, he’d known it was hers. Mainly because the snow was melted on the hood, plus the fact her key ring had a VW emblem on it.

  “I asked you why we’re stopping.”

  He flipped on the dome light. “I don’t know about you, but I need to stretch my legs a little, take a leak, and maybe drink a bottle of water.”

  She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, then her jaw dropped, her eyes widened, her mouth worked before she finally chugged out the words, “It’s you!”

  “Me?”

  “The cowboy—the snoring cowboy.”

  “I have no idea what you’re gabbing about.”

  Her lips flattened. “What a disappointment you’ve turned out to be.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. There are no facilities,” she said.

  “So? Who needs them?”

  “I do. I don’t pee standing up and I’m not peeing in front of you.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “Hold it ‘til you pop. I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

  “I know who you are,” she said in an icy tone, eyeing him.

  Duel lifted a brow. “I know who I am, too.”

  Her eyes darkened with hostility. Her thin auburn brows narrowed in a tight V. Teeth clenched. “I don’t mean I know you, know you, but I know you.”

  “Huh. Nice. Glad I won’t have to introduce myself.”

  “Yes. No. I mean…I don’t know your name, but I saw you at the agency. Are you an agent?”

  Duel paused with his hand on the door handle and winced. “I saw you there, but you didn’t see me.”

  “I saw you. You kissed me.”

  “Oh, hell no, if I kissed you, doll baby, I’d damn well remember the experience.”

  “You were asleep in the alcove. You kissed me…on the lips.”

  “Uh…no. Never happened.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I think I’d know if I’ve been kissed or not.”

  “And I’d know if I kissed you.”

  “How would you know? I told you, you were asleep.”

  Duel pushed open the door and slammed it behind him. Shit! He’d kissed her and didn’t even remember doing it? What a waste. A man deserved something for his pain and suffering.

  He flinched when he felt the wet warmth trickle down his arm. Duel stifled a curse as he watched droplets of fresh blood stain the undisturbed snow. Crap! Moving around had caused the wound to start bleeding again.

  Earlier, he’d packed the site with some four-by-four gauze pads he carried in a first aid kit under the seat, but the wound needed suturing, front and back, and his little kit had limited supplies in it.

  Tired, Duel rubbed a hand down his face. At this rate, he was going to bleed to death. He had to get somewhere and get the injury sutured. First things first. In seconds, he’d taken care of watering the frozen bushes and returned to the car.

  “Who are you?” she asked immediately, an attack snarl on her lips.

  “I thought you said you know me.”

  “Rather, what are you? Assassin? Black-ops? Secret agent? CIA? Mercenary?”

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes bugged. “Oh. You mean you’re all—”

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you asking too many questions is dangerous? And, lady, you ask way too many.”

  “You’re going to kill me?”

  “Probably. I’m thinking about it.” From the look on her face, she believed him. Duel snorted. “Look, lady, I think you’re more apt to kill me, and damn near succeeded with that fucking two-bit butcher knife. Do you wanna pee or not? Otherwise, we’re outta here, and I’m not stopping again until the car needs fuel.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “I need to use the facilities—”

  He snorted at her phrasing. He knew she knew there were no facilities.

  “—not with these handcuffs on,” she continued.

  “They aren’t coming off for any reason.”

  “Then you’ll have to wipe me. I’m not drip-drying.”

  “Jesus Christ. All right! I’ll take off the friggin’ cuffs, but you try anything funny, I swear it’ll take longer for you to wake up next time.”

  She muttered something about the legitimacy of his birth. In spite of the headache settling between his eyes, Duel grinned and fished the key to the cuffs from his shirt pocket. He got back out of the car, circled the hood and opened her door. “Turn around and face me.” He guided her out of the car and steadied her.

  She winced when her bare feet hit the icy ground. “Ouch.”

  “What’s wrong, besides the obvious?”

  “There’s something in my right foot.”

  “Something?” Duel lifted a brow. “What?”

  “I stepped on something in my back yard.” She glared at him. “It was dark. How am I supposed to know what it is? A piece of glass, I suppose.”

  “The glass is still in your foot?” he asked.

  “Don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I’ll check.”

  “No, you won’t.” She leaned away from him. “I don’t want you touching me anymore than necessary. My foot will live without your services.”

  “Fine. Suit yourself,” he snapped.

  “I will.”

  “God, you’re stubborn. What happened to your shoes?” He unfastened the cuffs and pointed in the general area he wanted her to go.

  She limped a short distance, paused, and hiked her straight skirt up to mid-thigh. “Turn around.”

  Duel folded his arms across his chest though it hurt like hell. “Huh-uh. I’m not turning my back on you for a second. I don’t fancy a blade in my spine.”

  “As if. What can I do?” she argued. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. I have no shoes, no coat. I’m not totally insane. And I cannot pee with you watching.”

  He massaged his forehead. “I hear any other sound other than water coming out of you I’ll be on you like a bull on a heifer.” Impatience threaded his voice.

  “Good grief, what a tempting picture that makes,” she said acerbically. “There are other bodily functions, you know, besides making water.”

  “Can the sarcasm. You know what I mean. I’m talking about escape noises, like running through the bushes, no–not…you know…explosive little gas noises.”

  “You’re warped,” she said. “You need to let me go. When my brother gets finished with you, you won’t have a strip of hide left on you.”

  “Your brother? Lady, I’m shaking in my boots.”

  “Do you have any idea who I am? Who my brother is?”

  He turned around just as she squatted. “Does this look like a face that cares? No, I don’t know who you or who your brother is. And I don’t give a good shit either.”

  “Turn around,” she screeched. “If you turn to face me again, I–I’ll pee on your tires. Bet you wouldn’t like that, you or your little hot rod.”

  Duel turned from her and in spite of their differences, grinned. “Hot rod? I’ve got a hot rod, all right,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing. Aren’t you through yet?”

  “If I was through, I’d be up, not squatted here like Pocahontas giving birth in the woods.”

  “Hurry up! It’s freezing.” He blew on his hands trying to keep them warm. “If your brother cared anything for you at all, he’d never let you sleep with a man old enough to be your father, for cripe’s sake.”

  “Sleep with…m–my father?” she spluttered. “You’re talking about Mac? You know nothing about my relationship with him
.”

  “And I don’t wanna know. Get your business done and stop stalling. No one is coming to rescue you. Not Mac or your esteemed brother.”

  “You have no idea just how esteemed my brother is.”

  Duel snorted. “Lady, that song is getting old. Jansen isn’t a name that sends cold chills down my spine. Come on!” Too bad she belonged to Mac. He liked her sense of humor, even if she was a maniac when she had a knife. But obviously the rumor mill was true, because she certainly hadn’t denied there was a relationship between her and Mac. Damn. “Get a move on. If you’re waiting for your famous brother to come, I think he’s abandoned you.”

  “Yeah? Well it wouldn’t be a first.”

  “What?” Duel frowned.

  “You’re right. It’s freezing out here. I have goose bumps.”

  “So? Hurry up.” Duel waited impatiently. How long did it take a woman to water the ground for God’s sake?

  “You’re probably right, you know.”

  “About what?” Duel had no idea what the woman was chatting about. Why all of a sudden was she being friendly? Talkative? His hackles raised a notch. His gut told him she was up to something, and it wasn’t good.

  “My brother. He wouldn’t give me the time of day, let alone try to liberate me. Neither would his wife.”

  “My heart’s bleeding.”

  “Smart ass,” she retorted, “try being a little sympathetic.”

  “Lady, all my sympathy fled south the moment you stuck that lowly kitchen knife in me. Quit stalling, and come on.”

  “I need tissue.”

  “No. Are you finished?”

  “Yes, but I told you, I’m not drip-drying. That’s just…yucky.”

  “Get your drawers up, and come on. I’m tired. I wanna get a couple hours shut-eye before we hit the road again.”

  “My drawers? Jesus. Give me some tissue or I’ll take out squatter’s rights, right here, all night an–and…drip-drip-drip, just like a leaky faucet.”

  Duel muttered, took the few steps to the car and fished out a handful of tissues. Damn it, he knew better than to let her out of his sight. The instant he reached inside the car he heard gravel crunch under her feet. He whirled and searched the utter darkness. Yep. Sure enough, there the little honey was, hobbling toward the edge of the woods like a one-legged spider. Step. Limp. Step. Limp.

  How far did she think she’d get before he caught her?

  And hadn’t she said she had a piece of glass still stuck in her foot? How much good did she believe she was doing her injured foot? The woman was insane.

  His first instinct was to give chase. Instead, he wadded the handful of tissue into a ball and slammed the passenger door. Slowly, he circled the hood of the car and climbed in on the driver’s side. No, sir, he was too damn tired and in too much pain and misery to run after her dripping ass. He refused to wallow in the snow with her yet again.

  Besides, he was in no shape to fight with her, the way he felt, he wasn’t sure he could take her. His shoulder was bleeding like a sifter. Swear to God, if he didn’t get some shut-eye, he’d crash the car. So many hours without sleep—he couldn’t go much longer. He wasn’t a friggin machine!

  Duel switched on the key and locked the doors. She was barefoot, limping and had no coat. The temperature was cold enough to freeze the balls off a Billy goat. Nothing moved, except for the snow and it kept right on falling. They were off the beaten path. No traffic. He hadn’t seen another car on the Interstate for hours because he was the only fool on the highway.

  And it was four in the morning.

  It wouldn’t take her long. She’d be back. Duel pushed a button. The driver’s seat reclined. He closed his eyes. And grinning—waited on the hellion’s return.

  * * * *

  Flayme stood at the edge of the woods and shivered. The sonofabitch! He wasn’t even going to give her the pleasure of a good chase. Not that she could run very fast or very far, but the least he could do was act concerned or let her believe she was escaping.

  Why hadn’t he come after her?

  Why hadn’t she had the good sense to wait for a better opportunity—like spring, when there was no snow or ice on the ground and her feet wouldn’t freeze because she was barefoot, or she didn’t have to hobble because something was stuck in her foot?

  She ground her teeth. Wasn’t it just like a man to ruin a woman’s pleasure?

  And she’d thought him sexy? Hah!

  Flayme sighed. To be honest, he was rugged and sexy. So what? He’d kidnapped her. Okay, if she was honest, other than knocking her out cold and handcuffing her, he’d made no attempt to hurt her, but he’d sure growled a lot—as if that was going to intimidate her.

  So what did he want with her?

  It was about time the cowboy answered a few questions. Tightening her lips, she turned back to the car. It went against the grain to have to give in and limp back to him, but right this minute, she had little choice.

  Flayme shuffled up beside the passenger door and worked the door handle. For a second, she thought the handle had frozen when the door didn’t open. The ass! He’d locked her out in the cold.

  She tried to peep inside, but a thin layer of ice already coated the window. “Open the door!” She rapped on the glass. No reply. “I know very well you aren’t asleep.” She shivered. Blast it. Her toes felt like ice cubes. She rattled the door handle. “Come on, let me in!” No response. Flayme looked around, eyed the ground until she spotted a rock poking through the snow. Not a very big one, but a nice hefty-size—big enough. “Ooo!” She eyed her broken nail and fumed. The cowboy owed her a manicure.

  Flayme worked the stone out of the frozen ground. Ah, yes. Perfect. She hefted the rock in her hand, turned and eyed the expensive car. A millionaire’s car? Hah! He didn’t act like he had a lot of money, other than driving this little jewel. Men and their toys! Lock her out, would he? Two could play this game.

  She banged the stone against the passenger door window. Crack! The window splintered into a fine spider’s web of slivered glass. Inside the car she saw a blur of rapid movement.

  He pushed open his door and glared at her across the top of it. “You crazy bitch! What the hell are you doing to my car?”

  “Open the door or I’ll break out every door window, the windshield and back glass. I swear you’ll have total air conditioning.”

  She heard the lock pop inside and dropped the rock. Quickly, she jerked open the door and settled onto the cold leather seat. “Don’t you have seat warmers?”

  Immediately, he leaned across the gear shift and wrapped his fingers around her throat. “You want your seat warmed?” He growled low in his throat. “I have just the thing.”

  She blinked. “On second thought, maybe not.” She wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, but no use taking chances. He was ready to strangle her.

  His eyes looked hot and glassy.

  Fever, maybe?

  Or rage over her cracking the window?

  He snarled like a wounded beast.

  Okay, rage it was.

  “I oughta break your neck for that stunt. Don’t you ever do anything to my car again, understand?”

  Flayme blinked, unconcerned. He hadn’t tightened his grip around her throat, so she didn’t think she was in any real danger. She searched his eyes, such a lovely green, but they weren’t the eyes of a cold killer. They were the eyes of a man who wasn’t feeling well. Still, her lips quivered when she asked, “Who are you? Are you an agent with the CIA?”

  He released her and reached inside his jacket pocket. He shoved a leather holder at her and turned the key in the switch. “Hell, I’m not going to get any rest anyway,” he muttered. “I might as well drive.”

  She flipped open the square of sturdy black leather and eyed the name on his ID.

  “Duel Remington?” Flayme nearly choked on his name. OhmyGod! He was CIA! Not just any agent, but one of the agency’s top guns, if not the best. She stared at him, shocked.

&nb
sp; And she’d stabbed him! Holy crap! She was so in deep shit here. One didn’t stab a CIA agent and expect to get off without—her head spun. She felt faint. Oh, good Lord, she’d assaulted a government agent. What kind of charges could the agency press against her for injuring one of their own? She could seriously end up in a federal prison. “How do you feel?” she asked quickly.

  He cut his hot gaze at her, suspicion in the sharp look he sent her. “Like you give a shit, lady?”

  “I do give a shit. I give a whole lotta shit, a whole bucket full. Don’t you even think about dying.”

  He snorted. “Oh, so now you know your ass might be in a jam, huh?”

  “Do you feel like you’re dying? I–I mean—” Oh hell, it’d be just her luck he’d decide to die. Stubborn man! Even she knew the knife wound she’d inflicted was bad. He’d lost a lot of blood, was still losing blood. She’d offered once to bandage his wounds, but he glared at her like he thought she might try to poison him or something. “I think I should plug your wounds.”

  He turned a fierce look on her. “Listen, doll face, if anyone plugs any holes around here, it’ll be me doing the plugging.”

  “Oh, but…” Flayme hesitated. Heat swept up her face as his meaning sank in. For a moment, she sat there with her mouth open. Then she gasped. “You’re just plain and simple mean as a snake, aren’t you?”

  “I’m mean as a snake? This from the knife-wielding predator who stabbed me?”

  “I have no nefarious reasons for offering to care for your wounds.”

  “Not happening. Like I’d let you near me. You’re trouble, lady, the worst kind, and I don’t want you anywhere in my vicinity.”

  “That’s going to be a bit of a challenge, isn’t it?” Flayme beetled her brows. “Your space. My space.” She waved her hands around, taking in both sides of the car. “They’re kind of intertwined here, wouldn’t you say?”

  He looked pretty sickly to her, his face the chalky color of ash. His skin looked clammy. Cheeks flushed.

  What if he died?