Uncut Bundle
Page 38
“I don’t know what you—”
Mia’s breath caught. His hand was at her breast, the tips of his fingers feathering across the nipple. She wasn’t a virgin. A man had caressed her breasts before but it had never made her feel—made her feel—
Terror flooded her senses.
Terror, and something else, something infinitely darker.
“I couldn’t figure it out. How such a smart guy could be such a sucker.” Matthew smiled thinly. “Then I saw his house. The sleeping arrangements. And I thought, the man’s an idiot, letting her sleep by herself.” He dipped his head, inhaled the soft, white-floral scent of her hair. “Now it’s starting to make sense. You teased him the way a mare teases a stud, giving him hints at what he could have if he behaved himself.”
“You’re crazy! I never—”
She caught her breath as he cupped her breast. His palm felt rough; when he ran his thumb over her nipple she jerked back…
And felt a tug of liquid heat low in her belly.
The cold, she thought frantically, that’s what it was. That’s what it had to be. The cold and her fear.
“The thing is, Dougie didn’t know how to handle you.” A smile angled across her captor’s hard mouth. “But I do.”
Suddenly he stepped back. Mia swayed, clutched the lapels of the robe, fought to keep her legs from buckling.
“Get dressed. Do it fast, or I’ll do it for you.”
Looking into his eyes was like looking into a glacier. No softness, no sentiment, nothing but unremitting force.
He walked to the chair and sat down. Folded his arms. Crossed his feet at the ankles.
She noticed, as if it mattered, that he was wearing scuffed Western boots.
Mia waited. So did he.
Finally Mia turned her back and let the robe slip from her shoulders.
CHAPTER THREE
THE ROBE slid down her arms, slowly revealing her back, and stopped at the base of her spine.
Even from this angle, Matthew could see that she was beautiful.
Her skin was a pale gold; her hair a fall of deepest chocolate touched with auburn by the light streaming through the window.
She might have been a painting by Monet or Renoir. Woman Getting Dressed. A canvas people would stare at on the wall of a famous museum, seeing not so much the brushstrokes and the talent of the painter but the beauty of the woman herself.
She had a small birthmark on one shoulder and another an inch or two lower. He could put his mouth to the first, kiss his way to the next.
Kiss his way down her spine to the delicate indentation at its base. How would it taste, if he put the tip of his tongue there?
What would she do if he went to her, cupped her shoulders, put his lips to her throat? Would she lean back against him? Close her eyes with pleasure as he lowered the robe, bared her buttocks, then drew her against him so she could feel the heaviness of his erection pressing against her?
Hell!
He wasn’t a voyeur. Undressing a woman was a man’s pleasure. So was watching a woman’s face as she undressed for him.
This was business. He had no choice but to watch her…
Matthew dragged a shuddering breath into his lungs.
Who was he kidding? Watching her was turning him on. How long was it since he’d had a woman? Too long, obviously, otherwise—otherwise—
She reached for something on the bed. The forward motion made her body arch. Tilted her bottom toward him.
Ah, God, he was going to turn to stone! But he had to watch her. He hadn’t done a thorough search. For all he knew, she had a weapon stashed.
Okay. She’d found whatever she’d been looking for.
She straightened, then stood on one foot. She was putting on her panties with the robe as a screen.
Clever.
Not so clever, a sly voice murmured. No matter what she did, she’d have to drop the robe eventually.
He folded his arms. His gaze moved over her again.
It was pointless to pretend he didn’t enjoy watching her. She was a woman born to excite a man. Even now, he could close his eyes and see her face and its perfection of innocence. Her rounded breasts. The smooth skin that led to the exquisite whorl of dark curls he’d glimpsed before.
No wonder Hamilton had been taken in. He almost felt sorry for the man. Who could stand up to witchery like this?
She had gone absolutely still. There was tension in every line of her body. Yeah. There would be, he thought, shifting his weight in the chair.
It was moment of truth time.
She had to let go of the robe in order to finish dressing.
“Won’t you at least turn your back?”
“No,” he said coolly. “I won’t.”
She muttered something he couldn’t catch. Matthew suppressed a grin. He had to give her credit. She had balls.
A couple of seconds went by and then she let the robe fall to the floor.
His mouth went dry.
She’d put on a pair of those plain white cotton panties.
The women he knew wore silk or lace. He liked that. The sensual glide of a soft fabric. The flirtatiousness of lace. He liked black and scarlet, colors that contrasted with the delicacy of skin.
Cotton was for T-shirts and gym shorts and—and how in hell could those white cotton panties look so sexy?
Was it the starkness of them against her golden skin? Or the very simplicity of them, the realization that what they hid from his eyes were the sweetest secrets of her body?
What would happen if he came up behind her? Bent his head, sank his teeth lightly into her shoulder while he slid his hand into that plain white cotton and cupped the gentle swell of her backside, moved his fingers over her flesh until they reached the delicate petals that guarded her womanhood.
Holy hell. He kept this up, he was in trouble.
She took something from the bed. A bra. Slipped it on and closed it. Good. He could breathe again. Next, she’d put on the T-shirt…
Instead she reached her hands to the cups and though he couldn’t see what she was doing, he could imagine it.
She was doing that little thing women did. Cupping her own breasts. Arranging them in the bra. Touching the silken skin he ached to touch, to taste…
He shot to his feet. “Hurry it up,” he said coldly. “Pack the rest of your stuff and do it pronto.”
She pulled on a pair of white cotton trousers. Yanked a pale gray T-shirt over her head. Slid her feet into her shoes and turned toward him, fully dressed right down to sandals that showed ten delicate pink toenails.
He had to clench his jaw to keep from going to her and tossing her down on the bed.
It was the situation, that’s what it was. Danger, risk, the unknown. Add a good-looking woman, stir well and you ended up with a lot of heat.
Some color had come back to her face. Getting some clothes on did that for prisoners. He didn’t want that. He wanted her scared. She’d be easier to handle and quicker to tell him what he wanted to know.
“Come here.”
She gestured at the suitcase. “But you said—”
“I know what I said. Come here.”
She moved toward him slowly, her eyes locked to his face. Such enormous eyes. They were the color of rich coffee, though when the light caught them a certain way, he could see flecks of green and gold in the irises.
“Put your palms flat against the wall and step back.”
The color faded from her cheeks. “What?”
“You have a hearing problem? Put your hands against the wall and step back.”
Her mouth began to tremble. For a couple of seconds, he almost told her to forget it. He’d seen her naked; he knew damned well she didn’t have a gun…
But this wasn’t about guns, it was about control.
“Do it,” he snarled.
She swung away from him. Pressed her palms to the wall. Stepped back…and, of course, had to spread her legs to keep her balance.
“Stand still.”
“No!” She swung toward him, eyes glittering with hatred. “You can’t do this. You don’t have the right.”
“Correction, baby. I have all the right.”
“The hell you do.”
Matthew smiled. Drew his gun from the small of his back. Watched her eyes widen when she saw it.
“This gives me whatever right I need. Now turn around and get your hands on that wall.”
“You’re a pig,” she said, her voice shaking with contempt.
“Now, that really breaks my heart,” he said, and spun her away from him.
He moved his hands over her quickly, expertly, checking her belly, her legs down all the way to her ankles, then coming up again and touching the insides of her thighs.
He hesitated. Then he put his hand between her legs and cupped her.
She made a little sound of despair. He imagined how he could change it to a whisper of desire. All he had to do was move his hand. Stroke her. She hated him, yes, but memory of that kiss told him she’d damned well respond to him, just the same.
She’d be a thousand times easier to handle, if he made love to her.
Matthew shut his eyes.
One of the reasons he’d left the Agency was because he’d known he was losing the ability to separate what was morally right from what was practical and expedient. Could twenty-four hours in his old life turn him into that kind of man again?
No. It couldn’t. This was right, and it was expedient. Mia Palmieri was running drugs. Whatever it took to stop her, he would do.
He took a step back. “Okay,” he said briskly, “turn around.”
She swung toward him, her eyes as hard and cold as amber. Good. From now on, she’d behave. All he had to do was decide what to do with her.
It was, he thought glumly, a damned good question.
Hamilton had only asked him to find out what had happened to her. Well, he’d found out. She’d run away. In theory, he could just let her keep running.
But not if she had a stash of uncut cocaine. He’d put in too much time and sweat stopping drug runners to let that happen. Alita had died, to keep it from happening.
Letting Mia Palmieri go wasn’t an option, not if she was on the run with dope.
If he found the stuff…well, that would give him other options. He could flush it down a toilet and let her walk away. He wasn’t a cop; he wasn’t even a spook anymore. He had no obligation to bring her to justice.
If she was running from the cartel…what then? Same deal as before. Take away the drugs and give her a running start. The cartel people would find her eventually, but that wasn’t his problem.
She was Hamilton’s problem. Hamilton’s woman.
Why did that make his belly knot?
Matthew scowled. First things first. If she was carrying dope, he’d find it. Then he could decide what to do next.
“You done packing?”
Her suitcase closed with a snap. “Yes.”
“Listen closely, because I don’t want any mistakes. I’m going to open the door. We’re going down the stairs together, me with my arm around you. We’re going to look like the happiest lovers since Romeo and Juliet.”
“Where are we going?”
“Wherever I say.”
She shot him a look that said she hoped he’d burn in hell.
“You sure you haven’t forgotten anything?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Because if you have, consider it gone.”
“I told you, I haven’t forgotten anything.”
Fine. The dope wasn’t in the room. Nobody, no matter how scared, left a stash worth big bucks behind.
He clasped her wrist. She tried to shake free and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“Lovers, remember? Romeo and Juliet.”
Her teeth glittered in a parody of a smile. “Romeo died.”
The quick retort would be to remind her that Juliet died, too. He didn’t say it. For some reason, the quip was too filled with foreboding. Despite his Comanche blood, he wasn’t in to predicting the future, but had a bad feeling as he unlocked the door and stepped out into the corridor.
One arm at her waist, the other within easy reach of his gun, he took her down the stairs, out the door and to the street. There was a café across the way.
“Breakfast,” he said.
She looked at him as if he were crazy. Maybe he was, but if he didn’t get some food in his belly soon, he’d fall on his face.
The café smelled like the grease on the griddle was a permanent fixture, but how bad could coffee, eggs and sausage be?
Pretty bad, as it turned out. After a couple of bites, Matthew pushed his plate away. Mia hadn’t ordered anything except coffee and he figured she’d made the smartest choice.
Over his second cup, he leaned over the scarred table.
“Have you come to your senses?”
“About what?”
“About coming across with what you stole.”
“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t be stupid,” he said sharply. “Think about what will happen if you don’t come clean with me.”
Her cheeks paled but she didn’t answer. He took some bills from his pocket, dumped them on the table and got to his feet.
“Let’s go,” he muttered.
He grabbed her arm and the suitcase and led her across the street to her car.
“Open it.”
“Whatever you’re looking for…I don’t have it. No matter what you do to me—”
“Open the damned car.”
She dug the keys from her purse, opened the door and he pushed her inside. “Sit,” he commanded. When she complied, he took the keys from her, got behind the wheel and burned rubber getting out of the lot.
Twenty minutes later, he found the kind of place he needed, a turnoff that led through some trees to a small lake. There were empty beer bottles strewn around but it looked as if nobody had been there in a long time.
“Get out.”
She didn’t move. He tugged her out of the car and yanked off his belt. Her eyes welled with tears. She began to tremble. He expected her to beg but she didn’t.
She was ballsy, all right. He had to give her that.
Matthew wrapped the belt around her wrists and dragged her over to a tree.
“Think about what you’re doing,” she said. “Killing me won’t solve anything.”
He looked at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. She was serious. Who did she think he was? Some goon from the cartel, even though he’d told her Hamilton had sent him?
He could tell her the truth. That he wasn’t involved with the cartel and he certainly wasn’t going to kill her…but if that’s what she thought, let her. Her fear would make her malleable.
“I’ll do whatever I have to do,” he said coldly. And then, because the look in her eyes reminded him all too clearly of the life he’d once led, he cursed, went to her and dropped a hard, lingering kiss on her mouth.
Her soft mouth, trembling now with fear and damp with tears.
Desire flashed through him, hot as a poker and just as sharp. Matthew cursed again, stepped back and used the belt to secure her to the tree.
“Behave yourself,” he said sharply. “If you do, you’ll come through this okay. One last time, then. Where is it?”
She didn’t answer. He shook his head, went to the car and began systematically taking it apart. The obvious places first: glove box, console, the trunk.
Nothing.
The seat cushions were next. He slit them open with his pocketknife. Then he slashed the spare tire, tossed everything out of the trunk.
Still nothing.
There were other places to hide drugs. Inside the door panels. In secret compartments under t
he floor. But this was a rental vehicle. There wouldn’t be any secret compartments, and she hadn’t had time to get inside the door panels.
Matthew put his hands on his hips and gave the torn-up vehicle a long, appraising stare. He dumped everything back into the trunk. Then he walked to where he’d left Mia. He had to shake her up, but how?