by Cindy Dees
“You don’t own a car?” Bastien asked, sounding aghast.
“I live in New York City. No need for one. Besides, parking costs a fortune. The show owns the van Gary and I road trip to shooting locations in.”
“Blasphemy. I collect cars.”
“How many?”
“You’ll see in about ten minutes.”
Her gaze snapped to him. He was taking her to his place? What did that mean? Her curiosity was overwhelmed by a single stunned thought. Ho. Lee. Cow. He must actually like her, as in like her. Why else would he take her to his home for the night? He could just as easily have deposited her at the nearest hotel.
He turned into a driveway in a semi-industrial area, stopping before a steel gate leading to a lot surrounded by a tall, solid fence made of vertical metal panels. He punched a remote opener and the gate swung open.
She expected a pseudo junkyard with old cars parked everywhere and rusted car parts strewn about. She was wrong. The full moon illuminated a perfectly manicured lawn under sprawling trees leading up to a connected pair of large metal buildings that were neat as a pin.
Bastien punched another remote opener and a huge garage door slid upward. He drove into the barn-sized building, and here were the cars in various stages of repair and disrepair that she’d expected. But the shop was as neat as the exterior. Every tool was in its place, the gray-painted floor sparkled, and the entire atmosphere was one of energetic order.
It was a revealing look into the man, himself. He was clearly not fond of chaos. Believed in routine. She could relate to both. And given how heavily fenced this place was, she surmised he was a private man, as well. She could totally relate to that.
Which made it even more surprising that he’d chosen to bring her to his home. He’d physically and metaphorically allowed her to pass his defenses. She was a little staggered, truth be told.
A sleek, Italian sports car rested overhead on a lift, and a vintage pickup truck was parked beside it. She didn’t recognize the other vehicles. But there were eight in all.
“Is this your collection?”
He laughed. “Naw, these are just the cars I’m working on now. Through that big door on the right is where I keep my babies.”
She smiled, amused at his open adoration for his cars.
He parked Sally Ann and came around to open her door for her. “Can you walk?”
She answered indignantly, “Of course I can!” But when she stepped out, clutching Mr. Paddles close, her knees were more wobbly than she cared to admit. Huh. This shock thing was a kick in the pants.
He moved ahead of her to a building within a building that took up the whole far end of the large, metal-sided shop. It looked like a cabin that had been built inside this old warehouse. He punched a number into an alarm pad, then laid his palm on a flat screen above the numbers. The front door unlocked with a buzz, and he opened it, gesturing for her to go in front of him.
She slipped past him, surprised to see a comfortable living room with a kitchen opening off to one side of it. The kitchen was nearly as big as the living room and decked out with the latest in appliances. A hallway opened off to her left, appearing to lead to a bedroom and likely a bathroom.
“Is this where you live?”
“Home sweet home, darlin’.”
“It’s nice.”
He shrugged. “It serves my needs. Hungry?”
“Do you always think about food first?”
“After the killing’s done, yeah. My mind naturally turns to food next.”
“You didn’t kill anyone in Gary’s place, did you?” she asked in quick horror.
“Nah. Intruder fled before I got there. As sad as I am that I didn’t get to nail the guy, I’m glad he left before he could hurt you.”
She stared at Bastien’s back as he pulled a pair of mugs from the cupboard and set them on the white quartz counter. He was more worried about her safety than he was about solving a crime? What did that mean?
If only she could interpret his behavior like she would if he were some normal guy. But he wasn’t the least bit normal. In fact, she’d never met another man remotely like him. He seemed...larger than life. Like he lived bigger and more fully than the average Joe.
He fished a chocolate bar out of a cupboard and startled her by pulling out a big knife and cutting board. He chopped the chocolate with rapid-fire strokes of the knife under his hands like a chef, and in a matter of seconds was scooping up slivers of chocolate into the mugs using the flat of the knife blade.
“You’re good with a knife,” she commented.
“All SEALs are good with knives.” He poured part milk and part cream into the mugs and popped them in the microwave. He turned to face her, flipping the butcher’s knife up in the air end over end and catching it by the handle.
She gulped. It was a scary display and a vivid reminder that this man was fully as lethal as he looked. “Did you find anything in Gary’s apartment that might help you identify his kidnappers?”
He shook his head and dropped the knife in the sink. “They were looking for something specific, for sure. Assuming these were the same people who searched it the first time, they seem convinced it’s hidden somewhere in Gary’s apartment.
“Tonight they didn’t just search. They ripped the place apart. Given the level of destruction, and that they stuck around until the cops were almost on top of them, I have to guess they didn’t find what they were looking for.”
“What could it be?” she asked in dismay.
“I was hoping you could tell me that.”
“I have no idea what he’s got himself tangled up in.”
Bastien studied her intently, as if he was reading her mind. She wished he would. Maybe he would find something stashed away in some dark recess of her memory that she’d forgotten she knew, something that would help find Gary.
The microwave dinged, and he pulled out the steaming mugs. Using a small whisk, he whipped the melted chocolate and milk until a head of froth formed. “Try this. But be careful. It’s hot.”
She sipped the hot chocolate cautiously, and groaned out loud in delight. “I’ve never had anything this creamy and rich.”
“Oh, baby. Then I’ve got a whole lot of good eating to show you.”
Her gaze lifted to his over her mug. Did he mean that? Was he interested in a personal relationship with her outside of the search for Gary? Or was he just flirting unconsciously because it was how he acted with all women? He was certainly good-looking and charming enough to be prime ladies’ man material.
He led her into the living room where he collapsed on the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and propped up his bare feet on the coffee table. He sipped his own hot chocolate appreciatively. There was something endearingly incongruous about the big, bad Navy SEAL barefoot, sipping hot chocolate. She perched on the far end of the sofa, eyeing him surreptitiously.
Eventually, he muttered, “Feel free to get comfortable. I’m not going to devour you.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m still shook up from earlier.”
“Totally understandable. Tell me everything you heard.”
“It was just a bunch of scrapes and bumps and thuds. And then I called you and headed for the bathroom.”
“Any voices?” he asked.
“None at all.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I expect we’ll find at least two sets of prints in Gary’s place. It takes time to wreak that much havoc on a home, and some big pieces of furniture were upended. Normally, when a pair of intruders is working together they call back and forth with things they’ve found or hiding places to check.”
“If these intruders didn’t talk at all, what does that say about them?”
“They’re disciplined. Professional. Have worked together before.”
“Why would people like that snag Gary? It makes no sense at all.”
“My concern is that these guys are proceeding completely logically if they’re hunting for some specific object or some piece of information.” He ticked off on his fingers as he talked. “Grab the guy you think has it. If he doesn’t cough it up, search his home. If you’re convinced it’s in his home, search again, but more aggressively. If that doesn’t work, try his place of business. Then move on to his coworkers, family, and friends.”
“So I’m next?” she asked in a small voice.
Bastien’s relaxation fell away, revealing itself for the thin veneer it really was. In place of the kicked back dude, a cold, hard Special Forces operator abruptly stared back at her, his gaze focused. Unwavering.
“I promise you, Carrie, they’ll have to go through me to get to you.”
Gulp.
Chapter 5
Bass hated to terrify Carrie, but she had to know the danger she was in. And she looked plenty scared, all right, hugging that ridiculous stuffed turtle like it was her only armor against the world. She even abandoned her mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table and stared fixedly at his black television screen as if a show were playing on it. In his experience, if a woman abandoned even chocolate, she was upset, indeed.
His thoughts turned to sleeping arrangements for tonight. Too bad he’d converted his spare bedroom into an office a few months back. He pretty much never had houseguests, and if one of his SEAL teammates spent the night, they were just as happy on a mattress on the floor of the garage as in a real bed.
It was nearing 4:00 a.m., again. This woman was hell on his sleep schedule. At least she looked as ready to drop as he felt. Her eyelids drooped, and her whole body was drooping as well.
He murmured to his voice light controller to turn off the kitchen lights and dim the living room lights. As he expected, Carrie’s eyes closed almost immediately, and she curled into a ball against the pillows at the far end of the sofa, hugging her turtle.
He watched her sleep, memorizing the gentle curve of her cheek, the sleek line of her neck, and the delicate grace of her fingers tucked sweetly under her chin. Right now she had no makeup on and was wearing sloppy pajamas, and she’d never looked more beautiful. Her skin was clear and soft and her features naturally lovely.
Good thing those big, dark eyes of hers were closed. They were murder on his self-control. He just wanted to sink into them and lose himself every time she gazed up at him as if he was some kind of conquering hero.
When he deemed that she’d had enough time to sink into a deep sleep, he moved quietly to his bedroom and pulled back the covers. Then he returned to the sofa and scooped her up in his arms.
She might hate being carried, but tonight she only murmured incoherently and snuggled closer against his chest as he carried her back to his bed.
He laid her down gently and drew the covers up over her. Something moved deep in his belly at the sight of her in his bed. It was as if she belonged there, as if he instinctively recognized his mate taking up residence.
Whoa. He had no plans to settle down with one woman. Ever. Love meant vulnerability and vulnerability meant pain.
His mother had never recovered when his father walked out on her and had ultimately turned into an angry, bitter woman who lived a deeply unhappy life. He was no stranger to loss, himself. He’d lost a few teammates over the years. The pain of losing one of his brothers-in-arms was every bit as bad as, at the ripe old age of eight, watching his father drive away and never look back.
He silently opened his closet and fished out a spare blanket, then retreated to the living room sofa. He’d been dozing for perhaps an hour when he heard a soft cry from Carrie. Barely awake, he was on his feet and moving swiftly.
She was twitching and tossing in her sleep. Nightmare, obviously. This was one of those moments when he regretted completely and totally sucking at the comforting thing.
Not that it was rocket science to offer simple comfort to another human being. Hell, all he had to do was wake her up. Although, she’d looked exhausted when he brought her into his house earlier. Poor kid probably hadn’t really slept since Hubbard went missing two days ago. Mentally swearing, he stared down at her, willing her to settle back into untroubled sleep.
No such luck. She tossed and cried out again, her sleeping face contorted in fear.
Dammit. Knowing what he ought to do and convincing himself to do it turned out to be two different beasts. For a man who’d jumped in and out of the sack casually with dozens of women over the years, he was acting pretty damned ridiculous. Just get in bed and hold her, you jackass.
He moved around the far side of the bed. Easing beneath the covers, he slipped in beside her and very gently gathered her in his arms.
This was a mistake. He knew better than to cross this line from professional to personal with her. He could get into trouble. Worse, he could compromise an investigation. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea.
He had to keep his emotions out of this. He was a human being temporarily comforting another human being. Nothing more. He was smart and disciplined; he could climb out of this bed and resume his role as cop to her as a suspect, even if she wasn’t much of a suspect.
Immediately, she burrowed against his chest and quieted as if she subconsciously recognized him. He lay very still, absorbing her trust in nothing short of shock. Huh. That actually felt really good.
He was used to his colleagues trusting him in combat situations. But this was a whole different kind of trust than that. It was...softer. Sweeter. Call him a caveman, but he kinda liked this feeling of being the big, strong man protecting a woman-in-need from harm. Not that he for a second believed that Carrie couldn’t handle herself.
Gradually he relaxed, and eventually slipped into the sleep of a contented man.
* * *
Carrie woke up slowly, relishing the warm cocoon of blankets and smooth sheets covering her. She shifted slightly, and her pillow shifted as well, startling her to a higher level of consciousness. Her pillow was smooth, warm, and harder than feathers by a lot.
She slitted one eye and then both her eyes flew wide open. She was in bed with Bass! And her so-called pillow was his right pectoral muscle!
She shifted again, and a big hand tightened slightly against her back. His right arm was wrapped loosely around her. He sprawled on his back, and she’d sprawled on him, apparently. When had this happened?
She tried to reconstruct last night, and the last thing she remembered was closing her eyes for a moment to ease their gritty fatigue while sitting on his sofa. She must have fallen asleep. But then...
He must have carried her in here and crawled in with her. Which was thrilling, in spite of it also being shockingly forward of him. But then, he struck her as the kind of man who went for what he wanted and didn’t let anything stand in his way.
Off duty and away from police work, he was a pretty decent guy, warm and kind. And he’d been great with her on the phone when the intruder had been downstairs. Apparently, she’d just had to get past that initial crusty cop exterior to find the nice guy beneath.
She had no idea what time it was. His bedroom didn’t have a window and was so dark she could barely make out Bass’s sleeping features only inches away from her. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep again, satisfied that she was safe, and delighted that she was sprawled on top of possibly the hottest man she’d ever met.
When she woke again, it was because her human pillow was stretching languorously beneath her. It was wanton of her to do it but she stretched as well, straightening her arm out across his chest and stretching her leg across his thighs.
Everywhere her body rubbed against his, she encountered muscle and more muscle. His body was not particularly bulky, but lord, he was a hard man. Of course, being a SEAL, he likely took fitness to a whole new level o
f insane.
“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Bass murmured. He turned on his side to face her and shocked her by pulling her close in a bear hug. Her hands ended up around his waist, their legs tangled together suggestively. Sure, she had on pajamas and he wore shorts of some kind, but still, a whole lot of skin-to-skin contact was going on. Her pulse leaped, and her awareness of him spiked even higher.
He smelled good, he felt good, and he made her feel feminine and sexy. Best. Wake-up. Ever.
If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d just buried his nose in her hair and taken a long inhalation. And then, ohmigosh, his lips moved lightly against her temple as he murmured, “How’d you sleep?”
“Great, actually.” She added shyly, “You?”
“Fantastic. Sorry for crawling in with you. But you were having a nightmare of some kind and I didn’t want to wake you. I figured you could use a decent night’s sleep after the excitement the past two nights.”
She couldn’t help herself. She rubbed her nose against his chest hairs a little, relishing the tickle of their silky spring. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
“Do you want to sleep some more?” Bass murmured, his voice husky with sleep and sexier than ought to be legal.
“I think I’m good.”
He chuckled quietly, “You’re better than good, darlin’.”
She tilted her chin to look up at him just as he tilted his chin down to look at her. Their lips brushed ever so lightly, and he inhaled as sharply as she did.
She froze.
He froze.
And then very slowly, as if trying—and failing—to resist, he closed the short space between them and kissed her again.
His warm mouth brushed across hers lightly, his lips firm and confident, and he coaxed her into the kiss with all the sexy Southern charm she associated with him. Her mouth opened beneath his, but he didn’t rush the kiss, taking his time, adjusting his head to fit better to hers, his right hand sliding underneath her shoulders and up to cup the back of her head.
He lifted his mouth away and she followed him, kissing him this time. A hint of laughter rumbled in his chest, and he deepened the kiss, taking back control.
