The hard lines around his mouth faded as he attempted a smile.
“Oh hell.” Nat lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.
Eliza’s head whirled as she pressed her mouth against his in a kiss that bled into her soul. She held on so tightly her muscles locked, unwilling and unable to let him go.
His arms were steel, supporting her back, his legs pressed against every inch of her own. She wanted to drown in the sensation of safety and strength, dive deep into the friction of physical release. Memories jabbed her conscience, but she shied away and sank deeper into the feel of Nat’s warm lips, the subtle rasp of stubble against her skin. Her arms crept up around his neck, she wanted to throw herself into this man, reaffirm all that was good about life. Discover, before it was too late, what she’d been missing.
Coming up for air, she blinked at the bright sunshine, was surprised by the sound of birdsong.
Nat let out a deep sigh, combed his fingers through her tangled hair and framed her face with his big hands. He rested his forehead against hers and laughed. The sound of a deep blast of relief that warmed her heart.
“You sure do have a fondness for trouble.”
Elizabeth bristled in his arms. “I do not—”
She felt his laugh rumble through his chest again, saw him swallow hard. “Yeah. You do.”
She sagged against him, eyed the poor creature that had stalked her with deadly intent just moments earlier.
“I do seem to attract it,” she admitted, rubbing her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt.
Nat relaxed his grip, turned his head to look at the wolf pack that hovered a short distance away.
Elizabeth noticed them and stiffened.
“They won’t hurt you.” Nat read her mind, nodded his head towards the bear. “They’re eager to start lunch.”
Elizabeth shuddered, knowing she’d almost been lunch.
The big silver wolf sat in the dirt no more than ten yards from where she and Nat stood. He panted lightly, his teeth flashing white against the black of his lips.
Elizabeth backed up a step. Nat wrapped his arm around her shoulders, leaned down to pick up her rifle and pulled her away, back down the valley. The wolves parted around them, sidling in half circles to let them pass. If anything, they seemed amused rather than threatened by the human interlopers.
“A lot of ranchers shoot them on sight,” Nat told her as the big wolf followed their progress with his yellow gaze.
Elizabeth walked quickly. She’d had enough wildlife to last her for a lifetime. Snarls and growls filled the air behind her as the pack began to tear up their enormous meal.
Christ. Images of her own death lurched into her mind and made her stomach turn. She shuddered. Nat pulled her closer and held on tight. Without him she’d be dead. Without him she didn’t want to live.
***
When Steve Dancer walked into the cottage, Marsh had his pants back on. He was standing in the middle of the lounge, still handcuffed to a very large, very bent, cast-iron bedstead.
Marsh’s hair was slick with sweat. His arm badly wrenched at the shoulder. Blood trickled from his wrist and stained the floorboards beneath his toes. The smaller man grinned. Got out his phone and took a photograph.
“Give me your keys.” Marsh’s breath was short, his temper shorter. His own keys had disappeared and he’d bet the bank who had them.
He’d used a nickel and colossal amount of determination to dismantle the bed. He was going to melt it down for scrap, first chance he got. He glared over at Dancer who lounged against the doorjamb. Grinning bastard.
Steve Dancer looked like the archetypal boy next door. Straight floppy hair, the color of burnt ginger. Marsh snorted. Women seemed to think he was ‘cute’, much to the male disgust in the division. The crazy freckles and light blue eyes didn’t seem to hinder his appeal either.
Guy was about as ‘cute’ as barbed wire.
Marsh took one look at the eyes that were bursting with glee and a reluctant grin tugged his lips. “Just give me the keys, okay?”
“Jeez boss, I hope she was worth it.” Dancer pulled out his keys and threw them to Marsh.
He caught them in a firm one-handed grip.
“I haven’t decided yet.” Christ, he was going to pay her back for this. She was probably laughing her ass off right now. Just so long as she was safe. He undid the handcuffs, threw the keys back to Dancer and slipped his own cuffs back into his pocket. He’d deliberately placed her in danger, and now she might be pregnant. The nagging worry wouldn’t go away.
“Everyone all right?” Marsh asked. He’d been out of touch for twelve hours, and a lot could happen in that time. Elizabeth wasn’t his only responsibility.
“Sure.” Dancer moved away from the doorjamb to wander towards the view of the lake. “Aiden’s champing at the bit though. He got a sniff of a Manet that’s been missing since WWII, wanted me to go to Texas to help him check it out.”
Marsh swore, annoyed with the delays, which were costing their operation. They worked long hours to catch thieves and fraudsters—had to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. But Elizabeth was one of his team, and she was in danger. The Manet could wait. The Forgery and Fine Arts Division looked after its own.
“He can do the initial examine on his own.” Marsh hoped this business was over soon. Mob trials were coming up and things were coming to a head. Rumor had it that the assassin, Peter Uri, had been on the move again, but nobody could get a solid lead on the man. He was like a damned ghost. Marsh’s gut clenched at the thought of the danger the two women faced.
Dancer moved behind the couch to peer out the window. He bent down and picked up a scrap of lace. Josephine’s bra.
Marsh held out his hand and Dancer passed it over, smirking with his eyebrows raised. He stuffed it in the pocket with the handcuffs.
“So where is she?” Marsh tried not to sound anxious, busied himself by examining the cuts on his wrist. Despite the blood they were nothing serious.
He followed Dancer into the cabin’s oak-lined kitchen and watched him boot up his laptop.
Seconds felt like minutes as Marsh dragged his weary hands over his face and tried to rub the after-effects of the drug from his vision. “She’s had twelve hours to get where she’s going. Shit.” Panic gripped him, “What if she’s out of range?”
“She could be on the moon and she’d still be in range of this baby. Quit worrying.”
Marsh avoided the look Dancer threw him. They’d been colleagues for over a decade now, and knew each other well. They’d worked in countless dangerous situations, and some god-awful funny ones. Marsh was well aware his customary cool had moved way beyond frayed.
“Get some coffee before you fall over and eat something too.” Dancer took over, clearly enjoying turning the tables for once. “If I have to get into that chopper with you, you’d better be one-hundred-percent fit.” Dancer shuddered. “Man, I hate those things.”
Marsh grunted, leaned forward eagerly as a beep sounded in the room. Dancer turned down the volume on the laptop and angled it toward him.
“Got her, she’s moving across Pennsylvania at a rate of approximately 500 mph. I guess it’s safe to assume that even though she stole your car...” Dancer grinned as Marsh winced. “She’s airborne.” Dancer pointed to a second, stationary signal. “Car’s at Logan Airport. I can get Dora to pick it up for you.”
Marsh shook his head. “Leave it. The bomb squad better check it out before anybody goes near it.” Just in case the mob had made Josephine.
Wearily, he moved away from the beeping noise, put on the coffee and broke out the eggs for an omelet. He had a jet and a helicopter waiting at an air force base twenty miles away. They had time for breakfast and he needed food.
“Keep on her,” he ordered over his shoulder. “You get anything on that cell phone she called?”
Dancer shook his head, fiddling with the laptop.
“But you traced the original signal to
the Midwest or the southern Canadian Rockies right?”
“Yep, and it looks like that’s where our little bird is heading right now, doesn’t it?” Steve nodded to the steadily blinking light.
“Josephine can’t cross the border. She doesn’t have a passport with her.” Marsh rubbed at the day’s growth of stubble on his chin, “But she could have set up a locker at the airport with spare ID.” That’s what he’d have done.
Elizabeth would have done the same.
“Doesn’t matter where she goes, boss, we’ve got her.” Steve glanced at his watch. “We’ve got a break in transmission coming up in a few minutes when we switch satellites.”
Looking smug, Dancer grinned at his boss. “So how much is that photo worth, boss? And where the heck is my coffee?”
FIFTEEN
It was dark by the time Eliza and Nat got back. Cal was waiting for them by the stable door, anxious, despite the call Nat had put through over the radio.
“Tiger came back over an hour ago,” Cal said. “He’s fine.” The cowboy eyed Eliza critically, blew out a thin stream of cigarette smoke. “Should never have let you go out on your own.”
“Like she ever does what she’s told.” Nat spoke with a grin to ease the other man. No need to tell Cal what a close call it had been. He had enough guilt on his conscience
Eliza placed a hand on Cal’s arm. “Sorry I worried you.”
Cal looked down at the ground, eyed his boots and kicked the dirt. “Shit, Eliza.”
Without another word, he took charge of the horses, led them away into the horse barn.
Nat took Eliza’s hand and pulled her toward the cabin.
“We’re not going to see the others?” she asked. She sounded weary. Her voice wrung out from too much drama.
Nat shook his head, kept on walking. There was only one place he wanted to be right now and it didn’t involve his mother.
He took the steps in one long stride, held the door and let her pass. She kept her head down, feet dragging. Inside was pitch black, the light of the moon slicing through the curtains in thick wedges. Eliza turned to face him. She was wrapped up in her lumberjack coat, huddled into it, hands pushed deep into the wide pockets, chin buried deep into the collar. Finely winged brows lowered over green eyes and her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip. Bad memories seemed to simmer just below the surface, and she looked as skittish as a colt, but not scared, he realized, just tired and nervous.
Well, hell, he was nervous.
His rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth tense. Talk about putting pressure on a guy not to screw up.
He walked over to where she stood, and slowly undid the buttons of her coat, one at a time, while she watched each single movement. They weren’t on solid ground here. Neither of them knew how it was going to play out, or where it would lead. He’d never felt this strongly before and his hands damn near shook with the effort to take it slow. All the while she watched him with those feline eyes of hers, solemn and silent. He didn’t want to scare her; he didn’t want to screw up. He removed the coat from her shoulders, hung it up on the peg on the back of the door and took her hand in his.
“Come sit with me.” He tugged her over to the couch.
“Nat...” Eliza began.
His heart sank. Rejection curdled in his gut. Not that he couldn’t wait, not that he didn’t understand, but he didn’t want to leave her alone tonight.
Who was he kidding? He didn’t want to leave her alone, period.
She squeezed his fingers. Whispered. “Come to bed with me.”
Surprise held him still. Nat took a breath—then another, as he tangled his fingers with hers, palm to palm, and pulled her close. Desire mingled with a gentler emotion that he couldn’t name, didn’t want to examine.
She was stubborn and reckless. And hurt. And he wanted her. Didn’t matter that she wasn’t right for him and wouldn’t stay, didn’t matter that they might lose the ranch next week. He wanted to be inside her, and not think about anything else except her for as long as possible. He kissed her, gently at first and then took it deeper, tasted, explored with his lips, his tongue. Passion flared like a flame, spreading wildly, branding them both with heat.
They were linked hands and mouth, bodies close but not touching. Nat needed her to know this was her decision. No one was forcing her this time.
“I wanted you from that first moment I saw you,” he admitted and kissed the freckles that marched across her nose, her temple.
She moaned, sought his mouth with her own.
Her hands begged for release from his hold, but he held them lightly in his own as he nuzzled the soft white skin below her ear. Her hands strained, but he didn’t let go.
“You’re so goddamned beautiful. Exactly what I don’t need.”
“You prefer ugly?” Her voice cracked. She arched her head back. Sighed. Her body moved into him, closed the gap and fused with his.
Nat felt her melt, felt her reserve crumble to dust. He wanted that. He cupped her cheek with his hand, slid the other slowly over her body, over her narrow ribcage, around the underside of her breast—teasing touches that made her sigh into his mouth, as she began to touch him too. He palmed her breast, marveled at the weight, the softness. Gently, he rubbed his thumb across her shirt, raising her nipples like pebbles through the soft white cotton. She didn’t object. Instead she burrowed deeper into his embrace and returned his kisses—nibbled at his bottom lip.
A growl worked its way loose of his throat and rumbled through his chest. Nat raised his head, looked down at the passion fed turbulence that stormed through Eliza’s eyes. He wanted to lose control and sink himself into this woman without rational thought or feeling. But he had to be careful. He had to take it slowly.
“Tell me if I do something you don’t like.” He worked hard to keep his voice even. “Tell me if I scare you.”
Eliza looked up at him with eyes so dark they glinted black. “You won’t.”
***
Something hard loosened inside her, shifted and melted away. The nerves were gone, her pain nothing but a distant echo. Tears welled up at the beauty of the moment, but she forced them back. Tears weren’t what she wanted to show Nat Sullivan tonight. She concentrated on her growing hunger, hunger and urgency. Elizabeth reached up and smoothed a lock of hair back from Nat’s forehead, surprised at how softly it stroked her fingers.
Subtle traces of lemon soap clung to his skin, overlaid by the warm scent of working man. She nuzzled the thick cord of his neck, absorbed his essence like a balm. His cheeks were rough like sandpaper beneath her lips. She groaned, wanted to feel more of him, but hesitated...afraid. She wrapped her fingers around strong biceps. He felt so right, so perfect. He was taking everything slowly, being incredibly gentle with her—touching her like she might shatter into a thousand tiny pieces if he pressed too hard.
Her heart hammered too fast. Elizabeth didn’t want gentleness now. It touched her too deeply and she didn’t think she could stand it much longer. She bit her bottom lip, swallowed her uncertainty. Pulling him closer, she tugged at his shirt until it was loose and she could slide her hands beneath it and over firm flesh. His body felt so incredibly hard and yet his skin was as smooth as satin.
She put a hand to his cheek, loved the feel of rough stubble against her palm. Despite shaking hands, she took a step back, pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. Standing immobile and trembling, she undid the tiny buttons on his shirt. He shrugged out of it. Let it join hers on the floor.
Moonlight brushed his body, carved by constant labor into planes of hard muscle and sinew, the soft light gilding the broad shoulders with silver. Crisp blond hair covered his chest and upper body, ran down his stomach in a straight, thin line. Unconsciously her fingers balled into tight fists at her side.
She’d always appreciated beauty and Nat’s was flawless. Strong and rugged like the mountains that had bred him.
She forced her hands to relax, reached out and danced one fingertip across his skin, fascinated as his muscles contracted. Elizabeth looked up. Found he was watching her with an unblinking gaze. Eyes of midnight blue drilled into her, but he held back patiently, let her take what she wanted at her own pace.
She blinked back tears, along with memories of another man’s eyes.
He held her loosely as if he thought she might turn and run. Scared to let go and scared to hold on too tight. Fears she hadn’t realized she still harbored washed away with the gentle pressure of his hands. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him, and reveled in the feel of his bare flesh against her own. Raw silk gliding against raw silk. Hot, where she touched him—like a fever. She gasped as he undid the clasp on her bra, slid his fingers beneath the white silk.
Shock waves rippled through her body as his touch became more demanding. Her knees buckled, urgency clawing through her and making her oblivious to everything but the heat building between them. She forgot the past, the grief, forgot to worry about the future, and instead let him fill her with sensation. The room spun as he picked her up and carried her through to the bedroom. She laughed.
***
Nat tried. Really he tried. But her fingers raced over him, defeated his resolve, stole his balance with dark touches and sharp nails. Then the sound of her laughter, like warm sunshine, touched him on the inside.
He was lost. Crazy about her—completely captivated. He drank in the sight of her bare flesh and lush curves. Full breasts that his hands itched to touch. Dark nipples that begged his mouth to taste. Soft, resilient, strong.
A bruise darkened her ribs, but she’d made no mention of it. Nat stopped still for a second, tightened his grip and closed his eyes, realizing he’d nearly lost her today. With a quick prayer of thanks he eased his grip but didn’t let go.
Her scent enveloped him, calmed his fears with the solid thrum of her heart beneath his fingers. Walking to the edge of the bed, he was glad that the moonlight flooded in from the open curtains so that he could see her. He sat down, careful not to jar her side, cradled her in his arms, and kissed her again. Deep narcotic kisses that thickened the blood and quickened the pulse. He seduced her with his mouth until she whimpered with need and then he laid her on the bed to undress her.
Crimes of Passion Page 49
