He’d blown it, big-time. Twice. Once yesterday morning when he hadn’t told Carrie what she needed to hear…and just now when he’d said the words but managed to make them sound like a business transaction instead of over-his-head-crazy-till-he-hurt in love with her.
He winced, remembering how badly he’d handled things. She’d wanted morning-after kisses and “I love you.” She’d deserved both. And he’d been so quaking in his boots scared of everything he’d been feeling, he’d given her stone cold looks and “We need to get married.” And just now—well, just now he’d been a big dumb jerk.
On a deep breath he threw the dead bolt. Mouth set in determination he turned, then leaned back against the door and settled in for a standoff. Something told him it might be a long one.
Ten
“I have been kidnapped, blindfolded and bound hand and foot. I’ve been held hostage, roughed up and was certain I was going to die,” Carrie said, narrowing her eyes at the man who leaned back against her closed door like some dark angel who had settled in for the duration or judgment day, whichever came first.
“All in all, it’s been a pretty full day,” she added as her anger built. “And now I’m tired. And I’m cranky. And I may very well be just a tad dangerous, Evans, so if I were you, I’d waltz on out that door and take your testosterone-induced attitude with you.”
He compressed his lips, stared at her through narrowed eyes and finally shook his head. “No can do, bear. I’m not leaving you. Not until we’ve had a chance to talk this out.”
“You’ve already done enough talking, if you ask me.”
“Too much talking and not nearly enough asking,” he agreed. “I’m asking now, bear. Will you marry me?”
She didn’t want it to, but her heart kicked her—hard—right beneath her sternum and reminded her how much she loved this man.
She didn’t want to love him right now. She wanted to be mad at him. She needed to be mad at him and his nerve that made him think he could just dance back into her life and tell her he loved her and figure that meant he was entitled to have her.
And darn it, it felt good to feel something other than fear. It felt good to be mad, and she wanted to ride on the wave for a little while yet. Make him sweat. Make him wonder.
“I’m not sure I want to marry you,” she announced with her arms crossed over her chest and her chin cocked. “Even if it turns out I’m pregnant. I told you. You’re not obligated to anything.”
Very slowly he pushed away from the door and, like a big, sleek cat stalking his prey, prowled slowly toward her. “How about I tell you what I am obligated to?”
The look in his eyes was dark and dangerous…and so hot she felt the burn all the way to her toes.
“I’m obligated to this love I feel for you. This love that’s so strong it’s eating me up inside with wanting you and needing you and trying to figure out how I can fix the botched-up mess I’ve made of things between us.”
Oh, God. No fair. How did a woman stay mad in the face of such wonderful, achingly loving words? And how badly did she really want to stay mad, she wondered as he moved directly in front of her, cupped her upper arms in his big hands and pulled her slowly toward him.
“I’m obligated to make you understand that I have loved you forever but I just didn’t know what to do about it…what to do with all these feelings I’ve tried to fight and tried to hide and tried to tell myself were wrong.”
Tears welled in her eyes while her heart swelled with love. “Wrong? How can love be wrong?”
“It can’t be. But us lug-nut types don’t often see the truth.” He smiled then and what was left of her resolve crumbled like dust in a dry riverbed.
“You’ve had a crush on me for a long time, bear. I knew that. I also figured it was just a little hero worship and it would eventually go away…and then you’d go away, too, and find the guy you really loved. Really needed to make you happy.”
“You are a lug nut, you big dope. What I really need is you…what I’ve always needed was you.”
He closed his eyes, let out a breath that felt wonderfully like relief as it feathered across her face. “God, I hope so. Carrie—” he paused, searched her face then went down on one knee “—I’m going to do this right this time.”
He took both of her hands in his, pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I love you. I will always love you. Will you make me the happiest man on the face of the earth and do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you have me? Hold me? In sickness and in health. For richer—”
Her happy laughter cut him off. “Hey…I think you’d better save some for the ceremony.”
He looked up and met her gaze, and she could swear she saw tears swimming in those beautiful brown eyes. “Is that a yes?”
She turned her hands in his until she could grip his fingers as hard as he was gripping hers. “That’s an absolutely, positively yes, I’ll marry you, Ryan.”
He released her hands, wrapped his arms around her hips and pressed his face against her belly. “I’ll never make you sorry,” he promised, pressing a kiss there. “I love you so much.”
A choked sob burst out as she threaded her fingers through his hair. “You’d better,” she said, and laughed as he rose to his feet and kissed her. “Because I’m not letting you back out of this, Evans. It’s a done deal, got it?”
“Not yet it’s not,” he said, “We’re going to seal this with a little more than a kiss.”
Scooping her into his arms, Ry carried her into the bedroom.
“You are everything to me,” he whispered, setting her on her feet beside the bed.
He reached for the belt holding her robe together. His hands were trembling as he parted the soft chenille and found her fragrant and naked beneath it.
Swallowing thickly, he watched it slip from her shoulders and pool in a cloud of pink on the floor at her feet.
He spanned her narrow waist with widespread fingers. “God. You’re so beautiful.”
“Make me feel alive,” she whispered and, lying back on the bed, tugged him down with her. “Make me forget about what almost happened today.”
Her voice broke with emotion, and in that moment he’d have done anything…anything to make her forget about how close she’d come to death. He wanted her thinking only of him and of her and the life they would have together.
His breath stalled on a harsh intake of air when she reached for him, frantically worked the snap then the zipper on his jeans as he roughly undid his shirt buttons and shrugged out of it. He groaned when she reached inside his pants and cupped him, then swore viciously when he had to pull away and tug off his boots before he could get out of his jeans and socks.
But then it was skin on skin, heartbeat to heartbeat…and her wild and urgent need that stole his breath, robbed his sanity.
“Please, please, please,” she begged, raking her nails along his back and opening her thighs to welcome him inside her.
He couldn’t hold back. Her hunger fed his. He touched her there, found her wet and swollen and so ready he lost his ability to finesse, lost his intentions to soothe and found in her a fierce need that demanded he answer…and answer now.
He guided himself to her opening, felt her clench like hot wax around him and plunged deep. She cried out and clung to him. With her arms, her legs, her mouth, she wrapped herself around him and demanded with urgent whispers and wanton pleas to give her everything, to take everything, to be everything. Everything good. Everything right. Everything that mattered.
He hesitated only a moment…a moment in which he feared he might hurt her. But the moment streaked by on a blaze of burning desire when she lifted her hips and locked her ankles around his waist, rising to his deep thrust like steam rising in the morning mist. Like smoke drifting from a red-hot fire. Like life, surging from near death in celebration.
And then there was nothing but her. The silk of her skin, the scent of her desire, the heat of her body that welcomed him like dawn welcomes the s
un. He sank into her, became one with her, became life for her with all the passion and glory the act of love had intended.
And when he felt her body clench and shudder and tasted her soft cry of release against his lips, he pumped one last time and went the same way she had…spilling all the love he’d held in check for the woman who owned him heart and soul.
She was snuggled against his side, her long leg draped over his thighs, her arm wrapped around his waist. Ry could feel the even cadence of her breath against his throat, feel her heartbeat pulse in a steady, resting rhythm against his ribs. Nothing, he decided, could feel as good as Carrie.
Weary and spent, he reached up to gently tug a strand of red hair from the corner of his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered when she stirred, then stretched. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. I wasn’t asleep. I was just lying here, thinking how lucky I am.”
He felt himself tense all over. “He never should have gotten his hands on you.”
“I wasn’t thinking about Birkenfeld. I was thinking about you.” She hugged him hard, pressed a kiss to his throat. “You are a wonderful lover.”
He grunted. “So you like it rough, do you?”
“I like it with you. Rough. Tender. Slow. Sweet. Anytime. Any way.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
He felt her smile against his skin. “I was sort of worried that I’d hurt you. You’d better let me see your back.”
She was referring to her fingernails. “I’m fine. I’m more than fine,” he added, and turned to his side so he could see her face. “I’m sorry I’ve been so slow on the uptake.”
When she touched her fingertips to his lips, he sucked them inside and bit lightly. “We’ll think of ways for you to make it up to me.”
He was about to suggest a particular way for him to do just that when her phone rang.
“Go ahead,” she said when he lifted a brow.
He snagged it on the second ring. “Yeah.”
“Ry?” It was Trav.
“What’s up?”
“How’s Carrie?”
“She’s fine,” he said, then added with a smile. “She’s great. In fact, how would you and Natalie feel about a double wedding?”
When Trav didn’t respond, the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. He sat up abruptly. “What? What’s happened now?”
On the other end of the line, Trav exhaled a heavy breath. “Birkenfeld escaped.”
Roman Birkenfeld slumped back in the cab of the semi and pretended he was asleep. That way he didn’t have to answer the incessant questions of the beer-bellied, chain-smoking trucker who had picked him up a little over an hour ago. Besides, it hurt to talk.
That bastard Evans had made ground beef out of his lip. And those other two—one he’d heard the cops call Alex and the dark one with the goatee, Darin something—they’d gotten in some sucker punches, too, when they’d shoved him into the cop car. Well, they’d also sealed their fate. He’d see them all dead before this was over. And it was far from over.
They’d actually thought they could arrest him, then send a rookie cop to transport him from the city to the county jail? He still couldn’t believe how easy it had been. Still enjoyed thinking about the shocked look in the kid’s eyes when the young cop realized his holster was empty.
“Yeah, that’s right, Officer Smith,” he’d taunted from the back seat of the police cruiser as he’d pressed the barrel just behind the rookie’s left ear. “This is your gun, sonny…and as soon as you pull into that alley over there, you’re going to unlock these cuffs if you want to live long enough to know what it feels like to shave something other than peach fuzz from that baby face of yours.”
He’d pulled back the hammer and shoved the barrel tighter against the kid’s skull. “No heroics. I don’t want to kill a cop, but make no mistake, I will if you give me any trouble. Now, pull over and we’ll just take care of getting me out of your hair.”
That had been three hours ago. He smiled again, then winced when his lip reminded him of the beating he’d taken. The kid had just cashed his first paycheck as one of Royal’s finest. Another nice stroke of luck. After parking the cruiser in a back alley, handcuffing the rookie in the back seat and giving him a crack on the head guaranteed to keep him out for a few hours, he’d made his way to a main highway.
And now he was just hours from Vegas. The half million was out of reach—at least for now—but he didn’t need that money. Hell no. He could make his own money. All he needed was one good night at the tables and he’d be back in the chips. One good night and he could win enough money to pay off the loan sharks and start up another black-market baby ring.
One good night. That’s all he needed. And once he got the monkey off his back, he’d attend to some unfinished business in Texas. He’d make those Texans pay for what they’d done to him. He’d make them all pay—starting with Natalie Perez and ending with those puffed-up play warriors who stood between him and his money.
He settled deeper into the seat, trying to get comfortable as the diesel rolled bumpily over the highway. He gave only a fleeting thought to Marci. If she knew what was good for her, she’d do what he’d told her to and disappear. He didn’t need her anymore, but because she’d been a good time he hadn’t killed her. She’d wish he had, however, if he ever found out she sold him out.
“How’s Smith?” Ry asked the next day as he met with Trav, Alex, David, Darin and Clint in one of the club’s meeting rooms.
“Slight concussion,” Trav said with a scowl. “He’ll be okay.”
“I still don’t understand.” Darin’s face was as dark as Trav’s. “Why did they let a rookie transport Birkenfeld to county…and why alone?”
“I believe it’s called budget cuts,” Alex put in. “The police department is short-staffed, and Smith’s partner checked out early with a bad case of stomach flu.”
“Damn luck,” said David Sorenson, who had been in this up to his elbows from the beginning, just like the rest of them.
“Dumb luck for Birkenfeld,” Clint Andover agreed and let out a disgusted breath. “So now what?”
“Now I think someone should have a talk with Birkenfeld’s nurse. If they can find her. She’s bound to know something,” Ry said. “Probably more than Jason Carter.”
“Oh, yeah. Birkenfeld’s hired muscle…the guy we caught trying to break into the club.” Alex rubbed an index finger over his upper lip. “He had a lot to say, if I recall.”
Ry nodded. “Yeah, he told Vincente that he figured Birkenfeld was headed for Vegas. Seems he’s got a major-league gambling problem…so bad, in fact, he got into it with some Atlantic City loan sharks who are leaning on him real heavy to pay them off. According to Carter, Birkenfeld started his black-market baby ring to pay off those debts.”
“And almost cost me Natalie and the baby. And Carrie,” Trav added, his face paling.
Ry stared at his friend as a sick knot of anxiety over what had almost happened to these very special women curled in his gut. “We have to get him. No option.”
Alex exchanged a look with Darin. “We will. Make no mistake. We will.”
She wore nothing but lace. Little bits of it. Black and sheer. And she sat in the middle of her bed like a redheaded vixen, and all Ry could think was that he wanted it off.
“You are killing me, here,” he said with a groan as he stood in Carrie’s bedroom doorway and started working the buttons on his shirt.
She’d developed a penchant for driving him crazy over the past few days. He had it on good authority—hers—that she stayed awake nights figuring out ways to take him from zero to one hundred on the horny scale in less than ten seconds.
“Really? Truly?” She gave a roll of her shoulder and one thin, black strap fell down her arm, revealing the creamy fullness of her left breast. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel good?”
“Keep it up,” he warned, his breath catching a
t the sight of her coming to her knees and giving a tug at the string on her left hip that held her itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny French bikini panties together. “Just keep it up and see what kind of trouble you get into.”
“My middle name,” she said, dimpling as the wisp of black lace that was her panties fell to the bed at her knees.
He groaned, then swore as he scrambled to toe off his boots and shuck his jeans. “You are a shameless little tease.”
“Yeah. And you love it.”
“I love you,” he growled and, planting one knee on the mattress, reached for her.
“Again,” she whispered against his lips as she threw her arms around his neck and leaned into him.
“I love you.” He wrapped an arm around the back of her thighs, lifted and laid her none too gently on her back.
“Again,” she demanded as he fell on top of her and pushed a leg between her thighs.
“You wanna talk or do you want to make love?” His fingers found her heat, expertly stroked.
This time, she was the one to moan. “We can talk later,” she said breathlessly.
“Thought so,” he managed to utter on a groan as he pushed up and into the sweetest heat and the most incredible sensation of coming home.
“So, you think there’s a chance of finding him?” Carrie asked, her breath whispering across Ry’s chest.
They’d made love for hours and now they lay in each other’s arms, more pressing business on their minds.
“We’ll find him. Alex and Darin will pretty much take over from here, but we’ll all keep on top of the situation.”
“Alex,” she said aloud, as if she were pondering some huge dilemma.
“What about Alex?”
“Don’t you think he and Stephanie would make a great couple?”
The Millionaires’ Club: Ryan, Alex & Darin Page 12
