Fiona tugged Lottie into the kitchen, closed the door then went back into her bedroom to retrieve a decent blanket for the sleeping Scorpio now sprawled on his back, his limbs helter-skelter and the holey throw resting precariously low on his hips. At least he’d moved, Fiona thought. Before covering him, she laid her cheek against his chest, relieved to find he was still breathing. Just the feel of his warm flesh against her face made her want to stay that way indefinitely, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Instead, she pulled up a chair to watch him, pondering how anyone so incredibly masculine could look so innocent in sleep. So undeniably gorgeous with those angelic eyelashes and heavenly lips. After a few minutes, he shifted slightly, groaned, then rolled away to face the back of the sofa, ending her pleasant observations.
She kept vigil for over two hours, observing the rise and fall of his back then his chest, depending on what position he assumed, and he’d assumed plenty. As best she could tell, he seemed restless but okay. At times he tossed and turned, other times he murmured words she couldn’t understand as if something was disturbing his sleep. Probably bad dreams of nasty villains and the chase.
Satisfied that she hadn’t permanently disabled him, Fiona trudged into the bathroom, took a quick shower and climbed into bed, leaving the door ajar in case he needed her during what little was left of the night. And here she was, alone, when a striking representative of the male populace with a made-for-fun body and a mouth that matched, was only a few yards away, and naked to boot. A man she had put into a deep sleep.
The story of her sad, sad life. But at least tomorrow morning she could take one last look at him before she left for class and he left to pursue the dregs of society. If he was in any shape to leave. Considering the extent of his ankle injury, she would be darned surprised if he could walk, much less chase the evil Dr. B. Not without help. Not without someone willing to take a risk to help him. Someone who wanted adventure.
Fiona popped up, held her arms above her head and mouthed a silent, “Yes!”
She had his car keys and she had his clothes. He couldn’t go anywhere unless she gave them back, and she wouldn’t unless he agreed to let her assist him. She would offer to show him the dark side of the city, the perfect hiding places, and any other sights he might want to see that didn’t include standard tourism.
Fiona planned to take this quest to the max, and she expected to get a wild ride in return with the stranger named Scorpio, in bed and out.
Three
Fiona’s eyes snapped open when she felt the give of the mattress behind her. She glanced at the bedside alarm clock, noting it was 6:00 a.m. Either Lottie had nosed her way through the pocket door, ready for her morning walk, or the stranger on the couch had somehow made his way to her bed. Normally even the wisp of the wind or the creak of the upstairs floorboard under her noisy neighbor’s weight sent her into wakefulness. Surely if Scorpio had climbed beneath her sheets, she would’ve noticed.
But when the large, very masculine arm fell over Fiona’s hip, she knew for a fact it wasn’t her precocious puppy occupying the space beside her. Absolute confirmation came when his body molded to her backside, bringing her in close contact with the patently male missile.
Houston, we have liftoff.
Fiona had several choices. She could bolt from the bed and pretend to be incensed over his boldness. She could slide from the bed and offer him breakfast. Or she could stay put and see what happened next—and that certainly seemed like the most exciting option.
The feel of his lips, hot and damp at her nape, led Fiona to the realization that he wasn’t seeking coffee and a croissant. His hand working her cotton nightshirt up her thighs indicated that he might be looking for something a bit more decadent. When his palm slid beneath the shirt and up her torso, she had no problem letting him play traveling salesman over her body since she was more than ready to buy whatever he was offering.
His large hand closed over her bare breast and worked her nipple with gentle fingertips, with surprising tenderness for a man who’d seemed the consummate tough guy. No doubt about it, he’d done this before, probably many times with many different women, one very solid reason why she should not be allowing this to continue. Yet when he skimmed his palm down from her breast to her belly, ran his tongue around the rim of her ear, she tossed caution to the wind and held her breath in anticipation.
“Tamra.”
Tamra? Who in the heck was Tamra?
Fiona pushed out of the bed and faced him, recognizing he hadn’t been awake at all, evident by his slack features and the way his dark arm lay motionless against the white sheet, his eyes tightly closed. He hadn’t even realized she’d left. Hadn’t even realized he’d been touching her. In his subconscious, she had been someone else. Someone who obviously haunted his dreams. Tamra, not Fiona.
Maybe he’d lied to her about having no ties. Maybe this Tamra was his wife or girlfriend. Heaven knew she’d seen enough subterfuge in the bar to fill a book dedicated to devious deception. And if he had lied to her, then what else was he lying about? Was he really one of the good guys? She certainly intended to find out, hopefully before he woke up completely.
Fiona tiptoed into the bathroom and dressed in a pair of faded black knit shorts, a light blue “You Can’t Touch These” T-shirt and red canvas mules. If the clothing cops arrived in the parking lot, she’d warrant a citation. Better them than the oh-so-demented Dr. B.
With stealth movements, Fiona backed into the living room, satisfied to find that Mr. Scorpio was still in la-la land. She dug into her purse, retrieved the keys and slipped out the front door feeling a bite of remorse over leaving poor Lottie whining in the kitchen and a little guilty over what she was about to do. But this was for self-protection. She had a unfamiliar person—granted a really good-looking one—in her bed and she was more than justified in checking out his belongings. Especially since she’d already checked out his butt.
After making her way to the parking space she’d pulled into last night, Fiona tripped the latch on the white four-door sedan with the remote and pulled the nylon tote from the trunk. Black tote, of course. She thought it the better part of valor to poke around in the parking lot in case he should wake up and catch her. That might make him angry, and she certainly didn’t want to have him angry with her.
She pushed aside more black clothing, socks, pants, shirts but no drawers. Obviously the guy preferred to go commando, maybe because he was always on the run. Less to have to dress in. Then she came to a wallet that was amazingly brown and rifled through the contents, discovering that he carried a lot of cash, mostly hundreds. Drug money? Oh, Lord, she hoped not.
When the bag began to ring, Fiona jumped and dropped the wallet, scattering the bills throughout the trunk. The shrill continued and she unzipped one side pocket, pulled out the biggest handkerchief she’d ever seen and some sort of gold band, finally withdrawing a cell phone. Should she answer it? Oh, why not. After all, she didn’t need to leave any stone, or phone, unturned.
Fiona answered with a simple “Hello,” and was immediately met with silence. She repeated the greeting again and this time a deep voice said, “I must have the wrong number.”
“Probably not if you’re looking for Scorpio.”
After a long pause he asked, “Who is this?”
“You go first.”
“I’m a colleague of Darin’s.”
Darin? Aha! The first lie uncovered. “Are you a cop, too?”
“In a manner of speaking. What is your relationship with him?”
“I’m a friend.” A big lie considering she was doing something that wouldn’t be considered too friendly, namely going through his things. She tucked the phone between her cheek and shoulder then began gathering the money, stuffing it back into the wallet. “Darin is asleep right now. Could I take a message?”
“You need to wake him.”
Fiona grimaced over the man’s demanding tone. Must be a law-enforcement thing. “That might be a pr
oblem. He’s pretty out of it.”
His impatient sigh followed another bout of silence. “Could you possibly try, Ms….?”
“Powers. And yes, I can try, but he’s really wiped out after last night.”
“What transpired last night?”
She considered giving him details, but how did she know she could trust this guy, either? “Maybe I should let Darin tell you.”
“Ms. Powers, it’s important I speak with him immediately.”
“Why don’t you let me take your name and number and have him call you when he gets up?”
More silence, followed by, “Tell him Kent called. He knows the number.”
With that, the line went dead, leaving Fiona with more questions and no answers. She replaced the wallet, hanky and phone then returned his clothes to some semblance of order. Slipping the bag’s strap over her shoulder, she shut the trunk and headed back to the apartment to prepare some coffee and toast since she had no croissants. And as soon as Sleeping Babe woke up, she would offer him food and grill him like a drill sergeant. If his explanations passed muster, she would give him the bag…after he agreed to let her help him.
On that thought, she dropped the car keys into the pocket of her shorts. If he wanted them, he’d have to go get them.
Darin woke in slow increments, unable to orientate himself to time or place. Remnants of a dream assailed him, vague images of making love, and one part of his body still suffered the effects.
He rose on bent elbows and looked around to find a woman sitting in a chair in the corner of the small bedroom. The woman named Fiona who had taken him into her home and tended his wounds. The one who had drugged him into a near coma.
She sent him a vibrant smile. “Did you sleep well, Darin?”
Apparently he had told her more than he’d realized, perhaps while in his confused state. “How do you know my true name?”
“Well, I was getting your bag out of the trunk of the car and your cell phone rang, so I decided to answer it. Your friend named Kent wants you to call him.”
Darin dropped back onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling, the wound at his ankle a dull throb to match the pain in his head. “What did he say?”
“Not much. He asked me a few questions. I interrogated him. Overall, it wasn’t a banner conversation. He did want to know what happened last night.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him he needed to ask you. He sounded kind of mad.”
Darin suspected Alex had learned that he had not connected with the FBI agent and most likely was not too pleased. “I will speak with him later about last night.”
“Do you even remember what happened last night?”
He remembered every detail of his pursuit of Birkenfeld and his failure. He also remembered that the drugs she’d given him had provided courage to act on his desire for her. And he definitely remembered how she had tasted, her enthusiastic response and his own body’s reaction before he had slipped into unconsciousness. But to express anything beyond his gratitude for her assistance would be unwise. He must leave immediately to continue his search for Birkenfeld. He had no time for distraction.
Therefore, he would only tell her a partial truth. “I remember up to the point that I took the pills. After that, I remember nothing.”
Disappointment showed in her expression. “You don’t remember getting up and crawling into bed with me?”
He remembered searching for something in his dreams, or someone. “No. I am surprised I could walk, much less see in the dark.”
“Maybe your injuries aren’t all that bad. At least you didn’t seem to be in any real pain before you passed out.”
In reality, he’d had an ache that had nothing to do with his wounds. He still experienced a certain amount of discomfort when he couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from tracking from her full lips to her full breasts that he greatly wanted to touch, despite the warning stamped across the front of the shirt. “I assure you, I slept very well. I am grateful for your aid although I do not appreciate the power of the drugs. If Birkenfeld had come here, I would not have been in any shape to deal with him.”
“But I was fine, and I had access to your gun.”
“Would you know how to use it?”
“I would’ve figured it out, Scorpio. Or should I just call you Darin?”
“You may call me whatever you wish.” He called himself a fool since he had the strongest urge to grab her up and take her into the bed, strip away her clothes and bury himself inside her. Despite the fact that he no longer suffered from the narcotics, he was no less attracted to her. And unless he left her soon, he was in serious danger of acting on the fantasy of making love to her, all day, when he had more pressing matters to attend to aside from the one below the sheet.
She moved forward to the edge of the chair. “I have a question for you.”
More questions he wasn’t certain he could answer. “Yes?”
“Who’s Tamra?”
The name sent a pain slicing through Darin’s heart more severe than Birkenfeld’s blade. “Where did you hear that name?” His tone was harsher than he’d intended.
“You called me Tamra this morning.”
Darin feared he had done more than that. “Did I touch you?”
She looked away. “A little.”
He sighed. “Then that would explain my dream.”
Her gaze came back to his. “Was it dirty?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
A slight smile rounded the corners of her mouth then quickly faded. “You still haven’t told me who Tamra is.”
“Someone I once knew.” Someone he’d once loved and in many ways still did.
“But she’s not your wife?”
“No.” She would have been, had things been different, but he would not reveal that to Fiona. He would not let himself open those wounds.
“She must have been special if you still talk about her in your sleep. If you still dream about her.”
And Darin found that odd. To his best recollection, he had not dreamed about Tamra, although he had on many occasions over the past few years. “She was part of my past. A past that no longer exists.”
“Okay.” She rose from the chair. “Would you like some coffee and toast?”
Darin sat up and his head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. His body was sore from the effort, which did not bode well for the search. Nor did the fact that he couldn’t stop imagining Fiona beneath him. “Coffee would be good before I leave.”
Fiona studied him with concern. “You look really awful. I’m wondering if you lost more blood than we thought. Maybe you should plan to stick around here today.”
“I must find Birkenfeld.”
She braced both hands on her hips and sent him a frustrated look. “You really think he’s going to just appear in the daytime?”
He did not appreciate her logic, yet he did appreciate the view of her well-defined legs, bare because of the shorts she now wore. “I can spend the day planning.”
“You can plan here. I have a class in a few hours so I won’t bother you. I’ll make sure Lottie’s locked up so she won’t bother you, either.”
“I would not want to impose further on your hospitality.” Darin worked his way to the edge of the mattress, keeping the sheet securely covering his body. “Bring me my bag, and I will dress and be out of your way.”
“No.”
She was determined to be difficult, that much Darin knew. And his patience was waning. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean, no, I will not get your bag. You are in no shape to be running all over Vegas by yourself.”
“I have always worked alone.”
“Sure, but I doubt you had a bum ankle.” She pulled at the hem of her T-shirt, drawing the fabric tight over her unbound breasts. “Besides, you don’t really know where to look.”
Darin could only stare at her nipples, pebbled beneath her shi
rt. And that simple sight sent heat coursing through him. “I have done some research.”
She released a mirthless laugh. “Did you pull up a few Web sites on the Internet? What did you search under? Seedy Vegas bars?”
“No.” But he did have a few names of people he could contact if necessary. Those who would not be deemed upstanding citizens. “I’ll find my way around, I assure you.”
“Good luck. But I’m still not going to get your bag.”
Fueled by frustration over her stubbornness, Darin rose from the bed, discarding the sheet in hopes of shocking her into returning his clothes. Yet she remained planted in the same spot, arms folded beneath her breasts as if viewing a nude man was a common event. Perhaps it was, and for some reason that fed Darin’s anger more, as if he had some claim on her.
He took a stalking step forward. “Are you going to give me my clothing, or shall I walk to the car naked on my injured ankle?”
When her gaze followed a path from his chest down his abdomen and below his navel, he hardened more over her blatant perusal.
“I do believe you have one part that’s definitely in fine working order,” she said.
“Would you like to find out how well it is working?”
She didn’t back away, but she did consult her watch. “Sorry. Got to get ready for school now. Maybe later?”
“I’ll be gone later.”
Her smile arrived full force as she fished through her pocket and withdrew his keys, dangling them from one finger. “You’ll be here unless you call a cab or set out on foot. A bad foot, I might add. And although Vegas cab drivers are used to strange phenomena, I really don’t think they’re going to pick up a naked man. Unless, of course, you’re lucky enough to find a woman cab driver. But then you would have to pay her without the benefit of money because I have your wallet and your clothes.”
The Millionaires’ Club: Ryan, Alex & Darin Page 30
