Her hand dropped away.
“Do you have towels and soap here? I really need a shower.”
“Sure.” He led her to the bathroom and showed her where everything was, then left her to clean up. He was going to need another coffee.
Chapter 8
Someone wanted to kill her.
Badly enough to hire a professional to do it. She cranked the hot water up and inhaled the steam. Last night, she could have been murdered…in cold blood. Her stomach flipped over. A wave of nausea made her clutch the handrail on the wall.
She would not pass out. She was stronger than that. Tears stung her eyes. It had taken all of her control to keep her emotions at bay in front of Cal. Cal… She finally had a name to pair with his chiseled face and strong, capable hands.
Cal had said the man who’d hired him was named Stamos…but she didn’t know anyone by that name. She had never heard it before, either. There was always the possibility that Cal was lying. What grounds did she have to believe him?
She filled her palm with shampoo and scrubbed the salt and sand from her hair. He was dark, dangerous, and mysterious…but the same traits that made him so sexy were also the makeup of a bad guy. A shiver rippled through her. She had to stay on guard. He was a smooth talker, and his wish for her to trust him weighed on her. Why did he care? Was he playing her? Did he have a bigger scheme in mind? She turned the hot water up again and finished washing her hair. She let the hard pressure of the water beat into the tension of her shoulders. Her mind churned. If he was telling the truth, then she was lucky to be alive. She pressed her fingers into the taut muscles in her neck and let out a groan. Dammit, she’d always been such a good judge of character. Why was her brain so muddled about Cal? After her shower, she’d try to feel him out and ask more questions.
She turned the water off, and towel-dried, her skin now pink from the heat. Cal was dangerous. He hadn’t outright threatened her, but the pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit. What did he have to gain by protecting her? If that’s what he was doing. Was she to believe he cared about her safety out of just the goodness of his heart? And the way his eyes raked over her… He looked at her as if he was savoring a rich liquor. God, it was hot.
She stepped out of the shower and onto the woven bath mat on the floor. Shit. She didn’t have any clean clothes. Why hadn’t she thought to ask him for something to wear? Oh yeah, she was too busy thinking about why someone wanted to kill her.
The towel covered more of her body than her thin pajamas had last night. She took a deep, steadying breath and opened the bathroom door. Cal stood in the kitchen, a coffee mug halfway to his lips. His eyes found her and widened. His hand jerked, sending a stream of hot coffee down the front of his shirt.
“Shit.” He slammed the mug down on the counter and brushed at the wet brown stain with a paper towel.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She hid her smirk behind her hand.
“You think getting burnt with hot coffee is funny?” The corner of his mouth lifted and slowly worked to a grin. Her toes curled. She gripped the towel knotted between her breasts tighter and stepped farther into the room.
“You shouldn’t be drinking more coffee. That’s what, thirty-six grams of sugar now?”
“Glad you’re keeping count.”
“My pleasure.” He gave up on the stain and pulled his shirt over his head. Her breath sucked in. Holy hell. His stomach rippled with…what was that, a six-pack? Good Lord, that much muscle looked like it would hurt her if she touched his stomach. She pressed her lips together as her eyes lingered over his wide shoulders and stacked chest. “I, uh…came out because I don’t have any clean clothes.” Don’t look at his abs, don’t look at his abs… “Do you have something I could wear?” The steadiness of her voice should have won her an Academy Award.
“Yeah, why don’t you grab me the clothes you had on this morning and I’ll put some laundry in the washing machine.” He waved the balled-up shirt he’d just removed in his hand. “I need to wash this anyway.”
“Okay.” She backed up and reentered the bathroom. Sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt gathered from the floor, she straightened and turned to the door—and slammed into his chest.
His hands snagged her shoulders, preventing her from reeling backward. The clean clothes he’d brought her scattered to the floor.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was thick and husky. His hands never left her shoulders. His gaze traced her face. Dammit, she wished she had makeup on. This close, she could see the vibrant striations in his eyes, and the stubble on his jaw was thick and darker than the hair on his head. Her palm itched to reach up and feel the scruff of his beard. She could smell a hint of coffee on his breath, and his musky scent.
God, he was so masculine. She couldn’t step out of his hold. Her nose hovered inches from his sternum. He towered over her, dwarfing her. He had to be six-foot-two at least, maybe taller. She let her eyes roam over the wall of muscle in front of her. A silvery scar beneath his collarbone caught her eye.
Gunshot wound?
Her throat tightened. She didn’t want to think about the types of things that would warrant a shot to his chest. His hot breath spiraled in the air between them. She lifted her eyes and met his face. A dark stain tinted his cheekbones, and his gaze lingered on her throat before trailing down. She swallowed. She was in a damn towel, half-naked. Her skin tingled under his stare, and her instincts screamed at her to back up, but her feet remained rooted to the floor.
He was like a solid brick wall blocking her exit. His thumbs smoothed over her shoulders as if reveling in the feel of her skin. Her lungs screamed for air, but for the life of her, she couldn’t take a breath for fear it would break his trance. He’d said he wouldn’t hurt her. But he could if he wanted to. She’d fight to the death, but he was much bigger than her. His eyes finally found hers, and the burning intensity in them slammed into her solar plexus. As much as her body screamed at her to stay still, not to alert the wild beast in front of her, she wet her lips.
Like a spell being broken, his face softened and the heat ebbed out of his eyes, but the embers still burned. He took a step back and dropped his hands. She sucked a shallow breath in through her nose, releasing the tension in her chest.
She inched closer. A small part of her grieved at his distance.
“Get dressed.” His voice was low and gruff. “We need to get a plan together.”
Chapter 9
His muscles ached from the effort it took to hold himself back from capturing her stunned, moist lips. When her eyes had trailed over him and her breath had sucked in harshly, he had known. She wanted him as bad as he wanted her.
Any other day, any other woman, he’d have been all over that. Today, he had to keep his head in the game and devise a plan before whoever the hell had hired Stamos came looking for them. Any other woman besides Lana Vanderpoel was fair game.
She was not.
His only purpose now was to keep her safe and expose who wanted her dead. He rubbed his hand over his face. He would kill the sonofabitch with his bare hands when he caught him.
She was smart, witty, sexy as all hell…and that temper. Damn, he loved the way her eyebrows snapped; he loved her quick tongue, and her fists—slim but not in the least bit frail. His pulse quickened at all the ways he could tame that temper. But as much as his body craved hers, he could never get involved. Sure, relationships were great. Among people with normal lives. Men who came home to their wives every night. Men who hadn’t murdered a hundred people, men who hadn’t had a hundred people try to murder them. She’d seen the scar on his chest. He’d watched the horrific possibilities that had flashed across her face. That had been the clincher. The cold bucket of water that was his reality.
He went over to his gym bag and yanked on the last clean long-sleeved shirt he had. If she came out of the bathroom and looked
at him with those large, wary eyes one more time, he wouldn’t have the willpower to stop himself from kissing her. Dammit, he hated that she feared him. Not that he could blame her. He scooped their wet clothes from last night off the hearth and went to the small laundry room at the back of the house.
He started the washer and exited the laundry room just as she opened the bathroom door. His oversized Michigan State sweatshirt hung nearly to her knees, while an old pair of sweatpants, the only pair with a drawstring, pooled around her legs. Her hands gripped the material on either side of her hips so she could walk without tripping.
The baggy clothes should have hidden her frame and dimmed his lust.
Nope.
Her face was pale other than the flush that still stained her cheeks from their encounter. She might have been scared when she’d bumped into him, but beneath her unease, he’d caught a flicker of awareness in her eyes.
“They’re a little big.” She shifted in the doorway, her gaze down at the clothes.
“Sorry, I don’t normally carry women’s clothes around. I save my cross-dressing attire for home.” She flashed him a smile, some of the caution leaving her eyes. “Come have a seat, we need to discuss some things.”
She gathered up more of the sweatpants material and shuffled to the chair he held out. She took it, folded her knees up, and turned her face to look at him. Indecision warred through him. It had taken all of his control not to pull her into his arms moments before. She was a smart woman, and she had to have sensed his attraction. She had nothing to worry about though. Their worlds were very different, and he had no desire to bring her into his. Even if it was for just sex. He needed to settle her mind. If he wanted her to let him help her, she couldn’t be scared of him.
“What about?” She squinted at him, not taking her eyes off his face.
He cleared his throat. “About what just happened in the bathroom.”
Her lips rolled in and then moved into a small pout. Need surged through him. God, she had the most kissable mouth. “I just want to clear the air. You don’t have to worry about me coming on to you.”
Her eyebrows rose and pinched together. A cute line creased her brow. “Uh…okay.”
“I mean it. You can trust me. I wouldn’t get involved with someone like you anyway.”
That brought a deep scowl to her sapphire eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jesus. He rubbed the back of his hand over his beard, stifling a groan. This wasn’t the direction he’d wanted the conversation to go. Just a quick “don’t worry” was all he’d wanted to say.
“You don’t belong in my world, that’s all. No insult intended. Just do me a favor and avoid prancing around in towels from now on, okay?”
Heat rushed up her neck to coat her cheeks in crimson. Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. He’d made her speechless? Interesting.
He let loose the smile he’d been holding back. He had smiled more in the last few hours than he had all week. “Let’s set aside your attraction to me—”
She reached out and gave his bicep a pinch. “You’re so full of yourself. I’m not attracted to you.” Her voice raised an octave. “Besides, you kidnapped me, you ass.” Her pincerlike fingers fluttered for his bicep again.
He laughed and pulled out of her reach. “Hey, I saved your ass.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, and the corners of his mouth twitched. She was funny when she was mad and adorable when she was trying to take a chunk out of his skin.
“Let’s get to the important stuff. First of all, do you have any enemies?”
“Anyone who would want to kill me? No, I can’t say that I do.” She combed her still-damp hair back and secured it in a bun at the top of her head, exposing the soft lines of her profile.
He sat back in his chair. “It’s very easy to dismiss people when you think in terms of them wanting to kill you. But we need to look at every single person in your life who doesn’t like you. Does that make sense?”
She sighed. “Yes, but I really can’t imagine anyone I know doing something like that. It’s hard to picture.”
“Someone did, though.”
Her eyes somber, she nodded.
“What about any ex-boyfriends? Did you have a relationship end sourly?”
“I haven’t had a boyfriend since college.” Her arms crossed over her chest.
He frowned. “You haven’t been involved with anyone since then?”
“No.” Her knees shifted in the chair.
“I remember seeing a picture of you recently with a guy at a charity ball. He was leading you to the podium.”
“That was Tanner, my stepbrother.” Her eyes met his. “Not my boyfriend.”
Huh. “He seemed pretty possessive of you for a stepbrother.” Tanner’s hand had rested on her back as he’d ushered her to the podium, and his gaze had been pointed off toward someone in the crowd, with a sharp look in his eyes that Cal had read as: Back the fuck off.
Lana wet her lips, and her eyes darted around the room before landing back on him. Huh.
“I wouldn’t say he’s possessive.” She lifted her shoulder, but her blue eyes had darkened. She was hiding something.
“What would you say, then?”
She toyed with a tendril of hair that had fallen from the bun. Anxiety left faint creases under her eyes. She opened her mouth and then shut it, her gaze lowered to the top of her knee.
“Something happened, didn’t it?”
Her eyes lifted and rounded on his. She’d learn soon enough that nothing got past him.
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “He, uh, came on to me a few months ago. It didn’t end well.”
Anger burned his skin. He kept his face passive, not taking his eyes from hers. “What happened?”
“I just told you.”
“No, you told me something happened. You didn’t tell me what.”
She blew air through her lips. “You want the details? Fine.” She straightened in her chair. “It was the night of the fall charity ball. I was home, and had just gotten ready for bed. It was after two in the morning when he showed up at my door.”
His body tensed. He didn’t like where this was heading. “Go on.”
“He–he came on to me. I pushed him away and told him that I wasn’t interested. He snapped. He broke some things, I kicked him out, and that was the end of it.” The story tumbled out of her lips, like bile purging.
The muscles in his legs ached, demanding he get up and pace the floor, but he couldn’t. He needed every last detail. “That was the end of it?” His tone was hard, distant.
She nodded.
“How did he come on to you? What did he do?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Her cheeks flared pink, and he tried not to stare at her mouth.
“He kissed me.”
His brows snapped together. “That’s it?”
She sighed. “Alright, fine. He pushed me up against the wall, shoved his tongue in my mouth, and groped me. I slapped him across the face. He hit me back, then put his fist through the wall and flipped over my coffee table. I told him if he didn’t leave I would call the police.” Her arms circled her waist. She pursed her lips, waiting.
He rubbed his hand over his beard and leaned closer to her. “Don’t you think that’s important?”
“I’m telling you about it, aren’t I? But to think he could have something to do with wanting me killed…that’s a stretch.”
“Bullshit,” he breathed. “Your stepbrother physically and sexually assaulted you and you brushed it off? A few months later, someone arranges to have you killed? That looks pretty damn significant.”
The smooth lines of her face hardened, and she lifted her chin. Before she could tear into him, he added, “I’m sorry. Why were you protecting him?”
“I wasn’t protecting
him, dammit. I went to Grace and told her the whole story. Tanner came to me and apologized. He’d been drunk and had barely remembered, which was true because I had smelled the alcohol on him.” She met his gaze. “I said I forgave him, but I also kept my distance. Never in a million years do I think he’d have anything to do with this.”
Something nagged at him to drop it. She’d been through enough, and he didn’t need to give her hell. But Tanner sat as a suspect in the forefront of his mind. He’d look into him later.
“He’s your stepbrother on your father’s side?”
She picked at the material covering her leg. Some of the fire had left her face, and her shoulders relaxed. “Mmm-hmm. He’s Grace’s son.” Grace Vanderpoel. He didn’t know much about her other than that she owned her own jewelry line and was a descendant of the Normand family. That was a very old, wealthy, and prominent name, and she had her own money and status.
“What’s your relationship like with her?”
“Grace? I like her very much. She takes very good care of my dad, forces him to work out, eat healthy, and make more family time. We don’t have an overly close relationship, mostly because she’s very busy and so am I.”
“Well, that rules out the evil stepmother.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What about your mother? Where does she live?”
“New York, with her husband. I fly out there a couple of times a year, or she comes here. I miss her terribly, but she’s happy and so that makes me happy.”
“Why don’t you live with her?”
She lifted a shoulder and looked down at her mug. “She met Luke when I was in high school. She asked me to move with them, but all my friends were here, so I chose to stay. It worked out for the best, because they travel all the time and I would have been alone a lot.”
He couldn’t see any motive from her mother and stepfather’s end. They needed to go deeper. “What kind of business dealings does your father have?”
Abducted Page 5
