That was where she belonged for now, he thought.
Natalie rested on one elbow, watching Vincent breathe. Watching the magnificent muscles of his chest rising and falling, she wanted to lean forward and kiss his skin again, but that would only wake him up.
Instead, she sighed and got up, searching for a robe.
“Take my shirt,” a voice offered, and she jumped, turning to find him watching her, a slow smile lifting those clever lips.
Suddenly shy now that the passion had passed, she reached down, found the black shirt and pulled it over her head. He lounged back against the bed, apparently completely at ease with his nakedness.
“You seem nervous. Did I hurt you? Was I rough?” he asked suddenly, sitting up.
Natalie glanced up. “Vincent, no. You didn’t hurt me. You wouldn’t.”
He didn’t answer.
She climbed up on the bed, kneeling beside him. “What’s bothering you?”
“I lost control there for a minute. I didn’t even know what I was doing.”
She smiled. “I consider that a compliment.”
But Vincent didn’t smile. He gently touched her cheek. “A man like me, one as big as I am, can’t ever lose control, Natalie.”
Natalie leaned into his touch. “You’re telling me that you’re always completely in control?”
He shrugged. “I work at it. It’s important.” His dark eyes looked pained.
“I’m fine, Vincent. Better than fine. Have you…hurt anyone before?”
The pained look turned to horror. “Never, but my father…”
Ah. Leonard Fortune. She’d heard of him. He’d been a successful banker, another successful Fortune male. “What did your father do?” she asked.
“He hurt people.” Vincent’s voice was flat.
“You?”
“Sometimes. Mostly my mother. He had a temper, a devil of a temper, and when he drank he had even more of a temper. She was tiny. A feather. And he was a big and physically powerful man. He hit her. And then he would go into a rage and hit her again. Sometimes I think he might have raped her.”
His voice was an aching whisper. Natalie started to touch him, but he evaded her touch.
“Did he hit your siblings?”
“Not once I got old enough to knock him around.” Vincent’s voice was flat. “I only hit him when he meted out punishment to my mother or tried to get at my brother and sisters, but…”
Vincent stared straight into Natalie’s eyes. She could tell he was remembering something very unpleasant. Something terrifying.
“What?”
He swallowed. “When I hit him, I felt good about it. When I heard that my parents had been in a car accident, and I wondered if he had been drunk again, I wanted to kill him for taking her life, but he was already dead.”
“Vincent, you’re not like that,” Natalie said gently.
“I lost control, Natalie. Maybe I didn’t hurt you this time, but I could have. Easily. You’re so slender. A man could hurt you without even thinking. I don’t want to be that man.”
As he rose from the bed and headed for the shower, Natalie watched him go with a sense of longing and regret. She understood now why he needed to be a protector, and she had to admit that, given her volatile, stubborn nature, he had been very restrained with her. Life with a woman like her, one who crossed him at every turn, would be hell for a man like Vincent.
He needed to keep people safe, to know he would never hurt the woman he cared for, and she was a woman who drove him up the wall. To constantly have to check his emotions at the door? What would that be like?
It would be awful. It would be the worst thing in the world for him, his most terrible nightmare, she admitted.
And that was heartrending. Because, she realized as she heard him moving around the next room and wished she had the courage to push past his reservations and join him there, she had fallen for him.
She was in love with Vincent Fortune, a man who wanted her in his bed but would never surrender his heart to a woman like her. And would she want him to, knowing she would only bring him pain, have him watching his every move to keep from throttling her?
No. She wanted him to be able to give his heart unconditionally, without reservations, to find joy in love.
And she could never be different. She couldn’t ever bring him joy. Natalie closed her eyes. “Life is just so tough sometimes,” she whispered to the empty room.
Seventeen
Life is just so tough. The phrase ran through Emmett Jamison’s head as he tipped back his chair and stared out the crooked window of his house. Not that it was a true house. More like a tumbledown shack, and even that was being kind.
Not that it mattered. He hadn’t chosen this location for its charm, but for its complete lack of other people. He didn’t handle human contact well anymore. Had he ever?
I have no clue, he thought. All he knew was that he didn’t want to deal with the niceties of interacting with people right now. Maybe he never would.
“Too much trouble,” he muttered. But he knew that what he really meant was too much pain. Get involved with people and a man was bound to get burned…or do something he would regret for the rest of his life.
“Hell.” He said the word in a voice devoid of emotion as memories coursed through him. Maybe he couldn’t outrun his demons here, but he could keep trying. Sooner or later, something might stick. He wasn’t certain of that, but there was one thing he was sure of. He wasn’t going back to civilization anytime soon. It was nice not knowing or caring what was going on in the world. He intended to keep things that way.
“Do you think Blake will find Emmett?” Patrick asked Ryan when more than a week had passed and they still hadn’t heard from him.
“I hope so,” Ryan said. “For Blake’s sake.”
“So that Emmett can help locate Jason?”
Ryan shrugged. “Partly because Blake needs family. He needs more than the bond he’s forged with you and me, and Emmett is the only true son he has left. But yes, I’m also hoping that Emmett might be a bridge to Jason.”
“Still no sign of Jason?”
Ryan shook his head. “No, and the second transporter isn’t yet recovered enough to talk. I’m worried.”
“Because of the notes.”
“Yes, and because I talked to Vincent on the phone yesterday. His voice was strained. I’m afraid Vincent is starting to become attached to Natalie McCabe. It’s not like him to mix work with his private life, but he sounded like a man who was doing just that. And you know as well as I do that Jason is crafty. He’s killed already. If he managed to get to Natalie, I’m not sure what that would do to Vincent.”
“And what would it do to you?”
Ryan ran a hand over his brow. “I’m the one who supported Jason, even promoted him. I let the fox loose in the henhouse. And Natalie is an admirable and brave woman. I want her safe.”
“Well, if anyone can keep her that way, it’s Vincent.”
Ryan nodded. “Yes, but the question is can anyone truly keep her safe when we don’t have a clue where Jason is or what he’s up to. Someone wants her scared. If someone also wants her dead, that someone might just succeed. And if my nephew tries to stand in his way, Vincent might end up dead, too. I hope someone catches Jason soon. I don’t want to think of a world without Natalie and Vincent.”
What would life be like without Vincent, Natalie thought as she and Vincent cruised through the grocery store on another shopping venture the next day. She was sure he had suggested the trip to stock their hotel kitchenette more as an excuse to give her a chance to get out of the hotel and take her mind off her situation than it was for a real need for food.
“I’ll get that,” Vincent said as Natalie reached for a heavy case of water.
She crossed her arms. “Vincent, I am more than capable of doing my own grocery shopping.”
He gave a lopsided grin. “I’m not so sure. You bought artichokes.”
�
�You don’t like artichokes?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t like eating leaves,” he agreed.
She laughed. “Any other complaints?”
He studied the cart. “No, you’ve done a pretty darn good job. Maybe you are capable of buying your own groceries,” he teased. “But I still get to lift the heavy stuff. I’m sure you could do it,” he added hastily when Natalie frowned, “but why should you risk hurting your back when I’m here and more than willing to help out?”
“My own personal muscle?” she asked with a chuckle.
“If that’s what you want to call me, you go right ahead. Just don’t hurt my poor bruised, masculine feelings by making me trail after you while you do all the work. It just makes sense to divide the labor.”
She nodded. “All right, you win. It does make sense. As long as you’re not suggesting that I’m weak and incapable.”
Vincent gave her a long look. “I’ve seen you in action. Have I ever questioned your ability or your courage?”
He hadn’t, she had to admit. He had gotten angry with her when she had skipped out on him and put herself in danger, but he had never questioned her work, her worth or her ability.
“Thank you,” she said, and her voice broke a little. As if he knew that she was embarrassed for showing her emotions, he glanced down at the grocery cart.
“Artichokes,” he said in disgust. “Let’s get some ice cream, and maybe some berries. Something a man can eat out of a woman’s navel.”
She almost shrieked, but she caught herself as he took her hand and led her back toward the produce section, just as if they were a real couple.
The thought hit Natalie just as they cut through the ice cream aisle. Alisha Hart was leaning over into one of the cases, her long wavy red hair trailing down her back.
Alisha was a public defender Natalie had met once at a charity function she was covering. Natalie called out a greeting, and the woman turned, flashing a warm smile. As they chatted, Natalie realized that Alisha was buying a pint of ice cream. Ice cream for one.
Because she was a woman alone, Natalie knew. By choice? Natalie didn’t know. Alisha was pretty, with her blue eyes and slender, curvy figure. She was also a strong, capable woman, but for whatever reason, she moved through her life unaccompanied. Like me, Natalie thought, as the vision of herself and Vincent being a couple evaporated. They were not a couple. Vincent was her bodyguard, she was his client. Soon, all of that would end.
“It was so good seeing you,” Alisha said, walking away.
“And you,” Natalie said. How polite we are, she thought when Alisha had gone. We smile, we chat and then we go back to our homes where we sleep alone.
Natalie tried not to acknowledge the pain that seared her at that thought. She couldn’t be a couple with Vincent. She wasn’t meant for him or him for her. They couldn’t be together.
At least, not for long.
And the longer she stayed with him, the more it was going to hurt when they said goodbye. Waiting for the other shoe to drop and not knowing when it would do so was killing her.
Ending it now would be the smartest thing she could do. If she let go now, maybe her heart wouldn’t be too damaged. Maybe she could pretend she wasn’t falling in love with Vincent, and she could start to get over him.
Suddenly Natalie wished she could come out of hiding and stop looking over her shoulder, stop having Vincent worry about her, stop worrying that Jason might hurt or kill Vincent to get to her. She wanted Jason to show his face right now. The police had been looking for him for weeks, to no avail. She wished she had some way to draw him out into the open.
That was something she would have to think about, but for tonight…for tonight she would hold on to what little of Vincent she was allowed to have.
Natalie was quiet this evening, Vincent noticed, and he couldn’t keep from worrying about her. Not that he would tell her. She would only point out to him that she was a strong, independent and capable woman. He smiled, because she was all those things, and he didn’t feel his masculinity threatened one bit. In fact, if anything, her openness and forward ways only made him desire her more. And yes, he still wanted to do serious damage to anyone who would dare touch her or threaten her, but he admired her so much for being put in this position and still pursuing her life and her work.
Anyone else who had lived through what Natalie had—practically witnessing a murder, having that murderer escape and then being sent dark and dangerous threats—would probably climb in his bed and pull the covers up until the murderer was caught. And who could blame him?
But that wasn’t Natalie’s way. She had people she cared about, and she wasn’t about to let the injustice that had been done to her friends go unpunished, even if seeking the truth meant that she had to walk into danger every day.
How could a man not cheer for a woman like that? How could he hold his passion in check? How could he not feel more than he had ever felt for another woman?
Vincent tried to sidestep that thought. He watched Natalie gracefully traversing the small kitchen area, putting things away. When she grabbed two cartons of ice cream in her hands and started toward the freezer, he almost thought she licked her lips a little.
“You are irresistible, did you know that?” he asked her, striding across the kitchen. How could a man not burn for a woman who was so passionate about even something as ordinary as ice cream?
Natalie looked up at him, clearly caught off guard. “Irresistible? Not me. Now chocolate swirl is irresistible,” she teased, her voice a whisper that promised the kind of delights most men only dreamed about.
“Is it?” Vincent asked, taking the container from her. “Let’s see.” He grabbed a spoon from a nearby drawer, popped the top of the ice cream container and then, holding both spoon and ice cream in one hand, advanced on Natalie.
Her green eyes widened. “Vincent, what are you doing?”
“Being sinful,” he told her, and he took a spoonful of ice cream and fed it to her. Then he moved close and, without touching her, leaned close and took her mouth with his own. The cold and chocolate and Natalie all joined, filling him with an intoxicating rush.
“Irresistible,” he said again.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly, leaning against him. She plunged her fingers into the container of ice cream, ate a bite and slowly licked her fingers one by one, her tongue tantalizing him. He let out a groan.
Then he reached out and undid the buttons of her blouse, tearing one loose in his haste. She took a deep and audible breath, her breasts rising and falling and making him wild to have her.
Following her lead, he slipped his fingers into the container of ice cream and scooped up a small amount. Then he gave her a wicked smile.
“What are you planning, Vincent?” she asked, her voice a husky whisper.
“A trip to paradise,” he said, and he reached out and gently smeared the cold ice cream on the enticing curve of one of her breasts. Then he leaned forward, slid one hand around her waist and brought his lips to her breast. His tongue found the ice cream, his mouth devoured it and her, tasting, licking, sucking.
She gasped and threaded her fingers through his hair.
He dropped the container of ice cream into the small sink and lunged for her. They dropped to their knees as his lips found hers, as his arms threaded around her.
“You are amazing,” he said on a groan. “I have to have you right now, but this floor is hard.”
“There’s carpeting a few feet away by the living area. I’m not sure I can make it that far, though,” she said on a gasp.
“I’ll help.” Then he lifted her, walking on his knees the short distance to the carpeted part of the room.
“Thank you,” she managed to say before she tugged his head back down to hers. “I want to be on top this time.”
He smiled against her mouth. “I’ll bet you say that a lot.”
Instantly she pulled back. Her eyes looked wounded.
He wan
ted to kick himself, to take back what he had said.
“I don’t do this very much,” she said. “I— Men and I don’t work well together.”
“That’s because they’re all fools. Me, too.”
She shook her head and kissed him again. “Not you.”
“When you’re around, I behave very foolishly.”
“I like that,” she said suddenly. “Let’s be foolish together.”
“Let’s be naked together,” he countered. In what seemed like seconds, they were both undressed. She tilted her head and looked at him, one hand resting on her lovely, pale hip.
“You don’t mind that I’m a bit aggressive?” she asked. “I know you don’t like it when I act impulsively.”
“When you put yourself in danger, I don’t like it,” he said, swallowing hard as she reached out and touched his chest, her fingers slipping down his side. “But otherwise?” He lay back on the carpeting. “Be impulsive,” he dared her.
Natalie gave him a sly smile and slid her body over his, her arms resting on his chest. “You’ll lie still, won’t you?” she asked, threading her fingers through the hair on his chest and wiggling as if to get more comfortable.
He was already fully aroused, and her movements made him ache to flip her over and thrust into her depths. With great difficulty, Vincent resisted.
“Natalie,” he warned, “I want to let you lead, but I have to tell you I’m very near the edge.”
In answer, she dipped her head and lapped at his nipple. His entire body bucked as the sharp edge of desire knifed through him.
“I’m near the edge, too,” she said, her voice ragged. “Kiss me.”
As he raised himself slightly and captured her lips, she rose above him and impaled herself on his erection.
He gripped at the carpeting, his hands closing on empty air. He wanted her to have it her way, wanted her to call the shots. No matter how much it killed him.
“Touch me,” she said, and he brought his hands to her breasts. He suckled at one small, perfect breast, and desire clutched at him.
Keeping Her Safe Page 18
