CLINT'S WILD RIDE

by Linda Winstead Jones

  "How did it go tonight?" he asked, as if he hadn't been watching her every possible minute.

  "Fine," she answered. She glanced at him and smiled, with that cold cream all over her face. Why was she so tempting, even now? "Except for that one kid."

  "What one kid?" he asked, already concerned. He hadn't seen anything noteworthy happen tonight.

  "This little redheaded runt decided to lasso me with his trick rope. The rug rat ended up hitting me over the head with the damn thing about a dozen times."

  "When was this?" And why hadn't he seen it?

  "You were chasing a bull at the time," she said. She gave him a bright smile. "At least you didn't try to kiss that one."

  "I really don't know him all that well," Clint dead-panned, his mind already searching for a solution. Tomorrow night he'd ask Boone to watch Mary when he couldn't. That should work. And when they got to Huntsville next week … he'd think of something.

  Mary rinsed off the cold cream, and the greasepaint with it. Fresh-faced and gorgeous, she was a temptation he had not expected.

  He wasn't interested in a serious relationship, and marriage was out of the question. For all his talk about finding the right woman and settling down, he wasn't ready to settle down; the very idea scared him spitless. Women had certain expectations from a husband, and he wasn't sure he could ever fulfill any woman's hopes in that regard. There was just … this. The way Mary looked at him, the way he wanted her like no other woman. For now, that was enough.

  She removed his hat and tossed it aside, then smeared a little cold cream over his face. He didn't wear as much greasepaint as she did, just a smear here and there, but she very carefully raked her fingers and the cold cream over it all. Just that touch, her gentle fingers on his face, made him hard.

  With a slightly damp washcloth, Mary wiped the cold cream and greasepaint from his cheeks, moving slowly. Gently. Her eyes didn't meet his but watched the progress of her own hands on his face. Did she realize how intimate this moment was? He did. He felt it, so deep there was no denying the sensation.

  "Take a shower with me?" she asked with a smile that would do any man in.

  He slipped her suspenders off her shoulders and began unbuttoning the huge buttons down the front of her polka-dot shirt, smiling as the costume came undone. "I've never undressed another clown before."

  Mary slipped her fingers beneath his suspenders. "Neither have I."

  Beneath the outrageous costume she was silky skin and enticing swells, all woman and flushed with desire. There was also a gun holstered to her right thigh and a knife in a leather sheath lower, strapped to her calf. He removed the weapons and set them aside without comment.

  He loved the way she breathed, the way her lips parted as she undressed him, the way her eyes grew hooded and smoky as he touched her.

  Their clothes ended up on the floor, tangled and half inside out.

  Clint felt like the brightly colored shirts on the floor: tangled and half inside out. He'd come in here with every intention of laying down the law. He'd tell Mary how he felt, how he worried for her, and she'd let someone else hunt for the serial killer. After all, it was just a job. Any FBI agent could take up where she left off. Simple—and still he knew she wouldn't like it. With her body wrapped around his, her mouth on his, her hands wandering, he forgot everything but the need to be inside her.

  She tilted her head back and he devoured her mouth. He couldn't kiss her deep enough, hard enough. He wanted to inhale her. While they kissed, he cupped her breast and flicked his thumb over her nipple. She arched into him, she pressed her body against his and laid her hand on his hips, pulling him into her so his erection pressed against her belly.

  He lifted Mary off the ground, swung her around and propped her against the sink. She wrapped her legs around his hips and drew his body closer to hers as she kissed him passionately.

  "Now," she whispered.

  Clint guided himself into her, slowly pushing deep. Her body was wrapped around his, tight and sure, from her arms to her thighs to her wet, hot center. He was conscious of nothing but the way they fit together; her softness and his driving need to possess her; Mary's mouth and Mary's hands and Mary's heat.

  She wasn't still. Her eyes closed, and she rocked up and against him, then swung down to take him deeper. Harder. Almost instantly, she began to quiver. She tossed her head back and moaned, and he took a nipple into his mouth, suckling deep while her inner muscles tensed and relaxed, while she rode him and cried out with pleasure.

  He climaxed while she was still spiraling around him, while her body trembled and she moaned low in her throat. Everything slowed gradually. Her movements, his thrusts; her breathing, his heartbeat.

  Mary rested her head on his shoulder and sighed, then laughed lightly. "Wow," she whispered on the tail end of the laugh.

  "Definitely wow." Clint threaded his fingers through her hair. He felt as if he'd drunk too much muscadine wine, as if he'd fallen into something so deep and beautiful he would happily drown in it.

  Mary lifted her head and looked him in the eye. "I'm not sure exactly what this is."

  "It's…"

  She laid a silencing finger over his mouth. "I can't even think about it right now." Her blue eyes went soft. Soft and serious. "I shouldn't be here with you. I shouldn't let this happen. Not now."

  "Too late."

  "I know." She traced his jaw with one finger; the finger she had used to silence him. "Clint, you're going to have to stop watching me all the time."

  He could deny that he'd been following her around the arena, but why? He didn't want to lie to her. Besides, he was pretty sure fooling Mary was tough to do. "What if I can't?"

  "Trust that I'm good at my job, that I know what I'm doing."

  "Are you telling me to leave you alone?"

  "Outside this room, yes."

  He was still inside her, her body still quivered, and she was telling him he had no right to protect her.

  * * *

  Clint slept, but Mary couldn't. She stretched out beside him in his bed, her eyes on the ceiling.

  Give her a gun and a bad guy, and she was in her element. For the past two years her life had been cut and dried, black and white. She knew who she was and what she wanted from life.

  Clint turned everything around, and that terrified her. Earlier tonight, they had come together so fast and furiously she hadn't even thought of slowing down, much less stopping. Nothing else had mattered but the way he felt in her arms and the intensity of her need for him. They hadn't used protection. She had never, never made that mistake before. Mary Paris didn't make mistakes.

  Nothing scared Mary more than losing control. Tonight, she had most definitely lost control.

  She knew very well that Clint Sinclair liked living dangerously. She'd known that all along. He liked everything faster and higher, closer to the edge. He played with bulls, he knew no fear. But tonight, tonight had been truly dangerous. Did Clint get the same rush from her that he got from popping a bull on the nose? Was there anything else to this relationship, or was she kidding herself?

  One thing for sure—she didn't have time for this now. Clint was distracting her, keeping her from doing her job. She didn't have a personal life, and now was no time to develop one! Maybe when this was over and Elaine's killer was dead or behind bars, she'd have time to figure out what this was … if it was anything at all.

  She knew what she had to do, and while her brain had accepted she had no choice, her heart didn't like it at all.

  * * *

  Clint rolled over, finding too much empty space beside him. Mary was already up. He lifted his head and glanced around the room. His first thought was that she was in the bathroom, but everything was so quiet. Too quiet.

  And then he noticed that the connecting door between their rooms was closed, and when he sat up he saw that the clothes he'd left in her bathroom last night had been tossed onto the floor on his side of that closed door.

  He g
rabbed a pair of boxers and stepped into them, then walked over his clothes to get to the closed connecting door. "Mary," he whispered as he knocked. Maybe she was filing a report or making a phone cal. She did that now and then, making contact with her boss. But she'd never closed the door on him before. "Mary," he said again, a little bit louder this time. He heard nothing through the heavy door.

  He was getting worried, then he glanced down and caught sight of a folded sheet of paper stuck into the pocket of the shirt he'd worn last night. He grabbed it and shook it open.

  There was no Dear Clint, no sorry, darling, just two simple sentences that told him more than he wanted to know.

  This is happening too fast for me. I need to step back.

  Too fast? Maybe. Step back? No way. He crumpled the sheet of paper in his hand and tossed it into the garbage can by the desk.

  * * *

  She might be the one. He almost licked his lips at the sight of her. It was a Saturday night, and yet she came in alone. She had that look about her, the look he always recognized. The way her gaze flitted here and there, the way she stood apart from the others … she was shy, lonely.

  Trusting.

  He moved closer and took a quick peek at her left hand. Perfect. No wedding ring, but there was a tan line there, where a ring had once been. She was divorced, recently by the look of that tan line.

  Best of all, when she walked the dangling earrings she wore swayed with her blond hair. They caught the light, as did the golden highlights in her hair, dancing enticingly. She wouldn't wear earrings like that if she didn't want him to notice her.

  He noticed.

  She wasn't flawless; she wasn't as pretty as Mary. That thought robbed him of a small portion of his excitement. Not all, but some. Damn Sinclair for bringing her here! He should wait another week or two before choosing his next victim, but Mary had his insides tied up in knots. She was the one he wanted, but he couldn't have her. She would be missed right away. He wouldn't be able to hide her body and slip out of town before anyone knew she was dead.

  He followed the newly divorced woman, noted where her seat was and watched until he was certain she wasn't meeting anyone. He watched as long as he could, and then he had to go. He had a job to do, after all.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Mary had never thought of herself as a coward, but tonight she definitely felt lily-livered. The way she'd left the bed this morning, the note, the way she'd avoided Clint all afternoon; she was definitely in need of a good dose of courage.

  But she couldn't allow herself to be distracted by her own usually dull personal life. Not now. Later, after she'd done her job, she'd explain everything—if Clint would listen to her.

  The place was packed once again. All night she'd worked the crowd, entertaining the kids and keeping an eye on the throng that filled the civic center. Some of the faces in the crowd were the same as on the previous two nights, but no one acted overly suspicious. And their eyes were on the arena floor, not on the women in the seats.

  Since she'd never believed the killer hid himself in the audience, she wasn't surprised.

  The evening's performance was almost done. Clint and Sam chased a bull from the arena as a cowboy who'd been thrown three seconds into his ride hobbled to safety. From the mezzanine she couldn't see Clint's face nearly well enough, and that black hat of his shaded his features, in any case. It did seem that he moved differently tonight. There was a new tension in the way he moved, a tautness in the length of his body. His moves were not as fluid as they usually were, and he didn't seem to be having fun. If nothing else, Clint always had fun on the arena floor. Not tonight. Was he angry?

  Of course he was angry. She'd slipped out of his bed and closed the door on him, figuratively and literally. A note. A short, precise, insufficient note was all she'd offered in way of explanation. She should have had the guts to tell Clint to his face that she didn't have time for this. For him. Not now.

  If she were honest, she'd admit to him that she was scared of the way he made her feel again. So scared. Life was so much easier without messy emotions getting in the way. The last two years had proved that to her. Clint's life was a roller coaster; he readily admitted as much. Even with the excitement of her job, Mary's own life was much more ordered and sedate. Clint lived on a roller coaster; Mary was on a long, steady train ride to nowhere.

  At the end of the night's performance, the crowd made its way toward the exits and Mary went downstairs to meet the twins. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could hook up with them and get out of here before she ran into Clint. She was still such a coward.

  She found Amber, but Tiffany wasn't with her twin sister. That in itself was unusual. They were always together!

  Amber gave Mary a big smile. "We're going out. Wanna come with us?"

  Mary's heart sank. She was in no mood to party with two exuberant girls. But if she didn't stick with the twins, would she have to ask Clint for a ride back to the hotel? Talk about uncomfortable! "Thanks, but I'd better not."

  Amber tsked. "Come on. You have to go! It's your first tour with the rodeo, and you've survived three nights. Time to celebrate. Everyone else will be there! It's Saturday night."

  Everyone? Mary began to relent. This might be her chance to see her suspects in a more casual setting. Would they open up after a beer or two? Let something telling slip? "Okay." She glanced down at her costume. "But I can't go like this."

  "We'll go back to the hotel for a quick change, then meet the others at a club down the road. You in?"

  In the distance, she caught sight of Clint talking with Sam. You'd never know to look at him that anything had happened between them. He was so cool, so … normal. She had to consider that maybe he wasn't angry with her. Maybe he didn't care that much.

  She'd tried to put her feelings for him aside, she'd done her best all day to forget Clint Sinclair. And still he was interfering with her investigation!

  "I'm in," Mary said softly.

  * * *

  The blonde with the dangling earrings was alone, apart from the others. He kept a decent distance between himself and the woman as they exited the civic center arena, a horde around and between them. His blood was pumping hard, his skin felt as if it were on fire. He should wait before striking. He should plan more carefully and wait a few days or even a few weeks. But no, be couldn't wait.

  "Hey!" a familiar voice called.

  He tried to ignore that voice, but the call came again, closer this time. He turned to face one of the twins. Tiffany, he thought. Her hair was a little different. It curled near her temple. Quickly, he glanced over his shoulder. The woman was not too far ahead. He could still catch up with her, outside.

  Tiffany smiled at him. "I've been trying to run everyone down before they got out of here. We're going out to grab a drink or two, maybe dance a little bit. Wanna come?"

  He shook his head. Why was she bothering him? They didn't socialize. He'd always had the distinct impression that the twins didn't even like him. He wished they'd leave him alone. Every second that passed, his victim got farther away. But he could not run, he could not escape without rousing suspicion. "I don't think so."

  "We want everyone to be there!" Tiffany argued. "This is Mary's first rodeo. We have to show her a good time. Tonight will be a good chance for her to get to know everyone."

  He forgot the lonely woman who was now almost out of his reach. "Mary?"

  "You know, the new girl."

  "Yes, of course," he said. Suddenly he knew it was Mary he wanted, not the flawed woman who had probably made her escape by now. Mary wouldn't be wearing her clown costume for a social evening. Her hair would be down, her luscious shape would be revealed. Would she laugh? Would she flirt?

  He could not have her, but the idea of getting close was appealing. Maybe, if the circumstances allowed, he could lay his hands on her. Casually. Briefly. Maybe he could "accidentally" touch her hair.

  He forgot the woman
who was now gone. Out of the arena. Out of his head. "Of course," he said with a smile. "I'd love to join you."

  * * *

  The lights in the bar were low, the noise a dull roar. It was all Clint could do to keep from grabbing Mary by the arm and dragging her out of here.

  A large group of rodeo employees and a few athletes had claimed a corner of the bar, pulled several tables together and ordered enough appetizers to feed an arena full of bull riders. Beer was the drink of choice. The twins were carded, and they happily showed their driver's licenses to the waitress. They were barely legal.

  Mary ignored him. They sat on opposite sides of the tables that had been pressed together. He couldn't touch her from here, he couldn't even catch her eye.

  She was on tonight. Smiling, laughing, nursing that one beer and munching on appetizers. Tony and Eugene flirted outrageously with her, Sam tried to make her feel like one of the gang and even Brett seemed smitten. A couple of the bull riders tried to get chummy, but she quickly put them in their place. She had a way of doing that with a look, a simple word or two.

  When Oliver arrived, he pulled his chair up next to Mary's and shoved everyone else aside.

  Clint seethed. He was tied up in knots for more reasons than he cared to ponder at the moment. Most of all, he was jealous. Jealous! Mary was his, and here she was putting herself on display for her suspects. Making herself a target as surely as if she'd painted a bull's-eye on her back.

  Oliver said something that made all the girls around him laugh. Why was he being so entertaining tonight? He usually steered clear of these get-togethers.

  Tony was no better. The rodeo announcer was single and thought himself a ladies' man. For a ladies' man, he was alone an awful lot. Clint had never known the man to be involved in a serious relationship. There was something calculating about the way Tony smiled at Mary. Clint didn't like it.