by Jane Kent
“I know, baby,” he whispered, and then, holding her gaze, he slid home.
He kissed her as he lifted her up and then down again slowly. Then he started to thrust, higher and harder and faster, until her breasts were bouncing and the old refrigerator rocked.
Her head rolled from side to side then tipped back, her moans filling the kitchen as each exquisite sensation hit and grew. Her back arched and she screamed Bastian’s name as she soared over the edge, paradise consuming her. Slowly floating back to earth, she found Bastian watching her face, maintaining his control by a thread.
“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said huskily and pumped once, twice, three times more. The cords on his neck stood out, his beautiful features twisted in agonized pleasure, and then he came in a rush. His body arched, pressing his hips into hers, anchoring her against the refrigerator.
She held his head to her breasts while he supported her as both their heartbeats slowed to normal and their breathing evened out. Bastian loosened his hold slightly as he slipped out of her and PJ unlocked her ankles to let her legs skid limply down his body until her feet touched the floor. With Bastian’s arms still around her, holding her steady, she rested her head on his chest, listening to the thud-thud of his heart beating in time with hers.
She raised her head to look at him. “That was…was…magic,” she stammered, finally finding the right word. Because it had been magic. The freefall was over and she’d landed. She was completely, totally in love.
“Yeah, it was,” he agreed, a slow grin lighting up his face. He kissed the top of her head. “But not exactly how I saw our first time. I was picturing something a little more romantic than down and dirty against the refrigerator. Not that I’m complaining. But I wanted something more for you the first time, PJ. I wanted it to be special.”
PJ smiled at him saucily. “That was special. But you were thinking a bathtub, candles, soft music…a bed maybe?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, then, aren’t you lucky? I just happen to have all those things,” she said, taking his hand and leading him toward the bedroom.
Chapter Five
Bastian knocked on PJ’s apartment door, then pushed it open, calling, “It’s me, PJ. You ready?”
“Be right there,” she called back from the kitchen. Instead of waiting, Bastian headed down the hall toward the kitchen, dropping his overcoat over a chair by the door, impatient to see her.
They’d spent the last week together 24/7, a great deal of it in bed, unable to keep their hands off each other, but she’d been at Skye’s for most of today getting ready for the New Year’s Eve party tonight.
PJ had been happy this week and he felt a little smug about that. He’d made her happy. She might not have forgotten the triad threat or her brother’s upcoming court appearance but neither had she let it stomp on her contentment, refusing to let any hint of fear show, and he was proud of her.
Bastian had hated to bring it to the forefront this morning with such a blatant reminder as having Marco Santini accompany her to Skye’s, but he’d had a few errands to run, things to round up for his own plans after the party tonight.
He smiled now, anticipating PJ’s delight. Some of the things on his list had been impossible to track down so he’d had to be creative in his substitutions.
It was early in the evening, too early for most revelers yet, but PJ wanted to be back at Skye’s, before the party got underway, to help with of any last minute details.
She came around the corner from the kitchen, carrying some kind of double layer food container and a grocery bag, and Bastian’s breathing stopped, something squeezing tight in his chest, as she came to a halt, staring at him with hot eyes.
Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, she looked incredible! Her hair was swept up in some kind of sexy, tousled style that just made him want to sink his hands into it and pull it all down. The black velvet dress hugged her full curves like a caress, ending just above her knees and leaving her shoulders bare.
She was wearing come-fuck-me shoes higher than anything he’d ever seen her wear before, sparkly black and strappy, the high heels showcasing her showgirl-quality legs making them look miles long. She was nearly as tall as he was with them on. That was just one of the things he loved about her, he realized. She wasn’t a petite, fragile woman he was afraid to touch.
“You look…” He stopped, searching for the right word. “Stunning.”
She smiled and ran a sultry gaze over him, a look that made him burn, as she took in his dark suit, dress shirt and tie, clothes he normally shunned but had willingly donned tonight for PJ. “You’re not so bad yourself, big boy,” she said in a very credible Mae West imitation.
He took the container and grocery bag from her, setting them on a table near the door, pulled her into his arms and brought his lips down on hers in a sizzling kiss. He drew back reluctantly, his expression rueful. “Any more of that and we won’t be leaving.”
He held her coat while she slipped it on and, after he’d put his own coat on, she handed him the grocery bag plus another bag sitting on the floor, and picked up the container. He peeked into the bags—grapes for midnight and a pair of pretty lower-heeled shoes—then gave the container a hopeful look as they left the apartment. “What’s that?”
Seeing his look, she said, “Mississippi Mud bundt cake and Linzer cookies. And I’ll carry them. I know you how you are.”
He’d never known he had such a sweet tooth until this last week. PJ was an amazing cook and her cakes and pastries were little tastes of heaven.
He was going to have to find a gym in town if he was going to continue eating PJ’s cooking on a regular basis.
Continue? Yeah, continue. The ramifications of that thought didn’t panic him the way it always had in the past.
For the first time in his life he could see a future with a woman. Because for the first time in his life, he was in love. With PJ. Thoughts of living with her, laughing with her, sharing a family with her, waking up to her beautiful face every morning until they were both old and grey brought only contentment.
But he was getting ahead of himself. He hadn’t even told PJ he loved her yet.
His Jeep Wrangler was idling under the streetlight in front of the bookstore, the heater cranked to high, just where he’d left it. That was another of the things he liked about small town life, he could leave his car running to warm up for a few minutes without too much worry that it wouldn’t be there when he came back.
He glanced around the pretty town in appreciation. Christmas lights all round the square lit up the evening darkness, adding to the town’s charm and making the snow sparkle in the crisp fresh air.
He took PJ’s arm as they started down the short sidewalk. It wasn’t icy out but PJ’s limp, something he rarely noticed, was slightly more pronounced tonight. Probably due to those manslayer shoes.
Foodstuffs and extra shoes stored in the back, he turned back to PJ, both of them smiling as they realized at the same time that PJ couldn’t get into the Jeep in her tight skirt without hitching it up to her ass, something Bastian, at least, wasn’t necessarily adverse to.
Nevertheless, he lifted her easily, his big hands spanning her waist, and swung her up into the passenger seat. For the first time since buying his pride and joy, he wished he owned something lower-slung and less sport-utility. Something a little more elegant.
Skye’s winterized cottage was on the lakeshore road, about twenty minutes from the center of town. PJ kept Bastian chuckling on the drive with her embellished stories of Skye’s trials and tribulations fulfilling her half of the party preparations including her solution to the noise problem. Skye had gone around warning her neighbors about her plans and ended up inviting everyone within a half mile radius when she’d figured out, from the interest and angling of the first few, that they’d rather be invited than warned.
They’d just reached a deserted stretch of road, lit by bright moonlight,
the newly frozen lake with no beach on their left and boarded-up summer cottages standing sentry to their right, when Bastian noticed a set of headlights in the rearview mirror. Whoever he was, he was coming up fast and Bastian moved as far to the right as possible, giving him room to pass, as the cottages on the right gave way to a frozen forest of dense, snow-covered evergreens.
The headlights pulled up close behind, so close Bastian could see they belonged to a large, dark-colored pickup, but the vehicle didn’t pass. Bastian slowed down, hoping the guy would take the hint, but no such luck. The pickup moved up even closer until Bastian could see the truck’s front grill in the rearview mirror.
“What’s that idiot doing?” PJ asked, twisting around in her seat to look out the back window, and Bastian glanced down quickly to confirm she still had her seatbelt on, which she did.
The pickup suddenly accelerated, bumping the rear of the lighter weight Jeep and sending the Wrangler onto the gravel at the side of the road. The Jeep skidded and slipped, and Bastian jerked the steering wheel, forcing the car back onto the pavement, his focus split between controlling the Jeep, watching the road in front of them and checking the location of the truck in the rearview.
Shit, shit, shit!
Looked like the triad was making good on its threat. The price for Rome’s testimony would be his sister’s life.
The pickup dropped back, then accelerated and rammed the Jeep again with greater force, sending the Wrangler’s back end sliding to the right. Out of the corner of his eye, Bastian saw PJ jerk forward against her seatbelt with the power of the hit as he fought to keep the Jeep from careening into the either the lake or the impenetrable forest. He searched the road ahead frantically, looking for an opening in the trees or a fire road to turn off on.
Nothing!
The truck was nearly on them again and Bastian shifted up and punched the gas, desperately trying to stay ahead. The pickup kept pace, and then slowly started gaining on them. Bastian waited until he could see the front grill again, could hear the roaring engine, before suddenly zigging the Jeep into the left lane. The truck grazed the back passenger side fender and fell back, ominously keeping pace again from ten yards back.
A road sign flashed by in the headlights and acid filled Bastian’s stomach as he suddenly realized exactly where they were on the road.
Oh, holy fuck! There was a hairpin turn to the right about a quarter mile ahead!
They were going too fast to make the turn and there was nowhere between here and there to turn off or even crash safely. It wasn’t even any consolation to know that the pickup wasn’t going to make the turn either. It was behind them, and if the Jeep went into lake then the pickup was going in right after it and on top of them.
Bastian’s brain scrambled, searching for a solution.
Only one came to mind.
A handbrake turn, the four-wheel drive equivalent to a bootleg turn.
It was crazy and dangerous.
And the only chance they had…if he could pull it off.
“Hang on,” he said to PJ, moving back into the right lane, the truck following. He gunned the engine, needing all the distance he could get between them and the truck if he wanted a snowball’s chance in hell of making this maneuver work.
The curve was just ahead and he downshifted to first gear as quickly as possible, immediately transferring his right hand to the emergency brake in preparation.
The second he saw a snow bank reflected in the Jeep’s headlights instead of blacktop, Bastian yanked his foot off the gas. He cranked the steering wheel to the left, slammed his other foot down on the clutch and hauled up on the emergency brake, his thumb locked on the release button.
As the back end of the Jeep fishtailed around to the left side of the road, he let the steering wheel feed back to the right through his fingers until the Wrangler had completed a one hundred and eighty degree turn. Only then did he shove the emergency brake down, and pull his foot from the clutch as he put the accelerator to the floor. The Wrangler took off in the direction from which they’d come as the pickup shot by on Bastian’s left.
Watching in the rearview mirror, he saw the truck plow into the snow bank, flying up and over, sailing out over the lake to land nose first until Bastian could see nothing but the red taillights glowing though the furrow in the snow bank.
He slowed the Jeep to a stop, heart pounding, and looked over at PJ. “You okay?”
Stupid question, asshole. But she nodded, her eyes huge in her pale face.
He could have lost her!
He ran his hand over the side of her face in a gentle caress then dug out his cell phone and passed it to her. “Call 911,” he said, reversing the Jeep down the road to the crash site. Pulling his gun out of the shoulder holster his coat concealed, he opened the door and got out.
The front end of the pickup was buried in the lake up to the windshield, broken ice piled in choppy mounds around it. The taillights winked out as he stood there but there was no movement from inside the truck.
He started to move in for a closer look but PJ’s hand shot out to grab his arm, surprising him. He hadn’t realized she’d followed. “No. You can’t go out there! It’s not safe.”
“It’s okay, PJ. I won’t,” he said, pulling her close in a tight hug. “Go wait in the car. I just want to make sure he’s not going anywhere before the authorities get here.”
It took over two hours to deal with the aftermath: emergency crews transporting the unconscious truck driver from the pickup and into an ambulance, talking to the police, being looked over themselves by the paramedics.
The pickup had been reported stolen but the driver’s license in the unconscious man’s pocket had identified him as Walter Chang from Vancouver, supporting Bastian’s supposition that the triad had been behind this attack.
A tow truck was hauling the pickup out of the lake as Bastian pulled the Jeep away from the scene and headed for home, PJ having long since called Skye to explain why they wouldn’t be making the party.
PJ was silent and he glanced over to see how she holding up. Her face was turned half away from him, but as they passed under the first streetlights at the edge of town, he saw tears tracking down her face.
Ah, hell! He’d never seen her cry before and her silent misery tore at him.
He steered the car over to the side of the road, shoved his seat back as far as it would go, unlatched both their seatbelts then pulled PJ over the gearshift and into his lap. He held her in his arms, murmuring reassurances, while she cried it out.
Her sobs gradually quieted and he handed her some tissues from the center console as she lifted her head from his tear-drenched shirt.
“I was so scared, Bastian. The whole threat thing seemed somehow nebulous until now. You know, kind of there on the periphery, but not really registering? And it’s not over, is it?” she asked as she mopped her face.
“I don’t think the triad will try again now, PJ. Rome testifies in a couple of days and then it really will be over. But I’m not going anywhere until then.”
He looked intently down into her make-up smeared eyes. “Or after. I promise I’ll keep you safe. Always. I love you, PJ. And I think I was part way there long before I ever even met you. Rome has pictures of you all over his house and I used to look at them and wonder what you were like, what was making you smile.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, then a chagrined expression crossed her face and she punched him lightly in the shoulder. “You have to tell me that now? When I look like this?” she said indignantly, indicating her mussed hair and tear-ravaged face.
“However you look, PJ. But you’re killing me here. The customary response is ‘I love you, too.’”
She smiled, her first smile in hours, and said, “Well, now it’s going to sound coerced and anti-climatic, but I do. I love you too, Bastian. With all my heart.”
“Good. Now let’s go home,” he said, helping her back to the passenger side of the car.
Minute
s later, Bastian pulled up in front of the bookstore and fished his house keys out of his pocket as he walked around the end of the Wrangler.
“Home, James,” he said, opening PJ’s door.
“Like I’ve never heard that one before,” she said, wrinkling her nose at his lame play on words, but she smiled as he’d hoped.
He scooped her into his arms and carried her in, PJ protesting, convinced he was going to drop her any second, and giggling when he refused to give her the keys. Fumbling, first, the lock on the outside door, and then the lock on her apartment door with the key Rome had given him weeks ago, he finally managed to get them both inside. He carried on into the bathroom before setting PJ on her feet next to the big claw-foot bathtub.
“You need to soak out some aches,” he said as he turned on the water and dumped in some foaming bath oil he found perched on the edge. The scent of vanilla filled the room. “You’re going to have one hell of a seatbelt bruise.”
Stripping her out of her coat, he unzipped her dress, letting both fall to the floor and set her glasses on the sink counter, then turned back to her and stopped, awe-struck.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” he breathed out, taking in PJ’s red satin and lace bustier and thong, a matching garter belt holding up sheer black stockings, the killer shoes still on her feet. “I really, really hope you’ll put this back on for me later,” he said as her helped out of the sexiest shoes and underthings he’d ever seen, and into the tub, trying not to look at her naked body because that would finish him off then and there.
As he shut off the water and turned the dimmer to lower the lights, he asked, “Will you be okay alone for a few minutes? I just want to move the car.”
“I’m fine now, Bastian. Go,” she answered with a smile.
After stowing the car in the back parking lot, he re-entered PJ’s apartment by way of the back stairs and balcony, dropping off the crushed food he’d brought up from the Jeep on the kitchen counter. Making his way to the bedroom, he pulled back the bed covers and lit the room with the soft light of candles. Not exactly how they’d planned to ring in the New Year but it worked for him. Far superior to a room full of people.
