Against the Wall

by Debra Webb

  She read the text message from Dylan confirming he was in place for the night and asking if she was okay. After sending him another smiley face, she slid between the covers. What she really wanted was to send him an invitation to join her. She shivered at the idea. Her sexual experience was limited, for sure. She’d had three lovers, including Gregory. All had felt awkward and unfulfilling. As much as she worried that perhaps something was wrong with her in that department, she couldn’t help wondering what sex with Dylan would be like.

  “Go to sleep, Jana,” she ordered as she reached up to turn out the light. Her fingers hesitated as she spotted something that chilled her to the bone. She grabbed her phone and took a picture of the thin black wire peeking from the inside edge of the lampshade.

  What now? If it was an electronic bug she would tip off the listener if she reacted. She sat up a little and tried to think past the overwhelming sense of being violated. Someone had been in her home. She needed to tell Dylan, but how could she let him know without alerting whoever was listening?

  Think, Jana. She could text Dylan. Wait. What if her cell phone was tapped, too? How could she get Dylan in here? She forced herself away from the edge of panic. A walk in the backyard had brought him running last night. She might as well try it again, she decided as she hurried to the kitchen. Opening the sliding door, she stepped out into the night. The cold air blasted across her legs and under her nightshirt, but she refused to waste time going back for a coat or shoes. Dylan would be here soon enough. She paced to the far edge of the patio imagining hot coals as her feet protested against the cold concrete.

  Minutes ticked by and Dylan didn’t show up. Worried something had happened to him, she started around the side of the house in search of his truck. A hand shot out of the dark, catching her upper arm in a warm, firm grasp. She recognized the touch, his scent. “Dylan,” she said, relief washing over her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need you,” she whispered.

  “What?” His hand dropped away and the air seemed to cool even more.

  She showed him the picture on her phone. “Someone bugged my house.” She tried to decipher his expression in the faint light of her phone, but it was impossible to guess his thoughts.

  He ushered her quickly back to the patio door. “Wait right there,” he murmured, nudging her across the threshold. “I’m bringing the truck around.”

  “Okay.” She left the sliding door cracked a bit as he jogged off. Moments later, she heard the rumble of an engine approaching and headlights sliced across the side of the house as he pulled into her driveway.

  Her phone hummed with a text message: Open the front door

  She closed the slider as quietly as possible and hurried through the house to let him in. Under the porch light she imagined greeting a man in her emerald nightshirt made quite an impression if anyone was watching. Worse now that she saw he was carrying an overnight bag along with his computer bag. Any rumors about this situation would be fun to live down during a political campaign. God, she was so sick of all the pretenses. She wasn’t so sure she cared about that anymore. She was beginning to see that there was more to life than what she’d seen so far.

  He locked the door, then dropped the bags and flipped on the foyer light.

  She gasped when she saw his face. He had a bruise welling on his cheekbone, a split lip and blood on his shirt. “What happened to you?”

  He waved off her question as he knelt to retrieve something from the bigger bag. “Some random guys tried to hustle me,” he said with a big wink. “It didn’t go their way.”

  She knew there was more to that story since he’d been watching her all night. Following his lead, she kept up her end of the conversation as he walked through every room in the house, pointing out several bugs. Shivering, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms, giving serious thought to donning fuzzy socks for her freezing toes. It wouldn’t help. She could crank up the heat, but the chill she felt didn’t come from the temperature.

  “I could use a shower first,” Dylan said suddenly. “If you don’t mind.”

  Her mind tripped over shower and stalled out at the implication of first before she realized he was still making it sound good for the listeners. The guest bathroom wasn’t bugged, but Dylan started the shower anyway.

  “What do we do?” she said when he closed the door.

  “I checked your house my first time inside and they weren’t here then. Someone must have done this while you were out tonight. Whoever it was, they may be checking up on what we’re up to. Did Atkins seem to be stalling? Did he use his phone at all?”

  “Cavelli’s isn’t known for speedy service.” She thought back through the evening. “If he checked his phone, he was subtle about it.”

  “There might’ve been another signal,” Dylan said. “How do you want to play this?”

  She had no idea. Of course she understood criminal cases where people were under legally authorized surveillance, but that didn’t apply here. “What are my options?”

  “Leave them in place and be very careful to reveal details on purpose.”

  “You’re suggesting we use the devices against whoever planted them.”

  Dylan nodded.

  “Or?” The bathroom was starting to steam up. While the heat felt good, she was self-conscious about her nightshirt turning clingy.

  “Or I can disable them right now.”

  “I prefer that option.”

  “All right,” he said slowly. “But that reduces our chances of learning who planted them.”

  “I understand.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, smoothing away the goose bumps that kept racing across her skin. “I can’t stand the idea of someone listening to my every word and move.”

  With a nod, he walked out of the bathroom. She turned off the water and followed him.

  “Why don’t you pour us a drink,” he said loudly enough for every bug in the house to pick it up. “We’ll celebrate.”

  She shot him a dark look before heading for the kitchen. She got him a beer, not because he’d asked, but because she thought his face could use it.

  “You’re lucky they missed your nose,” she said, studying the bruising as he systematically destroyed the listening devices scattered around her house while holding the cold beer bottle to his cheek.

  “Lucky, that’s me.” His grin was wicked, straining the cut on his lip. He opened the beer and tipped it back for a long drink, and then handed it back to her. “Hold that one more second.”

  He aimed a small electronic device at another bug and with an ornery sneer, he turned the knob.

  She winced at the high-pitched squeal, but it was over quickly. “You didn’t do that with the others,” she said, rubbing at her ear.

  “I did,” he said, “just not as loudly. Zapping the last one is always fun.” He took the beer out of her hand, tipping it back for another long swallow.

  She shouldn’t be staring at the strong column of his neck. Shouldn’t be fascinated by the spatter of blood on his shirt or his scraped up knuckles.

  “You can speak freely now,” he said before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Someone jumped you because of me,” she said.

  “I asked, but they didn’t confirm.” He shrugged. “The occasional fist fight is a perk of the job.”

  “Perk?” Good grief what an absolutely male attitude. “Come with me.” She caught his arm and headed back to the guest bathroom.

  “The house is clean,” he said, when she turned on the sink.

  “You are not. Sit down,” she added when he narrowed his gaze, those blue eyes hot with speculation. “I mean it. This isn’t a fight you’ll win.”

  Dylan obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. His hands full of the beer and bug killer he wondered what she planned to do. He watched her pull washcloths and a first aid kit from under the sink and groaned. “It’s nothing. No need to go to all that trouble.”

&nb
sp; He didn’t need an impromptu nurse tending to him. He sure as hell didn’t need the torture of close quarters when she was dressed—or undressed—like that. The deep emerald fabric slithered over her body in a ripple of light and shadow around her full breasts and the soft curve of her hips. Much shorter than the black dress had been, he was getting an eye-full of her toned legs. Her long, chestnut hair was caught up in a clip at the back of her head. It was all too easy to imagine tugging out that fragile hold and letting that glossy mane tumble over her shoulders. He could practically feel how it would brush his face if she bent close to kiss him. He shifted, trying to hide the reaction coming on fast and furiously.

  “Hold still,” she muttered, picking up his hand to deal with his scraped knuckles. She took the nearly empty beer bottle from him and set it aside, then did the same with the bug zapper.

  “I can take care of myself,” he grumbled.

  “I’m sure you have all kinds of experience.” She didn’t seem inclined to let him prove it. She washed one hand, then the other, smoothing some flowery salve across his battered flesh.

  “What is that?”

  “Lavender oil and aloe.”

  “Huh?”

  “It won’t unman you.” Her eyes were locked onto his mouth. In another context, with another woman, he’d think she wanted to kiss him.

  She reached toward his damaged lip with that damned cloth and he caught her wrist. “I’ll do it.” There was only so much a man could take.

  She propped her hand on her hip, watching him wipe away the dried blood. “Take off your shirt.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You take care of your face and I’ll deal with the bloodstains.”

  “Just trash it. I have other dress shirts.”

  “With you?”

  She’d caught him there. He needed to get a handle on the situation before his hands landed on her. “Whoever bugged your house is likely to escalate quickly when he figures out you discovered his pets.”

  “Escalate?” Her dark eyebrows rose. “Dad’s dead, they’ve taken a couple shots at me, and beat you up. I’d say he’s already escalated.”

  “The hell they did.” He lurched to his feet and turned to the mirror. She hovered behind him, her hands planted on those sweet hips. It brought the fabric tight across her breasts. “I guarantee you the two of them look a hell of a lot worse than me.”

  “Hooray.” She let out a patently false cheer. “Give me the shirt.”

  “Fine.” If she wanted the damn shirt, she could have it. He dropped the washcloth onto the counter with a splat and turned around. Her green eyes watched his fingers work through each button, going wide when faced with his bare chest. He thrust the fabric at her. “There you go.”

  She took the shirt, but didn’t leave as he’d hoped. The bathroom, technically spacious, felt way too small when she looked up at him like that.

  Her fingers fluttered near his ribs before she snatched back her hand. “You’ll have bruises.”

  “Typical result when body blows are exchanged.” She couldn’t really care this much about what happened to him.

  “I have something for it,” she said.

  “Me too,” he said. “My kit is in the truck.”

  “Dylan...”

  He waited, trying to ignore the ache in his chest as she stared at him.

  “I...” She dropped his shirt and reached for his face, bringing his mouth to hers. The kiss was gentle, cautious, and nowhere near enough of what he wanted.

  She tasted sweet, but not exactly innocent. Sweet and cool like peppermint candy, he thought. Her lips, her touch, her scent were driving him crazy. Ignoring his busted lip, he slanted his mouth across hers and speared his fingers deep into all that hair. The clip fell, jangling across the tile floor, and her silky hair tumbled free. It felt better than he imagined.

  Licking the seam of her lips, he went for it, stroking her tongue with his the moment she opened for him. Their breath mingled and his heart pounded as her soft curves molded to his body. His palms learned her shape, dipping in at her waist, following the luscious flare of her hips. He smoothed his hands across the satin fabric all the way to the hem and then under the nightshirt. Her skin was warm and soft. For several long, delicious seconds he couldn’t think of anything except how her legs would feel wrapped around his hips while he buried himself deep inside her.

  The image in his brain shocked him out of the passionate stupor. He broke the kiss and, with his hands on her waist, set her away, giving them both a little distance. He wouldn’t apologize, but he couldn’t continue. Not when he wanted to get her naked and keep her that way for a few hours. Or days. Weeks maybe.

  What a hot mess.

  He pushed a hand through his hair and struggled for the right words. “I need to update Claudia.” She’d be furious that he’d basically hung up on her twice tonight. Once before the fight and once when he’d spotted Jana in the yard.

  “Claudia,” she echoed.

  “My assistant.” He squeezed out of the tight space between Jana’s body and the counter top. “I’ll just go—”

  “Wait. We were, um, making out and you were thinking of her?”

  “Yes.” He shook his head. That wasn’t right. “No. I’ll be right back.”

  “You can’t go outside without your shirt,” she called after him.

  “No one’s awake enough to care.”

  “I am.”

  He groaned, thought about banging his head against the wall. Turning, he faced her once more. “What do you want from me?”

  “You can’t sleep in your truck again. You need better rest... after a fight.”

  “I sleep just fine out there.”

  “Take the guest room.” She backed up a few paces and reached into a doorway. The light came on in the designated room.

  Only a few more steps would bring him to her bedroom. “That’s not a good idea.” He’d never be able to resist the temptation. Based on the kiss she’d laid on him, he wasn’t sure she’d be smart enough to tell him no.

  “Am I or am I not the client?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not your employee,” he said, dodging the question.

  “Answer me.”

  “Fine. You are the client.”

  “Is it your policy, as a company, to ignore client requests?”

  He knew where she was headed. “In my industry the client is not always right because the client does not always have the experience or insight required to make a good decision.”

  “You’re sleeping in the guest room.”

  “No.”

  “Dylan this is silly.”

  “I agree. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  “Fine, then we’ll sleep in the truck together.”

  “No way.” He spun around to argue, but she’d hurried up behind him and he nearly knocked her over. “That’s not happening.”

  “I’m scared and I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Her chin came up and she crossed her arms. The hem of that sexy nightshirt crept higher, revealing another inch of her amazing legs. This was torture.

  “Please take the guest room,” she said. “You need real rest.”

  As if he’d get any rest knowing she was right down the hall. He wasn’t likely to get much rest parked in her driveway either. “Don’t do this, Jana.” She was transferring the stress into sexual attraction. Classic. He’d seen it before. But he wouldn’t cross that line with a client.

  “Too late. Manners are part of the Clayton genetic code.”

  Manners. Right. “You won’t drop this?”

  She shook her head. “You decide. Your place or mine?”

  He could take her to his hotel, but that would only put him in the same room with her. “Fine.”

  He wouldn’t survive the night if she came out to his truck wearing only that nightshirt. He stalked through the house, checking the door and window locks. Then he grabbed his gear from the foyer. Ha
lf afraid to meet her gaze, he ignored her and went straight into the guest room. She might claim to feel safer with him around, but he didn’t share the sentiment. He felt safer going up against a couple of thugs than he did in this tastefully decorated guest room with Jana down the hall. He dropped his gear and had just unfastened his jeans when she knocked on the door.

  He opened it about an inch. “What?”

  “Thank you.”

  He was no match for the relief on her face. It touched him. “You’re welcome.”

  “And about that kiss...”

  He closed his eyes and dropped his head against the doorframe. “Yeah?” Would she dump the blame on him, claim temporary insanity, or make him an offer he’d have to refuse?

  “Are you involved with anyone? Romantically,” she added.

  “No.” He nearly laughed. Lately, the rare times he involved himself with a woman, it was all about mutual satisfaction. “Are you?”

  Her warm green gaze locked with his and she shook her head. “I’m hoping that’s about to change.”

  He watched her turn away, her footsteps soft as she disappeared into her room while he stood there trying to figure out what the hell she meant. Maybe cleaning his bloody knuckles and kissing his split lip had proved to her that she was better off with Gregory. Maybe he should tell her about Whiny Gregory’s hired bullies. No. Not yet. Until he understood the motive for the move, he’d keep it to himself. Besides, he didn’t want her getting the idea the bastard was trying to protect her or something. The concept left Dylan snarling with another nip of jealousy, but he’d get over it. He had to. Women as classy as Jana Clayton didn’t think long-term when they looked at rough-edged men like him. Hell, after the fiasco in Montana he didn’t want to think long-term about any kind of woman.

  But that wouldn’t keep him from dreaming about her.

  Chapter Nine

  Saturday, November 17

  Arriving at the capitol early the next morning under a crystalline-blue sky that looked far too happy for Jana’s grim mood, they found more listening devices in the suite of offices. “Who would do this?” she asked as she watched Dylan destroy the bug in Rose’s desk phone.