Samara gave him the glare she’d practiced on her brothers, a little disappointed when he just grinned at her … just as her brothers often had. Well hell, she’d just lost one man and now this handsome hunk was treating her like his kid sister. For a woman who’d always been fairly confident in her powers of attracting men, her ego had taken some major bruising lately.
Needing to reassert herself as a sexy, desirable woman, Samara took the hand that had covered her wineglass and held it between her hands. She turned it over and ran her finger in a soft, zigzag movement down the inside of his palm.
The hand closed on her finger. Samara gasped and looked up at him, losing all breath. Desire, hot and potent, promising her endless hours of pulse-pounding pleasure, burned in his eyes. Then, as if a wave of cold water had hit him, the heat disappeared and cool arrogance returned.
Samara snatched her hand back and stood. The room blurred, spun, and then settled into a surreal, fuzzy setting. She grasped the table with her fingers, refusing to acknowledge that if someone so much as pushed her with a fingertip, she’d keel over.
A loud sigh drew her gaze back to the table. Noah’s too-perfect mouth lifted into one of the sexiest smiles she’d ever seen. Knowledge hit her, causing another wave of dizziness. She wanted him. It was as simple and unadorned as that. The thought sobered her quickly. Could she do this? Actually have sex with a man she didn’t like, when she was quite certain that if she knew him more, she’d like him even less? Her entire body throbbed with the answer … an unequivocal yes.
Hanging on to the table with one hand, Samara held out the other to Noah. She was a little bewildered when he just stared at it without taking it. Then shock waves pulsed through her when he took her hand and stood beside her.
Drawing her to his side, he tucked his arm around her waist, his big hand resting just below her breast. Samara leaned against him with a sigh of sheer, unadulterated, pleasure-filled relief. His body, hard, warm, and reassuringly masculine, felt delicious.
As he guided her between tables, she barely noticed the amused and curious faces they passed. If she’d been more sober and aware, she might have been embarrassed to be almost carried through the restaurant. Instead she felt only abject relief that they were leaving as the incredible anticipation for what was about to happen mounted.
Noah led her outside and a taxi appeared before them. He nudged her into the backseat and then slid in beside her. His arm came around her shoulders again. Groaning softly, Samara snuggled deeper under his arm and rubbed her face against his jacket. He smelled delicious … clean, masculine musk. A strong surge of heat flushed her body.
Closing her eyes, she was surprised to feel herself drifting off and blinked her heavy eyelids rapidly, not wanting to miss one second of this glorious feeling. Since staying awake was imperative, she decided that one of the best ways to do this was to kiss him. No way would she fall asleep with those delicious lips on hers. Cupping his cheek in her hand, she brought his head down to her level and pressed her mouth against his.
His lips … soft but firm, and incredibly arousing, tasted of the dark chocolate mousse he’d had for dessert. He allowed her to press little kisses against his mouth and then with what sounded like a soft curse, he turned her body, pressed her against the seat, and set his mouth on hers. Heaven. His mouth ate at her, moving ravenously, he swallowed her groan of arousal as she sank deeper into his arms. When his tongue teased at her lips, asking for entrance, Samara obliged.
With the first plunge of his tongue, any semblance of grogginess disappeared. He made love to her mouth. His tongue plunged, retreated, licked at her lips, and then plunged once more. Over, then over again. Never … ever … had she thought she could become aroused and close to orgasm by a kiss alone. Dear, sweet heavens. This man knew how to kiss!
The kiss ended as abruptly as it had started. One minute she was rounding a curve, the sun hot, glowing, heating her skin, headed straight to paradise, and the next second everything came to an abrupt, screeching stop.
She blinked her eyes open. Noah’s hard midnight gaze burned into her like a laser, but she was gratified to hear him panting slightly.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice was low, thick with arousal.
He jerked his head at the window. “We’re here. Get out.” The words were like chunks of ice and ground from him as if he had to dig them out with an ice pick.
Reality and embarrassment slammed down on her. Before she could respond, he tilted her chin with his finger and brought her gaze up to his. “Samara Lyons, you are a dangerous woman.”
Taking her hand, he helped her out of the taxi. Stumbling a little in her heels, she held tightly to his hand as he pulled her toward the heavy glass doors of the hotel entrance.
Samara didn’t know what to think. First he’d acted disgusted with her, then as turned on as any man could be. Then he turned cold and unemotional. Now he was acting like the overprotective brother again.
At least now, after all that, she was much more sober. Hell of it was, she still wanted him. The alcohol had loosened her inhibitions, but they hadn’t made her want this man. If she were honest with herself, she’d admit she had wanted him from the first time she saw him.
Noah led her into a crowded elevator, his arm once again draped over her shoulder as if he were concerned she’d collapse at his feet. He thought she was still tipsy and she took advantage of that to lean into him. Had a man ever felt this wonderful against her body before?
When the elevator stopped, Noah maneuvered her around the people in front of them and led her down the narrow hallway. A curious thought hit her when he stopped at her hotel room door. Not once had she told him where she was staying, what floor she was on, and certainly not her room number. How had he known that?
Once inside the room, he closed the door and released her.
Samara turned toward him, wanting more than anything to wrap herself in his arms again and relive the magic she’d experienced much too briefly moments ago.
Without warning, Noah scooped her into his arms and carried her across the room. Thinking he meant to settle her on the bed and follow her down, Samara giggled at such an amorous gesture. Though he hadn’t seemed the type, she appreciated the romanticism.
In an unceremonious and undignified move, he dumped her on the bed. Her body had barely stopped bouncing before he kissed her forehead and growled, “Watch how much you drink next time.”
Stunned, she watched as he strode across the room. Her lips finally unfroze just as he opened the door. “Where are you going?”
Without looking at her, he snapped, “Home.”
“But … but … why? I thought you wanted …”
Finally, he turned toward her and her heart shriveled. The cold smirk was back in place. “Have a good flight home.” He walked out, shutting the door quietly behind him.
“Sam, are you going to eat your fajitas or just absorb them through osmosis?”
Jerking her head up, she blinked at Rachel. “What?”
She gestured at her plate. “You’ve been staring at your food for five minutes. Something wrong with it?”
She shook her head. “I’m just not as hungry as I thought.”
Rachel knew a lie when she heard it. Her hand touched Samara’s wrist. “You okay? Did ‘Mr. Too Sexy for My Heart’ upset you?”
A smile tickled her lips. … Her best friend could always lighten her mood. “He’s a friend of Jordan’s. Seeing him reminded me of some things I’d rather forget.” Rachel didn’t need to know that it wasn’t remembering Jordan’s marriage to another woman that upset her, but rather the gorgeous man who’d had the nerve to turn her down.
She also knew not to mention his name. Few people knew who Noah McCall was or what he looked like. Jordan and Eden had explained that no matter what, his identity should always be kept private. She had no problem with that, since she didn’t even want to think about the jerk.
With almost no appetite, Samara forced herself to e
at at least one fajita. Two margaritas in her system meant slightly tipsy for her. She needed something to counteract the alcohol. Though seeing Noah had sobered her up quite well. Funny how he seemed to be able to do that.
After driving through the apartment complex twice, Samara blew out an exasperated curse. She was going to have to park quite a distance away from her apartment entrance. She’d only been in Birmingham a couple of months. Since she hadn’t known if she’d like living in the South, she had moved into an apartment. Now, having decided she did like it, she would soon start looking for a small house. She was already tired of living like a sardine. Having grown up in an oversized, rambling house, with a giant yard, several dogs and cats and assorted other animals her brothers were always finding, she missed the comfort of a private home.
Grateful for the well-lit lot, Samara grabbed her purse in one hand and her keys in the other. Almost to her building, she stopped abruptly and bent to adjust the strap on her shoe that had rubbed a blister on her heel. She adjusted the strap and straightened.
Hard, muscular arms wrapped around her, trapping her. A big body pressed against her. A hand covered her mouth, stifling an automatic scream. Her heart and adrenaline raced. Samara screamed muffled curses against the hand as her feet were swept off the pavement.
Legs dangling, she kicked back at the brute, trying for a shin or an even more vulnerable spot. The arms squeezed tighter. A new panic ensued. Was he going to crush the breath from her? Her arms pinned at her side, her legs swung uselessly. She wiggled and squirmed harder, determined this bastard wouldn’t win.
Warm breath teased her ear as a familiar masculine voice growled, “Easy now. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Tsunami-force fury rushed through her. How dare he!
two
With renewed effort, Samara began to fight in earnest. Before she’d been merely terrified. Now she was furious. The arms tightened around her and Samara knew he would either squeeze the breath out of her until she passed out or she exhausted herself. Neither one would give her what she wanted, which was an opportunity to punch the jerk holding her. With that delicious thought in mind, she went limp in his arms.
“Good girl. Now, let’s go talk.”
Samara didn’t move. As long as he held her like this, all he had to do was tighten his arms and she’d be helpless again. She stayed limp and forced her breathing to slow, soften.
“Samara … you okay?” He shook her slightly and Samara barely restrained from grinning, anticipating the moment when the tables would be turned.
“Shit,” he muttered, “you’re so tiny. … I didn’t think …”
With lightning quickness, he hefted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and started running. Indignation made her want to yell. She forced herself to wait. As she bounced against his shoulder, several thoughts flashed through her mind. First, how could a man run full force with an adult on his shoulder and not even breathe hard? Where the hell was he taking her? Why the hell was he doing this? And then a sudden urgent thought as her stomach roiled. What was he going to do when her two margaritas, chips, salsa, and fajita ended up on his ass when she started throwing up?
Within a minute, Noah had reached her apartment door and the bastard actually opened it as if he had a key. The door opened and shut quickly, with Samara still hanging upside down like a bat. Gritting her teeth, she prepared to move. This had gone on long enough.
She allowed him to pull her off his shoulder. Before he could set her feet on the floor, she sprang into action and struck. Her right fist slammed into his eye. A left fist headed toward his stomach. He didn’t stop the punch to his face, but a hard, firm hand grabbed her wrist, preventing her from dealing the gut punch.
Still holding her arm, he pushed her away. “Now that, sweetheart, was impressive.” He sounded amused … maybe even a little bit pleased. The nerve!
Samara pulled away from him sharply, backed up, and then, like a small bull, lowered her head and targeted his stomach.
Hands grabbed her shoulders before she took half a step. And he laughed. “That’s really cute, but not too smart. You could break your neck, coming at me like that. Why don’t you settle down and let’s have a—oof!”
Her hands came up and broke his hold on her shoulders, then she half slapped, half punched his face. It was a puny effort by anyone’s standards. Her brothers would be disgusted with her.
A long exasperated sigh, and then that tinge of amusement again. “Mara, you’re going to get hurt if you don’t stop.”
Turning away from him, she grabbed the nearest weapon, a photograph of her entire family. She swung at him.
He easily grabbed her wrist and held it, grinning. “What are you trying to do, frame me?”
She was getting damned tired of his amusement and his one-liners. “You want to tell me what the hell you’re up to?”
“Glad you’re talking, instead of all that physical violence … but you might want to lower your voice.”
She raised her voice higher. “Don’t you dare tell me to lower my voice in my own home. You abduct me, manhandle me, break into my apartment and you have the nerve to—”
Expelling a huge sigh, he grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder again, and carried her into the kitchen. Dumping her in a chair at the kitchen table, he quickly and efficiently tied her hands behind her and then to the back of the chair. Shrieking with rage, she rose and tried to ram him. He laughed softly as he pushed her down. Going to his knees, he wrapped a length of rubber tubing around her ankles and then the legs of the chair.
“Noah McCall, untie me, you rat bastard!”
Piling on even more insult, Noah turned away and pulled dish towels from a drawer. She opened her mouth to scream. One towel was pressed on her mouth as he tied another around her head.
Tied up, mute, and more furious than she could ever imagine being, Samara had heard of a killing rage and now knew exactly what it felt like. When he let her go, she would not be responsible for her actions. The man was dead meat.
Though furious, it never occurred to her to be frightened. Once she knew who he was, the only emotion she’d felt was fury. She was one of the few people in the world who knew Noah McCall and was alive to tell about it … not that she ever would. He might be a jerk and a brute, but he also was the founder of Last Chance Rescue, an organization whose sole purpose was to rescue and save victims, many of them children. She could still hate the man even while she admired what he did. Without a doubt, he wouldn’t hurt her. Piss her off? Most definitely.
Noah couldn’t help but be impressed with Samara’s spirit and ingenuity. He could’ve sworn she was unconscious when he’d brought her inside. Had even felt a twinge of guilt for that. And she surprised him. Danged if she hadn’t even gotten a good lick at him. Few people had ever been able to do that. His little tiger kitten had claws, making him like her even more. At that thought, he drew quickly back. There were only a handful of people he actually liked in this world. Samara Lyons didn’t need to be one of them. He was here for her help, not friendship.
Noah pulled out another chair, turned it around, and straddled it. The grin kicked up his mouth again. It was hard to look at Samara and not smile. No, she wasn’t at her best, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, hostility gleaming from those remarkable eyes of hers. Her long, almost blue-black hair gleamed under the stark brightness of the kitchen’s light fixture. Petite, delicate, and 100 percent pure femininity. The first time he’d seen her, that was what he had thought. She was like a small, fragile doll. Until she opened her mouth. That mouth. How many times had he woken up in the past year, with a raging hard-on, dreaming of that mouth?
A muffled sound of rage brought him back to the present. He needed to get back to the reason he was here. Tying her up hadn’t been in his plan, but he rarely went anywhere without his ties.
“Listen Mara, I know you’re pissed … and you’re still angry about last year, but I need your help.”
Those inc
redible eyes widened in disbelief. Yeah, he could understand that. She still held a grudge against him and instead of trying to talk sensibly to her, he’d abducted her, manhandled her, tied her up, and gagged her. Not so big on the charm these days, McCall.
“If I take the gag from your mouth, will you promise not to scream?”
Gratitude gleamed in her eyes as she nodded emphatically. There went that little tug where his heart should have been. Ignoring it, he stood, untied the knot, and pulled the cloth from her face.
Panting slightly, she stayed true to her word and didn’t scream. In fact, said nothing at all. That kind of worried him. Samara not talking meant she was planning something. He best get to explaining his presence.
“Listen, Mara, I know I haven’t gone about this the right way … not really sure what the right way is anymore, but that’s another story. Bottom line … I need your help.”
“Why do you keep calling me Mara?”
“Huh?”
“You keep calling me Mara. … Why?”
He lifted a shoulder. “It’s just a nickname.”
She studied him as though he were a newly discovered species of vermin. Disdain clouded her eyes. “Do I have to hear you out, tied up like this?”
No way was he falling for that. “Yeah, you do. I don’t have time to tie you up again. I need to talk and I need you to listen. … Okay?”
Glaring, she closed her mouth.
“You know what I do. … Right?”
She nodded.
“LCR’s been asked to find a missing girl. Her name’s Ashley Mason. She’s thirteen years old and disappeared three weeks ago from Lexington, Kentucky.”
Despite herself, Samara leaned forward, caught not only by Noah’s words, but also his eyes. Everything else about him seemed cold, controlled, even slightly amused … except his eyes. They blazed with purpose and determination. Again, Noah McCall might be an A-number-one low-lying jerk, but he actually cared what happened to these kids.
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