Shiver

by Karen Robards

  He’s turned on, too. The realization made her want to start stripping off her clothes. Then she remembered that both of them had resolved to keep sex out of it—for very good reasons—and determinedly focused on the folded bills he was still holding in front of her face instead.

  “It’s mine. Give it back.”

  “Yeah. No. You got something hidden in your front pocket, too. I can feel it pressing against me. Are you gonna pull whatever it is out and show it to me, or do you want me to pat you down all over?”

  An honest answer to that question, even if given silently, was not in her best interest, so she thrust it out of her mind. Bottom line was, if he patted her down all over, she would probably end up dissolving into a steaming little puddle at his feet. At the very least, she would get even more turned on than she already was, and that would not be good. Or smart.

  So she folded.

  Giving him a sulky look, she delved into her pocket and produced the knife.

  “Happy now?” she asked.

  He took the knife, shot a pointed look at her cleavage. “Is that it?”

  Just the idea that he might start searching where he was looking made her heart thump. Forget about it. Not going to happen. “Yes.”

  He gave her another hard look. “You give me your word?”

  “You can do a strip search if you want.” A little bit of aggression, she figured, was the best way to back him off. Because she was able to see, now, that the heat in his eyes wasn’t the only sign. That, plus the flush that had risen to stain the tops of his high cheekbones, the heavy-lidded look to his eyes, the barely perceptible quickening of his breathing, were all signals that, as a woman, she knew how to read: he wanted her bad.

  If she’d let it, the knowledge would have made her dizzy. But instead she forced it out of her head, and managed to summon a mocking smile for him.

  His lips thinned. As she’d been almost positive he wouldn’t, he didn’t take her up on her offer. Instead, with her cash and knife still in hand, he levered himself off her, reaching for the crutch that still lay against the wall beside her, wedging it into place, bracing himself with it, surprisingly solid on his one good leg. The net result was that there were now a few inches of space between them, for which she tried to tell herself she was glad. She stayed where she was, back against the wall, her hands flattened against the cool plaster.

  To keep herself from doing what she really wanted to do and reaching for him.

  He looked at her grimly. “The knife I can understand. You want something to protect yourself with. Under the circumstances, fair enough. The money—that’s what’s got me worried. Especially since I watched you spend the afternoon checking out the doors and windows, locating the car and house keys, and memorizing the code to the security alarm. You’re thinking about taking Tyler and striking out on your own, aren’t you?”

  Sam thought about lying. She certainly hadn’t been expecting him of all people to be so observant, but apparently he had missed very little, which told her that he had been watching her closely while he hadn’t appeared to be watching her at all. He’d observed enough to lead him to the money and the knife, too. The idea that she had just been the subject of a very thorough if partial pat-down was finally starting to work its way through her brain, and she was thinking that she ought to be at least a little mad at him about it. What complicated the whole thing was remembering how it had made her feel. Sexy enough to make her start to burn all over again at the recollection.

  You need to get laid, she told herself firmly. Then, in a hasty corollary, she added, just not by this guy.

  But it was too late. She had an instant mental vision of the two of them naked and in bed, and practically ground her teeth as her pulse went tremulous and her stomach seemed to quiver. The tiny stress muscle below her eye started to twitch, most annoyingly. Pressing a calming finger to it, she glared at him, and gave up all attempt at pretense.

  “So what if I am?”

  His eyes narrowed. “That would be the dumbest thing you could possibly do.”

  She huffed. “Says you. The guy who screwed up his life so badly that he’s got an army of assassins combing the country looking for him, and if he doesn’t get himself and everybody around him murdered is going to wind up spending the next twenty years or so in jail.”

  For a moment Marco didn’t say anything, just looked at her. She realized that throwing what he was in his face was her way of asking him to deny it if he could. But what he said was, “Who’s been talking to you? Not Sanders, I’m willing to bet. One of the other three.”

  “What does it matter? It’s true, isn’t it?” Although she was giving him one last chance, she did not expect him to say no, and he didn’t. Instead, he looked at her without saying anything at all for a moment, then slowly inclined his head: yes. Okay, well, now she’d had it straight from the horse’s mouth. “The point is, I have to judge this for myself.”

  “I’ve kept you safe so far, haven’t I? You and Tyler. I’ll see you through this, I promise.”

  “Wait a minute. What happened to that whole ‘if I can’ thing?”

  The slight flicker of his eyelashes told her that he remembered his qualified promise when they had first met: I’ll keep you alive. If I can.

  She had no doubt that he was telling the truth: he would do his absolute best. It was the “if” part that was bothering her.

  “Have a little faith in me, Sam.” He said it very quietly. His eyes had gone dark. His face had changed in some subtle way that she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he looked tough and capable and like somebody she could absolutely rely on in a pinch.

  Have a little faith in me. Oh, God, she wanted to. But if she had learned one thing over the years, it was that the only person she could rely on was herself.

  “I have to think of Tyler,” she said. “He only has me to look out for him.”

  “I’m thinking of Tyler, too. On your own, you two would be sitting ducks.” His eyes raked her, and then when they met hers again they had turned hard. “Look, we can do this one of two ways. I can dog every step you take until the danger’s passed, and by that I mean from here on out I sleep on the floor outside your bedroom door, I eat when you eat, I stand outside the bathroom while you’re in it—” He broke off to give her a malicious smile. “I see from your expression you’re getting my drift—or you can convince me that you’re not just going to grab Tyler and bolt because something spooked you and you think it’s a good idea.”

  She glared at him. “You say that like you think I’m not capable of making a sound judgment about what to do. I am, I promise you. What’s it to you, anyway?”

  “I got you into this. I mean to get you out. And yes, I do think you’re capable of making a sound judgment about what to do. I just don’t think you completely understand the situation.”

  “What don’t I understand?”

  He shrugged. “How ruthless the Zetas are, for one thing.”

  “So, bottom line, I should just trust your judgment and do what you tell me.”

  The faintest suggestion of a smile touched his mouth. “There you go. Bingo.”

  Her lips pursed. She eyed him. “Here’s what I don’t think you understand. Sanders—the marshals—have no interest in protecting Tyler and me. If you were to have to go to the hospital, say, to get your leg treated—”

  “Won’t happen,” he interjected. “It’s getting all better. It’s sore, but I’ll live. A little time, a little ointment, a few Band-Aids, and I’ll be good as new.”

  Sam frowned doubtfully. “Band-Aids?”

  “Band-Aids,” he repeated, then twitched his robe aside so that she could see his leg. As he’d said, instead of yards of gauze over layers of sterile padding, which was what had adorned his thigh the last time she’d seen it, a single large Band-Aid was plastered over the place where the bullet had gone in. She goggled at it.

  “See?”

  From practically the hem of his boxers to the top of hi
s knee, his thigh was black and blue. It still looked slightly swollen and definitely painful, but somehow the Band-Aid made it look much less potentially disabling than before.

  “It looks better,” she admitted.

  “I heal fast.” He frowned at her. “How about you give me your word that you won’t go running off without at least giving me a heads-up first?”

  “You’d stop me,” she objected.

  The flicker in his eyes told her that she’d hit the nail on the head. But he didn’t admit it. “Hell, I’d probably go with you. Because I’m assuming that you wouldn’t go haring off on your own without good reason, and if you come across a reason good enough to make you think you ought to take Tyler and run, then I should probably be hauling ass out of here, too.”

  “You are so full of crap.”

  Again he almost smiled. “Maybe.” His eyes held hers. “Come on, Sam. Are you really going to make me sleep on the floor outside your door tonight?”

  “It’s tempting.” Sam looked at him meditatively. “Okay, I give you my word,” she said, and wasn’t even sure whether she was lying or not.

  His expression was impossible to read. But all he said was, “Good.” Then he handed her cash and knife back to her. Just like that.

  “Thank you,” she said, trying not to sound surprised as she thrust them down into her front pocket.

  There was something there in the depths of his eyes as he watched her that made her heart speed up again.

  “Don’t ever play poker, Sam,” he said softly. Then as she frowned at him, trying to work that out, he slid a hand under her chin, leaned forward, and kissed her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It had nothing to do with the damned pain pills. Tonight he was the opposite of high as a kite, and the sexual voltage between them was still off the charts. That was the unwelcome knowledge that tore like a bullet through Danny’s brain at the first surprised flutter of Sam’s lips beneath his. Rampant desire so hot it would have put a flamethrower to shame raised his temperature by about a thousand degrees as soon as he yielded to the damned stupid impulse of a moment and kissed her. Then she made a tiny sound and her lips parted to let him in, and his gut clenched and he went instantly hard and for a minute there he wasn’t thinking at all.

  Her mouth was warm and wet, sweet and seductive. Her tongue welcomed his with an eagerness that sent his libido into turbocharge mode. He kissed her hungrily, fiercely, until he felt the cool silk of her hands start to slide up around his neck.

  Then he had a second, just a second, of clarity.

  But it was enough.

  Opening his eyes, he forced his mind to function, steeled his will.

  Catching her arms before they could lock around his neck, he freed his mouth from hers, lifted his head. And found himself looking down at rosy, full lips damp with his kiss, delicate nose, fringes of flirty black lashes lying against pale, smooth cheeks. With sooty tendrils of hair framing the fine-featured oval of her face, she was so beautiful she made his breath stop.

  He’d started getting turned on when he had frisked her, which was why he had stopped with the job only half done. Having succumbed to the urge to kiss her just now simply because she’d looked so damned guilty and vulnerable and sweet, he was paying the price: he wanted her so badly he hurt with it.

  You fucking idiot.

  “Sam.”

  Her eyes had opened when he had caught her arms. Danny found himself drowning in pools of intense blue. The passion he saw in them made him burn. The promise of hot, intense, mind-blowing sex crackled in the air. It would be so easy, so damned easy, to give her what she so clearly wanted, to reward himself with what he was dying to have, to take her to bed and rock her world and see if he couldn’t make his own world a little brighter, too.

  For a moment, as they stared at each other, the issue hung in the balance. He was so aroused that despite every resolution he had made to the contrary he wasn’t sure he had the iron control that he was going to need to step away.

  Then her brows snapped together in a frown.

  “Forget about it, Marco.” Her voice was a little husky, her breathing a little fast, but the determination in her tone was unmistakable. He felt the quick rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. The warmth of her, the softness of her, the sweet scent of her, all combined to make him burn. She pulled her arms from his hold, took a step back. He let her go.

  By calling him Marco, she had opened a tiny little window that allowed a few beams of sanity to reach his brain. The danger hadn’t gone away. He still needed to be clearheaded. He still couldn’t afford the distraction.

  But he wanted her. Jesus, he wanted her.

  She said, “I’m not doing this. No way.”

  Thank the Lord she had the sense to call a halt, because right at that moment he was having trouble getting there. He was practically clenching his teeth to keep from reaching for her again.

  She said, “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

  He said nothing as she turned and left him, padding barefoot down the hall with her head held high. Tall and willowy, her tank top clinging in a way that showed off her narrow rib cage and small waist, her jeans hugging her absolutely world-class ass and long slim legs, with the kind of sway to her walk that would make a eunuch pant, she took his breath away. If he hadn’t been in so highly charged a state, and fighting it so doggedly, he would have smiled at the fierceness of her as she walked away from him.

  The girl had attitude. Balls. By putting the brakes on something he knew she was as hungry to have happen as he was, she had surprised him once again. Jesus, he was ready to walk over hot coals barefoot to find out what she would be like in bed. Would she be sweet? Or wild?

  Imagining the possibilities set him on fire all over again.

  But whether she was hot stuff in the sack or not, taking her to bed wasn’t on the agenda. Getting her and her kid to safety was what he needed to be focusing on. What he was going to focus on.

  Just give him a couple of seconds.

  Danny stood where he was for another minute or so, willing himself to chill out with only so-so success. Then he turned and headed for his bedroom. Since arriving at the town house, he’d slept with his bedroom door open, the better to keep an eye and an ear on Tyler and Sam. Sam slept with her bedroom door open, too, to listen for Tyler, he knew. And Tyler’s bedroom door was left open, probably so Sam could hear him if he cried out in the night.

  But a moment ago Sam had shut her bedroom door with a decided snap, which he had taken as another manifestation of ain’t happening directed at him. And now he was closing his, too. And locking it. And turning on the radio that also served as an alarm clock, the better to keep from being overheard.

  His bedroom was the smallest of the three, and simple: white walls, beige carpet, a framed landscape over a double bed. Plain oak headboard, oak nightstand with a lamp and the clock radio, oak chest. Navajo looking bedspread, and in one corner a small brown armchair.

  He sat down in the armchair—it was a rocker, he discovered, upholstered in some kind of plush—and started taking apart his right crutch. The handful of Advil he had popped maybe an hour before had taken the edge off his leg, but it still hurt like hell. He was just getting better at ignoring it. His finger, his bruises, and other injuries, they were healing, and he barely noticed them now. They were nothing he hadn’t suffered before. His worst problem at the moment was that he was horny as hell and stuck with it, no relief in sight. In fact, he was getting ready to make sure that the woman he was jazzed with lust over to the point where he was having trouble thinking about anything except taking her to bed was whisked away out of his reach.

  With the crutch lying dismantled near his feet, he snapped the battery back into the cell phone and turned it on. A second later, it flickered to life. He punched in a number that only a few people knew, and waited.

  “Panterro,” he identified himself to the man who answered. Using his real name felt risky—when he was un
dercover he did his best to forget it—but this situation had gone so far off the rails that the rules he usually operated by had flown out the window. Besides, unless the house was bugged, no one was listening. And if Veith or the Zetas knew where the house was, bugging it wouldn’t be what they did, so talking freely should be safe.

  “Danny.” Associate Deputy Director Keith Mayhew didn’t sound particularly glad to hear from him. Which Danny could understand. Last time they’d talked, which had been about six months previously, Danny had just completed an undercover operation into a foreign government that provided prostitutes for members of Congress and other high-ranking officials, then videotaped and subsequently blackmailed them. The fallout hadn’t been pretty, and the director’s office had caught significant flack. Fortunately he and Mayhew went further back than that, all the way back to when Mayhew, as special agent in charge of the Houston office, had hired him straight out of college. “What bad news do you have for me now?”

  “None.” Danny almost smiled at the resigned tone in the older man’s voice. “I’m on assignment. I need a favor.”

  “So lay it on me.”

  Danny gave him a quick rundown of the situation. “Bottom line, I got two civilians in the line of fire. I want them out of it.”

  “What do you expect me to do about it?”

  “Send a crew you trust to get them out of here. Take ’em back to Washington or somewhere and protect the hell out of them until I get this over with.”

  “They’re that important to you, hmm?”

  Until Mayhew said it, Danny hadn’t really thought about it that way. But the truth was, protecting civilians usually happened on a pay grade level way below Mayhew’s. What Danny was asking for was a five-star, gold-plated personal favor. He recognized that Mayhew wouldn’t forget it, that he’d be throwing it in Danny’s face at the most inopportune moments for the rest of his professional life. Danny thought of Sam, and Tyler, and concluded, worth it.

  “Yeah,” he said.