by Tawny Weber
Folding her hands around themselves, she tried to hold the pain there, squeezing it away. So many times she felt that burning slap of disdain in her life. Even now, after years of distancing herself from her mother, even with the country-club polish and the gilt-stamped approval of marrying into the most influential family in the county, she felt it.
But maybe she deserved that disdain, a little voice whispered. Here she was, churned up and turned on by a man who wasn’t her fiancé. What did that say about her?
“You want to clarify that question?” Laramie asked, tossing his empty bottle into a bucket before glancing back at her. Except for the irritation in his eyes, his expression could be termed neutral. Still, it sent a shiver of trepidation down her spine.
But Sammi didn’t back down.
“I want to know if you think I’m going to have sex with you in return for you helping me find Sterling?”
There. Couldn’t get any clearer than that.
“You’re kidding, right?” Laramie said, the irritation in his eyes replaced by laughter. “Sugar, I’m a highly-skilled military machine. My training alone is worth more money than this entire town. You think you can pay me off with a kiss?”
Well, she’d actually thought the payment might be a lot more than just kissing. Feeling like an idiot and wondering where she’d made the wrong turn, assumption-wise, Sammi opened her mouth to apologize.
Laramie stopped her with a simple shake of his head.
“If anyone else said something like that to me, I’d be mighty pissed. I don’t barter with sex, Sammi Jo. I don’t have to.” He waited a beat as the heat worked its way up Sammi’s cheeks, then nodded. “Keep that in mind. Because when we do have sex, you’re going to be the one asking.”
Her mouth dropped.
She wanted to laugh. To say that that’d never happen. But as her stomach pitched into her toes, tingling the entire way, it assured Sammi that yes, given the chance, she should be very careful.
Otherwise she was going to be in big trouble.
Big, naked trouble.
“I came here for your help.” She said, the words as much for her as for him. “I’m not here to sample your legendary sexual skills.”
She tried for a contemptuous laugh, but given that her words were shaky and her laugh breathless, she didn’t think she pulled it off. Not that she could tell from Laramie’s expression. He was impossible to read.
His eyes were distant and that tempting mouth—still glistening from where she’d stroked it with her tongue—was hard.
“I guess we’ll see where that goes,” was all he said.
Sammi wanted to growl.
Or better yet, to scream. Why didn’t he react to her insult? Why didn’t he say something so she could be angry instead of churned up with needs she didn’t understand?
“In the meantime, you might want to consider that you’re not getting the whole picture.”
Of course she wasn’t. The picture was distorted by the fact that he was wearing clothes. She didn’t know how so many women did that imagining a guy naked thing. She couldn’t seem to get past his belt buckle. Was he smooth or hair roughened? And how big was he down there, really? The rumors of his kissing were obviously true. Did that mean the rest of the gossip was, too?
If so, how the hell did it fit?
Her thighs constricted tight as she tried to imagine it, Sammi realized just exactly where her thoughts had gone. Horrified, she pressed her fingers against her temples. Focus, she ordered herself.
The last thing she should be thinking about when her fiancé was missing was the size of another man’s equipment, dammit.
“What else is there to consider?” she asked. Her eyes rounded as the thought of kidnapping plots, political machinations and nefarious motivations ran through her mind. “Should I have Mr. Barclay watched? Do you think someone is after the whole family?”
“I’m sure the old man is just fine. What you should be wondering about is the possibility that your husband-to-be might not want you trying to rescue him.”
Puzzled by the odd emphasis he’d put on rescue, Sammi shook her head.
“Of course he does. Why else would he have called me?”
Then, with jaw-dropping shock, it hit her.
“You think he skipped out to avoid our wedding? That he staged some elaborate kidnapping because he wanted to get out of marrying me?”
“Plenty of guys get cold feet.”
A roaring filled Sammi’s ears as the room did a swift three-sixty. She gripped the couch with stiff fingers, as much to ground herself as to keep from falling on her face. Instead of looking at Laramie, she stared out the window with burning eyes as the idea filled her mind.
All her life, she’d pursued two goals. Respectability, and to stay off the gossips’ radar. Oh, how those would both be shot to hell if this were true.
She could hear it now. The tut-tutting at the church social about that poor Wilson girl, getting what she deserved for aiming above her station. The pitying looks from employees at the inn as they wondered whether or not to accept her authority. Oh, god, the men. They’d start swarming again, figuring she was a younger version of Cora Mae.
How much would that suck?
A lot, Sammi admitted with a deep breath. But nothing had changed. Well, given that she’d discovered the questionable delight of inappropriate lust, she had to admit that she’d changed. But nothing pertaining to her reason for coming had changed. Whether he’d orchestrated it or not, Sterling was missing. And she had to find him, if for no other reason than his disappearance would break Mr. Barclay’s heart.
Her gaze shifted back to Laramie, who was leaning against the refrigerator, looking as if he might take a nap.
“Are you going to help me find Sterling?” she asked quietly.
His expression remote, undecipherable, Laramie finally nodded.
“Give me your cell phone,” he said, holding out one hand.
“My phone?” Sammy automatically reached for her pocket before remembering that she was wearing a wedding dress, it had no pockets and her phone wasn’t with her. “I left it in the truck.”
She frowned when she saw the impatient look on his face.
“You have no cell service up here,” she pointed out. “And I have nowhere to put a phone. It was easier to leave it. Besides, I already tried that GPS tracking thing, but it has to be on both phones. Sterling doesn’t have his on.”
Laramie pushed away from the fridge and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Sammi straightened, starting after him.
“To get your phone.”
* * *
LARAMIE COULD TURN a cell phone into a bomb. He could alter one to connect with a military satellite and, if necessary, he could turn one into a jammer to disrupt enemy radio signals. But his knowledge of electronics wasn’t extensive enough to hack into one and figure out a caller’s location.
His expertise was explosives.
And he was smart enough to recognize a volatile situation when he was standing in it. And to know that the only options were to defuse it or get the hell away before it blew.
There was a lot to be said for a strategic retreat. With that in mind, Laramie strode down the dirt track leading away from the cabin with Sammi Jo hot on his heels.
He breathed in the treasured peace of the Guadalupe Mountains, letting it seep into his skin. Chinquapin oaks ranged a few yards back from the path; Mexican orange bushes and skunkbushes dotted the landscape. A red-tailed hawk circled overhead as if welcoming him home.
It would have been perfect.
Would have being the operative phrase.
He glanced at the woman by his side, impressed that she’d kept up so easily. He’d have figured those long legs of hers would have trouble hiking in high heels.
How long were those legs? he wondered. Her dress hugged her hips, but it was hard to tell under all that white fluff flowing to her knees. The shiny fabric shoes were toast, he
noted. Covered in dust, the pointed toes were fraying fast. Probably not too many brides wore them to hike through the hills. Leave it to Sammi to be different.
“Do you do that a lot?” she asked as if realizing his temper had faded.
“Walk?” His usual gentlemanly nature kicking in, he adjusted his stride to match hers. “Pretty much every day.”
“Ha. I meant do you kiss women a lot?” She slid him a sideways gaze, her lips pursed in consideration. “I’ve heard you do, but you know how gossip is. A puff of air is a force-four tornado by the time it gets through the gossip chain.”
Wasn’t that the truth? It’d been one of many reasons Laramie had been happy to leave Jerrick. Little had he known that he’d be trading small-town gossip for military gossip. And like everything the military did, they were a gossiping machine, so organized that some guys said that each piece of gossip was spread with a salute. Just to make it official.
When they reached the fork in the path, he waited for her gesture before angling left. She must have parked on the road next to the hiking trail instead of the one leading toward the canyon. Only a half mile to go before he could breathe his peaceful air all by himself.
“Well?”
Shifting his eyes from the piñon pine in the distance where the road ran past, Laramie simply arched his brow.
“How many women have you kissed?” Sounding somewhere between frustrated and fascinated, Sammi frowned. “Hundreds? Thousands?”
Laramie’s lips twitched.
“A gentleman doesn’t brag.” Nor did he keep count. Not when counting would take on the proportions of a part-time job.
Figuring this topic wasn’t doing either of them any good, Laramie stepped up his pace until they came to the clearing by the highway.
“Well, do you just kiss women for the hell of it?” she asked, the frustration overcoming fascination as her words got tighter. “Do you have a weekly quota or something?”
“Sugar, I sometimes spend a month at a time in a submarine or a cave. A weekly quota wouldn’t be doable.”
“Monthly? Yearly?” she snapped, taking the hand Laramie held out to help her step over the downed log blocking the road. “I’d just like to know where I fit into all of that.”
She didn’t.
He wouldn’t let her.
“I take it that’s yours,” he said instead of answering. He frowned at the late model Chevy truck tucked between two scrub bushes.
“It’s the inn’s,” Sammi said, gesturing as they came around to where Barclay’s name was plastered over the door. “I just drive it.”
“Your fiancé owns some fancy-ass dealership, doesn’t he?” Hadn’t his uncle mentioned that at some point? “What do you drive? A Jag? Mercedes?”
“I drive this.” Sammi patted the truck’s red fender.
Laramie frowned. Between Barclay’s dealership and her working for the richest man in town, she should be rolling in fancy cars, fancy clothes and fancy every-damned-thing.
Before he could ask, Sammi slid her hand down the top of her dress, two fingers slipping inside that lush cleavage. Laramie tipped his hat back a little to get a better look, just in case she needed help or anything.
His fingers itched to dive in there, to slide around that warm, soft skin. To dip deeper until he found her nipple and find out how sensitive it was. To see what sound she’d make when he rubbed it.
Damn, he was getting hard again.
Laramie forced his gaze away from her chest, focusing instead on the cute expression of concentration on her face. She flashed a triumphant smile as she pulled a key out of her top.
“I was afraid I’d lose it if I carried it,” she said with a laugh. “I debated hiding it under a rock or something, then realized this dress is so tight, nothing is moving in there.”
Damn. Was she really that innocent?
Head tilted, he studied Sammi’s face as she unlocked the door and realized that yeah, she really was. He needed to remember that.
“Now what do we do?” she asked, hopping into the driver’s seat. She pulled her cell phone out of the cubby in the dash and handed it to him before shifting so that she was angled toward him. Her dress didn’t make the shift as easily, the fabric facing forward as her torso faced him. Laramie waited, but nothing interesting popped out. Was she glued in there?
Probably for the best, he acknowledged as his gaze climbed from the fullness of her lace-covered breasts, up the gold silk of chest and long slender throat. Her sharp chin and that full upper lip gave him pause for a moment before Laramie finally met Sammi’s eyes.
“We don’t do anything. You go home. Do whatever it is you usually do. I’ll deal with this.” He looked around the dirt road, brush and trees obscuring them from anyone’s view. “I’ll be in touch.”
“What? No way.” She reached out to grab his arm before Laramie could move away from the door. “I’m helping find Sterling.”
“No.” Ignoring the odd comfort her touch gave him, Laramie shook his head. “You already have an assignment. Make like everything is normal. I’ll do the searching.”
“I’m not sitting on my butt while my fiancé is in danger.” Sammi swung her legs out of the truck, as if to jump down. Laramie stepped forward, blocking her before she could.
“If you want to find Sterling yourself, go ahead. If you want my help, we do it my way.” He waited a beat, until the stubborn frustration faded from her face. “You go back to town, you play like things are just fine and you don’t contact me.”
“Then how do I know what’s going on?” Her tut-tutting eye roll clued him in that she had a very different vision of how this was going to go than he did.
“I’m going to tap a few friends, call in a few favors. I’ll contact you as soon as I know something. You stay in town. Don’t come up here, don’t try to contact me, don’t even think about mentioning that you saw me.” Before she could voice the protest he saw in her eyes, Laramie shifted into command mode. Voice brisk, eyes direct, words strong. “You’ll jeopardize your engagement if anyone knows you’ve been in contact with me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Laramie waited a beat.
“So how’d you know I was in town?”
“The gossip chain was rattling, of course. Everyone’s talking about the legend of Laramie.” She wriggled her brows. “Did you know some of the guys want to erect a statue in your honor at Make Out Peak? Erect being the key word, by the way.”
His point made, he simply waited.
After a second, Sammi frowned and shook her head.
“Just because every woman in town wants to ride you like a show horse doesn’t mean they’d think I do, too.”
Sure they wouldn’t.
Sammi gave an irritated sniff, crossed her arms over her breasts in a way that made Laramie want to promise that she’d have the ride of her life.
“Is this some macho SEAL attempt to protect me?”
Hell, no. Laramie automatically shied away from the idea of protecting a single person. He was trained to protect his country, he was conditioned to protect his team. Every hostage extraction, every assignment to aid foreign operatives, every single mission undertaken was done for the simple reason that it was for the good of the country.
He could do that.
He did do that—and he was damned good at it.
But a single person?
Nope. Not happening. Laramie gently turned Sammi toward the steering wheel again, then once her legs were clear, shut the truck door.
He gave her a modified salute with her cell phone, then nodded toward the road.
“I’ll be in touch.”
6
THERE HAD BEEN many times in her life that Sammi Jo thought she’d gotten a bum deal when it came to life’s little blessings.
Her early years as a frizzy-headed carrottop, when she’d wished for fine, straight blond hair.
Grade school, spent struggling with dyslexia while all she’d wanted to do was to
lose herself in a book.
Hoping to make a living doing something creative, only to be told her art style was too mundane and not worth pursuing.
And, of course, any and all thoughts of her mother.
But her combined disappointment over all of those missed blessings was nothing compared to how she felt right now.
As Sammi tried to clean up the mess left in her office, she couldn’t shake the miserable feeling that her marriage plans were doomed. She righted the desk chair. Every minute she spent searching for the missing wheel a reminder that her fiancé was missing, too.
Kneeling on the floor, she gathered the papers that’d been thrown this way and that—she assumed during his struggle. Panicking wouldn’t help, she told herself as she tried to press wrinkles out of a few invoices. But the simple white clock on the wall mocked her with every tick of its tock, reminding her that it’d been eighteen hours since she’d driven away from Laramie and she hadn’t heard a word. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t silence.
She rose, setting the stack of papers on the desk under a book in the hopes of flattening them again. Needing to keep busy, desperate for something to take her mind from jumping from panicked scenario to frantic worry, she grabbed the box of booking software that Mr. Barclay wanted installed.
Twenty minutes later, her mind was definitely distracted but her stress level was even higher.
It’d taken her two tries to even get it to turn on and even then, it’d taken forever to boot up.
Now, for the fifth time, her screen flashed an error message as she tried to install the program. Sammi jabbed the enter button again. And again. And again.
The monitor went black. A white line intersected the screen for a brief second before the error message flashed again.
Stupid freaking computer.
Sammi smacked the heel of her hand against her computer monitor and growled.
“Sammi Jo. What do you think you’re doing? That’s an expensive piece of equipment.”
Biting back a yelp, Sammi jumped to her feet, the chair skidding one way while its broken wheel shot under her desk.
