by Debra Webb
“He wants my company?”
“No,” she insisted. “He only wants the contents of Garmeaux’s box.”
“All right.” Rush’s fingertips traced lazy circles over her shoulder, much as he used to do when they snuggled in bed at the boathouse.
It was easier to admit all her failings when she could stare at his knee rather than look him in the eye. She told him everything from her first day as Kathrein’s assistant right up to the day Gwen and Jackson were kidnapped, the old man’s reasons, threats and everything else. The entire time, Rush’s fingers kept circling her shoulder, stroking her hand. He didn’t interrupt or ask any questions and when she finished, she thought her story sounded too bizarre to be believable.
“Show me the pictures and messages.”
Her eyes gritty from crying and her body exhausted from days of unceasing tension, she felt as if she’d been hit by a truck as she retrieved her cell phone. She returned to find Rush standing at the window, legs wide, staring at the city spread out at his feet. With the stark contrast of his black tuxedo slacks and white shirt he reminded her of a pirate searching for new booty.
“Here.”
He took her phone and scowled in concentration as he skimmed the text messages and pictures. “It was you trying to use that antiquated admin back door trick?”
She nodded. “Last night. The system locked me out after too many failed direct attempts on Garmeaux’s box.”
“Sam caught the attempts and accused me of planting bad seeds in young minds.” He slid her phone into his pocket. “I should’ve known. You’re the only woman who’s ever listened to my stories.”
“Maybe you should be more selective about your women.” It surprised her that she could tease him in light of the circumstances.
He ignored the jab. “Sam didn’t mention the IP address was the boathouse.”
At least something had worked properly. “The admin back door wasn’t the only thing I learned from our conversations.”
His black eyebrows dipped low into another serious scowl. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he was thinking now. “Are you going to let me go?”
“Hell, no.”
Her heart plummeted. Gwen and Jackson were as good as dead if she couldn’t convince him to let her take that information to Kathrein. “Rush, please. My sister’s life—her son’s life—is on the line.”
“And they’re your only family,” he said. “I’m not the callous bastard you seem to take me for, Lucy.”
“I’ve never thought that.” She bit back the urge to protest further. She’d never found him callous, only singularly focused on business. A trait she would never ask him to change for the sake of her ego. “The callous bastard is Kathrein. I’m scared. No.” She shook her head. “I’m terrified.”
He pressed a finger to her lips to stop the brewing rant. Retreating, she curled into the end of the long couch and hugged her knees to her chest. Rush could think for days and it wouldn’t change a thing. The first step in rescuing her sister and nephew was turning over the files.
“Sam noticed the problem and ghosted the box contents,” Rush said, crouching in front of her.
“Oh, no.” Lucy dropped her head to her knees and struggled not to give up. “If Kathrein suspects that, he’ll come after you and the company.” Every move she made exacerbated the problem.
“Telling you about a ghost box makes you only the third person in the world who knows it’s possible,” he said. “I think we’re safe.”
She heard him moving through the office, heard his fingers rapping on his keyboard and knew at the sound of his muttered curses he was reviewing the files on Kathrein.
“Lucy.” His tone, more gruff than she’d ever heard it, compelled her to look at him. “Even if you turn this over, he has to kill you.”
“Haven’t you been listening to me?”
“I’d hoped you were exaggerating, but your logic is sound.”
“Gee, thanks.” She rubbed her damp cheeks on her sleeve, grateful for the insult that put a little zip of heat into her bloodstream. Maybe the warmth was just the man himself. “No one ever has to know any of this happened—here, tonight.”
“No way.” He pushed a hand through his black hair.
“Then what?” She flung her arm toward his desk. “You just read it all, right?” At his nod, she barreled on. “Kathrein is old, but I can assure you he’s no less ruthless than he was as a Nazi. The documents and pictures Garmeaux uncovered are convincing evidence that Kathrein assumed his dead cousin’s identity to escape punishment for his war crimes. He’s determined to see his grandson’s political dreams come true. This entire mess is proof of how far he’s willing to go. If he thinks I told you or involved the authorities, we’re all dead.”
“I’m not going to let that happen.”
She stared into his vivid blue eyes and the resolute line of his jaw set her heart pounding. She wanted to believe his confidence over the stark facts. “Let me go, Rush. Let me go back to France and save Gwen and Jackson.”
He crossed the office to sit beside her once more, taking her hand between both of his. “I have friends all over the world, Lucy. With a little time we can track down where he’s holding your sister and the baby. Let me make some calls.”
“No! You can’t alert anyone or he’ll kill them. He gave me a week and it’s going by too fast. The man following me might already suspect I caved and told you. It has to be his way.”
“We’ll find a better option,” he promised.
She shook her head, tears blurring her vision again. Why couldn’t she stop crying? “I’m not taking you down with me. Destroy the ghost files,” she pleaded. “Wipe out all record of Garmeaux. Forget I was here.”
“I can’t do that.” His voice turned hard again. “I won’t do that.”
She opened her mouth to say more and he smothered the words with a kiss. What might have originated as a kiss of comfort ignited like a lit match, blazing across her senses. His lips moved over hers, hot and firm. She knew his mouth, the velvet stroke of his tongue, and recognized the urgency in his fingers. The familiar excitement sizzled along her nerves and danced through her bloodstream.
As if drawn by some invisible, magnetic force, they moved together until she was under him, caged by his solid, sculpted chest and arms. She flexed her hips, grinding her eager body into his obvious arousal. He kissed her as if they’d never been apart and she responded in kind, releasing a year’s worth of desire and yearning.
Sex and passion had never been their problem. Her body was pliant, already aching for the ultimate sensual satisfaction only Rush could give her.
“Lucy,” he murmured as his lips skated down the column of her throat. “You don’t know how I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you more than I wanted to admit was possible.” She tugged at the studs of his tuxedo shirt until she could slide her hands inside. She moaned his name at the tantalizing combination of heat and strength under her palms.
His hands cupped her bottom, gripped hard as he drew her pelvis tight against his. He hiked up the fabric of her dress and his fingers followed the line of her panties across her backside. Oh, yes. She wanted to rewind the clock, to go back and relive some of their most sinfully mesmerizing nights.
She pushed at his chest until he sat up and she could straddle his hips, tugging his shirt free of his slacks. He has the most glorious body, she thought, running kisses across his chest. If this was her last week of life, she wouldn’t let this last chance for pleasure slip through her grasp.
“Lucy, wait.” He brought her face back to his, kissed her lightly.
“I can’t.” She nuzzled that sensitive spot just under his jaw. If he stopped her now, she might start crying again. “Please, Rush. I need you. Need you inside me.”
In the past those words would bring one of two reactions. Either more delicious, erotic foreplay or a swift and intense coupling that would leave her breathless.
; “You’ve got me.” His lips brushed hers again, feather soft. He gripped her waist and moved her to the side, pulling the skirt of her dress down over her legs. “You’ve got me, Lucy, but this isn’t the time or place.”
She laid a hand over his heart, buoyed that it beat as wildly as hers. She pulled back as far as his embrace allowed, her dignity a lost cause. “Okay, I get it.” She’d walked away from him in a desperate attempt at self-preservation, but her reasons were irrelevant. Her decision, the way she’d executed it, had created a wedge between them, a distance she had to respect.
“How can you understand when I’m not sure I do?” He shook his head. “I’m going to take you home. You need rest. In the morning we’ll come up with a plan that satisfies you, me and the bastard who sent you here.”
“But—”
He gave her a squeeze. “Hush, sweetheart. You used to trust me.”
Sweetheart. The phrase melted over her like warm chocolate as she met his gaze. Although she’d tried to relegate him to the back of her mind, tuck the memory of him behind a wall in her heart, she’d never really stopped trusting or loving this impossible man. “You won’t make any calls tonight?”
“I won’t if you won’t,” he replied.
“You have my phone,” she pointed out.
He brought her hand to his lips, his breath warm on her skin in that pleasant instant. “I think I’ll keep it. Just for tonight.”
She thought that might be the best idea she’d heard in a long time.
Chapter Eight
Friday, December 18, 7:45 a.m.
Rush kept his promise to Lucy, but it proved to be one of the most challenging nights of his life. Just walking up to the door of the boathouse with her had made him break out in a cold sweat. He hadn’t set foot inside the place since the day she’d left him. No, he’d hired a team to clean it up and maintain it for rental potential, although he couldn’t bear the idea of strangers here, either.
Now he stood on the balcony off the living room, watching the fog roll across the span of the Golden Gate Bridge. Dressed for the day in jeans and a black button-down shirt with the Gray Box logo his housekeeper had sent from the condo, he sipped his coffee and waited for Lucy to wake up, as if the past year of personal hell hadn’t happened. Only Lucy Gaines could bring him to his knees this way.
Last night in his office, his arms full of her, he couldn’t come up with the solutions she needed. All his attention had been diverted to far more primitive and immediate needs. Fearful that spending the night together in the boathouse would make matters worse, she’d apparently come to her senses and quickly disappeared into the guest suite. He’d woken in the master bedroom, alone and frustrated, with a few workable ideas.
Hopefully he’d be able to convince Lucy to give one of his ideas a try. He planned to start by researching every detail about the sneaky bastard holding her family hostage. Sam had ways of doing those searches without raising any suspicion. They needed confirmation of Garmeaux’s findings. After that, there were friends he could call, friends with tactical skills, weapons expertise and successful track records with sensitive rescue missions.
Rush turned at the creak of a floorboard on the stairs. The once soothing sound put him on edge, uncertain how the night might have changed Lucy’s perception of her situation. He walked inside and pulled the slider closed. Trying to greet her with a smile, he felt the gesture freeze on his face as she came around the corner.
She wore loose cotton boxers and a clingy tank top, her hair tousled from sleep. If not for the faint smudges of weariness under her eyes, he would have scooped her up and taken her back to bed until they were both sated. In the clear light of a new day, he didn’t think she’d let him get away with that kind of distraction. It was likely best that they waited until after she was reunited with her sister and nephew.
He filled a mug with coffee, leaving room for cream, and set it on the counter for her. “Did you get any rest?”
“A little.” Her mouth twisted side to side, lips pursed. “What about you?”
“A little,” he echoed. He pulled the cream out of the refrigerator and passed it to her, along with a spoon and the sugar bowl.
She made a humming sound. “You remember.”
He watched her over the rim of his mug while she slid onto the counter stool and doctored her coffee. She’d be shocked by how much he remembered. From every morning habit, to her favorite yoga studio and sushi bar downtown, to the sultry moans of pleasure when he was inside her.
Patience, he thought, keeping his ideas to himself while the caffeine did its work. He’d get her through this and then he’d win her back. He just had to resolve her trouble one step at a time. He’d sensed the fatalistic desperation pushing her last night in his office. He wanted her body, was pretty desperate himself, but not as a grand farewell to life. By some miracle he’d realized the timing would have backfired if he’d followed his body rather than his heart.
His heart? He nearly laughed. Lucy would freak out if she could read his mind right now. As close as they’d been, she accepted his theory that he only had a heart for his business and innovations. And she’d stuck by him, encouraging him every day, until the day she hadn’t. It was a quirk unique to her that he hadn’t been able to replicate with anyone else. No matter how he tried, how clear he was about expectations, women believed they could change him.
She walked around the counter to start rummaging for breakfast and he waited, rewarded when she burst into a happy dance at the sight of the bag of doughnuts from the kiosk across the street. “Oh, you got maple and bacon.”
“Only the best.”
She took his coffee cup out of his hands and gave him a fast, hard hug. “You are the best,” she said emphatically as she stepped back. Pulling plates from the cabinet, she carried the bag to the table.
His chest ached at the normalcy of it as he brought the coffees along. He’d leave her phone in his pocket until she finished a doughnut. What he had to say would cast a pall over the morning and he wanted to put it off as long as possible.
“Any new messages from Kathrein on my phone?” she asked, licking frosting from her fingers.
His body reacted to the tempting sight of her lips closing around her fingertips with a predictable surge of arousal. The best defense against his physical needs was to give her the awkward news. He set the phone on the table. “Posturing, mostly,” he assured her.
Her eyes went wide and her gaze darted from the device to his face and back again. “Mostly? Are there new pictures?”
“Not from Kathrein. I did take a few pictures of the man who might be his spy.”
She blanched. “Do you think he’s already...already hurt them?”
“No.” Rush hated the fear and hurt in her big brown eyes. He reached out and covered her trembling hand. If he ever got his hands on Kathrein, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. “He won’t give up his leverage too soon.”
“Leverage.” She bit her lip and gazed out at the view of the bay. “I want to kill him for putting Gwen through this. She’s been through enough already.”
Rush stuffed the last bite of his doughnut into his mouth before he blurted out that he could make that happen. Better to keep that secret a bit longer. “I’m thinking there’s quite a line ahead of you.”
“What do you mean?”
He hesitated. Explaining could expose him. “I’ve looked into Kathrein before.” The week he’d heard she’d been hired by the bastard. “Occasionally, our investment interests cross,” he fibbed. “You’re aware his lawyers and representatives have a reputation for being nasty?” She nodded and he continued, “My thought is that even without taking over his dead cousin’s life, he became a recluse to make himself a smaller target.”
“And yet there are plenty of people who benefit from the jobs he creates and the charities he funds.”
“True.” Rush pulled out another doughnut for each of them. “On the way to the office, I want us to
be seen at the coffee shop two blocks up from the office.”
“That’s a popular place.” She cupped her hands around her mug. “Why?”
“Because it is a popular place.” He thought she’d already guessed his real reasons, but he spelled it out. “I want Kathrein to believe you’re working me as a personal asset. It will also give us a chance to determine if the man I saw is, in fact, the spy.”
She lifted her coffee mug and eyed him carefully. “Have you warned Trisha?”
“No need. My lawyers had a chat with her yesterday after her tantrum.”
“Still playing hardball, I see.”
She said it with a wry grin and he mirrored the expression. “Trisha’s misguided behavior was effectively a breach of contract.”
Lucy’s brown eyes danced with amusement. “Is that the dating equivalent of a prenup? Do you require all your dates to sign a noncompete or nondisclosure agreement as well?”
He smiled broadly to hide his discomfort. “Nondisclosure is a must if they spend any time at Gray Box.” Her comments struck too close to the bone. The return to the boathouse, the conversation, the very real threat to her were all piling up and making him want to hurry this along so he could capitalize on the moment. Only the awareness that, if he moved too soon, the consequences to her family as well as to his goals could be catastrophic kept him in check. “It is as calculating as it sounds,” he confessed. “I like having someone with me at events but I refuse to let a woman think there’s a chance for anything more than the terms strictly outlined. The contract protects everyone from unreasonable expectations.”
“On the upside, you probably have your pick of spokesmodels for new products well into the next millennium.”
He laughed, helpless against her honest, edgy wit. “There might be one or two I’d feel safe to approach for a launch down the road.” He leaned in close. “At the moment, you are my sole priority.”
“Rush.”
Her breathy whisper slid under his defenses. Would it be so bad to take her to bed and make her forget the jerk in Chicago she’d used to replace him? “Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”
