by Lynn Turner
No, she realised with something like despair, she couldn’t tell him until the race was over. Hopefully they would win, and he would be so elated that he wouldn’t actually strangle her on the steps of the Capitol Building. She refused to speculate about what he would do, or what expression she would see in his eyes when he discovered her deceit.
Mal had taken the pocket calculator out of the sports bag and placed it on the dash, next to the radar detector. Every few miles he picked it up, punched out a series of numbers, then replaced it on the dash.’
‘Are you keeping track of our mileage?’ Abbie asked as they approached the Illinois-Indiana border.
‘Yes. I figure we’ve consumed almost eight gallons of fuel so far. The gauge should show about three-eighths of a tank left, maybe a little more than that.’
Abbie checked. ‘Right on the nose. How much farther do you want to go before we stop to fill up?’
He thought for a moment. ‘We should be able to make it to Louisville.’
‘Louisville!’ she repeated in surprise. ‘That’s got to be at least another hundred miles.’
‘More like a hundred and twenty. But we’ve got at least four gallons left in the tank. We’re in good shape.’
‘Speak for yourself, Ace. You and the car may be in good shape, but my neck is stiff, my back and shoulders ache, I’m getting pins and needles in my right leg and my bottom is starting to go numb.’
‘Well, why didn’t you say something sooner, for Pete’s sake?’ he muttered with a combination of exasperation and gruff concern that went a long way toward alleviating Abbie’s aches and pains.
‘I thought—I hoped— we’d be stopping before long. We must have come five hundred miles already.’
‘Approximately five hundred and twenty,’ Mal said softly. As he spoke, his left hand crept across her shoulder and began to gently knead the back of her neck.
Abbie instantly tensed. ‘What are you—?’
‘Just loosening you up a bit,’ he murmured. ‘Sorry, love. I should have realised you’d be stiff after so many hours at the wheel. Is that helping?’
Helping? He had to be kidding. If either his touch or his voice got any more sensual, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep the car on the road. Holding her head up already required a conscious effort—it wanted to loll back and settle into his palm. And as for her hands … She locked her fingers around the steering wheel and refused to dwell on what they would prefer to be doing.
‘Um, Garrett…’ She cleared her throat, hoping to rid her voice of its telltale huskiness.
‘Yes, love?’
Abbie’s breathing faltered for a moment between inhale and exhale. Not only had he called her ‘love’ for the second time in as many minutes, suddenly his mouth was right next to her ear.
‘I think you’d better stop that.’
His lips brushed her earlobe, his breath hot and moist. His fingers slipped into her hair. She was aware of the exact instant his touch changed, became a caress.
‘You do?’ His breathy, teasing whisper seemed to penetrate her skin and shiver down her spine.
‘I do,’ she gasped. ‘Unless you wouldn’t mind having your five-hundred-thousand-dollar car wrapped around a telephone pole.’
‘There aren’t any telephone poles along the interstate,’ he murmured. A second later the tip of his tongue entered her ear.
Abbie’s startled jerk didn’t affect her steering, but the knowledge that it could have sent a bolt of panic ripping through her.
‘Garrett!’
‘Take it easy,’ he soothed as he settled back in his seat. ‘Don’t blow a gasket. I’ll behave from now on. Cross my heart.’
‘And hope to die?’ she asked shrilly. ‘Are you suicidal, is that it? Do you have a death wish or something?’
‘Of course not,’ he scoffed. ‘Calm down, Abigail.’
‘Don’t tell me to “calm down” in that damned patronising tone, you… jerk!’
Mal rushed to defend himself. ‘I wasn’t being patronising! I just—’
‘Why don’t you drive for a while? I’ll run my fingers through your hair and poke my tongue in your ear while we’re cruising along at eighty miles per hour, and we’ll see how calmly you react.’
‘Maybe you’d better pull over,’ he suggested. ‘At least until you get a grip on yourself.’
‘If I stop this car,’ Abbie told him flatly, ‘you’ll drive it the rest of the way to Louisville. Unless you’re willing to do that, you’d better just shut up and leave me alone until we get there. And keep your hands and your tongue and every other part of you on your own side of the car!’
She didn’t have to be told that she’d over-reacted. She was well aware of that fact. She was also aware that Mal had no idea what to make of her. He didn’t say a word for the next hour and a half, though every now and then she felt the touch of his uneasy, slightly wary gaze. If her emotions hadn’t been in such a state of upheaval, she might have seen the humour in the situation. She doubted that Malachi Garrett had ever been intimidated by a woman in his life, until now.
They were only a few miles from Louisville when Abbie remembered the complicated snarl of interchanges that had aptly been dubbed Spaghetti Junction by area residents. A couple of years ago she and some friends had driven down for the Kentucky Derby. Somehow they’d misinterpreted the directions on one of the signs and got into the wrong lane of traffic. Someone had realised their mistake almost at once, but they were across the Ohio River, heading for Indianapolis, before they found a place to turn around. She had no desire to repeat that experience. At least, not tonight, when she was physically and mentally exhausted, emotionally drained, and her nerves could have been used to string a banjo.
Among the increasing number of billboards the Shelby’s headlights swept across was one advertising a Holiday Inn at the next exit. She considered asking Mal if it would be all right to stop there for the night, then decided not to bother. She needed to soak her cramped, aching muscles in a tub of hot water; to scrub off the make-up clogging her pores; to sit down in a decent restaurant and savour a meal that hadn’t been reheated in a microwave oven. She was going to stop, and if he didn’t like it he could take the car and finish the trip by himself.
There’s a Holiday Inn at the next exit,’ he said out of the blue. ‘Why don’t we stop there for the night?’
Abbie’s lips quirked in a wry smile. ‘Whatever you say,’ she murmured as she activated the right turn signal.
She hobbled around the car park, trying to work the kinks out of her joints, while Mal went into the office to secure two rooms.
‘There’s only one room available,’ he said when he returned. ‘But it has two double beds. Do you want to take it?’
Abbie noticed that he kept the Shelby between them when he told her. She gave him a hard, suspicious look over the roof.
‘If you don’t believe me, you can go inside and ask the manager yourself,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m not any happier about it than you are. Considering the mood you’re in, I’d sooner share a room with Godzilla.’
‘Tell him we’ll take it,’ she snapped.
‘Fine!’ he snapped back, then spun on his heel and stalked back inside.
When they drove around the building to park the Shelby outside their room, they discovered a white Sable occupying the space in front of the room next door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Abbie switched off the engine and turned to Mal. ‘It’s them, isn’t it?’
He nodded grimly. ‘It’s them.’
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘I don’t know. Are you thinking we should let the air out of their tyres?’
‘No, I’m thinking that if we can get back on the road before they realise we’re here, we could be so far ahead of them by morning that they’d never catch up.’
His mouth started to curve in an appreciative smile, but then suddenly he sobered, shaking his head. ‘You’ve been drivi
ng for more than nine hours. You need some rest.’
Abbie was touched by his thoughtfulness, and she knew he was right. Still, she hated to pass up this opportunity to regain the lead. ‘All I really need is a hot bath and a hot meal, in that order, and I’ll be ready to go again.’
Mal reached over and removed the key from the ignition. .‘I think we’d better add a couple of hours’ sleep to that list,’ he said as he opened his door. ‘Otherwise you’d be a hazard to everybody on the highway.’
He collected the blue nylon bag, her suitcase and a duffel bag he’d packed for himself, and carried them into the room. Abbie followed, intending to convince him that they should get back on the road as soon as possible. A tidal wave of deliciously cool air greeted her at the door. Her resolve wavered. Then she saw the two large, sinfully comfortable-looking beds.
‘Now that you mention it, I guess I could use a short nap.’
Mal deposited their luggage on the floor of the small wardrobe and turned around in time to see her collapse face down on the bed nearest the door. ‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ she muttered into the quilted peach spread.
She felt the mattress sag, and then the brush of his lips against her nape. ‘Poor baby,’ he murmured. Before Abbie could decide how to react, he sat up and began to gently massage the tension from her aching shoulders.
‘I’m sorry I called you a shrew,’ he said as his hands slowly worked their way down her back. The silk blouse shifted beneath his long, supple fingers, sliding sensuously against her skin. Abbie closed her eyes and promised herself she would remind him about their hands-off agreement in just a minute or two … or five, or twenty. His hands reached her waist, tugged gently at the blouse, and suddenly there was no silk barrier between his skin and hers.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked drowsily, as if she’ didn’t know perfectly well that he was preparing to undress her.
Mal slid one lean hand under her stomach, calm as you please, and unsnapped her jeans. ‘You can’t take a bath with your clothes on.’
He had a point there. And as long as he was only trying to be helpful …
‘You’re a very considerate man,’ she mumbled, the words sort of slurring together. ‘For a chauvinist pig.’
The mattress rocked, then tilted, alerting her that he was no longer just sitting on the edge. A second later his breath fanned the back of her neck. ‘Roll over, and I’ll show you how considerate I can be.’
Abbie shook her head. ‘Uh-uh.’ She might be dog-tired and half asleep, but thankfully her instinct for self-preservation still seemed to be functioning.
Mal’s left hand crept under the tail of her blouse and started inching up her side. ‘Scared?’ he taunted softly.
Abbie didn’t even consider lying. ‘Yes.’
His index finger lazily stroked the outer curve of her breast. ‘Of me?’
‘Yes. No.’ She inhaled sharply, trying to jolt her torpid brain out of its stupor. ‘Of you, and me … us.’ His finger strayed to her nipple. ‘Oh, God. Mal, you prom ‑’
Her throat closed, choking off the rest of the reminder. Both his hands were suddenly inside her blouse, forming warm cradles for her breasts. Even more shocking was the unexpected weight of his body as he eased himself over to lie full-length on top of her.
‘Am I too heavy?’ he murmured in her ear.
‘Yes!’ Abbie gasped. Her hands scrabbled across the bedspread, frantically seeking something to anchor themselves to.’
‘Liar.’ The growled accusation vibrated through her as he dragged his open mouth up the side of her neck to her ear. His teeth nipped lightly at the lobe. His tongue apologised for the love-bite, then lingered to make reparation. And all the while his nimble fingers were doing the most incredible things to her breasts, making them throb with a pleasure so acute it was almost pain. As if the torment he was already inflicting wasn’t enough, he deliberately tilted his pelvis into the curve of her bottom.
‘Feel that?’
Abbie nodded once, not trusting her voice. She felt ready to burst into flames, and resisting the urge to move against him required every ounce of will-power she possessed. Her fingers tortured the bedspread.
‘I’ve been in this sorry condition most of the day,’ Mal said roughly. ‘My hands have been itching to touch you for the last three hundred miles. I’ve damn near worn out that stupid calculator just to give them something to do, to keep them from reaching for you.’ He paused to draw a deep, ragged breath. ‘That’s why, when you said your neck was stiff— All I intended to do was give you a little massage, I swear. But once I’d touched you, I just… got carried away.’
Abbie understood completely. If her own hands ever released their desperate grip on the bedspread, she would be in serious danger of getting carried away herself.
‘Lord, I want you.’ He breathed it into her ear, so softly that she wasn’t certain he’d actually spoken the words aloud; with such aching need that the last trace of her reserve evaporated.
‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I want you, too.’
Mal’s chest expanded, pressing against her back, then retreated as he expelled a long, sighing breath. ‘That’s good to know,’ he said in the warm, honey-smooth drawl that never failed to stir her senses. ‘For a while there I thought I’d made your Ten Most Detestable Chauvinists list.’
Abbie smiled. ‘For a while there, you occupied the number one spot,’ she told him candidly. ‘But I still wanted you, even when I was busy detesting you for being such a chauvinist swine.’
He pressed his cheek to her hair and his arms contracted in a brief, hard hug. A sound that was half-laugh, half-groan broke from his throat. ‘Mercy, Abigail! You make it damned hard for a man to behave himself.’
‘You call this behaving yourself?’ she scoffed. ‘Luring me into a motel room with the promise of a hot bath and some much-needed rest, then climbing on top of me and taking all kinds of liberties, when you know I’m too exhausted to fight you oft?’
His throaty laugh was so sexy, it should have been rated X. ‘Believe me, darlin’, considering the liberties I’d like to take—’ he rocked his hips slowly, just in case she didn’t understand his meaning ‘—I’m showing remarkable restraint.’
Which was an understatement if Abbie had ever heard one. ‘You’re not going to make love to me, are you?’ she asked softly.
‘I certainly am,’ he murmured, nuzzling her ear. ‘But not tonight.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want it to be just a quick tumble. I want us to have all night, maybe all the next day, too. I also want you to be an active participant, not just a spectator.’
‘In other words,’ Abbie concluded wryly, ‘I should be wide awake and capable of fighting you off.’
He laid a feather-like kiss on her temple. ‘You won’t, though.’
‘No,’ she agreed with another small smile.
‘It’ll be good, for both of us.’
The whispered promise sent anticipatory shivers all the way to Abbie’s toes. Her hands released the bedspread and reached back, finding the taut mounds of his buttocks. ‘Yes,’ she said with husky certainty. ‘Better than good.’
Mal allowed her hands to remain where they were until they started to stroke, and then he abruptly pulled his from beneath her and rolled away with a muffled groan.
‘Stay right there,’ he ordered as he climbed off the bed. ‘Don’t get up for at least fifteen minutes.’
Abbie lifted her head and glanced over her shoulder. ‘Why not? I’m dying for a long, hot bath.’
‘At the risk of being called a selfish macho beast or worse, I think my need for a cold shower is greater than your need for a hot bath.’
She rolled to her side, propping herself up on an elbow. ‘Mmm.’
He scowled at her. ‘If you don’t stop looking at me like that, you may never get your bath.’
Before she could come up with a saucy reply, he had snatched his duffel
bag out of the wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom. There was a distinct click as he locked the door. Abbie fell back against the pillows, her eyes closed and her arms wrapped around her midriff. The warm glow of happiness inside her couldn’t last, she knew, but she intended to hang on to it for as long as she could.
Mal emerged from the bathroom fourteen minutes later wearing a clean pair of jeans and nothing else. Abbie allowed herself one sweeping glance that took in his gleaming, slicked-back hair and glorious, temptingly bare chest before she ducked past him.
‘Don’t lock it,’ he said as she started to close the door.
‘Why not?’ she demanded. ‘You did.’
‘True, but it’s damn near impossible to fall asleep and drown in an ice-cold shower,’ he told her drily.
Abbie left the door unlocked. She had just gingerly climbed into the tub, which was filled to the overflow drain with steaming water, when Mal opened the door and slipped into the bathroom. He was perched on the tub’s rim, one hand clamped over her mouth, before she could do more than emit a startled squawk and cross her arms over her breasts.
‘Shh, don’t kick up a ruckus,’ he whispered urgently. ‘We’ve been discovered. Tony’s here.’
Abbie left one arm to guard her breasts and reached up to yank his hand away. ‘Here? You mean here—in our room?’
Mal nodded. His fingers absently curled around her wrist, effectively preventing her from using both arms to cover herself. ‘In the flesh… sitting on your bed, waiting for me to put on a shirt and go have a beer with him.’ His gaze suddenly dropped. Abbie yanked her arm free and returned it to guard-duty.
‘Did you know your entire body is the colour of a beet?’ he asked conversationally, which of course caused her blush to intensify.
‘The water’s hot. Will you please leave, so I can take my bath?’ Mal ignored the request. A devilish, damnably sexy grin claimed his mouth as he leaned towards her. Abbie swallowed nervously. ‘Now, Garrett . ‘. .’
