Alone With an Escort

by Angela Claire

  “You’re pretty good at this.”

  Her lower lip trembled. It wasn’t a game to her anymore.

  He looked away.

  “Any texts or emails from a wife or kids?” he asked. “We wouldn’t want anyone showing up unexpectedly.”

  “No, nothing. In fact, the most personal texts were a month ago from a Sherrie, who seems to have been his heartbroken former girlfriend. They were not complimentary. I don’t think she’ll be showing up, either. If she even knows where the cabin is. I bet it’s an all-boys thing, anyway.”

  “Okay, good. We head to his cabin then.”

  “I plugged the address into his GPS. It should only take about an hour.”

  “Great. Memorize the directions, send that email then we’ll throw the phone out the window and drive over it.”

  He thought about it for a second. “It’s probably better if you drive.” Between the blood loss and his state of fatigue, all around she was a better choice for driver.

  They traded places and she pulled the car back onto the highway.

  Despite that Veronica was driving, Jonathon stayed hyper-alert the entire ride. After suggesting he get some sleep a few times, and getting nowhere with that—he looked at the windshield as intently as if he were still driving—she dropped the subject. When they arrived at their destination, checking it out in the light of their headlights, it seemed more like a cottage than a hunting cabin. One story, dingy white, with black shutters, it perched at the end of a long dirt road after so many twists and turns off the highway that Veronica couldn’t have retraced their steps without having memorized the directions herself.

  There were no houses, no buildings of any kind, surrounding the cabin. Just endless trees—cottonwoods, she thought, since they were so close to Nebraska—and a blue Pontiac off to the side, round and potato-like in the fashion of a ’90s model.

  “Good.” Jonathon nodded toward the old car, after they’d gotten out of the cop vehicle. “Maybe we can get that to start when we’re ready to leave.”

  “You don’t think that means there’s somebody inside, do you?”

  “No, there’s no license plate on it. I bet it’s been here a while. Besides, anybody who didn’t come out at the sound of a car in this wilderness would have to be deaf.” He fingered the sheriff’s keys and found the one that fitted the cabin door. When it was open, he switched on the flashlight he’d taken from the cop car and went inside first, telling her to wait.

  A minute or two later, he called, “It’s okay. It’s empty.”

  The cabin was one not-very-big room. An unlit stone hearth at one end, a quilt-covered double bed at the other and a sink and fridge in between. A glance around seemed to indicate there was no phone or lights. There was a layer of dust over everything and Veronica sneezed.

  “Looks like our sheriff doesn’t get out here much. Good.” He opened the refrigerator and saw it was in fact just an ice box, in the very old-fashioned sense of the word. A box for ice. Empty too. “No electricity,” he commented. He lit an oil lamp that had been sitting on top of the ice box and put down the flashlight. He turned the knob on the sink and after a groan and some sporadic spurts, a clear stream came out of the tap. “Water, though.” He put his mouth under the spout and drank.

  By the light of the lamp, she saw that she hadn’t been quite right about the cabin being just one room. An ajar door showed there was a bathroom, complete with toilet, cabinet, sink and—praise the Lord—a shower. She went to turn it on and was ridiculously grateful that after a minute, hot water came out.

  Going back in the main room, she paused at the sight of Jonathon just standing there. Was it her imagination or was he swaying?

  She realized she had thought of him as superman or, in her less kindly moments back at the Winsome Cowboy, as an automaton. Able to prevail in any shootout or take out victims with his bare hands, able to drive for miles on end with no sleep.

  But she was so wrong. His handsome face was almost bloodless with how exhausted he looked.

  Or maybe it was the blood he’d lost.

  “Your shoulder! We have to tend to that. Something a little more permanent than your plaid bandage there.”

  He collapsed on the bed while she rummaged around in the bathroom for a first aid kit. Surely, hunters would need one. When she had located it, she cleaned out the wound with antiseptic, then administered some antibiotic cream and a bandage. It seemed so inadequate.

  “It’s fine,” he said when she voiced that concern. “Worst case, I’ll lose my arm.”

  “What?”

  “Kidding. I’m kidding,” he mumbled, lying down on top of the covers. “Bullet just grazed it. It’s not in there.”

  She put the remnants of her medical efforts onto the upside-down crate next to the bed that acted as a nightstand.

  His eyes were closed.

  “Don’t you want to shower? I tried the water. It came out hot and everything.” She looked down at herself in the leggings, T-shirt and long sweater she’d been in since she’d gotten into that helicopter so long ago. Though he’d left his leather jacket on a straight-backed chair by the hearth, his black shirt and jeans didn’t look much better. He still had his boots on. “Or at least get out of those clothes.”

  “Trying to undress me will do you no good with the state I’m in.”

  She smiled.

  “Kidding,” he mumbled again, but it sounded far away. “You need sleep, too. Come on. Lie down here next to me.” He patted the bed, eyes closed.

  “I’m okay.”

  He opened his bleary eyes. “If you don’t sleep, I can’t.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why not?”

  “Just believe me. Please, Veronica. We need to rest, here, together.”

  With less hesitation than she would have thought, she went to the other side of the bed, kicked off her boots and lay down. “I’m not sure I can sleep, though.”

  He put his arm around her and pulled her close, to cuddle. Or maybe it was part of the protector thing. He had to keep a grip on her if he was going to sleep.

  But God, it felt good, to be held, protected, comforted.

  Then she was asleep, too.

  She awoke to the feel of a hard, bare chest against her cheek, hard warm abs beneath her palm. Sometime in the night, he must have divested himself of his shirt. They were under the covers, too, though they still had all the rest of their respective clothes on. His boots were by the bed, next to hers. And she was wrapped almost completely around him.

  But he was still asleep, his breath slow and even.

  She raised her head to see the source of the light providing a dim glow. He had lit a fire in the hearth.

  She felt warm and comfortable, and most of all, safe, and she dropped off again.

  When she next opened her eyes, the sunlight was peeking through the brown serge curtains on the cabin’s two windows and she was still wrapped in Jonathon’s arms.

  Trying not to wake him, she scooted away. Maybe she could find something to eat in one of the kitchen cupboards. But his hand shot out, gripping her arm, pulling her back to him. His eyes opened a flash of a second later, as if he had kept her to him in his sleep, not even knowing he was doing it.

  “Hi.” His voice sounded gravelly and, along with the beginnings of a beard from a few days of not shaving, made him seem very different from the ever-efficient agent. Or maybe it was the bare chest.

  She tried not to stare, but it didn’t help to minimize the attraction she felt just in lying next to him on the bed. Again. Especially now that they’d had some sleep and everything.

  Even though they were under the covers, he was on his back, and she saw through the thin blanket that he felt the same, the outline of his erection almost instantaneous, tenting the covers.

  “Did you sleep okay?” he asked, his voice still deep and raspy.

  “It was wonderful. Thanks for lighting the fire.”

  “Your skin was cold and even getting under the cov
ers didn’t seem warm enough.”

  Without even intending to, she brought her knee up to his thigh, rubbing lightly. The spark of excitement went right through her. He slid his hand up her arm, caressing, and she raised her head to meet his eyes.

  “We should get up,” he said, but it was a tepid suggestion compared to the heat coming off him and the solid evidence of his desire for her.

  She tilted her chin up and he cupped the back of her head. Suddenly, they were kissing, long and slow.

  Chapter Eight

  #xa0;

  Jonathon massaged her scalp and she put both palms on the hot skin of his chest, their legs tangled together. It felt so exciting just to touch him.

  He pulled her on top of him and his tongue explored her mouth, the pleasure making her groan and arch against his erection. Kissing his way along her skin, he nudged her T-shirt down one shoulder then whipped the crumpled cotton over her head and cupped her breasts through her bra.

  She moaned at the intimate touch and brought her hands down to the heft of him straining against his zipper, eager to free him. But he stopped her, spreading her arms wide to give him access to kiss the sensitive flesh above the cups of her bra. He tugged the bra down to lick her nipples, circling the hardened nubs with his tongue, sucking.

  As if that wasn’t enough, he slipped a hand beneath her waistband, into her panties, where she was already wet and excited. He played with her, gently at first, rubbing her below, kissing her breasts, but then something changed.

  He flipped her over and his fingers moved from her clit to inside her, still rubbing the pad of his thumb against her, working her. He thrust inside her, with just his fingers, his wild mouth at her breast, and she came, surging up to the pleasure. It felt so deep, so core, that she groaned, long and low, and let the wave of sensation take her, wring her out with it.

  Panting, she could not move for a time. Then, unable to help herself, she chuckled. “I think I just had a vaginal orgasm.”

  She opened her eyes in time to catch his sexy smile.

  “That’s what it felt like to me,” he agreed. “But it’s your opinion that counts.”

  “No. I mean I’ve never had one of those before with a guy.”

  “Mmmm,” he murmured and lay on his back again, beside her sprawled form.

  She turned toward him and went up on one elbow to kiss him, to continue to the next step, but he pulled back, easing her away, and ran his hands through his unruly hair. When he sat up, his back against the headboard, his knees raised, apart, his erection wasn’t obvious anymore. Still, he was breathing fast and seemed to be making a conscious effort to slow it down.

  Relaxed by the orgasm he had just given her so effortlessly, she didn’t mind the pause. She felt shy, anyway. Both their pants were still on, her bra pulled down. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea for her to take a shower before they resumed their lovemaking.

  Not that the cabin of the guy who had tried to murder them was such a great place for their first time going all the way.

  It was such a juvenile phrase, and so out of place in the context that she remembered his taunting about her high school libido and felt uncomfortable. “I hope you, ah, don’t think I was coming on to you.”

  It came out very wrong and he burst into laughter. “No, no worries. I take full responsibility for that one. You tasted so good I couldn’t resist.”

  He looked down at her with an expression that at best could be described as rueful. That, and the distance he had put between them, suggested there would be no leisurely interlude where she could reciprocate the pleasure he had just given her.

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

  “But we’re still in danger. And we still need to get going.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and presented his back to her. “And I don’t have a condom. I left them on a night table at the Winsome Cowboy.” He glanced back at her.

  She laughed. She couldn’t help it, and he arched an eyebrow.

  “We’re in the situation we’ve been in for the last few days, bullets flying, cars chasing…dead bodies!” She was almost incoherent in trying to describe their situation. “And you think sex is what we’re in danger of!”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Safe sex? God, if I live long enough to regret being so impetuous, it’ll be a miracle!”

  “You’re going to live.” His voice was firm, determined. He stood and she realized it was the exact wrong thing to say. It reminded him of the mission, and that was not the direction she wanted to go in.

  She tugged at his arm. “Hey, come on, come back here for a second.”

  He let himself be halted from walking away from her, but he didn’t lie back in bed. He faced her, sort of like a recalcitrant school boy.

  “Where are you going?”

  His eyes swept down her in a look so evocative she felt naked. “To take a cold shower.”

  She shook her head. “Your rules again?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m starting to think you must wear a hair shirt when you’re off duty.”

  He leaned forward until she was close enough to feel his breath on her lips. Close enough for a kiss, though he held back. “When I’m off duty, or at least when you’re safe, I won’t be wearing a hair shirt or anything else.” He kissed her, just the slightest brush of his lips. “And neither will you.”

  Then he straightened and slammed the bathroom door. She heard the shower a moment later and smiled.

  After a pretty long shower, probably ice cold, he came out with a towel wrapped around his lean hips, not looking at her. “All yours!” His voice was cheery, impersonal.

  Not wanting to tease him further, or herself, she went into the bathroom and shut the door behind her before she stripped out of her grungy clothes. He was right, anyway. They shouldn’t linger in the cabin for too long. Someone might show up. Maybe it was the sleep in a real bed instead of the seat of a car—or maybe it was the orgasm—but she suddenly felt optimistic that they would get out of this. And more than anything, she wanted to get to that ‘safe’ place where she and Jonathon could be together. Really together.

  All the way.

  She shivered at the thought of how he had kissed her so lightly while he promised they’d both be naked together. She was anxious to get to that part, and not the shooting, being in danger part.

  Her shower was a bit chilly as well.

  Rummaging around on the shelves afterwards, she found a jersey dress, all red roses and edges of lace with just a whiff of a not too heavy lemony perfume.

  She slipped it on and came out, holding the edges of the dress and twirling around. “Look what I found in the cupboard in the bathroom.”

  He had traded in the towel for his jeans again, but hadn’t gotten to his shirt, which, like her clothes, was probably filthy. He cocked his head. “Not exactly your style I would’ve thought. On the upside, it’s pretty short.” He grinned at her.

  “I know, it’s a little frilly, but I’d wear anything to get out of these clothes. The sheriff’s girlfriend Sherri must have made it up here, after all,” she added.

  “That or the sheriff was even more multifaceted than I gave him credit for.”

  “Well, I was contemplating putting on whatever the sheriff kept around here, so I figure this dress is a vast improvement.” She went back into the bathroom and brought out a plaid shirt like the one he’d torn up in the car. “And I found this too. You can change your shirt at least. This one smells clean.” She threw the plaid at him.

  He tossed his shirt and her clothes into the hearth, letting the remains of the fire he’d started for warmth last night turn them to ashes. He made no comment on the fact she’d thrown her panties in there as well, just clearing his throat and saying they should get going.

  “What are you working on?” Jonathon asked her as they went outside.

  “I thought that was off-limits, need to know, and all that.”

  “I’m startin
g to think I need to know. I shouldn’t have gone so long without sleep. I wasn’t thinking right, and in addition to exposing you to a lot you shouldn’t have been exposed to if I’d been on my game—”

  She halted their steps toward the car with one hand on his arm. “Jonathon, don’t.”

  “No, I didn’t mean to go over all this. I just meant that if I had been thinking more clearly, I would have noticed something. That the sheriff seemed to be under the impression that we were both targets. Or at least he was willing to shoot us both.”

  They continued on to the sheriff’s car. “But that was what you said, right? A contract on us?”

  He opened the car door and slipped in the front seat. “I should have been more specific. What I meant was I thought there was a contract out there to kill me and nab you in the process. They’d get your research and your brain. But if that were the case, why not make it clear to all the assassins and would-be assassins that you shouldn’t be harmed?”

  “Maybe the sheriff didn’t take direction well.”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  “Did you decide we should take the cop car again?”

  “No, just give me a minute.” He devoted his attention to the GPS in the sheriff’s car.

  “Or maybe they just want my research and don’t care about my brain.” She nodded toward her computer, which they had managed to keep track of even in all the shoot-outs.

  “Unlikely. They couldn’t know you’d have what they need with you.”

  “I don’t. Not really. A lot of it is in my head. But what are you getting at?”

  He stopped what he was doing. “Just that I’m wondering whether the intent may have been to kill us, both, all along. But if your research is going to turn lead into gold or something, then I must be wrong about that.”

  “No alchemy, I’m afraid. It’s a little more plebian. I could explain it, but it would be better if we get on the road first, since I’ll need an hour or two.”

  He laughed. “Maybe I don’t need to know all the details. The CliffsNotes version might be my speed.”