U.S. Marshals: Prey (U.S. Marshals Book 3)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Go ahead,” she said. “You won’t hurt my feelings if you tell the truth.”

  “You sure? After all, you did go to an awful lot of trouble.”

  “I’m sure.” She pushed back her chair before snatching the stroganoff bowl, then heading for the disposal.

  “Got any butter?” he asked right behind her.

  “I think. Check the compartment in the fridge.”

  He did and found half a stick. He melted it in the microwave, then drenched the noodles in it.

  “Good idea,” she said, reaching for garlic salt. “Add some of this.”

  He did. “Got parmesan?”

  She checked, found half a can, then reached around him to shake it on, for once leaning into him instead of away. Up close, he smelled way better than dinner. Like his leather jacket and an autumn blend of fallen leaves and rain and sweet woodsmoke from a neighbor’s fire.

  Back at the table, they split the noodles and doled out salad she’d already tossed with Italian dressing.

  “This is good,” he said.

  “Sorry about the first disaster.”

  “Truly, it wasn’t that bad.”

  She gave him a stop-joshing-me look, which resulted in him busting out laughing. She soon followed until she was laughing so hard, she cried.

  Ralphie cocked his head and whined.

  “It tasted like wallpaper paste with beefy nuggets,” he said.

  “No—like that poi Franks made us eat at the birthday luau his wife threw him last summer.”

  “Eeuw. I’d forgotten that nightmare. Thanks a lot. And, yes, hate to say it, but your stuff was way worse.”

  “Not as bad as that gray goop in a bowl?”

  “Badder.”

  “Is that even a word?” She wadded her napkin and tossed it at him.

  He caught it midair, then leaned over the table, tossing the oversize scrap of yellow cloth around her neck. “With this lei, I hereby name you Miss Worst Cook of the Year.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking his joke in stride. “And for you being such a fearless taste-tester to have been able to make that determination…” She stood, too, slinging her napkin around his neck. “With this lei, I name you Mr. Lucky.”

  “Why?” he asked. Her arms around his neck, her breasts pressed his chest through her suddenly-too-thin T-shirt. Her nipples, unaccustomed to company, instantly, exquisitely, hardened. Her stomach tightened, making it hard to breathe. “Am I lucky because I just got lei’d?”

  She licked her lips. “I, um, was thinking you were lucky because you survived the meal.”

  He shook his head, grinned. “Let’s get back to the lei part.”

  “What about it?”

  “Wanna?”

  “Lei you?”

  He nodded, leaning forward just far enough to brush his lips against hers. “Just for practice. You know, to authenticate the evening.”

  “I don’t know.” Charity joined him as they stepped around the small table, close enough for her to tell by the size of his erection he wasn’t fooling. “You really think sleeping together’s a good idea? What would your shrink say?”

  He kissed her again. This time long and leisurely with a tantalizing sweep of his wine-flavored tongue. “You really care what she thinks?”

  Heart racing, she said, “I wouldn’t want to impede your healing process.”

  “Then, yeah, I need lei-ing right away. Please.” He slid his hands into her back pockets, using their location to his advantage by pressing their hips even closer. “Lord Almighty, Bug, what have you done to me? I’m on fire for you, girl.”

  Meeting him for another spellbinding kiss, she said, “All I did was a cook a lousy dinner.”

  “Then you need to start doing it more often. Hell, you should’ve done it years ago.”

  “So then, what you’re essentially saying is the only thing that kept this from happening every other night we’ve shared was edible food?”

  He nodded, planting a string of hot, sexy kisses up her throat. “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, so if we did head for the bedroom—strictly for practice, seeing how we’re both probably a little rusty. Then, what?”

  “You talk too much,” he said, nibbling her earlobe.

  “I agree, but, Adam, seriously, if we do this, what happens at the office tomorrow?”

  “Who cares?” He lifted her, caveman-style, to the sofa, then eased on top of her, creating the most amazing pressure and heat that drove out all sanity, leaving room in her blazing body for nothing but more of his special brand of pleasure.

  “Sam might care.”

  Like a scratched record, Adam pushed himself off of her, then stood, staring down at her with his hands on his hips. “You seriously didn’t just say that idiot’s name while here I am, putting my best moves on you?”

  “He’s hardly an idiot,” she said, pushing herself upright. “Especially since Franks gave him the office Top Gun award last year for having successfully completed the most take-downs of any of us. That is, aside from Caleb, but he’s in a class all his own.”

  “I’m gone,” Adam said with a disgusted snort.

  “But, Adam…” She stood, brushing hair that’d escaped her once-neat ponytail from her face.

  “Listen up,” he said, hand on the doorknob. “I want no mention of that slimeball in my presence. Especially not while I’m kissing you. Got it?”

  She couldn’t help but giggle at his roar.

  “What’s funny? Because I’m dead serious.”

  “Oh, I can tell,” she said.

  “Then you agree?”

  “To what?” she innocently asked.

  “Never mention that guy’s name around me again. Especially when I’m kissing you.”

  “Who says you’re going to be kissing me again?” She raised her chin.

  “Who says? Me.” After storming to where she stood, he placed one hand on the small of her back, the other he slid into her hair, cupping her head, kissing her hard, deep, dizzy until she’d have agreed to anything he’d said—especially to never think of any man besides him.

  Bored with his humans, Ralphie returned to the kitchen to rummage through the delicious trash.

  “This sweet and sour pork is awesome,” Adam said around seven the next night from his usual seat on Bug’s sofa. He was surprised when she’d invited him and Ralphie over again so soon. But then, before they’d started dating, they’d been over most every night. On the surface, nothing was different between them, so how come on the inside, everything had changed? How come just looking at Bug brought on a rush of confusion? Emotionally, he was all over the map. Attracted, possessive, turned-on, scared to lose her. More scared of never having had her. “Good call. We haven’t had Chinese in a while.”

  Bug was in the kitchen, making herself a plate. He’d offered to do it for her, carefully avoiding any and all physical or eye contact, but thankfully, she’d declined.

  If only she’d passed on wearing another sexy outfit!

  This time, she was killing him with baby-blue sweats.

  Sounded safe enough, only they were that new cut-off style that looked as though someone had hacked them off at the ankle. Bug had rolled them midway up her sexy, still-tanned calves. Even worse, they rode low on her hips, and her tight white T-shirt rode high, resulting in a bared strip of belly and that sparkling lure he wanted to bite—bad. So he’d looked down, only to be faced with the sight of adorable red-tipped toes he wanted to suck—bad. So then he’d looked up, to her face. Only her T-shirt had an ultra-low collar that’d left her chest and throat exposed. And she wore her hair wild and messy, filling him with crazy urges to use his fingers to comb it back, then kiss every bit of soft, pear-scented skin he’d exposed.

  Swallowing hard, hefting the sleeping dog closer to hide the bulge in his fly, Adam reached for the remote.

  Last night had nearly been a disaster of his own making. Not that he wouldn’t have loved every minute of sleeping with Bug, but putting the
moves on your best friend wasn’t cool. Didn’t matter that Bug had transformed herself into an exotic creature he now thought of as Buglicious, he had far too much respect for her to take advantage of her in that way.

  She deserved better than sofa surfing. She deserved it all. Cute little house. That baby and husband she wanted all tied up with a neat, white picket fence.

  In him, all she’d ever find was a guy trapped in the past. He’d promised, with Angela dying in his arms, to love her forever, and by God, that was what he’d do. And seeing how he already had her in his heart, it’d be kinda hard to let another woman in—not that he was even considering such a thing with Bug. Just that he couldn’t in good conscience sleep with her without in turn loving her—not as a friend, but a girlfriend. Wife.

  Scowling, hand to his chest in a feeble attempt to stave off fiery heartburn, with his free hand he reached for the remote. “Sports, documentary or slasher movie, if I can find one?”

  “I was thinking,” she said, parking her sweet self entirely too close to him and Ralphie on the sofa. “Maybe we should try a night without TV.”

  “You mean, play video games instead? Love it. X-Box or PlayStation?”

  “No games, either.”

  “Then what?” he asked, hoping he hadn’t been caught staring at her perfectly rounded—

  “Well… Seeing how this is supposed to be a date, I thought we might try something new. You know, like having a discussion.”

  “On what? All we ever talk about is TV or video games.”

  “That’s my point. If you happen to let that fact slip to your shrink, she’ll be on you like a fly on stink. Adam, you’ve got to be smarter than her.” She tapped her temple. “Really fake her out.”

  “I see your point.” He nodded in sudden understanding. And relief. He could fully give in to his mysterious new feelings toward his best friend, and in doing so, would only be furthering himself in his therapy. Kind of like that thing actors or writers do with deep character immersion. “Nice. Thanks, Bug. I appreciate you watching my back on this one.” He shook his head and grinned. “I never would’ve seen this coming, but you’re right. Her being a woman and all, she’s probably into that touchy-feely stuff.” Oops, judging by the suddenly stricken look on his Bug’s face, looks like he’d screwed up again. “Not that you aren’t all woman,” he backpedaled. “Just that you’re more fun than most women. You don’t have the usual goofy female baggage.”

  Deeply engrossed in her sweet and sour pork, she didn’t say a word. Was that a good or bad sign?

  “I’ve always liked that about you,” he said. “Lack of a need to incessantly hash over the minutia of our lives is a turn-on. Not that I am turned on by you, but you know what I mean.”

  Still chewing. She wouldn’t even look his way. And she’d gone all tense—something he sensed more than saw—but what was he supposed to do about it?

  “Okay, let’s discuss,” he said with an admittedly cheesy grin, willing to try anything to get himself out of her doghouse. “What’ll it be? Movies? Food? No—I’ve got it. Bugs. Give me some fantastic fact no one but you would know.”

  “I’d rather not.” She reached to the coffee table for her Coke can.

  “Oh, come on. Dazzle me. Better yet. Give me a true or false quiz. You throw something out, then I’ll guess if it’s true or false.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m trying here,” he said. “I don’t put this much effort into making a real date happy, yet look at me, dancing around like a circus dog to please you.”

  “Sorry.” She set her can and barely touched food on the table. “Guess I’m still kind of stuck back on your speech about me not being a girly girl. I’ve done everything I could to hopefully be more attractive as a woman—not only to you, but to other guys, as well. Marrying-type guys. But it looks like nothing’s ever going to work.” Her eyes welled, and this time, instead of her just looking like she was going to cry, she really did. “W-when my twin brother died, so did my dad. I thought I could bring him back by becoming my brother. And I did. B-but in the process, I lost myself. And if I can’t find a man, how am I going to have a baby? Will I even make a good mom? And if I am a good mom, will I then be a crappy marshal?”

  Adam winced when Ralphie smashed his family jewels in his effort to turn around to comfort Bug. She wrapped him in a hug.

  Was it wrong to envy his dog?

  “Stop,” Adam said. “You’ll make a great mom and could never be anything but a great marshal.” He pulled her into his arms, but when that didn’t seem like enough, he dragged her onto his lap, rocking her while she cried. “And you’re doing a phenomenal job of looking like every guy’s fantasy. Why else do you think I wanted to sleep with you last night? As for that thing with your dad…” He pushed her back, brushing her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “What you did for him was amazing. You’ve told me about your brother, but this is the first time you’ve said a word about you trying to be your brother.” Hands on either side of her dear face, forcing her to meet his stare, he said, “That’s crazy. No one can replace another loved one. I’m pissed at your parents for not recognizing the fact that you were trying. But that’s in the past now. Tonight, this second, you’re all woman. Hot, sexy, blowing my mind. And if you don’t believe me…” He glanced at his bulging fly.

  Following his gaze, she laughed.

  “Think that’s funny?” Laughing along with her, leaning over the dog to kiss her forehead, he said, “It hurts. And it’s your fault. So stop being so damned gorgeous, okay?”

  She nodded, then blew him away by repositioning the dog so they could both snuggle against him. But friends don’t snuggle, right?

  Speaking of which, what was his problem? Having to further adjust his fly while snuggling wasn’t such a smooth move, either. The fact that she’d confided in him about her dad was an even bigger turn-on than her makeover. So why couldn’t he reciprocate? She deserved more from him. Why couldn’t he open himself up and give?

  “What’s happening to us?” he moaned into his Bug’s pear-scented hair. “It’s like we’re still friends, but not. There’s weirdness.”

  “I know,” she said, voice muffled from where she’d curled herself against his shoulder.

  She stroked Ralphie’s back.

  “This is all my fault,” Adam said. “I should’ve never asked you to date me—even pretend dating is too big a strain on our—” What? Relationship? He shuddered to have even thought the word. Yet when it came right down to it, that’s what he and Bug shared. They were a unit. Tight. Only they weren’t supposed to be a kissing unit. Just friendly. And all because of that damned shrink, he’d blown it.

  He swiped his hand through his hair. Was it suddenly hot in here or had there been too much MSG in his sweet and sour pork?

  Saturday morning Charity vowed to shoot whoever was banging on her door at five in the morning.

  She peered through the peephole, and there was Adam. Grinning. Proudly holding up a drink carrier with two large coffees and a sack of doughnuts.

  Ralphie barked before scratching at the door.

  “Rise and shine,” Adam said with a wag of the sack. “I’ve got great news.”

  She opened the door, stepping aside to let him in.

  Ralphie demanded hugs, which she happily delivered.

  “You’re not going to believe this.” Adam parked himself on the sofa, leaving his food and drink on the coffee table. The fragrant java made Charity’s stomach growl. “But I managed to wrangle us a couple seats on my pal Wallace’s deep-sea fishing boat.”

  “Huh?” She and Ralphie sat beside him. Charity was glad she’d fallen asleep in her sweats and T-shirt instead of that stupid silk nightgown her sister insisted she wear in case of pop-in visits like this. “Since when do you have a friend named Wallace who fishes?”

  “Remember? He was an expert witness for the state on that drug case we worked a few years back.”

  She shook her head, help
ed herself to a doughnut. “Refresh my memory. Why’d the state need an expert fishing witness?”

  He graced her with his most disgusted sigh. “I can’t believe you forgot a case like that. The defendant killed narcs by using them as trolling bait. Remember how my pal Wallace gave the court a lesson in hook sizes, and the probability of how long it’d take a guy to either drown or be eaten?”

  Charity shuddered. It was probably for the best she’d forgotten. Talk about nightmarish images. “Mind telling me how any of that landed you on my doorstep while it’s still dark outside?”

  “Hello?” he said around a bite of doughnut. “Free seats? A day spent fishing? Ring any bells?”

  Leaning her head against the sofa, she moaned. “Please tell me this is all just a bad dream.”

  He grinned. “Just as soon as I can find you some shoes, we’re out of here. I even got us a lunch. Your favorite—bologna and mustard on white.”

  She rolled her eyes. Steph, her healthy diet coach, would love that!

  “I don’t know,” Charity said. “Fishing’s never really been my thing.”

  “Then you can just admire my fishing prowess.”

  “Gee, that sounds fun. What about Ralphie?”

  He fed the dog a bite of glazed doughnut. “We’re dropping him off at my dad’s. See? I’ve got our day perfectly planned.”

  His gorgeous white-toothed grin vaulted her stomach into the stratosphere. How come when here she was, fresh off a night spent convincing herself she’d be better off without the guy, he went and pulled a stunt like this? Thoroughly annoying, but in such a cute way.

  Maybe there was hope for the two of them, after all? Maybe she’d been wrong to plan on throwing in the towel on this whole dating charade? Maybe, if she were really lucky, they wouldn’t spend the day fishing, but gazing out at the water, then deep into each other’s eyes.

  “Think we can take your car to the docks?” he asked, her sneakers in hand. “I’ve been dying to get my hands back on that little beauty.”