Books by Maggie Shayne (5 page)

"I'm not sleeping with you." She blurted the sentence before fully composing it in her mind.

"I mean, I'm not" -- "Twin beds, Alex. I think I can manage to stay in mine if you can manage to stay in yours. Okay?"

No, it's not okay. "

"Well, if you're afraid you won't be able to stay in yours, that's okay, too. I mean, I'm as red-blooded as the next guy" -- He broke off when her hand came flying up. She froze just before her palm connected with his face, and she stared at her hand, blinking in shock. My God, she'd almost slapped him. That wasn't like her. It wasn't anything-like her.

What was happening to her?

And what 'in the world was the matter with him? He hadn't flinched, hadn't drawn back, hadn't tried to stop her. And now, he just shook his head, clucking his tongue. -"Chicken."

"What?"

"Nothing. Listen, I'm the guy with the money, and I xcnted one room.

I'm not renting another one. Should have grabbed your purse while you were making that daring escape, lady. "

He held the door open, waved her inside, and-she went, too shocked by what she'd nearly done to argue with him anymore. He came in behind her, closed the door and locked it. Then he tossed the key onto the bed, followed by his jacket, and then his body, back first.

"I could use a nap."

"Something to eat would he nice."

"Nag, nag, nag."

She stared at him, then quickly looked away. It was oddly disturbing looking at his naked chest when he was stretching sinuously, rumpling the covers with his body.

"Well? Come on, I said nag. What are you waiting for?"

 
She closed her eyes, shook her head. She didn't understand the man at all.

"I do not nag."

"No? Shame. It's a great stress reliever. For now, though, I'll do it for you. You're hungry. You'd like a shower and a change of clothes and then and only then will you feel able to sleep. Am I close?"

Tilting her head, she nodded.

"All right, then." He lunged to his feet and headed out of the room without another word. She watched his broad back and the tight curve of his denim-encased backside when he left, and then she swallowed hard, trying to relieve the dryness in her throat. But it didn't help.

When he came back he slung a duffel bag onto the. unoccupied bed she'd decided must be hers.

"There you go. Knock yourself out."

"You have food in there?"

"A veritable banquet. K rations. And help yourself to the clothes ."

He was on the bed again, but he lifted his head to look her up and down.

"They'll he big, but I imagine you look good in a feed bag."

She blinked, stunned. Had he just complimented her? Too late to tell, his eyes had closed again. And even as she stared at him, he seemed to fall asleep. The muscled wall of chest rose and fell slowly, expanding incredibly and then collapsing. The room was utterly s'dent except for the deep soughs of the air filling him again and again, escaping over and over. It hypnotized her.

She shook herself, muttering under her breath that she was a thousand kinds of idiot, and carefully loosened the drawstring on the duffel.

She tried not to hear the mesmerizing music he was making as she dug through the bag. It wasn't easy.

The thing was crammed full. Seemed he had everything but the kitchen sink in here. And it occurred to her that she might learn a little something about the mysterious man who called himself Torch, if she looked through what must be his worldly possessions.

 
"K rations are in that zippered pouch on the front. And there ought to be a T-shirt right on top."

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice. He'd scared her half to death. She fished out a T-shirt as he'd instructed and left the bag where it was, to head into the little bathroom. And she locked the door before she showered.

But locked away from him in the bathroom, her curiosity about him grew to unreasonable proportions. Did he, perhaps, not want her looking through the duffel bag too thoroughly? And if not, why not?

What did he have to hide?

Again she told herself it didn't matter. She had an agenda of her own to keep. Probably the most important one of her life. She didn't dress in the big black T-shirt she'd taken with her. Instead, she put her elotlx back on. And then she era eked the door.

He was snoring now, very softly. All right then. ~-This would probably be the best opportunity she'd ever get. She tiptoed out of the bathroom, pans'mg only long enough to snatch her sneakers off the floor.

Torch never moved, just kept snoring, sleeping. His eyelashes seemed thicker and darker now than when he was. awake Or was it just the way they contrasted against his cheeks?

Didn't matter.

She stopped at the door, grabbed the knob.

"Going out for a little stroll, Alex?"

She froze, closing her eyes.

"I was... just checking the lock."

"You need your shoes for that?"

She tossed' the shoes to 'the floor, shook her head in self-disgust.

Palamaro sat up in bed, smiling smugly at her.

"Don't try that again, Alex. I'm the lightest sleeper you'll ever meet."

She only stared at him. His blue eyes were amused, not angry. And they had a disturbing habit of dipping as he looked at her. So he didn't just look at her face but at her entire body, head to toe, over and over again. Almost as if he couldn't resist doing so. Or maybe he was just trying to shake her, keep her off balance.

"Get some sleep," he told her.

"You're gonna need it." "I couldn't' sleep if I wanted to."

"Suit yourself." He swung out of the bed.

"Meanwhile you can help me with a little problem I just recently discovered."

He dug into the duffel, tugging out a fresh pair of jeans and tossing them onto her bed. She watched his every move, though she told herself repeatedly to look away. Her eyes refused to obey. They seemed terribly interested in the way the muscles in his back and shoulders flexed and relaxed and rippled beneath his taut skin. And the way his dark hair fell over his neck, just touching his shoulders. It looked.

~. incredibly. soft.

There was strength in this man. And she sensed it went deeper than just the physical aspects.

"What problem?" She wished he'd locate a shirt and put it on.

He turned toward her, the duffel dangling from his right arm Its weight made his b'gx~s stand out, and for a second her gaze was riveted to that arm, tracing the corded bulge beneath the taut skin.

She jerked her gaze elsewhere and ended up staring at his belly.

Hard. Tight. She felt hers tighten in response. What was wrong with her? Hadn't she ever seen a well-developed male before?

Not really, she admitted silently. Not up close. Not alone in a room with no one but him and his damned unclothed, hair-sprinkled chest and his scent.

"The problem of how the hell I'm supposed to leave you alone long enough to take a shower."

A lump rose in her throat. She couldn't seem to swallow it.

"The minute I turn on the water, you'll be out of here like a scared rabbit, won't you, Alex?"

 
She shook her head, speaking past the lump, since it wouldn't dislodge. The result was a squeaky, raspy-sounding voice.

"I'll stay," she told him.

"I don't believe you. But listen up,. Alex. If you try to leave, I'll come after you, and if I have to chase you down in that parking lot buck naked and dripping wet, I'll do it. Don't think I won't."

His words evoked images she'd rather not see. She only nodded and croaked, "I'll stay?"

' "You'd better." He was back to digging through the duffel again. He bent over it, drew out another black T-shirt. As he did, a photograph fluttered to the floor and he went utterly still It landed face up and as he stared down at it, his face altered. The tough-guy glaze vanished, evaporal~xl like dew under a blazing sun. And what remained was a pain so stark and o intense that she almost gasped in surprise.

Since he didn't move, she did, stepping forward and dropping to her haunches. The photo's corners curled slightly inward, and it looked old.

He must have carried it for a long time. It was of a beau~,-petite blond woman and two little boys. Twins, apparently. And their dark hair and blue eyes looked enough like Palamaro's to make her wonder if they might be his children. Or maybe his nephews or something, She frowned and turned her gaze to the. man who seemed to have turned to, stone as his blue oyes remained riveted to the photo on the floor. She tried to picture him with a family, a wife and two little boys. But it wasn't easy. He just didn't seem the type.

She reached for the photo, then jerked backward when he swooped down and snatched it up with the speed of a striking rattler.

She caught his gaze only briefly, and it amazed her. He was hurting.

A vulnerable, aching mortal man battling unseen demons. Intense pain blazed from his eyes. Sorrow, remorse and more. It was in the way his shoulders bowed just slightly, the lowering of his chin, the softening of his jaw.

Then he turned away, tucking the photo into one of the duffel's side pockets.

"Whoare they?" She asked the question before she could think better of it.

He said nothing. Only straightened, lowering the bag to the bed, keeping his back to her. Something compelled her then. And she should have known it would. She was the consummate nurturer, after all. It was why she'd gone into medicine. She liked caring for people, had this insane urge to feel needed. Because she wasn't, she supposed. No one had ever needed her. Not really. Well, except for Max. She missed that lazy cat. He was another reason she couldn't stay away for very long.

She'd tried to care for her father, but he'd never allowed it. She'd gone so far as to follow him, leaving her job and her life and her home, just to care for him in what she'd thought was severe senility or worse.

When she saw someone in pain or in trouble, the urge to heal them overcame her. She'd been that way as long as she could remember. It was stupid, she supposed, for someone to long to be needed as desperately as she did, but it was there, nonetheless.

Someday someone would need her, and she'd he theirs for life. Until then, she'd just have to live with her compulsion to heal and sympathize and comfort.

When she was younger, she used to dream of growing up and having children. Sweet, beautiful children who'd love her unconditionally.

Who would need her as no one ever had. But that dream had shattered just recently. with her recent physical. A few unexplained eramps An ultrasound; And the discovery that her ovaries were withered and not function' rag A birth defect, more than likely, the gynecologist had told her.

She'd never have children.

Sweet, beautiful children like those two in the photo.

 
Her hand rose, slowly, softly, and she watched it, almost surprised at the movement. Then she settled it on his hard, broad shoulder, and she felt him stiffen at her touch.

He drew a deep breath that shuddered its way into his chest; But he didn't speak to her. He didn't even turn to face her. He simply walked into the bathroom, his steps fast and sure. Alexandra's hand lingered in the air for a moment. She shouldn't have asked about the photo. He'd made that clear, hadn't he?

She stared at him in the bathroom. He hadn't bothered to close the door. But he turned toward her, and every trace of emotion was hidden behind the hard features that became handsome only when he slept.

Because then the granite went out of his face. The facade of hardness fell away.

His hands went to the button of his jeans.

"You might want to turn around, Alex. I'm gonna leave the door open, just in case you decide to try and leave."

His fingers freed the button, lowered the zipper. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband.

"Or you can watch. It's all the same to me."

He shoved the jeans down. She managed to convince herself to spin around as he did it, and she heard his deep chuckle, heard the material rasping over his thighs. Then she heard the water running.

The sound of it changed when he stepped into the spray.

Alex chancecl a quick glance over her shoulder and was rewarded with an unobstructed view of his wide back, dim-pied buttocks and rock-solid, hair-smattered thighs. He stood in the tub, shower curtain wide open.

Water pummeled him. Steam kose from his tanned skin, and again' she couldn't look away.

Until he turned, sending hera wink.

"You're not as bashful as I thought, are you, Alex?"

She was gaping, she realized. She clamped her jaw and hurried to the bed, deciding it might be time to get some sleep after all. But she didn't deep. Because when she closed her eyes, it was only to see a naked, wet man grinning at her.

 
And it was only to realize, with a sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach and a foreign ache in her loins, that she was attracted to Torch Palamaro. Powerfully attracted. To the man who seemed determined to ruin her father's good God help her.

The bandages came loose in the shower and the wound hurt like hell.

Those were. the least of his worries, but he supposed he'd have to take care of ~.

Alexandra Holt was too ightful and too damned softhearted for her own good, or for his peace of mind. She'd seen the photo, and she'd seen the pain he never revealed to anyone. His most private hell. She had no damned right to see it! It belonged to him and him alone. He had no desire to share his grief or his guilt. Especially not with her. She'd invaded his most private place when she'd put her hand on his shoulder.

.

She'd only been trying to comfort him. He knew that. But he didn't want her damned comfort, When she'd almost touched the photo of Marcy and the boys. It was wrong to let her touch it. Touch them. She had' nothing to do with them. They were a separate part of his life, safe from invasion by outsiders.

Especially her. The first woman to stir a healthy lust in him since their death. It was wrong. He had to keep her away from that sacred memory, that sacred pain. He and "Marcy had had something. Not love. But friendship. And trust. They'd created something precious together. Jsh and Jason.

He bit his lip against the swelling in his throat and the burning in his eyes. They'd been his world. And Marcy had been a big part of that world.

He remembered the phone call, the last time he'd ever heard the voice of the woman who'd given him twin sons.

"Try to get home early," she'd said, happiness in her voice.

"Before it gets too dark. Josh finally figured out how to ride his two-wheeler and he's ding to show off for you."

"I'll be there. Just one last report to file. I'd have been home before now, if D.C. hadn't calhxl in sick."

She'd laughed.

"Sick, huh? I think he was playing hooky. The boys and I ran into him at the mall today. He was talking to some man with--oh, hey, I'd better go. Someone's at the door. I'll tell you about it later."

"Give the boys a kiss for me," he'd {old her.

"If I can get them to come inside long enough," she'd replied, and hung up. And that was it That was all. And apparently she had got tea Josh and Jason to come inside, because they'd died with her in that damned explosion.

And the pain was his. It was his alone. This job, this mission he was on was for them. He'd avenge their deaths. He'd get it right, this time. And he wasn't sure why, but he felt' certain Alexandra Holt posed a threat to that. Somehow, she'd try to keep him from exacting vengeance. It made no sense, but the knowledge was there, stamped indelibly on his mind. He couldn't let her do that. Could not allow this woman to come between him and his goal.

He. stepped out of the bathroom, wearing his shorts and nothing else.

Let her be shocked. Let her throw a prissy little fit and he could despise her for being pretentious and phony.

But she didn't. She lay on the bed, curled on her side with her back to him. All that glossy hair covering her shoulder, a few curling tendrils reaching out. over the pillow as if in search of something to twist around.

It damned well wouldn't be him.

She didn't turn, didn't even move. He figured she must be sleeping.

He dug the first-aid kit out of the duffel aad taped up his shoulder, though doing so one-handed was awkward and nearly impossible. But he managed. When she didn't stir to offer help, he was sure she was sleeping. She was too softhearted to let him struggle without jumping in like Mary Sunlight to help him. Even if she'd decided to hate his guts, which he dearly hoped she had.

He ate. But the whole time, the image of her, lying there in the bed wearing his T-shirt now, with her hair spread around l~r like black satin, haunted his mind. She hadn't eaten. Nora bite. And she should have, because she was going to need her energy at its peak for the trip ahead. Either she was too fussy to settle for the rations, or she didn't have any appetite. Probably the latter.

He ought to wake her and make her eat.

He didn't.

And when he'd cleaned his guns and loaded them and run out of things to do, be sat there on his own bed and stared at her.

Why did he have to end up with a woman who could make a saint have impure thoughts? Why couldn't this job have provided only the usual risks, bullets flying over his head, that kind of thing? Why her?

Palamaro hadn't been with a woman since Marcy had died. And, frankly, he hadn't wanted to. That part of his soul had died with his family.

He hadn't been aroused since the night when his life had gone up in smoke, and that was fine with him. He'd planaed to just throw himself body and soul into the job, and hope to God the bad guys would win one of these times. Let them blow him away and put an end to this joke that passed for a life.

But work hadn't made him forget. And with Doug Stern always watching his every move, x~ever quite believing Torch innocent in the bombing that had killed his family but unable to backup his suspicions, work had become impossible.

Hell, he couldn't even blame Stern. The bastard had been half in love with Marcy when she and Torch had had to get married. If he hadn't gotten her pregnant, she probably would have ended up married to Stern.

And maybe she'd still be alive Though he never said it out loud, Stern was a constant reminder of that fact. So Torch had chosen retirement. A life of ~lling time, waiting to waste away. But that hadn't worked out, either.

He'd entered stage three now, he supposed. He was living for vengeance.

That was all he can about; There was no room for sympathy or even lust for Alexandra Holt. No room at all.

So what was it about her that had him feeling ,. desire? The longer he looked at her, the more he felt it. All he' done was sit on his bed and look at her, and he was hard. Just like that, after almost a year without a sign of life down there. And it se~med to him that all these months of absti, hence were screaming to end. Right now, right here.

With her.

Made no sense whatsoever. And he had no intention of heeding their cries. If he could dodge bullets and battle terrorists, he could certainly resist a little uprising of his libido. He Wasn't going to be unfaithful to Marcy's memory. Beyond that, he most certainly wasn't going to let himself care about Alexandra Holt. Not in the least.

Because it would interfere with the job he'd come here to do.

It would distract him, and it would mess up his objectivity, dull his instincts. He knew the drill. She was one of the targets of this investigation, and an operative didn t screw around with a target.

Besides, he'd pretty much given up on caring about people at all. It hurt too much to lose them. Torch knew damned well he wasn't up for dealing with any more pain. '~ So he sat there arguing with his body's demands, until an hour before dawn. That was when she muttered something in her sleep and rolled over, bending one long leg slightly, causing the T-shirt to bunch up around her waist. And he saw the little white cotton parities she wore, and he wanted to go over there and slide them off her.

He was undeniably aroused, and disgusted with himself for it. Fresh air might help. He pulled on his jeans and T-shirt and headed out the door, paced in the parking lot, stared up at the fading night sky.

But it gave him no answers and did little to erase this sudden hunger for a woman he barely knew.

It was only when he heard the soft purr of a vehicle and turned to see the sleek black minivan moving slowly through the lot that he forgot all about his aching need.

Torch ducked into the. shadows, pressing his back to the motel's brick wall and moving sideways until he could see the van again.

There had been two vans at Alexandra's house. He'd blown one to hell, but not the other. And to believe this was just some family looking for a good parking spot was a fool's errand. It was Scorpion, or more of his henchmen. It had to be, and they were cruising the lot looking for Torch and Alexandra Holt.

How the hell had they followed him here? Had they seen his car? Did they know what to look for?

Didn't matter. He'd left two alive back there, two who could describe him and Alex to a fault. All they'd have to do would be to question the desk clerk.

But how the hell had they found them here?

The van came to a stop out front, and one of them headed toward the office.

Torch duck rid back into the room, closed the door quietly and flicked off the lights. He ran to the bed where Alexandra lay sleeping, her face illuminated only by the flickering orange glow of the damaged neon vacancy sign outside. He leaned over her, gripped her shoulders.

"Alex, wake up!"

 
Her eyes flew open. Sleepy and wide and brown. She stared up at him, and he knew what she was thinking. He knew, read it on her face as easily as boldface type. She thought his reasons for coming to her bed were anything but what they were.

She shook her head slowly, side to side.

"I ... I don't even know your real name," she blurted.

Not "get your filthy hands off me, you beast." Not "make another move and I'll scream this place down around your ears." Just that she didn't know his name. Was he supposed to take that to mean that not knowing his name was her only objection to a little game of one-on-one?

He swallowed hard, told himself this wasn't the time or place for those kinds of questions.

"We have to leave. They're here."

He saw the fear, the panic in her eyes. She lunged out of the bed and was yanking on her jeans, stuffing her feet into her sneakers even before he added, "Hurry. They're in the office now, they won't hear us leave."

"How did they find us?"

"Damned if I know:' Torch tore his gaze away from her, scanning the room to be sure they left nothing behind. As he checked the bathroom, he tried to figure it out, talking it through as he did.

"You said you found out about the safe-deposit box when you were going through your father's papers, after he died. Are those papers still in the house?"

She groaned, closed her eyes.

"Right in his hedroom God, why didn't I think of it before?"

"I didn't think of it, either." But he should have. Dam-reit, hadn't he learned anything? Not anticipating crap like this had gotten his family murdered in their own home. So what did it take to get through to him?

"What is it? What's wrong?"

He shook himself, met her gaze. She was staring at him, and she' was scared half out of her mind.

"Nothing. Just that they knew where we were going, knew we were in a hurry, took the only sensible route, and started checking Maggie $hayne motels. Child's play for these guys. My mistake. I'm supposed to know better."

Her brown eyes probed his, narrowing, searching. It was as if she knew his words had some double meaning, as if she were trying, even now, to see the source of his consuming pain. The way she looked at him made him shiver, and he was damned if he knew why. He averted his eyes, slung the duffel over his shoulder and took her arm. He held his gun at the ready in his right hand and opened the door.

"I can't do this. I can't go out there." She whispered the words, but Palamaro either didn't hear or didn't want to. He tugged her through the door and outside into the night. She moved on legs as stiff as boards, which she figured was just as well. If her knees bent 'at all, they'd probably dissolve.

She tried to look around, tried to search the area for threats, men in black, men with guns. It seemed at lb-st that they were everywhere, but it was only that the parking lot was alive with moving shadows. It took one panicked moment for her to realiTc the cause--headlights passing on the highway out front, casting their glow slowly as they moved, making the shadows come to life. There could he twenty men in black lurking out here, and they'd he invisible.

Torch Palamaro stood still just beyond the door, and she thought he was testing the air. The nfotel room behind them was dark. He'd flicked off the lights before dragging her out here. He'd left the door wide.

In case they had to retreat? But if they went back in there, they'd he trapped, wouldn't they?

From somewhere on the highway, rock music came faintly, then louder, then faded again. Motors purred and sputtered and roared. She could hear the tinny voices and canned laughter of a TV sitcom coming from one of the rooms nearby. And there was a throaty gurgle of rushing water from beneath the grate just under her feet. Nothing else. Utter silence. But that didn't mean they were alone.

 
Palamaro leaned close to her.

"Give me the key. But don't make it obvious."

She stared at him, but he didn't meet her eyes. His were Wide, alert, moving back and forth as he scanned the parking lot's dancing shadows.

"I ... I don't understand what you want me to" -- "Now, dam it His whisper was all but silent, and still managed to be harsh, demanding.

He'd given an order. Alexandra prayed she was doing the right thing and reached toward the back pocket of her jeans.

He faced her, moving so suddenly she jumped in surprise. One arm snagged her waist, jerking her against him hard and fast. And tight.

So tight she could barely breathe. His mouth covered hers, and he stole what little remained of her breath, taking it into his own body, sucking the very life from her, it seemed. He pressed her back to the wall, nudging her mouth open, thrusting his tongue inside, dip-p'mgand tasting and taking without ~i~ion or hesitation. His hand slid down over her back, and her eyes fell closed even as she relied his remained open. And he still clasped that black gun in his other hand.

Her wooden legs dissolved, and she had no choice but to put her, arms around his neck. She'd sink to the ground if she didn't. His mouth on hers was warm, wet, hungry as it invaded and devoured. When his hand clasped her but-toeks, squeezed her there, held her hips to his as they g~fi~d against her, she felt her insides turn to molten lava.

She ti ted her head to accept his tongue's thrusts as her mind spun into madness. Conscious thought receded. Feeling took over.

Sensation. The blood in her veins became fire, and every limb trembled.