Dangerous Lover (21 page)

He rubbed even harder against her, and she felt him surge into a full erection. God, this was awful! His eyes were closed, as if this were a romantic moment between two lovers, and not an act of force.

His tongue moved in her mouth like a warm wet slug, and it sickened her. She struggled harder, trying to kick him, man
aging mostly to bruise her toes. His hand tightened in her hair, pulling at it so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

Ouch! You’re hurting me!
The words were there, in her throat, but she couldn’t say them, she could only make horrified noises. She finally landed a kick, but it only made him hold her head more tightly to him. He was in a frenzy now, his teeth clashing against hers as he changed the kiss to delve more deeply into her mouth, hips rubbing against hers. Horrible noises were coming out of his throat, and she could feel his penis swell even further.

He bit her lip, drawing blood. She could taste her blood, and so could he. His penis rippled with arousal, and he groaned as he ground himself against her. Her blood excited him.

Oh God, this had never even occurred to her. The couple of times they’d made love, it had been perfectly bland. Pleasant but not overly so. Totally unmemorable.

But right now, it looked like Sanders had a cruel streak she had never suspected. He got off on pain. He was definitely turned on by the taste of her blood and her pain.

She was fighting in earnest now, kicking, screaming into his mouth, trying to punch him, though it was almost impossible while he was holding her so close to him.

She was shaking with rage, trying vainly to free herself when all of a sudden she was free, staggering to catch her balance, staring.

Jack was holding Sanders’s arm wrenched behind his back, so hard Sanders was on the balls of his feet, wheezing with pain.

He was white-faced, blond strands of hair falling over his forehead, eyes unfocused, a little stripe of blood at the corner of his mouth. Her blood.

His eyes were wild, so wide open she could see white all around his irises.

Though Sanders was writhing wildly to get out of Jack’s grasp, it was impossible. Jack was standing utterly still, feet braced apart, touching Sanders only with his hand on his wrist, but it was as if Sanders were shackled in steel restraints.

“Touch her again, you fucker, and I will break your arm. Right after I break your fucking neck.” Jack’s voice was low, vicious. Sanders’s eyes widened, then he cried out as Jack tightened his grip.

“Let me go! Who the hell are you? Caroline! Tell this maniac to let me go! Ahhh!” His voice rose in panic as Jack lifted his hand. Sanders was standing completely on the tips of his toes now, and if he dropped to his heels, he’d break his own arm against Jack’s steady, relentless hold. Sanders was sweating, face completely bloodless. “Caroline, tell him to let me
go
!”

Jack lifted his hand another inch, and Sanders screamed in pain, writhing, out of control.

Jack wasn’t out of control at all. He was utterly still, he wasn’t even breathing hard, but something cold and feral in his eyes made her step forward and touch him on the arm. Later, she would mull over the fact that she felt no fear of him even in the middle of an act of violence.

She’d just been mauled by Sanders, a puppy dog compared to Jack, who looked utterly capable of terrifying violence, but not for a second did she fear him. Instinctively, the knowl
edge welling up from a place deep inside herself, a quiet, deep place she trusted, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

He wrenched Sanders’s wrist an inch higher, and Sanders screamed.

Satisfying as it was to watch, she couldn’t stand by and watch Jack break Sanders’s arm. “Jack,” she whispered, putting her hand on his arm. “Don’t. That’s enough.”

His dark eyes were narrowed into slits, a violent light in them. Still holding the writhing Sanders with ease, he reached out with his other hand to touch the corner of her mouth, wiping away the streak of blood.

“I could kill him for this alone,” he said. There was something in his voice that had Sanders’s eyes opening wide in panic.

“No.” If there was one thing Caroline knew, it was that she didn’t want any more violence. She already felt sick to her stomach after her struggle with Sanders, ashamed that she’d never seen beneath his surface. Her stomach was knotted with tension. “Let him go, Jack.”

He looked at her, hard, jaw muscles jumping. His entire body language was screaming that he wanted revenge. He could take it, too. Sanders was something of a gym rat, but he was absolutely no match for Jack, who had an entirely different order of strength and knowledge of martial arts. He had subdued Sanders with ridiculous ease, and Caroline had no doubt he could have wiped the floor with him.

There was a shadow of extreme violence hovering in the room, visible in the tight lines around Jack’s eyes, in the hot light of rage in his eyes, in his stance. Caroline was certain as
certain could be that Jack was capable of killing Sanders. He was physically capable, and he could do it without remorse.

He was a soldier, after all, and that’s what soldiers did. Killed their enemies.

“Let him go. Now, Jack,” she whispered, and it was enough. Jack abruptly let go of him and Sanders lurched to keep his balance. He rubbed the ball of his shoulder, glaring at Jack, then at her, as if he’d been wronged. His hair was mussed, and he was sweating heavily.

“You son of a bitch, you’re going to live to regret this,” Sanders swore, slurring the words. It was a sign of how upset he was. Sanders’s normal speaking voice was deliberate, almost a drawl, but now he was gulping in great gasps of air, the words pouring out of him. “I’m a lawyer, you asshole and you better believe I’m going to sue your sorry ass for so much money it will take you ten fucking lifetimes to get out of debt!”

The instant Jack released Sanders, he’d turned to Caroline, wiping away the little streak of blood at her mouth, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. But at Sanders’s words, he turned his head and looked back at Sanders.

He didn’t do anything at all, just looked. Caroline couldn’t see his expression, but whatever it was, it sure scared Sanders. His face had turned red with rage, but at Jack’s glare, he turned white again, backing away, hands out in front of him.

It occurred to Caroline that if she hadn’t been there to stop him, Jack would have used more violence than he had. He hadn’t needed to issue threats, because every line of his big, strong body was a threat, and not an idle one at that.

Five seconds after Jack released his arm, Sanders had
grabbed his hat and coat and was out the door so fast that the bell over the door was still ringing by the time he’d turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

Suddenly, the adrenaline of her fight with Sanders and the violence that had swirled in the room swooshed out of her system, leaving her shaking and weak. She shivered and swayed a little on her feet, a chill at her core draining all energy. Sparks flew in front of her eyes…

A second later, she was sitting down, a strong, gentle hand pressing on her neck until she put her head between her knees. Jack’s hand kept her there for a moment, then lifted. “Stay like that for a minute and breathe deeply. I’ll be right back.”

She breathed deeply, eyes closed, thinking of nothing at all, until she heard his voice. “Here, honey.” He placed a steaming cup of tea in front of her. “Drink that up as fast as you can.”

Caroline reached for it and sipped, wincing as the heat filled her mouth and as she struggled against a sugar fit. She raised her eyes to his. “How much sugar did you put in it? It’s more sugar than tea.”

He didn’t answer immediately, only placed his hand under hers and lifted so that she was forced to take another sip. “You’re a little shocked so you need heat, liquid and sugar. If you were a soldier on a battlefield, it wouldn’t be tea with lots of sugar, it would be a glucose IV. I know it’s not to your taste, but drink up. You’ll feel better afterwards, trust me.”

She did trust him, instinctively. Caroline tried to smile, a little ashamed of her reaction. “I’m not a soldier who’s fallen in battle. I feel foolish even needing the cup of tea.”

“Don’t be.” His voice was quiet as he watched her drinking. “It must have been a shock. I imagine you weren’t expecting him to turn violent.”

It was a question. “No, not at all. I never would have even believed Sanders was capable of behaving like that. I’ve known him for ages.” Time to get a little unpalatable truth out there, too. “We’ve even…dated, now and again. We’ve had an on-again, off-again relationship for a long time.”

Jack’s dark eyes sharpened. “Since your teens?”

Caroline stared at him over the cup. “Why yes, how did you know that?”

He just shrugged. “Lucky guess. You feeling better?”

The icy feeling, the tremors—they were gone. “Yes, I do, actually. Though I’m also feeling stupid and a wimp. I’d like to think that Sanders caught me totally by surprise, but the truth is that I didn’t defend myself very well.” The least she could have done was bite Sanders’s tongue and kick him roundly in the shins. “When you set up your self-defense school, I’m going to be your first customer. I want to learn to kick butt in a major way.”

“Yeah?” The tension in his big body had gone, and he looked at her with a half smile.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, you’re going to get as many free lessons as you want.”

“Can you teach me the knee-in-the-balls thing?”

He nodded. “Count on it. And the thumb on the carotid thing, too. Done right, it makes your opponent drop like a stunned ox.”

“Sounds great.” It did, too. “I don’t ever want to be in that position again. Helpless, unable to defend myself.”

“No,” he said soberly. “Never again. It took years off my life coming in and seeing you being hurt. We’re going to get you to a point where you can at least whip the ass of a softie like this guy—what was his name?”

“Sanders. Sanders McCullin.”

“Stupid name.” Jack shook his head. “Name like that, you should be able to learn to take him down in ten lessons. Next time he gets near you, you can toss him on his back.”

Caroline smiled. It was a nice thought. She was feeling very much herself again, thanks to the thought of learning some basic self-defense—which would be good exercise, too—and thanks to the massive sugar infusion.

Jack was watching her closely.

“You’re feeling better. Good.” He looked out the window at the sleety afternoon. Nobody in the past half hour had even appeared on the street. He put his hand over hers, and gripped her hand warmly. “What would you say to knocking off now and going home?” He lifted her hand to his mouth. “We could have an early dinner, then fool around a little. I’ll let you throw me. What do you say?”

Jack Prescott sitting on his chair looked like an immovable force of the universe. No way could she ever in a million years throw him, but it was nice of him to offer.

It was so wonderful sitting here with him, his hand on hers, looking forward to the evening and then—
God!
—the night. It had been a long long time since she’d looked forward to things, and he’d given her this gift.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

He’d been scanning the street outside, but he turned his head at that, with a frown. “For what?”

“Oh, for taking care of Sanders without breaking his arm, even though you were dying to, I could tell. For stopping by to pick me up. For just—being around.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He took the kiss over immediately, hand to the back of her head.

It was exactly the gesture Sanders had used, but oh the difference. Jack wasn’t using his strength to control her, though he was probably ten times stronger than Sanders. It occurred to Caroline that every time Jack had touched her, he did so carefully, careful never to hurt her.

A quick meeting of lips and he pulled back, his eyes searching hers. “Let’s go home, warrior princess,” he whispered.

Vincent Deaver slumped deeply in the booth at the diner across the street, head curved over the cup of coffee he’d been nursing for a couple of hours, and watched Jack Prescott leave First Page with his arm around Caroline Lake’s waist.

He needn’t have worried about being detected. He had on a watch cap and heavy dark nonprescription horn rim glasses. Prescott wasn’t expecting him, and anyway, all his attention was on the redhead with him. He’d scanned the street out of habit, but he wouldn’t be expecting trouble from someone in the diner. The street was empty, Prescott’d checked up and down, then his attention was riveted once more on the woman.

Interesting.

Deaver’d learned a lot since he’d watched a tall, handsome and elegant blond man in a cashmere coat just like the one Deaver was going to buy once he got his diamonds back walk into First Page. The woman—Caroline Lake—had greeted him as a friend. They’d talked, the woman keeping her body language neutral, then they’d started fighting and Cashmere Coat guy grabbed her and started shoving his tongue down her throat. The woman had fought but wasn’t getting anywhere.

Deaver watched as Prescott came around a corner, saw what was happening through the shop window, and broke into a dead run.

Cashmere Coat was soft.

He came out of the shop at a run and got into a black Porsche. He put it into gear and took off fast, the back sliding on the icy roads.

Deaver got the tag number. He’d be easy to track down.

Blond Cashmere Coat was really lucky that the woman exerted some influence on Prescott and was able to stop him, because Prescott was a mean fighter, knew all the tricks. He also undoubtedly had a combat knife on him somewhere, and Cashmere Coat was lucky he hadn’t been gutted.

Deaver had never seen Prescott lose a fight or back down from one. But all the woman had had to do to stop him was touch Prescott on the arm and say a few words, and it was as if she’d waved a magic wand.

Prescott, standing down.
That
was something Deaver had never seen.

Deaver watched Prescott and Caroline Lake disappear
around the corner and clenched his fists. The urge to get up right now, run after that fucker Prescott and shoot him dead was almost overwhelming. Deaver would make sure to kill the woman first, just to make Prescott suffer, then a double tap to the head, and Prescott would be down forever.